{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_831/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_831","id":"gutenberg_831","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/831","summary":null,"tags":["Arthurian Legends","Arthurian romances","Category: Adventure","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: French Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Romance","Chr\u00e9tien, de Troyes, active 12th century","Fantasy","Romances -- Translations into English","Tales, Medieval"],"text":"FOUR ARTHURIAN ROMANCES:\n\n\"EREC ET ENIDE\", \"CLIG\u00c9S\", \"YVAIN\", AND \"LANCELOT\"\n\n\nby Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes\n\nFl. 12th Century A.D.\n\nOriginally written in Old French, sometime in the second half of the\n12th Century A.D., by the court poet Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:\n\nORIGINAL TEXT--\n\nCarroll, Carleton W. (Ed.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes: Erec and Enide\" (Garland\nLibrary of Medieval Literature, New York & London, 1987). Edited with a\ntranslation (see Penguin Classics edition below).\n\nKibler, William W. (Ed.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes: The Knight with the Lion,\nor Yvain (Garland Library of Medieval Literature 48A, New York & London,\n1985). Original text with English translation (See Penguin Classics\nedition below).\n\nKibler, William W. (Ed.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes: Lancelot, or The Knight of\nthe Cart (Garland Library of Medieval Literature 1A, New York & London,\n1981). Original text with English translation (See Penguin Classics\nedition below).\n\nMicha, Alexandre (Ed.): \"Les Romans de Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes, Vol. II:\nClig\u00e9s\" (Champion, Paris, 1957).\n\n\nOTHER TRANSLATIONS--\n\nCline, Ruth Harwood (Trans.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes: Yvain, or the Knight\nwith the Lion\" (University of Georgia Press, Athens GA, 1975).\n\nKibler, William W. & Carleton W. Carroll (Trans.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes:\nArthurian Romances\" (Penguin Classics, London, 1991). Contains\ntranslations of \"Erec et Enide\" (by Carroll), \"Clig\u00e9s\", \"Yvain\",\n\"Lancelot\", and DeTroyes' incomplete \"Perceval\" (by Kibler). Highly\nrecommended.\n\nOwen, D.D.R (Trans.): \"Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes: Arthurian Romances\" (Everyman\nLibrary, London, 1987). Contains translations of \"Erec et Enide\",\n\"Clig\u00e9s\", \"Yvain\", \"Lancelot\", and DeTroyes' incomplete \"Perceval\".\nNOTE: This edition replaced W.W. Comfort's in the Everyman Library\ncatalogue. Highly recommended.\n\n\nRECOMMENDED READING--\n\nAnonymous: \"Lancelot of the Lake\" (Trans: Corin Corely; Oxford\nUniversity Press, Oxford, 1989). English translation of one of the\nearliest prose romances concerning Lancelot.\n\nAnonymous: \"The Mabinogion\" (Ed: Jeffrey Gantz; Penguin Classics,\nLondon, 1976). Contains a translation of \"Geraint and Enid\", an earlier\nWelsh version of \"Erec et Enide\".\n\nAnonymous: \"Yvain and Gawain\", \"Sir Percyvell of Gales\", and \"The Anturs\nof Arther\" (Ed: Maldwyn Mills; Everyman, London, 1992). NOTE: Texts are\nin Middle-English; \"Yvain and Gawain\" is a Middle-English work based\nalmost exclusively on Chr\u00e9tien DeTroyes' \"Yvain\".\n\nMalory, Sir Thomas: \"Le Morte D'Arthur\" (Ed: Janet Cowen; Penguin\nClassics, London, 1969).\n\n\n*****\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nChr\u00e9tien De Troyes has had the peculiar fortune of becoming the best\nknown of the old French poets to students of mediaeval literature, and\nof remaining practically unknown to any one else. The acquaintance of\nstudents with the work of Chr\u00e9tien has been made possible in academic\ncircles by the admirable critical editions of his romances undertaken\nand carried to completion during the past thirty years by Professor\nWendelin Foerster of Bonn. At the same time the want of public\nfamiliarity with Chr\u00e9tien's work is due to the almost complete lack of\ntranslations of his romances into the modern tongues. The man who, so\nfar as we know, first recounted the romantic adventures of Arthur's\nknights, Gawain. Yvain, Erec, Lancelot, and Perceval, has been\nforgotten; whereas posterity has been kinder to his debtors, Wolfram\nyon Eschenbach, Malory, Lord Tennyson, and Richard Wagner. The present\nvolume has grown out of the desire to place these romances of adventure\nbefore the reader of English in a prose version based directly upon the\noldest form in which they exist.\n\nSuch extravagant claims for Chr\u00e9tien's art have been made in some\nquarters that one feels disinclined to give them even an echo here.\nThe modem reader may form his own estimate of the poet's art, and that\nestimate will probably not be high. Monotony, lack of proportion,\nvain repetitions, insufficient motivation, wearisome subtleties, and\nthreatened, if not actual, indelicacy are among the most salient defects\nwhich will arrest, and mayhap confound, the reader unfamiliar with\nmediaeval literary craft. No greater service can be performed by an\neditor in such a case than to prepare the reader to overlook these\ncommon faults, and to set before him the literary significance of this\ntwelfth-century poet.\n\nChr\u00e9tien de Troyes wrote in Champagne during the third quarter of the\ntwelfth century. Of his life we know neither the beginning nor the\nend, but we know that between 1160 and 1172 he lived, perhaps as\nherald-at-arms (according to Gaston Paris, based on \"Lancelot\" 5591-94)\nat Troyes, where was the court of his patroness, the Countess Marie de\nChampagne. She was the daughter of Louis VII, and of that famous Eleanor\nof Aquitaine, as she is called in English histories, who, coming from\nthe South of France in 1137, first to Paris and later to England, may\nhave had some share in the introduction of those ideals of courtesy and\nwoman service which were soon to become the cult of European society.\nThe Countess Marie, possessing her royal mother's tastes and gifts, made\nof her court a social experiment station, where these Provencal ideals\nof a perfect society were planted afresh in congenial soil. It appears\nfrom contemporary testimony that the authority of this celebrated feudal\ndame was weighty, and widely felt. The old city of Troyes, where she\nheld her court, must be set down large in any map of literary history.\nFor it was there that Chr\u00e9tien was led to write four romances which\ntogether form the most complete expression we possess from a single\nauthor of the ideals of French chivalry. These romances, written in\neight-syllable rhyming couplets, treat respectively of Erec and Enide,\nClig\u00e9s, Yvain, and Lancelot. Another poem, \"Perceval le Gallois\", was\ncomposed about 1175 for Philip, Count of Flanders, to whom Chr\u00e9tien was\nattached during his last years. This last poem is not included in\nthe present translation because of its extraordinary length of 32,000\nverses, because Chr\u00e9tien wrote only the first 9000 verses, and because\nMiss Jessie L. Weston has given us an English version of Wolfram's\nwell-known \"Parzival\", which tells substantially the same story, though\nin a different spirit. To have included this poem, of which he wrote\nless than one-third, in the works of Chr\u00e9tien would have been unjust to\nhim. It is true the romance of \"Lancelot\" was not completed by Chr\u00e9tien,\nwe are told, but the poem is his in such large part that one would be\nover-scrupulous not to call it his. The other three poems mentioned are\nhis entire. In addition, there are quite generally assigned to the poet\ntwo insignificant lyrics, the pious romance of \"Guillaume d'Angleterre\",\nand the elaboration of an episode from Ovid's \"Metamorphoses\" (vi.,\n426-674) called \"Philomena\" by its recent editor (C. de Boer, Paris,\n1909). All these are extant and accessible. But since \"Guillaume\nd'Angleterre\" and \"Philomena\" are not universally attributed to\nChr\u00e9tien, and since they have nothing to do with the Arthurian material,\nit seems reasonable to limit the present enterprise to \"Erec and Enide\",\n\"Clig\u00e9s\", \"Yvain\", and \"Lancelot\".\n\nProfessor Foerster, basing his remark upon the best knowledge we possess\nof an obscure matter, has called \"Erec and Enide\" the oldest Arthurian\nromance extant. It is not possible to dispute this significant claim,\nbut let us make it a little more intelligible. Scholarship has shown\nthat from the early Middle Ages popular tradition was rife in Britain\nand Brittany. The existence of these traditions common to the Brythonic\npeoples was called to the attention of the literary world by William of\nMalmesbury (\"Gesta regum Anglorum\") and Geoffrey of Monmouth (\"Historia\nregum Britanniae\") in their Latin histories about 1125 and 1137\nrespectively, and by the Anglo-Norman poet Wace immediately afterward.\nScholars have waged war over the theories of transmission of the\nso-called Arthurian material during the centuries which elapsed\nbetween the time of the fabled chieftain's activity in 500 A.D. and\nhis appearance as a great literary personage in the twelfth century.\nDocuments are lacking for the dark ages of popular tradition before the\nNorman Conquest, and the theorists may work their will. But Arthur and\nhis knights, as we see them in the earliest French romances, have little\nin common with their Celtic prototypes, as we dimly catch sight of them\nin Irish, Welsh, and Breton legend. Chr\u00e9tien belonged to a generation\nof French poets who rook over a great mass of Celtic folk-lore they\nimperfectly understood, and made of what, of course, it had never been\nbefore: the vehicle to carry a rich freight of chivalric customs and\nideals. As an ideal of social conduct, the code of chivalry never\ntouched the middle and lower classes, but it was the religion of the\naristocracy and of the twelfth-century \"honnete homme\". Never was\nliterature in any age closer to the ideals of a social class. So true is\nthis that it is difficult to determine whether social practices\ncalled forth the literature, or whether, as in the case of the\nseventeenth-century pastoral romance in France, it is truer to say that\nliterature suggested to society its ideals. Be that as it may, it is\nproper to observe that the French romances of adventure portray\nlate mediaeval aristocracy as it fain would be. For the glaring\ninconsistencies between the reality and the ideal, one may turn to the\nchronicles of the period. Yet, even history tells of many an ugly sin\nrebuked and of many a gallant deed performed because of the courteous\nideals of chivalry. The debt of our own social code to this literature\nof courtesy and frequent self-sacrifice is perfectly manifest.\n\nWhat Chr\u00e9tien's immediate and specific source was for his romances is of\ndeep interest to the student. Unfortunately, he has left us in doubt. He\nspeaks in the vaguest way of the materials he used. There is no evidence\nthat he had any Celtic written source. We are thus thrown back upon\nLatin or French literary originals which are lost, or upon current\ncontinental lore going back to a Celtic source. This very difficult\nproblem is as yet unsolved in the case of Chr\u00e9tien, as it is in the\ncase of the Anglo-Norman Beroul, who wrote of Tristan about 1150. The\nmaterial evidently was at hand and Chr\u00e9tien appropriated it, without\nmuch understanding of its primitive spirit, but appreciating it as a\nsetting for the ideal society dreamed of but not realised in his own\nday. Add to this literary perspicacity, a good foundation in classic\nfable, a modicum of ecclesiastical doctrine, a remarkable facility in\nphrase, figure, and rhyme and we have the foundations for Chr\u00e9tien's art\nas we shall find it upon closer examination.\n\nA French narrative poet of the twelfth century had three categories of\nsubject-matter from which to choose: legends connected with the history\nof France (\"matiere de France\"), legends connected with Arthur and\nother Celtic heroes (\"matiere de Bretagne\"), and stories culled from\nthe history or mythology of Greece and Rome, current in Latin and French\ntranslations (\"matiere de Rome la grant\"). Chr\u00e9tien tells us in \"Clig\u00e9s\"\nthat his first essays as a poet were the translations into French of\ncertain parts of Ovid's most popular works: the \"Metamorphoses\", the\n\"Ars Amatoria\", and perhaps the \"Remedia Amoris\". But he appears early\nto have chosen as his special field the stories of Celtic origin dealing\nwith Arthur, the Round Table, and other features of Celtic folk-lore.\nNot only was he alive to the literary interest of this material when\nrationalised to suit the taste of French readers; his is further the\ncredit of having given to somewhat crude folk-lore that polish and\nelegance which is peculiarly French, and which is inseparably associated\nwith the Arthurian legends in all modern literature. Though Beroul, and\nperhaps other poets, had previously based romantic poems upon individual\nCeltic heroes like Tristan, nevertheless to Chr\u00e9tien, so far as we can\nsee, is due the considerable honour of having constituted Arthur's court\nas a literary centre and rallying-point for an innumerable company\nof knights and ladies engaged in a never-ending series of amorous\nadventures and dangerous quests. Rather than unqualifiedly attribute\nto Chr\u00e9tien this important literary convention, one should bear in mind\nthat all his poems imply familiarity on the part of his readers with\nthe heroes of the court of which he speaks. One would suppose that other\nstories, told before his versions, were current. Some critics would go\nso far as to maintain that Chr\u00e9tien came toward the close, rather than\nat the beginning, of a school of French writers of Arthurian romances.\nBut, if so, we do not possess these earlier versions, and for lack of\nrivals Chr\u00e9tien may be hailed as an innovator in the current schools of\npoetry.\n\nAnd now let us consider the faults which a modern reader will not be\nslow to detect in Chr\u00e9tien's style. Most of his salient faults are\ncommon to all mediaeval narrative literature. They may be ascribed to\nthe extraordinary leisure of the class for whom it was composed--a class\nwhich was always ready to read an old story told again, and which would\ntolerate any description, however detailed. The pastimes of this\nclass of readers were jousting, hunting, and making love. Hence the\npreponderance of these matters in the literature of its leisure hours.\nNo detail of the joust or hunt was unfamiliar or unwelcome to these\nreaders; no subtle arguments concerning the art of love were too\nabstruse to delight a generation steeped in amorous casuistry and\nallegories. And if some scenes seem to us indelicate, yet after\ncomparison with other authors of his times, Chr\u00e9tien must be let off\nwith a light sentence. It is certain he intended to avoid what was\nindecent, as did the writers of narrative poetry in general. To\nappreciate fully the chaste treatment of Chr\u00e9tien one must know some\nother forms of mediaeval literature, such as the fabliaux, farces, and\nmorality plays, in which courtesy imposed no restraint. For our poet's\nlack of sense of proportion, and for his carelessness in the proper\nmotivation of many episodes, no apology can be made. He is not always\nguilty; some episodes betoken poetic mastery. But a poet acquainted, as\nhe was, with some first-class Latin poetry, and who had made a business\nof his art, ought to have handled his material more intelligently,\neven in the twelfth century. The emphasis is not always laid with\ndiscrimination, nor is his yarn always kept free of tangles in the\nspinning.\n\nReference has been made to Chr\u00e9tien's use of his sources. The tendency\nof some critics has been to minimise the French poet's originality by\npointing out striking analogies in classic and Celtic fable. Attention\nhas been especially directed to the defence of the fountain and the\nservice of a fairy mistress in \"Yvain\", to the captivity of Arthur's\nsubjects in the kingdom of Gorre, as narrated in \"Lancelot\", reminding\none so insistently of the treatment of the kingdom of Death from which\nsome god or hero finally delivers those in durance, and to the reigned\ndeath of Fenice in \"Clig\u00e9s\", with its many variants. These episodes are\nbut examples of parallels which will occur to the observant reader. The\ndifficult point to determine, in speaking of conceptions so widespread\nin classic and mediaeval literature, is the immediate source whence\nthese conceptions reached Chr\u00e9tien. The list of works of reference\nappended to this volume will enable the student to go deeper into\nthis much debated question, and will permit us to dispense with an\nexamination of the arguments in this place. However, such convincing\nparallels for many of Chr\u00e9tien's fairy and romantic episodes have been\nadduced by students of Irish and Welsh legend that one cannot fail to\nbe impressed by the fact that Chr\u00e9tien was in touch, either by oral or\nliterary tradition, with the populations of Britain and of Brittany, and\nthat we have here his most immediate inspiration. Professor Foerster,\nstoutly opposing the so-called Anglo-Norman theory which supposes the\nexistence of lost Anglo-Norman romances in French as the sources of\nChr\u00e9tien de Troyes, is, nevertheless, well within the truth when\nhe insists upon what is, so far as we are concerned, the essential\noriginality of the French poet. The general reader will to-day care as\nlittle as did the reader of the twelfth century how the poet came upon\nthe motives and episodes of his stories, whether he borrowed them or\ninvented them himself. Any poet should be judged not as a \"finder\"\nbut as a \"user\" of the common stock of ideas. The study of sources of\nmediaeval poetry, which is being so doggedly carried on by scholars, may\nwell throw light upon the main currents of literary tradition, but it\ncasts no reflection, favourable or otherwise, upon the personal art of\nthe poet in handling his stuff. On that count he may plead his own cause\nbefore the jury.\n\nChr\u00e9tien's originality, then, consists in his portrayal of the social\nideal of the French aristocracy in the twelfth century. So far as we\nknow he was the first to create in the vulgar tongues a vast court,\nwhere men and women lived in conformity with the rules of courtesy,\nwhere the truth was told, where generosity was open-handed, where the\nweak and the innocent were protected by men who dedicated themselves to\nthe cult of honour and to the quest of a spotless reputation. Honour and\nlove combined to engage the attention of this society; these were\nits religion in a far more real sense than was that of the Church.\nPerfection was attainable under this code of ethics: Gawain, for\nexample, was a perfect knight. Though the ideals of this court and\nthose of Christianity are in accord at many points, vet courtly love and\nChristian morality are irreconcilable. This Arthurian material, as used\nby Chr\u00e9tien, is fundamentally immoral as judged by Christian standards.\nBeyond question, the poets and the public alike knew this to be the\ncase, and therein lay its charm for a society in which the actual\nrelations or the sexes were rigidly prescribed by the Church and by\nfeudal practice, rather than by the sentiments of the individuals\nconcerned. The passionate love of Tristan for Iseut, of Lancelot for\nGuinevere, of Clig\u00e9s for Fenice, fascinate the conventional Christian\nsociety of the twelfth century and of the twentieth century alike,\nbut there-is only one name among men for such relations as theirs, and\nneither righteousness nor reason lie that way. Even Tennyson, in spite\nof all he has done to spiritualise this material, was compelled to\nportray the inevitable dissolution and ruin of Arthur's court. Chr\u00e9tien\nwell knew the difference between right and wrong, between reason and\npassion, as the reader of \"Clig\u00e9s\" may learn for himself. Fenice was not\nIseut, and she would not have her Clig\u00e9s to be a Tristan. Infidelity,\nif you will, but not \"menage a trois\". Both \"Erec\" and \"Yvain\" present\na conventional morality. But \"Lancelot\" is flagrantly immoral, and the\npoet is careful to state that for this particular romance he is indebted\nto his patroness Marie de Champagne. He says it was she who furnished\nhim with both the \"matiere\" and the \"san\", the material of the story and\nits method of treatment.\n\nScholars have sought to fix the chronology of the poet's works, and have\nbeen tempted to speculate upon the evolution of his literary and moral\nideas. Professor Foerster's chronology is generally accepted, and there\nis little likelihood of his being in error when he supposes Chr\u00e9tien's\nwork to have been done as follows: the lost \"Tristan\" (the existence of\nwhich is denied by Gaston Paris in \"Journal des Savants\", 1902, pp. 297\nf.), \"Erec and Enide\", \"Clig\u00e9s\", \"Lancelot\", \"Yvain\", \"Perceval\". The\narguments for this chronology, based upon external as well as internal\ncriticism, may be found in the Introductions to Professor Foerster's\nrecent editions. When we speculate upon the development of Chr\u00e9tien's\nmoral ideas we are not on such sure ground. As we have seen, his\nstandards vary widely in the different romances. How much of this\nvariation is due to chance circumstance imposed by the nature of\nhis subject or by the taste of his public, and how much to changing\nconviction it is easy to see, when we consider some contemporary\nnovelist, how dangerous it is to judge of moral convictions as reflected\nin literary work. \"Lancelot\" must be the keystone of any theory\nconstructed concerning the moral evolution of Chr\u00e9tien. The following\nsupposition is tenable, if the chronology of Foerster is correct. After\nthe works of his youth, consisting of lyric poems and translations\nembodying the ideals of Ovid and of the school of contemporary\ntroubadour poets, Chr\u00e9tien took up the Arthurinn material and started\nupon a new course. \"Erec\" is the oldest Arthurinn romance to have\nsurvived in any language, but it is almost certainly not the first to\nhave been written. It is a perfectly clean story: of love, estrangement,\nand reconciliation in the persons of Erec and his charming sweetheart\nEnide. The psychological analysis of Erec's motives in the rude testing\nof Enide is worthy of attention, and is more subtle than anything\nprevious in French literature with which we are acquainted. The poem is\nan episodical romance in the biography of an Arthurinn hero, with the\nusual amount of space given to his adventures. \"Clig\u00e9s\" apparently\nconnects a Byzantine tale of doubtful origin in an arbitrary fashion\nwith the court of Arthur. It is thought that the story embodies the same\nmotive as the widespread tale of the deception practised upon Solomon by\nhis wife, and that Chr\u00e9tien's source, as he himself claims, was literary\n(cf. Gaston Paris in \"Journal des Savants\", 1902, pp. 641-655). The\nscene where Fenice feigns death in order to rejoin her lover is a\nparallel of many others in literary history, and will, of course,\nsuggest the situation in Romeo and Juliet. This romance well illustrates\nthe drawing power of Arthur's court as a literary centre, and its use as\na rallying-point for courteous knights of whatever extraction. The poem\nhas been termed an \"Anti-Tristan\", because of its disparaging reference\nto the love of Tristan and Iseut, which, it is generally supposed,\nhad been narrated by Chr\u00e9tien in his earlier years. Next may come\n\"Lancelot\", with its significant dedication to the Countess of\nChampagne. Of all the poet's work, this tale of the rescue of Guinevere\nby her lover seems to express most closely the ideals of Marie's court\nideals in which devotion and courtesy but thinly disguise free love.\n\"Yvain\" is a return to the poet's natural bent, in an episodical\nromance, while \"Perceval\" crowns his production with its pure and\nexalted note, though without a touch of that religious mysticism\nwhich later marked Wolfram yon Eschenbach's \"Parzival\". \"Guillaime\nd'Angleterre\" is a pseudo-historical romance of adventure in which the\nworldly distresses and the final reward of piety are conventionally\nexposed. It is uninspired, its place is difficult to determine, and\nits authorship is questioned by some. It is aside from the Arthurian\nmaterial, and there is no clue to its place in the evolution of\nChr\u00e9tien's art, if indeed it be his work.\n\nA few words must be devoted to Chr\u00e9tien's place in the history of\nmediaeval narrative poetry. The heroic epic songs of France, devoted\neither to the conflict of Christendom under the leadership of France\nagainst the Saracens, or else to the strife and rivalry of French\nvassals among themselves, had been current for perhaps a century before\nour poet began to write. These epic poems, of which some three score\nhave survived, portray a warlike, virile, unsentimental feudal society,\nwhose chief occupation was fighting, and whose dominant ideals were\nfaith in God, loyalty to feudal family ties, and bravery in battle.\nWoman's place is comparatively obscure, and of love-making there is\nlittle said. It is a poetry of vigorous manhood, of uncompromising\nmorality, and of hard knocks given and taken for God, for Christendom,\nand the King of France. This poetry is written in ten- or twelve-\nsyllable verses grouped, at first in assonanced, later in rhymed,\n\"tirades\" of unequal length. It was intended for a society which was\nstill homogeneous, and to it at the outset doubtless all classes of the\npopulation listened with equal interest. As poetry it is monotonous,\nwithout sense of proportion, padded to facilitate memorisation by\nprofessional reciters, and unadorned by figure, fancy, or imagination.\nIts pretention to historic accuracy begot prosaicness in its approach\nto the style of the chronicles. But its inspiration was noble, its\nconception of human duties was lofty. It gives a realistic portrayal of\nthe age which produced it, the age of the first crusades, and to this\nday we would choose as our models of citizenship Roland and Oliver\nrather than Tristan and Lancelot. The epic poems, dealing with the\npseudo-historical characters who had fought in civil and foreign wars\nunder Charlemagne, remained the favourite literary pabulum of the middle\nclasses until the close of the thirteenth century. Professor Bedier\nis at present engaged in explaining the extraordinary hold which these\npoems had upon the public, and in proving that they exercised a distinct\nfunction when exploited by the Church throughout the period of\nthe crusades to celebrate local shrines and to promote muscular\nChristianity. But the refinement which began to penetrate the ideals of\nthe French aristocracy about the middle of the twelfth century craved a\ndifferent expression in narrative literature. Greek and Roman mythology\nand history were seized upon with some effect to satisfy the new demand.\nThe \"Roman de Thebes\", the \"Roman d'Alexandre\", the \"Roman de\nTroie\", and its logical continuation, the \"Roman d'Eneas\", are all\ntwelfth-century attempts to clothe classic legend in the dress of\nmediaeval chivalry. But better fitted to satisfy the new demand was the\ndiscovery by the alert Anglo-Normans perhaps in Brittany, perhaps in the\nSouth of England, of a vast body of legendary material which, so far as\nwe know, had never before this century received any elaborate literary\ntreatment. The existence of the literary demand and this discovery of\nthe material for its prompt satisfaction is one of the most remarkable\ncoincidences in literary history. It would seem that the pride of the\nCeltic populations in a Celtic hero, aided and abetted by Geoffrey of\nMonmouth, who first showed the romantic possibilities of the material,\nmade of the obscure British chieftain Arthur a world conqueror. Arthur\nthus became already in Geoffrey's \"Historia regum Britaniae\" a conscious\nprotagonist of Charlemagne and his rival in popularity. This grandiose\nconception of Arthur persisted in England, but this conception of the\nBritish chieftain did not interest the French. For Chr\u00e9tien Arthur had\nno political significance. He is simply the arbiter of his court in all\naffairs of justice and courtesy. Charlemagne's very realistic entourage\nof virile and busy barons is replaced by a court of elegant chevaliers\nand unemployed ladies. Charlemagne's setting is historical and\ngeographical; Arthur's setting is ideal and in the air. In the oldest\nepic poems we find only God-fearing men and a few self-effacing women;\nin the Arthurian romances we meet gentlemen and ladies, more elegant and\nseductive than any one in the epic poems, but less fortified by\nfaith and sense of duty against vice because breathing an enervating\natmosphere of leisure and decadent morally. Though the Church made the\nattempt in \"Parzival\", it could never lay its hands so effectively upon\nthis Celtic material, because it contained too many elements which\nwere root and branch inconsistent with the essential teachings of\nChristianity. A fleeting comparison of the noble end of Charlemagne's\nPeers fighting for their God and their King at Ronceval with the futile\nand dilettante careers of Arthur's knights in joust and hunt, will show\nbetter than mere words where the difference lies.\n\nThe student of the history of social and moral ideals will find much to\ninterest him in Chr\u00e9tien's romances. Mediaeval references show that he\nwas held by his immediate successors, as he is held to-day when fairly\nviewed, to have been a master of the art of story-telling. More than any\nother single narrative poet, he was taken as a model both in France and\nabroad. Professor F. M. Warren has set forth in detail the finer points\nin the art of poetry as practised by Chr\u00e9tien and his contemporary\ncraftsmen (see \"Some Features of Style in Early French Narrative Poetry,\n1150-1170 in \"Modern Philology\", iii., 179-209; iii., 513-539; iv.,\n655-675). Poets in his own land refer to him with reverence, and foreign\npoets complimented him to a high degree by direct translation and by\nembroidering upon the themes which he had made popular. The knights made\nfamous by Chr\u00e9tien soon crossed the frontiers and obtained rights of\ncitizenship in counties so diverse as Germany, England, Scandinavia,\nHolland, Italy, and to a lesser extent in Spain and Portugal. The\ninevitable tendency of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to reduce\npoetry to prose affected the Arthurian material; vast prose compilations\nfinally embodied in print the matter formerly expressed in verse, and it\nwas in this form that the stories were known to later generations until\nrevived interest in the Middle Ages brought to light the manuscripts in\nverse.\n\nAside from certain episodes of Chr\u00e9tien's romances, the student will be\nmost interested in the treatment of love as therein portrayed. On this\ntopic we may hear speaking the man of his time. \"Clig\u00e9s\" contains the\nbody of Chr\u00e9tien's doctrine of love, while Lancelot is his most perfect\nlover. His debt to Ovid has not yet been indicated with sufficient\npreciseness. An elaborate code to govern sentiment and its expression\nwas independently developed by the troubadours of Provence in the early\ntwelfth century. These Provencal ideals of the courtly life were carried\ninto Northern France partly as the result of a royal marriage in 1137\nand of the crusade of 1147, and there by such poets as Chr\u00e9tien they\nwere gathered up and fused with the Ovidian doctrine into a highly\ncomplicated but perfectly definite statement of the ideal relations of\nthe sexes. Nowhere in the vulgar tongues can a better statement of these\nrelations be found than in \"Clig\u00e9s.\"\n\nSo we leave Chr\u00e9tien to speak across the ages for himself and his\ngeneration. He is to be read as a story-teller rather than as a poet,\nas a casuist rather than as a philosopher. But when all deductions are\nmade, his significance as a literary artist and as the founder of a\nprecious literary tradition distinguishes him from all other poets\nof the Latin races between the close of the Empire and the arrival of\nDante.\n\n--W. W. COMFORT.\n\n\n\n\n\nEREC ET ENIDE [11]\n\n(Vv. 1-26.) The rustic's proverb says that many a thing is despised that\nis worth much more than is supposed. Therefore he does well who makes\nthe most of whatever intelligence he may possess. For he who neglects\nthis concern may likely omit to say something which would subsequently\ngive great pleasure. So Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes maintains that one ought\nalways to study and strive to speak well and teach the right; and he\nderives from a story of adventure a pleasing argument whereby it may be\nproved and known that he is not wise who does not make liberal use of\nhis knowledge so long as God may give him grace. The story is about Erec\nthe son of Lac--a story which those who earn a living by telling stories\nare accustomed to mutilate and spoil in the presence of kings and\ncounts. And now I shall begin the tale which will be remembered so long\nas Christendom endures. This is Chr\u00e9tien's boast.\n\n(Vv. 27-66.) One Easter Day in the Springtime, King Arthur held court in\nhis town of Cardigan. Never was there seen so rich a court; for many\na good knight was there, hardy, bold, and brave, and rich ladies and\ndamsels, gentle and fair daughters of kings. But before the court was\ndisbanded, the King told his knights that he wished to hunt the White\nStag, [12] in order to observe worthily the ancient custom. When my lord\nGawain heard this, he was sore displeased, and said: \"Sire, you will\nderive neither thanks nor goodwill from this hunt. We all know long\nsince what this custom of the White Stag is: whoever can kill the White\nStag must forsooth kiss the fairest maiden of your court, come what may.\nBut of this there might come great ill, for there are here five hundred\ndamsels of high birth, gentle and prudent daughters of kings, and there\nis none of them but has a bold and valiant knight for her lover who\nwould be ready to contend, whether right or wrong, that she who is his\nlady is the fairest and gentlest of them all.\" The King replies: \"That\nI know well; yet will I not desist on that account; for a king's word\nought never to be gainsaid. To-morrow morning we shall all gaily go to\nhunt the White Stag in the forest of adventure. And very delightful this\nhunt will be.\"\n\n(Vv. 67-114.) And so the affair is arranged for the next morning\nat daybreak. The morrow, as soon as it is day, the King gets up and\ndresses, and dons a short jacket for his forest ride. He commands the\nknights to be aroused and the horses to be made ready. Already they\nare ahorse, and off they go, with bows and arrows. After them the Queen\nmounts her horse, taking a damsel with her. A maid she was, the daughter\nof a king, and she rode a white palfrey. After them there swiftly\nfollowed a knight, named Erec, who belonged to the Round Table, and had\ngreat fame at the court. [13] Of all the knights that ever were there,\nnever one received such praise; and he was so fair that nowhere in the\nworld need one seek a fairer knight than he. He was very fair, brave,\nand courteous, though not yet twenty-five years old. Never was there\na man of his age of greater knighthood. And what shall I say of his\nvirtues? Mounted on his horse, and clad in an ermine mantle, he came\ngalloping down the road, wearing a coat of splendid flowered silk which\nwas made at Constantinople. He had put on hose of brocade, well made and\ncut, and when his golden spurs were well attached, he sat securely in\nhis stirrups. He carried no arm with him but his sword. As he galloped\nalong, at the corner of a street he came up with the Queen, and said:\n\"My lady, if it please you, I should gladly accompany you along this\nroad, having come for no other purpose than to bear you company.\" And\nthe Queen thanks him: \"Fair friend, I like your company well, in truth;\nfor better I could not have.\"\n\n(Vv. 115-124.) Then they ride along at full speed until they come into\nthe forest, where the party who had gone before them had already started\nthe stag. Some wind the horns and others shout; the hounds plunge ahead\nafter the stag, running, attacking, and baying; the bowmen shoot amain.\nAnd before them all rode the King on a Spanish hunter.\n\n(Vv. 125-154.) Queen Guinevere was in the wood listening for the dogs;\nbeside her were Erec and the damsel, who was very courteous and fair.\nBut those who had pursued the stag were so far from them that, however\nintently they might listen to catch the sound of horn or baying of\nhound, they no longer could hear either horse, huntsman, or hound. So\nall three of them drew rein in a clearing beside the road. They had been\nthere but a short time when they saw an armed knight along on his steed,\nwith shield slung about his neck, and his lance in hand. The Queen\nespied him from a distance By his right side rode a damsel of noble\nbearing, and before them, on a hack, came a dwarf carrying in his hand\na knotted scourge. When Queen Guinevere saw the comely and graceful\nknight, she desired to know who he and his damsel were. So she bid her\ndamsel go quickly and speak to him.\n\n(Vv. 155-274.) \"Damsel,\" says the Queen, \"go and bid yonder knight come\nto me and bring his damsel with him.\" The maiden goes on amble straight\ntoward the knight. But the spiteful dwarf sallies forth to meet her with\nhis scourge in hand, crying: \"Halt, maiden, what do you want here? You\nshall advance no farther.\" \"Dwarf,\" says she, \"let me pass. I wish to\nspeak with yonder knight; for the Queen sends me hither.\" The dwarf, who\nwas rude and mean, took his stand in the middle of the road, and said:\n\"You have no business here. Go back. It is not meet that you should\nspeak to so excellent a knight.\" The damsel advanced and tried to pass\nhim by force, holding the dwarf in slight esteem when she saw that he\nwas so small. Then the dwarf raised his whip, when he saw her coming\ntoward him and tried to strike her in the face. She raised her arm\nto protect herself, but he lifted his hand again and struck her all\nunprotected on her bare hand: and so hard did he strike her on the back\nof her hand that it turned all black and blue. When the maiden could do\nnothing else, in spite of herself she must needs return. So weeping she\nturned back. The tears came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. When\nthe Queen sees her damsel wounded, she is sorely grieved and angered and\nknows not what to do. \"Ah, Erec, fair friend,\" she says, \"I am in great\nsorrow for my damsel whom that dwarf has wounded. The knight must be\ndiscourteous indeed, to allow such a monster to strike so beautiful a\ncreature. Erec, fair friend, do you go to the knight and bid him come\nto me without delay. I wish to know him and his lady.\" Erec starts\noff thither, giving spurs to his steed, and rides straight toward\nthe knight. The ignoble dwarf sees him coming and goes to meet him.\n\"Vassal,\" says he, \"stand back! For I know not what business you have\nhere. I advise you to withdraw.\" \"Avaunt,\" says Erec, \"provoking dwarf!\nThou art vile and troublesome. Let me pass.\" \"You shall not.\" \"That\nwill I.\" \"You shall not.\" Erec thrusts the dwarf aside. The dwarf had no\nequal for villainy: he gave him a great blow with his lash right on\nthe neck, so that Erec's neck and face are scarred with the blow of\nthe scourge; from top to bottom appear the lines which the thongs have\nraised on him. He knew well that he could not have the satisfaction of\nstriking the dwarf; for he saw that the knight was armed, arrogant, and\nof evil intent, and he was afraid that he would soon kill him, should he\nstrike the dwarf in his presence. Rashness is not bravery. So Erec acted\nwisely in retreating without more ado. \"My lady,\" he says, \"now matters\nstand worse; for the rascally dwarf has so wounded me that he has badly\ncut my face. I did not dare to strike or touch him; but none ought\nto reproach me, for I was completely unarmed. I mistrusted the armed\nknight, who, being an ugly fellow and violent, would take it as no jest,\nand would soon kill me in his pride. But this much I will promise you;\nthat if I can, I shall yet avenge my disgrace, or increase it. But my\narms are too far away to avail me in this time of need; for at Cardigan\ndid I leave them this morning when I came away. And if I should go to\nfetch them there, peradventure I should never again find the knight who\nis riding off apace. So I must follow him at once, far or near, until\nI find some arms to hire or borrow. If I find some one who will lend me\narms, the knight will quickly find me ready for battle. And you may be\nsure without fail that we two shall fight until he defeat me, or I him.\nAnd if possible, I shall be back by the third day, when you will see me\nhome again either joyous or sad, I know not which. Lady, I cannot delay\nlonger, for I must follow after the knight. I go. To God I commend you.\"\nAnd the Queen in like manner more than five hundred rimes commends him\nto God, that he may defend him from harm.\n\n(Vv. 275-310.) Erec leaves the Queen and ceases not to pursue the\nknight. The Queen remains in the wood, where now the King had come up\nwith the Stag. The King himself outstripped the others at the death.\nThus they killed and took the White Stag, and all returned, carrying the\nStag, till they came again to Cardigan. After supper, when the knights\nwere all in high spirits throughout the hall, the King, as the custom\nwas, because he had taken the Stag, said that he would bestow the kiss\nand thus observe the custom of the Stag. Throughout the court a great\nmurmur is heard: each one vows and swears to his neighbour that it\nshall not be done without the protest of sword or ashen lance. Each one\ngallantly desires to contend that his lady is the fairest in the hall.\nTheir conversation bodes no good, and when my lord Gawain heard it, you\nmust know that it was not to his liking. Thus he addressed the King:\n\"Sire,\" he says, \"your knights here are greatly aroused, and all their\ntalk is of this kiss. They say that it shall never be bestowed without\ndisturbance and a fight.\" And the King wisely replied to him: \"Fair\nnephew Gawain, give me counsel now, sparing my honour and my dignity,\nfor I have no mind for any disturbance.\"\n\n(Vv. 311-341.) To the council came a great part of the best knights of\nthe court. King Yder [14] arrived, who was the first to be summoned, and\nafter him King Cadoalant, who was very wise and bold. Kay and Girflet\ncame too, and King Amauguin was there, and a great number of other\nknights were there with them. The discussion was in process when the\nQueen arrived and told them of the adventure which she had met in the\nforest, of the armed knight whom she saw, and of the malicious little\ndwarf who had struck her damsel on the bare hand with his whip, and who\nstruck Erec, too, in the same way an ugly blow on the face; but that\nErec followed the knight to obtain vengeance, or increase his shame, and\nhow he said that if possible he would be back by the third day. \"Sire,\"\nsays the Queen to the King, \"listen to me a moment. If these knights\napprove what I say, postpone this kiss until the third day, when Erec\nwill be back.\" There is none who does not agree with her, and the King\nhimself approves her words.\n\n(Vv. 342-392.) Erec steadily follows the knight who was armed and the\ndwarf who had struck him until they come to a well placed town, strong\nand fine [15]. They enter straight through the gate. Within the town\nthere was great joy of knights and ladies, of whom there were many and\nfair. Some were feeding in the streets their sparrow-hawks and moulting\nfalcons; others were giving an airing to their tercels, [16] their mewed\nbirds, and young yellow hawks; others play at dice or other game of\nchance, some at chess, and some at backgammon. The grooms in front of\nthe stables are rubbing down and currying the horses. The ladies are\nbedecking themselves in their boudoirs. As soon as they see the knight\ncoming, whom they recognised with his dwarf and damsel, they go out\nthree by three to meet him. The knight they all greet and salute, but\nthey give no heed to Erec, for they did not know him. Erec follows close\nupon the knight through the town, until he saw him lodged. Then, very\njoyful, he passed on a little farther until he saw reclining upon some\nsteps a vavasor [17] well on in years. He was a comely man, with white\nlocks, debonair, pleasing, and frank. There he was seated all alone,\nseeming to be engaged in thought. Erec took him for an honest man who\nwould at once give him lodging. When he turned through the gate into the\nyard, the vavasor ran to meet him, and saluted him before Erec had said\na word. \"Fair sir,\" says he, \"be welcome. If you will deign to lodge\nwith me, here is my house all ready for you.\" Erec replies: \"Thank you!\nFor no other purpose have I come; I need a lodging place this night.\"\n\n(Vv. 393-410.) Erec dismounts from his horse, which the host himself\nleads away by the bridle, and does great honour to his guest. The\nvavasor summons his wife and his beautiful daughter, who were busy in a\nwork-room--doing I know not what. The lady came out with her daughter,\nwho was dressed in a soft white under-robe with wide skirts hanging\nloose in folds. Over it she wore a white linen garment, which completed\nher attire. And this garment was so old that it was full of holes down\nthe sides. Poor, indeed, was her garb without, but within her body was\nfair.\n\n(Vv. 411-458.) The maid was charming, in sooth, for Nature had used all\nher skill in forming her. Nature herself had marvelled more than five\nhundred times how upon this one occasion she had succeeded in creating\nsuch a perfect thing. Never again could she so strive successfully to\nreproduce her pattern. Nature bears witness concerning her that never\nwas so fair a creature seen in all the world. In truth I say that never\ndid Iseut the Fair have such radiant golden tresses that she could be\ncompared with this maiden. [18] The complexion of her forehead and face\nwas clearer and more delicate than the lily. But with wondrous art her\nface with all its delicate pallor was suffused with a fresh crimson\nwhich Nature had bestowed upon her. Her eyes were so bright that they\nseemed like two stars. God never formed better nose, mouth, and eyes.\nWhat shall I say of her beauty? In sooth, she was made to be looked at;\nfor in her one could have seen himself as in a mirror. So she came forth\nfrom the work-room: and when she saw the knight whom she had never seen\nbefore, she drew back a little, because she did not know him, and in her\nmodesty she blushed. Erec, for his part, was amazed when he beheld such\nbeauty in her, and the vavasor said to her: \"Fair daughter dear, take\nthis horse and lead him to the stable along with my own horses. See that\nhe lack for nothing: take off his saddle and bridle, give him oats and\nhay, look after him and curry him, that he may be in good condition.\"\n\n(Vv. 459-546) The maiden takes the horse, unlaces his breast-strap, and\ntakes off his bridle and saddle. Now the horse is in good hands, for she\ntakes excellent care of him. She throws a halter over his head, rubs him\ndown, curries him, and makes him comfortable. Then she ties him to the\nmanger and puts plenty of fresh sweet hay and oats before him. Then she\nwent back to her father, who said to her: \"Fair daughter dear, take now\nthis gentleman by the hand and show him all honour. Take him by the hand\nupstairs.\" The maiden did not delay (for in her there was no lack of\ncourtesy) and led him by the hand upstairs. The lady had gone before and\nprepared the house. She had laid embroidered cushions and spreads upon\nthe couches, where they all three sat down Erec with his host beside\nhim, and the maiden opposite. Before them, the fire burns brightly. The\nvavasor had only one man-servant, and no maid for chamber or kitchen\nwork. This one man was busy in the kitchen preparing meat and birds for\nsupper. A skilful cook was he, who knew how to prepare meal in boiling\nwater and birds on the spit. When he had the meal prepared in accordance\nwith the orders which had been given him, he brought them water for\nwashing in two basins. The table was soon set, cloths, bread, and wine\nset out, and they sat down to supper. They had their fill of all they\nneeded. When they had finished and when the table was cleared, Erec thus\naddressed his host, the master of the house: \"Tell me, fair host.\" he\nasked, \"why your daughter, who is so passing fair and clever, is so\npoorly and unsuitably attired.\" \"Fair friend,\" the vavasor replies,\n\"many a man is harmed by poverty, and even so am I. I grieve to see\nher so poorly clad, and yet I cannot help it, for I have been so long\ninvolved in war that I have lost or mortgaged or sold all my land. [19]\nAnd yet she would be well enough dressed if I allowed her to accept\neverything that people wish to give her. The lord of this castle himself\nwould have dressed her in becoming fashion and would have done her every\nmanner of favour, for she is his niece and he is a count. And there is\nno nobleman in this region, however rich and powerful, who would not\nwillingly have taken her to wife had I given my consent. But I am\nwaiting yet for some better occasion, when God shall bestow still\ngreater honour upon her, when fortune shall bring hither some king or\ncount who shall lead her away, for there is under Heaven no king or\ncount who would be ashamed of my daughter, who is so wondrous fair that\nher match cannot be found. Fair, indeed, she is; but yet greater far\nthan her beauty, is her intelligence. God never created any one so\ndiscreet and of such open heart. When I have my daughter beside me, I\ndon't care a marble about all the rest of the world. She is my delight\nand my pastime, she is my joy and comfort, my wealth and my treasure,\nand I love nothing so much as her own precious self.\"\n\n(Vv. 547-690.) When Erec had listened to all that his host told him, he\nasked him to inform him whence came all the chivalry that was quartered\nin the town. For there was no street or house so poor and small but it\nwas full of knights and ladies and squires. And the vavasor said to him:\n\"Fair friend, these are the nobles of the country round; all, both young\nand old, have come to a fete which is to be held in this town tomorrow;\ntherefore the houses are so full. When they shall all have gathered,\nthere will be a great stir to-morrow; for in the presence of all the\npeople there will be set upon a silver perch a sparrow-hawk of five or\nsix moultings--the best you can imagine. Whoever wishes to gain the hawk\nmust have a mistress who is fair, prudent, and courteous. And if there\nbe a knight so bold as to wish to defend the worth and the name of the\nfairest in his eyes, he will cause his mistress to step forward and\nlift the hawk from the perch, if no one dares to interpose. This is the\ncustom they are observing, and for this each year they gather here.\"\nThereupon Erec speaks and asks him: \"Fair host, may it not displease\nyou, but tell me, if you know, who is a certain knight bearing arms of\nazure and gold, who passed by here not long ago, having close beside him\na courtly damsel, preceded by a hump-backed dwarf.\" To him the host then\nmade reply: \"That is he who will win the hawk without any opposition\nfrom the other knights. I don't believe that any one will offer\nopposition; this time there will be no blows or wounds. For two years\nalready he has won it without being challenged; and if he wins it\nagain this year, he will have gained permanent possession of it. Every\nsucceeding year he may keep it without contest or challenge.\" Quickly\nErec makes reply: \"I do not like that knight. Upon my word, had I some\narms I should challenge him for the hawk. Fair host, I beg you as a boon\nto advise me how I may be equipped with arms whether old or new, poor or\nrich, it matters not.\" And he replies to him generously: \"It were a pity\nfor you to feel concern on that score! I have good fine arms which I\nshall be glad to lend you. In the house I have a triple-woven hauberk,\n[110] which was selected from among five hundred. And I have some fine\nvaluable greaves, polished, handsome, and light in weight. The helmet\nis bright and handsome, and the shield fresh and new. Horse, sword, and\nlance all I will lend you, of course; so let no more be said.\" \"Thank\nyou kindly, fair gentle host! But I wish for no better sword that this\none which I have brought with me, nor for any other horse than my own,\nfor I can get along well enough with him. If you will lend me the rest,\nI shall esteem it a great favour. But there is one more boon I wish to\nask of you, for which I shall make just return if God grant that I come\noff from the battle with honour.\" And frankly he replies to him: \"Ask\nconfidently for what you want, whatever it be, for nothing of mine shall\nlack you.\" Then Erec said that he wished to defend the hawk on behalf\nof his daughter; for surely there will be no damsel who is one hundredth\npart as beautiful as she. And if he takes her with him, he will have\ngood and just reason to maintain and to prove that she is entitled to\ncarry away the hawk. Then he added: \"Sire, you know not what guest you\nhave sheltered here, nor do you know my estate and kin. I am the son of\na rich and puissant king: my father's name is King Lac, and the Bretons\ncall me Erec. I belong to King Arthur's court, and have been with him\nnow three years. I know not if any report of my father or of me has ever\nreached this land. But I promise you and vow that if you will fit me out\nwith arms, and will give me your daughter to-morrow when I strive for\nthe hawk, I will take her to my country, if God grant me the victory,\nand I will give her a crown to wear, and she shall be queen of three\ncities.\" \"Ah, fair sir! Is it true that you are Erec, the son of Lac?\"\n\"That is who I am, indeed\" quoth he. Then the host was greatly delighted\nand said: \"We have indeed heard of you in this country. Now I think all\nthe more of you, for you are very valiant and brave. Nothing now shall\nyou be refused by me. At your request I give you my fair daughter.\"\nThen taking her by the hand, he says: \"Here, I give her to you.\" Erec\nreceived her joyfully, and now has all he desired. Now they are all\nhappy there: the father is greatly delighted, and the mother weeps for\njoy. The maiden sat quiet; but she was very happy and glad that she was\nbetrothed to him, because he was valiant and courteous: and she knew\nthat he would some day be king, and she should receive honour and be\ncrowned rich queen.\n\n(Vv. 691-746.) They had sat up very late that night. But now the\nbeds were prepared with white sheets and soft pillows, and when the\nconversation flagged they all went to bed in happy frame. Erec slept\nlittle that night, and the next morn, at crack of dawn, he and his host\nrose early. They both go to pray at church, and hear a hermit chant the\nMass of the Holy Spirit, not forgetting to make an offering. When they\nhad heard Mass both kneel before the altar and then return to the house.\nErec was eager for the battle; so he asks for arms, and they are given\nto him. The maiden herself puts on his arms (though she casts no spell\nor charm), [111] laces on his iron greaves, and makes them fast with\nthong of deer-hide. She puts on his hauberk with its strong meshes, and\nlaces on his ventail. The gleaming helmet she sets upon his head, and\nthus arms him well from tip to toe. At his side she fastens his sword,\nand then orders his horse to be brought, which is done. Up he jumped\nclear of the ground. The damsel then brings the shield and the strong\nlance: she hands him the shield, and he takes it and hangs it about his\nneck by the strap. She places the lance in his hand, and when he had\ngrasped it by the butt-end, he thus addressed the gentle vavasor: \"Fair\nsire,\" quoth he, \"if you please, make your daughter ready now; for\nI wish to escort her to the sparrow-hawk in accordance with our\nagreement.\" The vavasor then without delay had saddled a bay palfrey.\nThere can nothing be said of the harness because of the dire poverty\nwith which the vavasor was afflicted. Saddle and bridle were put on, and\nup the maiden mounted all free and in light attire, without waiting\nto be urged. Erec wished to delay no longer; so off he starts with the\nhost's daughter by his side, followed by the gentleman and his lady.\n\n(Vv. 747-862.) Erec rides with lance erect and with the comely damsel by\nhis side. All the people, great and small, gaze at them with wondering\neyes as they pass through the streets. And thus they question each\nother: \"Who is yonder knight? He must be doughty and brave, indeed, to\nact as escort for this fair maid. His efforts will be well employed in\nproving that this damsel is the fairest of them all.\" One man to another\nsays: \"In very truth, she ought to have the sparrow-hawk.\" Some praised\nthe maid, while many said: \"God! who can this knight be, with the fair\ndamsel by his side?\" \"I know not.\" \"Nor I.\" Thus spake each one. \"But\nhis gleaming helmet becomes him well, and the hauberk, and shield, and\nhis sharp steel sword. He sits well upon his steed and has the bearing\nof a valiant vassal, well-shapen in arm, in limb and foot.\" While all\nthus stand and gaze at them, they for their part made no delay to take\ntheir stand by the sparrow-hawk, where to one side they awaited the\nknight. And now behold! they see him come, attended by his dwarf and his\ndamsel. He had heard the report, that a knight had come who wished to\nobtain the sparrow-hawk, but he did not believe there could be in the\nworld a knight so bold as to dare to fight with him. He would quickly\ndefeat him and lay him low. All the people knew him well, and all\nwelcome him and escort him in a noisy crowd: knights, squires, ladies,\nand damsels make haste to run after him. Leading them all the knight\nrides proudly on, with his damsel and his dwarf at his side, and he\nmakes his way quickly to the sparrow-hawk. But all about there was such\na press of the rough and vulgar crowd that it was impossible to touch\nthe hawk or to come near where it was. Then the Count arrived on the\nscene, and threatened the populace with a switch which he held in his\nhand. The crowd drew back, and the knight advanced and said quietly\nto his lady: \"My lady, this bird, which is so perfectly moulted and so\nfair, should be yours as your just portion; for you are wondrous fair\nand full of charm. Yours it shall surely be so long as I live. Step\nforward, my dear, and lift the hawk from the perch.\" The damsel was on\nthe point of stretching forth her hand when Erec hastened to challenge\nher, little heeding the other's arrogance. \"Damsel,\" he cries, \"stand\nback! Go dally with some other bird, for to this one you have no right.\nIn spite of all, I say this hawk shall never be yours. For a better one\nthan you claims it--aye, much more fair and more courteous.\" The other\nknight is very wroth; but Erec does not mind him, and bids his own\nmaiden step forward. \"Fair one.\" he cries, \"come forth. Lift the bird\nfrom the perch, for it is right that you should have it. Damsel, come\nforth! For I will make boast to defend it if any one is so bold as\nto intervene. For no woman excels you in beauty or worth, in grace or\nhonour any more than the moon outshines the sun.\" The other could suffer\nit no longer, when he hears him so manfully offer himself to do battle.\n\"Vassal,\" he cries, \"who art thou who dost thus dispute with me the\nhawk?\" Erec boldly answers him: \"A knight I am from another land. This\nhawk I have come to obtain; for it is right, I say it in spite of all,\nthat this damsel of mine should have it.\" \"Away!\" cries the other, \"it\nshall never be. Madness has brought thee here. If thou dost wish to have\nthe hawk, thou shalt pay fight dearly for it.\" \"Pay, vassal; and how?\"\n\"Thou must fight with me, if thou dost not resign it to me.\" \"You talk\nmadness,\" cries Erec; \"for me these are idle threats; for little\nenough do I fear you.\" \"Then I defy thee here and now. The battle is\ninevitable.\" Erec replies: \"God help me now; for never did I wish for\naught so much.\" Now soon you will hear the noise of battle.\n\n(Vv. 863-1080.) The large place was cleared, with the people gathered\nall around. They draw off from each other the space of an acre, then\ndrive their horses together; they reach for each other with the tips of\ntheir lances, and strike each other so hard that the shields are pierced\nand broken; the lances split and crack; the saddle-bows are knocked to\nbits behind. They must needs lose their stirrups, so that they both fall\nto the ground, and the horses run off across the field. Though smitten\nwith the lances, they are quickly on their feet again, and draw their\nswords from the scabbards. With great fierceness they attack each other,\nand exchange great sword blows, so that the helmets are crushed and made\nto ring. Fierce is the clash of the swords, as they rain great blows\nupon neck and shoulders. For this is no mere sport: they break whatever\nthey touch, cutting the shields and shattering the hauberks. The swords\nare red with crimson blood. Long the battle lasts; but they fight so\nlustily that they become weary and listless. Both the damsels are in\ntears, and each knight sees his lady weep and raise her hands to God and\npray that He may give the honours of the battle to the one who strives\nfor her. \"Ha! vassal,\" quoth the knight to Erec, \"let us withdraw and\nrest a little; for too weak are these blows we deal. We must deal better\nblows than these; for now it draws near evening. It is shameful and\nhighly discreditable that this battle should last so long. See yonder\nthat gentle maid who weeps for thee and calls on God. Full sweetly she\nprays for thee, as does also mine for me. Surely we should do our best\nwith our blades of steel for the sake of our lady-loves.\" Erec replies:\n\"You have spoken well.\" Then they take a little rest, Erec looking\ntoward his lady as she softly prays for him. While he sat and looked\non her, great strength was recruited within him. Her love and beauty\ninspired him with great boldness. He remembered the Queen, to whom he\npledged his word that he would avenge the insult done him, or would make\nit greater yet. \"Ah! wretch,\" says he, \"why do I wait? I have not yet\ntaken vengeance for the injury which this vassal permitted when his\ndwarf struck me in the wood.\" His anger is revived within him as he\nsummons the knight: \"Vassal,\" quoth he, \"I call you to battle anew. Too\nlong we have rested; let us now renew our strife.\" And he replies: \"That\nis no hardship to me.\" Whereupon, they again fall upon each other.\nThey were both expert fencers. At his first lunge the knight would have\nwounded Erec had he not skilfully parried. Even so, he smote him so\nhard over the shield beside his temple that he struck a piece from his\nhelmet. Closely shaving his white coif, the sword descends, cleaving the\nshield through to the buckle, and cutting more than a span from the side\nof his hauberk. Then he must have been well stunned, as the cold steel\npenetrated to the flesh on his thigh. May God protect him now! If the\nblow had not glanced off, it would have cut right through his body. But\nErec is in no wise dismayed: he pays him back what is owing him, and.\nattacking him boldly, smites him upon the shoulder so violently a blow\nthat the shield cannot withstand it, nor is the hauberk of any use to\nprevent the sword from penetrating to the bone. He made the crimson\nblood flow down to his waist-band. Both of the vassals are hard\nfighters: they fight with honours even, for one cannot gain from the\nother a single foot of ground. Their hauberks are so torn and their\nshields so hacked, that there is actually not enough of them left to\nserve as a protection. So they fight all exposed. Each one loses a deal\nof blood, and both grow weak. He strikes Erec and Erec strikes him. Erec\ndeals him such a tremendous blow upon the helmet that he quite stuns\nhim. Then he lets him have it again and again, giving him three blows\nin quick succession, which entirely split the helmet and cut the coif\nbeneath it. The sword even reaches the skull and cuts a bone of his\nhead, but without penetrating the brain. He stumbles and totters, and\nwhile he staggers, Erec pushes him over, so that he falls upon his right\nside. Erec grabs him by the helmet and forcibly drags it from his\nhead, and unlaces the ventail, so that his head and face are completely\nexposed. When Erec thinks of the insult done him by the dwarf in the\nwood, he would have cut off his head, had he not cried for mercy. \"Ah!\nvassal,\" says he, \"thou hast defeated me. Mercy now, and do not kill me,\nafter having overcome me and taken me prisoner: that would never bring\nthee praise or glory. If thou shouldst touch me more, thou wouldst do\ngreat villainy. Take here my sword; I yield it thee.\" Erec, however,\ndoes not take it, but says in reply: \"I am within an ace of killing\nthee.\" \"Ah! gentle knight, mercy! For what crime, indeed, or for what\nwrong shouldst thou hate me with mortal hatred? I never saw thee before\nthat I am aware, and never have I been engaged in doing thee any shame\nor wrong.\" Erec replies: \"Indeed you have.\" \"Ah, sire, tell me when! For\nI never saw you, that I can remember, and if I have done you any wrong,\nI place myself at your mercy.\" Then Erec said: \"Vassal, I am he who was\nin the forest yesterday with Queen Guinevere, when thou didst allow thy\nill-bred dwarf to strike my lady's damsel. It is disgraceful to strike\na woman. And afterwards he struck me, taking me for some common fellow.\nThou wast guilty of too great insolence when thou sawest such an outrage\nand didst complacently permit such a monster of a lout to strike the\ndamsel and myself. For such a crime I may well hate thee; for thou\nhast committed a grave offence. Thou shalt now constitute thyself my\nprisoner, and without delay go straight to my lady whom thou wilt surely\nfind at Cardigan, if thither thou takest thy way. Thou wilt reach there\nthis very night, for it is not seven leagues from here, I think. Thou\nshalt hand over to her thyself, thy damsel, and thy dwarf, to do as she\nmay dictate; and tell her that I send her word that to-morrow I shall\ncome contented, bringing with me a damsel so fair and wise and fine\nthat in all the world she has not her match. So much thou mayst tell her\ntruthfully. And now I wish to know thy name.\" Then he must needs say in\nspite of himself: \"Sire, my name is Yder, son of Nut. This morning I had\nnot thought that any single man by force of arms could conquer me. Now\nI have found by experience a man who is better than I. You are a very\nvaliant knight, and I pledge you my faith here and now that I will go\nwithout delay and put myself in the Queen's hands. But tell me without\nreserve what your name may be. Who shall I say it is that sends me? For\nI am ready to start.\" And he replies: \"My name I will tell thee without\ndisguise: it is Erec. Go, and tell her that it is I who have sent thee\nto her.\" \"Now I'll go, and I promise you that I will put my dwarf, my\ndamsel, and myself altogether at her disposal (you need have no fear),\nand I will give her news of you and of your damsel.\" Then Erec received\nhis plighted word, and the Count and all the people round about the\nladies and the gentlemen were present at the agreement. Some were\njoyous, and some downcast; some were sorry, and others glad. The most\nrejoiced for the sake of the damsel with the white raiment, the daughter\nof the poor vavasor she of the gentle and open heart; but his damsel and\nthose who were devoted to him were sorry for Yder.\n\n(Vv. 1081-1170.) Yder, compelled to execute his promise, did not wish\nto tarry longer, but mounted his steed at once. But why should I make\na long story? Taking his dwarf and his damsel, they traversed the woods\nand the plain, going on straight until they came to Cardigan. In the\nbower [112] outside the great hall, Gawain and Kay the seneschal and a\ngreat number of other lords were gathered. The seneschal was the first\nto espy those approaching, and said to my lord Gawain: \"Sire, my heart\ndivines that the vassal who yonder comes is he of whom the Queen spoke\nas having yesterday done her such an insult. If I am not mistaken, there\nare three in the party, for I see the dwarf and the damsel.\" \"That is\nso,\" says my lord Gawain; \"it is surely a damsel and a dwarf who are\ncoming straight toward us with the knight. The knight himself is fully\narmed, but his shield is not whole. If the Queen should see him,\nshe would know him. Hello, seneschal, go call her now!\" So he went\nstraightway and found her in one of the apartments. \"My lady,\" says he,\n\"do you remember the dwarf who yesterday angered you by wounding your\ndamsel?\" \"Yes, I remember him right well. Seneschal, have you any\nnews of him? Why have you mentioned him?\" \"Lady, because I have seen a\nknight-errant armed coming upon a grey horse, and if my eyes have not\ndeceived me, I saw a damsel with him; and it seems to me that with him\ncomes the dwarf, who still holds the scourge from which Erec received\nhis lashing.\" Then the Queen rose quickly and said: \"Let us go quickly,\nseneschal, to see if it is the vassal. If it is he, you may be sure that\nI shall tell you so, as soon as I see him.\" And Kay said: \"I will show\nhim to you. Come up into the bower where your knights are assembled. It\nwas from there we saw him coming, and my lord Gawain himself awaits\nyou there. My lady, let us hasten thither, for here we have too long\ndelayed.\" Then the Queen bestirred herself, and coming to the windows\nshe took her stand by my lord Gawain, and straightway recognised the\nknight. \"Ha! my lords,\" she cries, \"it is he. He has been through great\ndanger. He has been in a battle. I do not know whether Erec has avenged\nhis grief, or whether this knight has defeated Erec. But there is many a\ndent upon his shield, and his hauberk is covered with blood, so that it\nis rather red than white.\" \"In sooth, my lady,\" quoth my lord Gawain,\n\"I am very sure that you are quite right. His hauberk is covered with\nblood, and pounded and beaten, showing plainly that he has been in a\nfight. We can easily see that the battle has been hot. Now we shall soon\nhear from him news that will give us joy or gloom: whether Erec sends\nhim to you here as a prisoner at your discretion, or whether he comes\nin pride of heart to boast before us arrogantly that he has defeated or\nkilled Erec. No other news can he bring, I think.\" The Queen says: \"I am\nof the same opinion.\" And all the others say: \"It may well be so.\"\n\n(Vv. 1171-1243.) Meanwhile Yder enters the castle gate, bringing them\nnews. They all came down from the bower, and went to meet him. Yder came\nup to the royal terrace and there dismounted from his horse. And Gawain\ntook the damsel and helped her down from her palfrey; the dwarf, for his\npart, dismounted too. There were more than one hundred knights standing\nthere, and when the three newcomers had all dismounted they were led\ninto the King's presence. As soon as Yder saw the Queen, he bowed low\nand first saluted her, then the King and his knights, and said: \"Lady,\nI am sent here as your prisoner by a gentleman, a valiant and noble\nknight, whose face yesterday my dwarf made smart with his knotted\nscourge. He has overcome me at arms and defeated me. Lady, the dwarf I\nbring you here: he has come to surrender to you at discretion. I bring\nyou myself, my damsel, and my dwarf to do with us as you please.\" The\nQueen keeps her peace no longer, but asks him for news of Erec: \"Tell\nme,\" she says, \"if you please, do you know when Erec will arrive?\"\n\"To-morrow, lady, and with him a damsel he will bring, the fairest of\nall I ever knew.\" When he had delivered his message, the Queen, who was\nkind and sensible, said to him courteously: \"Friend, since thou hast\nthrown thyself upon my mercy, thy confinement shall be less harsh; for I\nhave no desire to seek thy harm. But tell me now, so help thee God, what\nis thy name?\" And he replies: \"Lady, my name is Yder, son of Nut.\" And\nthey knew that he told the truth. Then the Queen arose, and going before\nthe King, said: \"Sire, did you hear? You have done well to wait for\nErec, the valiant knight. I gave you good advice yesterday, when I\ncounselled you to await his return. This proves that it is wise to take\nadvice.\" The King replies: \"That is no lie; rather is it perfectly true\nthat he who takes advice is no fool. Happily we followed your advice\nyesterday. But if you care anything for me, release this knight from his\ndurance, provided he consent to join henceforth my household and court;\nand if he does not consent, let him suffer the consequence.\" When the\nKing had thus spoken, the Queen straightway released the knight; but it\nwas on this condition, that he should remain in the future at the court.\nHe did not have to be urged before he gave his consent to stay. Now he\nwas of the court and household to which he had not before belonged. Then\nvalets were at hand to run and relieve him of his arms.\n\n(Vv. 1244-1319.) Now we must revert to Erec, whom we left in the field\nwhere the battle had taken place. Even Tristan, when he slew fierce\nMorhot on Saint Samson's isle [113], awakened no such jubilee as they\ncelebrated here over Erec. Great and small, thin and stout--all make\nmuch of him and praise his knighthood. There is not a knight but cries:\n\"Lord what a vassal! Under Heaven there is not his like!\" They follow\nhim to his lodgings, praising him and talking much. Even the Count\nhimself embraces him, who above the rest was glad, and said: \"Sire, if\nyou please, you ought by right to lodge in my house, since you are the\nson of King Lac. If you would accept of my hospitality you would do me\na great honour, for I regard you as my liege. Fair sire, may it please\nyou, I beg you to lodge with me.\" Erec answers: \"May it not displease\nyou, but I shall not desert my host to-night, who has done me much\nhonour in giving me his daughter. What say you, sir? Is it not a fair\nand precious gift?\" \"Yes, sire,\" the Count replies; \"the gift, in truth,\nis fine and good. The maid herself is fair and clever, and besides is of\nvery noble birth. You must know that her mother is my sister. Surely, I\nam glad at heart that you should deign to take my niece. Once more I beg\nyou to lodge with me this night.\" Erec replies: \"Ask me no more. I will\nnot do it.\" Then the Count saw that further insistence was useless, and\nsaid: \"Sire, as it please you! We may as well say no more about it; but\nI and my knights will all be with you to-night to cheer you and bear\nyou company.\" When Erec heard that, he thanked him, and returned to his\nhost's dwelling, with the Count attending him. Ladies and knights were\ngathered there, and the vavasor was glad at heart. As soon as Erec\narrived, more than a score of squires ran quickly to remove his arms.\nAny one who was present in that house could have witnessed a happy\nscene. Erec went first and took his seat; then all the others in order\nsit down upon the couches, the cushions, and benches. At Erec's side the\nCount sat down, and the damsel with her radiant face, who was feeding\nthe much disputed hawk upon her wrist with a plover's wing. [114] Great\nhonour and joy and prestige had she gained that day, and she was very\nglad at heart both for the bird and for her lord. She could not have\nbeen happier, and showed it plainly, making no secret of her joy. All\ncould see how gay she was, and throughout the house there was great\nrejoicing for the happiness of the maid they loved.\n\n(Vv. 1320-1352.) Erec thus addressed the vavasor: \"Fair host, fair\nfriend, fair sire! You have done me great honour, and richly shall it\nbe repaid you. To-morrow I shall take away your daughter with me to the\nKing's court, where I wish to take her as my wife; and if you will\ntarry here a little, I shall send betimes to fetch you. I shall have you\nescorted into the country which is my father's now, but which later will\nbe mine. It is far from here--by no means near. There I shall give you\ntwo towns, very splendid, rich, and fine. You shall be lord of Roadan,\nwhich was built in the time of Adam, and of another town close by, which\nis no less valuable. The people call it Montrevel, and my father owns no\nbetter town. [115] And before the third day has passed, I shall send you\nplenty of gold and silver, of dappled and grey furs, and precious silken\nstuffs wherewith to adorn yourself and your wife my dear lady. To-morrow\nat dawn I wish to take your daughter to court, dressed and arrayed as\nshe is at present. I wish my lady, the Queen, to dress her in her best\ndress of satin and scarlet cloth.\"\n\n(Vv. 1353-1478.) There was a maiden near at hand, very honourable,\nprudent, and virtuous. She was seated on a bench beside the maid with\nthe white shift, and was her own cousin the niece of my lord the Count.\nWhen she heard how Erec intended to take her cousin in such very poor\narray to the Queen's court, she spoke about it to the Count. \"Sire,\"\nshe says, \"it would be a shame to you more than to any one else if this\nknight should take your niece away with him in such sad array.\" And\nthe Count made answer: \"Gentle niece, do you give her the best of your\ndresses.\" But Erec heard the conversation, and said: \"By no means, my\nlord. For be assured that nothing in the world would tempt me to let\nher have another robe until the Queen shall herself bestow it upon her.\"\nWhen the damsel heard this, she replied: \"Alas! fair sire, since you\ninsist upon leading off my cousin thus dressed in a white shift and\nchemise, and since you are determined that she shall have none of\nmy dresses, a different gift I wish to make her. I have three good\npalfreys, as good as any of king or count, one sorrel, one dappled, and\nthe other black with white forefeet. Upon my word, if you had a hundred\nto pick from, you would not find a better one than the dappled mount.\nThe birds in the air do not fly more swiftly than the palfrey; and he is\nnot too lively, but just suits a lady. A child can ride him, for he\nis neither skittish nor balky, nor does he bite nor kick nor become\nunmanageable. Any one who is looking for something better does not know\nwhat he wants. And his pace is so easy and gentle that a body is more\ncomfortable and easy on his back than in a boat.\" Then said Erec: \"My\ndear, I have no objection to her accepting this gift; indeed, I am\npleased with the offer, and do not wish her to refuse it.\" Then the\ndamsel calls one of her trusty servants, and says to him: \"Go, friend,\nsaddle my dappled palfrey, and lead him here at once.\" And he carries\nout her command: he puts on saddle and bridle and strives to make him\nappear well. Then he jumps on the maned palfrey, which is now ready for\ninspection. When Erec saw the animal, he did not spare his praise, for\nhe could see that he was very fine and gentle. So he bade a servant lead\nhim back and hitch him in the stable beside his own horse. Then they all\nseparated, after an evening agreeably spent. The Count goes off to his\nown dwelling, and leaves Erec with the vavasor, saying that he will bear\nhim company in the morning when he leaves. All that night they slept\nwell. In the morning, when the dawn was bright, Erec prepares to start,\ncommanding his horses to be saddled. His fair sweetheart, too, awakes,\ndresses, and makes ready. The vavasor and his wife rise too, and every\nknight and lady there prepares to escort the damsel and the knight. Now\nthey are all on horseback, and the Count as well. Erec rides beside the\nCount, having beside him his sweetheart ever mindful of her hawk. Having\nno other riches, she plays with her hawk. Very merry were they as they\nrode along; but when the time came to part, the Count wished to send\nalong with Erec a party of his knights to do him honour by escorting\nhim. But he announced that none should bide with him, and that he wanted\nno company but that of the damsel. Then, when they had accompanied them\nsome distance, he said: \"In God's name, farewell!\" Then the Count kisses\nErec and his niece, and commends them both to merciful God. Her father\nand mother, too, kiss them again and again, and could not keep back\ntheir tears: at parting, the mother weeps, the father and the daughter\ntoo. For such is love and human nature, and such is affection between\nparents and children. They wept from sorrow, tenderness, and love which\nthey had for their child; yet they knew full well that their daughter\nwas to fill a place from which great honour would accrue to them. They\nshed tears of love and pity when they separated from their daughter, but\nthey had no other cause to weep. They knew well enough that eventually\nthey would receive great honour from her marriage. So at parting many\na tear was shed, as weeping they commend one another to God, and thus\nseparate without more delay.\n\n(Vv. 1479-1690.) Erec quit his host; for he was very anxious to reach\nthe royal court. In his adventure he took great satisfaction; for now he\nhad a lady passing fair, discreet, courteous, and debonair. He could not\nlook at her enough: for the more he looks at her, the more she pleases\nhim. He cannot help giving her a kiss. He is happy to ride by her side,\nand it does him good to look at her. Long he gazes at her fair hair, her\nlaughing eyes, and her radiant forehead, her nose, her face, and mouth,\nfor all of which gladness fills his heart. He gazes upon her down to the\nwaist, at her chin and her snowy neck, her bosom and sides, her arms and\nhands. But no less the damsel looks at the vassal with a clear eye and\nloyal heart, as if they were in competition. They would not have ceased\nto survey each other even for promise of a reward! A perfect match they\nwere in courtesy, beauty, and gentleness. And they were so alike in\nquality, manner, and customs, that no one wishing to tell the truth\ncould choose the better of them, nor the fairer, nor the more discreet.\nTheir sentiments, too, were much alike; so that they were well suited\nto each other. Thus each steals the other's heart away. Law or marriage\nnever brought together two such sweet creatures. And so they rode along\nuntil just on the stroke of noon they approached the castle of Cardigan,\nwhere they were both expected. Some of the first nobles of the court had\ngone up to look from the upper windows and see if they could see them.\nQueen Guinevere ran up, and even the King came with Kay and Perceval of\nWales, and with them my lord Gawain and Tor, the son of King Ares; Lucan\nthe cupbearer was there, too, and many another doughty knight. Finally,\nthey espied Erec coming along in company with his lady. They all knew\nhim well enough from as far as they could see him. The Queen is greatly\npleased, and indeed the whole court is glad of his coming, because they\nall love him so. As soon as he was come before the entrance hall, the\nKing and Queen go down to meet him, all greeting him in God's name. They\nwelcome Erec and his maiden, commending and praising her great beauty.\nAnd the King himself caught her and lifted her down from her palfrey.\nThe King was decked in fine array and was then in cheery mood. He did\nsignal honour to the damsel by taking her hand and leading her up into\nthe great stone hall. After them Erec and the Queen also went up hand\nin hand, and he said to her: \"I bring you, lady, my damsel and my\nsweetheart dressed in poor garb. As she was given to me, so have I\nbrought her to you. She is the daughter of a poor vavasor. Through\npoverty many an honourable man is brought low: her father, for instance,\nis gentle and courteous, but he has little means. And her mother is a\nvery gentle lady, the sister of a rich Count. She has no lack of beauty\nor of lineage, that I should not marry her. It is poverty that has\ncompelled her to wear this white linen garment until both sleeves are\ntorn at the side. And yet, had it been my desire, she might have had\ndresses rich enough. For another damsel, a cousin of hers, wished to\ngive her a robe of ermine and of spotted or grey silk. But I would\nnot have her dressed in any other robe until you should have seen her.\nGentle lady, consider the matter now and see what need she has of a\nfine becoming gown.\" And the Queen at once replies: \"You have done quite\nright; it is fitting that she should have one of my gowns, and I will\ngive her straightway a rich, fair gown, both fresh and new.\" The Queen\nthen hastily took her off to her own private room, and gave orders\nto bring quickly the fresh tunic and the greenish-purple mantle,\nembroidered with little crosses, which had been made for herself. The\none who went at her behest came bringing to her the mantle and the\ntunic, which was lined with white ermine even to the sleeves. At the\nwrists and on the neck-band there was in truth more than half a mark's\nweight of beaten gold, and everywhere set in the gold there were\nprecious stones of divers colours, indigo and green, blue and dark\nbrown. This tunic was very rich, but not a writ less precious, I trow,\nwas the mantle. As yet, there were no ribbons on it; for the mantle like\nthe tunic was brand new. The mantle was very rich and fine: laid about\nthe neck were two sable skins, and in the tassels there was more than an\nounce of gold; on one a hyacinth, and on the other a ruby flashed more\nbright than burning candle. The fur lining was of white ermine; never\nwas finer seen or found. The cloth was skilfully embroidered with little\ncrosses, all different, indigo, vermilion, dark blue, white, green,\nblue, and yellow. The Queen called for some ribbons four ells long, made\nof silken thread and gold. The ribbons are given to her, handsome and\nwell matched. Quickly she had them fastened to the mantle by some one\nwho knew how to do it, and who was master of the art. When the mantle\nneeded no more touches, the gay and gentle lady clasped the maid with\nthe white gown and said to her cheerily: \"Mademoiselle, you must change\nthis frock for this tunic which is worth more than a hundred marks of\nsilver. So much I wish to bestow upon you. And put on this mantle, too.\nAnother time I will give you more.\" Not able to refuse the gift, she\ntakes the robe and thanks her for it. Then two maids took her aside into\na room, where she took off her frock as being of no further value; but\nshe asked and requested that it be given away (to some poor woman) for\nthe love of God. Then she dons the tunic, and girds herself, binding on\ntightly a golden belt, and afterwards puts on the mantle. Now she looked\nby no means ill; for the dress became her so well that it made her look\nmore beautiful than ever. The two maids wove a gold thread in amongst\nher golden hair: but her tresses were more radiant than the thread of\ngold, fine though it was. The maids, moreover, wove a fillet of flowers\nof many various colours and placed it upon her head. They strove as best\nthey might to adorn her in such wise that no fault should be found with\nher attire. Strung upon a ribbon around her neck, a damsel hung two\nbrooches of enamelled gold. Now she looked so charming and fair that I\ndo not believe that you could find her equal in any land, search as you\nmight, so skilfully had Nature wrought in her. Then she stepped out of\nthe dressing-room into the Queen's presence. The Queen made much of her,\nbecause she liked her and was glad that she was beautiful and had such\ngentle manners. They took each other by the hand and passed into the\nKing's presence. And when the King saw them, he got up to meet them.\nWhen they came into the great hall, there were so many knights there who\nrose before them that I cannot call by name the tenth part of them, or\nthe thirteenth, or the fifteenth. But I can tell you the names of some\nof the best of the knights who belonged to the Round Table and who were\nthe best in the world.\n\n(Vv. 1691-1750.) Before all the excellent knights, Gawain ought to be\nnamed the first, and second Erec the son of Lac, and third Lancelot of\nthe Lake. [116] Gornemant of Gohort was fourth, and the fifth was the\nHandsome Coward. The sixth was the Ugly Brave, the seventh Meliant of\nLiz, the eighth Mauduit the Wise, and the ninth Dodinel the Wild. Let\nGandelu be named the tenth, for he was a goodly man. The others I shall\nmention without order, because the numbers bother me. Eslit was there\nwith Briien, and Yvain the son of Uriien. And Yvain of Loenel was there,\nas well as Yvain the Adulterer. Beside Yvain of Cavaliot was Garravain\nof Estrangot. After the Knight with the Horn was the Youth with the\nGolden Ring. And Tristan who never laughed sat beside Bliobleheris, and\nbeside Brun of Piciez was his brother Gru the Sullen. The Armourer sat\nnext, who preferred war to peace. Next sat Karadues the Shortarmed,\na knight of good cheer; and Caveron of Robendic, and the son of King\nQuenedic and the Youth of Quintareus and Yder of the Dolorous Mount.\nGaheriet and Kay of Estraus, Amauguin and Gales the Bald, Grain,\nGornevain, and Carabes, and Tor the son of King Aras, Girflet the son\nof Do, and Taulas, who never wearied of arms: and a young man of great\nmerit, Loholt the son of King Arthur, [117] and Sagremor the Impetuous,\nwho should not be forgotten, nor Bedoiier the Master of the Horse,\nwho was skilled at chess and trictrac, nor Bravain, nor King Lot, nor\nGalegantin of Wales, nor Gronosis, versed in evil, who was son of Kay\nthe Seneschal, nor Labigodes the Courteous, nor Count Cadorcaniois, nor\nLetron of Prepelesant, whose manners were so excellent, nor Breon the\nson of Canodan, nor the Count of Honolan who had such a head of fine\nfair hair; he it was who received the King's horn in an evil day; [118]\nhe never had any care for truth.\n\n(Vv. 1751-1844.) When the stranger maiden saw all the knights arrayed\nlooking steadfastly at her, she bowed her head in embarrassment; nor was\nit strange that her face blushed all crimson. But her confusion was so\nbecoming to her that she looked all the more lovely. When the King saw\nthat she was embarrassed, he did not wish to leave her side. Taking her\ngently by the hand, he made her sit down on his right hand; and on his\nleft sat the Queen, speaking thus to the King the while. \"Sire, in my\nopinion he who can win such a fair lady by his arms in another land\nought by right to come to a royal court. It was well we waited for Erec;\nfor now you can bestow the kiss upon the fairest of the court. I should\nthink none would find fault with you! for none can say, unless he lie,\nthat this maiden is not the most charming of all the damsels here, or\nindeed in all the world.\" The King makes answer: \"That is no lie; and\nupon her, if there is no remonstrance, I shall bestow the honour of the\nWhite Stag.\" Then he added to the knights: \"My lords, what say you? What\nis your opinion? In body, in face, and in whatever a maid should have,\nthis one is the most charming and beautiful to be found, as I may say,\nbefore you come to where Heaven and earth meet. I say it is meet that\nshe should receive the honour of the Stag. And you, my lords, what do\nyou think about it? Can you make any objection? If any one wishes to\nprotest, let him straightway speak his mind. I am King, and must keep\nmy word and must not permit any baseness, falsity, or arrogance. I must\nmaintain truth and righteousness. It is the business of a loyal king\nto support the law, truth, faith, and justice. I would not in any wise\ncommit a disloyal deed or wrong to either weak or strong. It is not meet\nthat any one should complain of me; nor do I wish the custom and the\npractice to lapse, which my family has been wont to foster. You, too,\nwould doubtless regret to see me strive to introduce other customs\nand other laws than those my royal sire observed. Regardless of\nconsequences, I am bound to keep and maintain the institution of my\nfather Pendragon, who was a just king and emperor. Now tell me fully\nwhat you think! Let none be slow to speak his mind, if this damsel is\nnot the fairest of my household and ought not by right to receive the\nkiss of the White Stag: I wish to know what you truly think.\" Then they\nall cry with one accord: \"Sire, by the Lord and his Cross! you may well\nkiss her with good reason, for she is the fairest one there is. In this\ndamsel there is more beauty than there is of radiance in the sun. You\nmay kiss her freely, for we all agree in sanctioning it.\" When the King\nhears that this is well pleasing to them all, he will no longer delay in\nbestowing the kiss, but turns toward her and embraces her. The maid was\nsensible, and perfectly willing that the King should kiss her; she would\nhave been discourteous, indeed, to resent it. In courteous fashion and\nin the presence of all his knights the King kissed her, and said: \"My\ndear. I give you my love in all honesty. I will love you with true\nheart, without malice and without guile.\" By this adventure the King\ncarried out the practice and the usage to which the White Stag was\nentitled at his court.\n\nHere ends the first part of my story. [119]\n\n(Vv. 1845-1914.) When the kiss of the Stag was taken according to the\ncustom of the country, Erec, like a polite and kind man, was solicitous\nfor his poor host. It was not his intention to fail to execute what he\nhad promised. Hear how he kept his covenant: for he sent him now five\nsumpter mules, strong and sleek, loaded with dresses and clothes,\nbuckrams and scarlets, marks of gold and silver plate, furs both vair\nand grey, skins of sable, purple stuffs, and silks. When the mules were\nloaded with all that a gentleman can need, he sent with them an escort\nof ten knights and sergeants chosen from his own men, and straightly\ncharged them to salute his host and show great honour both to him and to\nhis lady, as if it were to himself in person; and when they should have\npresented to them the sumpters which they brought them, the gold, the\nsilver, and money, and all the other furnishings which were in the\nboxes, they should escort the lady and the vavasor with great honour\ninto his kingdom of Farther Wales. [120] Two towns there he had promised\nthem, the most choice and the best situated that there were in all his\nland, with nothing to fear from attack. Montrevel was the name of one,\nand the other's name was Roadan. When they should arrive in his kingdom,\nthey should make over to them these two towns, together with their rents\nand their jurisdiction, in accordance with what he had promised them.\nAll was carried out as Erec had ordered. The messengers made no delay,\nand in good time they presented to his host the gold and the silver\nand the sumpters and the robes and the money, of which there was great\nplenty. They escorted them into Erec's kingdom, and strove to serve them\nwell. They came into the country on the third day, and transferred to\nthem the towers of the towns; for King Lac made no objection. He gave\nthem a warm welcome and showed them honour, loving them for the sake\nof his son Erec. He made over to them the title to the towns, and\nestablished their suzerainty by making knights and bourgeois swear that\nthey would reverence them as their true liege lords. When this was\ndone and accomplished, the messengers returned to their lord Erec, who\nreceived them gladly. When he asked for news of the vavasor and his\nlady, of his own father and of his kingdom, the report they gave him was\ngood and fair.\n\n(Vv. 1915-2024.) Not long after this, the time drew near when Erec was\nto celebrate his marriage. The delay was irksome to him, and he resolved\nno longer to suffer and wait. So he went and asked of the King that\nit might please him to allow him to be married at the court. The King\nvouchsafed him the boon, and sent through all his kingdom to search for\nthe kings and counts who were his liege-men, bidding them that none be\nso bold as not to be present at Pentecost. None dares to hold back and\nnot go to court at the King's summons. Now I will tell you, and listen\nwell, who were these counts and kings. With a rich escort and one\nhundred extra mounts Count Brandes of Gloucester came. After him came\nMenagormon, who was Count of Clivelon. And he of the Haute Montagne came\nwith a very rich following. The Count of Treverain came, too, with a\nhundred of his knights, and Count Godegrain with as many more. Along\nwith those whom I have just mentioned came Maheloas, a great baron, lord\nof the Isle of Voirre. In this island no thunder is heard, no lightning\nstrikes, nor tempests rage, nor do toads or serpents exist there, nor is\nit ever too hot or too cold. [121] Graislemier of Fine Posterne brought\ntwenty companions, and had with him his brother Guigomar, lord of the\nIsle of Avalon. Of the latter we have heard it said that he was a friend\nof Morgan the Fay, and such he was in very truth. Davit of Tintagel\ncame, who never suffered woe or grief. Guergesin, the Duke of Haut Bois,\ncame with a very rich equipment. There was no lack of counts and dukes,\nbut of kings there were still more. Garras of Cork, a doughty king, was\nthere with five hundred knights clad in mantles, hose, and tunics of\nbrocade and silk. Upon a Cappadocian steed came Aguisel, the Scottish\nking, and brought with him his two sons, Cadret and Coi--two much\nrespected knights. Along with those whom I have named came King Ban of\nGomeret, and he had in his company only young men, beardless as yet on\nchin and lip. A numerous and gay band he brought two hundred of them\nin his suite; and there was none, whoever he be, but had a falcon or\ntercel, a merlin or a sparrow-hawk, or some precious pigeon-hawk, golden\nor mewed. Kerrin, the old King of Riel, brought no youth, but rather\nthree hundred companions of whom the youngest was seven score years old.\nBecause of their great age, their heads were all as white as snow, and\ntheir beards reached down to their girdles. Arthur held them in great\nrespect. The lord of the dwarfs came next, Bilis, the king of Antipodes.\nThis king of whom I speak was a dwarf himself and own brother of Brien.\nBilis, on the one hand, was the smallest of all the dwarfs, while his\nbrother Brien was a half-foot or full palm taller than any other knight\nin the kingdom. To display his wealth and power, Bilis brought with him\ntwo kings who were also dwarfs and who were vassals of his, Grigoras and\nGlecidalan. Every one looked at them as marvels. When they had arrived\nat court, they were treated with great esteem. All three were honoured\nand served at the court like kings, for they were very perfect\ngentlemen. In brief, when King Arthur saw all his lords assembled, his\nheart was glad. Then, to heighten the joy, he ordered a hundred squires\nto be bathed whom he wished to dub knights. There was none of them\nbut had a parti-coloured robe of rich brocade of Alexandria, each one\nchoosing such as pleased his fancy. All had arms of a uniform pattern,\nand horses swift and full of mettle, of which the worst was worth a\nhundred livres.\n\n(Vv. 2025-2068.) When Erec received his wife, he must needs call her by\nher right name. For a wife is not espoused unless she is called by her\nproper name. As yet no one knew her name, but now for the first time it\nwas made known: Enide was her baptismal name. [122] The Archbishop of\nCanterbury, who had come to the court, blessed them, as is his right.\nWhen the court was all assembled, there was not a minstrel in the\ncountryside who possessed any pleasing accomplishment that did not come\nto the court. In the great hall there was much merry-making, each one\ncontributing what he could to the entertainment: one jumps, another\ntumbles, another does magic; there is story-telling, singing, whistling,\nplaying from notes; they play on the harp, the rote, the fiddle, the\nviolin, the flute, and pipe. The maidens sing and dance, and outdo each\nother in the merry-making. At the wedding that day everything was\ndone which can give joy and incline man's heart to gladness. Drums are\nbeaten, large and small, and there is playing of pipes, fifes, horns,\ntrumpets, and bagpipes. What more shall I say? There was not a wicket or\na gate kept closed; but the exits and entrances all stood ajar, so that\nno one, poor or rich, was turned away. King Arthur was not miserly, but\ngave orders to the bakers, the cooks, and the butlers that they should\nserve every one generously with bread, wine, and venison. No one asked\nanything whatever to be passed to him without getting all he desired.\n\n(Vv. 2069-2134.) There was great merriment in the palace. But I will\npass over the rest, and you shall hear of the joy and pleasure in the\nbridal chamber. Bishops and archbishops were there on the night when\nthe bride and groom retired. At this their first meeting, Iseut was not\nfilched away, nor was Brangien put in her place. [123] The Queen herself\ntook charge of their preparations for the night; for both of them were\ndear to her. The hunted stag which pants for thirst does not so long for\nthe spring, nor does the hungry sparrow-hawk return so quickly when he\nis called, as did these two come to hold each other in close embrace.\nThat night they had full compensation for their long delay. After the\nchamber had been cleared, they allow each sense to be gratified: the\neyes, which are the entrance-way of love, and which carry messages to\nthe heart, take satisfaction in the glance, for they rejoice in all they\nsee; after the message of the eyes comes the far surpassing sweetness of\nthe kisses inviting love; both of them make trial of this sweetness, and\nlet their hearts quaff so freely that hardly can they leave off. Thus,\nkissing was their first sport. And the love which is between them\nemboldened the maid and left her quite without her fears; regardless of\npain, she suffered all. Before she rose, she no longer bore the name\nof maid; in the morning she was a new-made dame. That day the minstrels\nwere in happy mood, for they were all well paid. They were fully\ncompensated for the entertainment they had given, and many a handsome\ngift was bestowed upon them: robes of grey squirrel skin and ermine, of\nrabbit skins and violet stuffs, scarlets and silken stuffs. Whether\nit be a horse or money, each one got what he deserved according to his\nskill. And thus the wedding festivities and the court lasted almost\na fortnight with great joy and magnificence. For his own glory and\nsatisfaction, as well as to honour Erec the more, King Arthur made all\nthe knights remain a full fortnight. When the third week began, all\ntogether by common consent agreed to hold a tournament. On the one\nside, my lord Gawain offered himself as surety that it would take place\nbetween Evroic and Tenebroc: and Meliz and Meliadoc were guarantors on\nthe other side. Then the court separated.\n\n(Vv. 2135-2292.) A month after Pentecost the tournament assembled, and\nthe jousting began in the plain below Tenebroc. Many an ensign of red,\nblue, and white, many a veil and many a sleeve were bestowed as tokens\nof love. Many a lance was carried there, flying the colours argent and\ngreen, or gold and azure blue. There were many, too, with different\ndevices, some with stripes and some with dots. That day one saw laced on\nmany a helmet of gold or steel, some green, some yellow, and others red,\nall aglowing in the sun; so many scutcheons and white hauberks; so many\nswords girt on the left side; so many good shields, fresh and new, some\nresplendent in silver and green, others of azure with buckles of gold;\nso many good steeds marked with white, or sorrel, tawny, white, black,\nand bay: all gather hastily. And now the field is quite covered with\narms. On either side the ranks tremble, and a roar rises from the fight.\nThe shock of the lances is very great. Lances break and shields are\nriddled, the hauberks receive bumps and are torn asunder, saddles go\nempty and horsemen ramble, while the horses sweat and foam. Swords are\nquickly drawn on those who tumble noisily, and some run to receive the\npromise of a ransom, others to stave off this disgrace. Erec rode a\nwhite horse, and came forth alone at the head of the line to joust, if\nhe may find an opponent. From the opposite side there rides out to meet\nhim Orguelleus de la Lande, mounted on an Irish steed which bears\nhim along with marvellous speed. On the shield before his breast Erec\nstrikes him with such force that he knocks him from his horse: he leaves\nhim prone and passes on. Then Raindurant opposed him, son of the old\ndame of Tergalo, covered with blue cloth of silk; he was a knight of\ngreat prowess. Against one another now they charge and deal fierce blows\non the shields about their neck. Erec from lance's length lays him over\non the hard ground. While riding back he met the King of the Red City,\nwho was very valiant and bold. They grasp their reins by the knots and\ntheir shields by the inner straps. They both had fine arms, and strong\nswift horses, and good shields, fresh and new. With such fury they\nstrike each other that both their lances fly in splinters. Never was\nthere seen such a blow. They rush together with shields, arms, and\nhorses. But neither girth nor rein nor breast-strap could prevent the\nking from coming to earth. So he flew from his steed, carrying with him\nsaddle and stirrup, and even the reins of his bridle in his hand. All\nthose who witnessed the jousting were filled with amazement, and said it\ncost him dear to joust with such a goodly knight. Erec did not wish\nto stop to capture either horse or rider, but rather to joust and\ndistinguish himself in order that his prowess might appear. He thrills\nthe ranks in front of him. Gawain animates those who were on his side\nby his prowess, and by winning horses and knights to the discomfiture\nof his opponents. I speak of my lord Gawain, who did right well and\nvaliantly. In the fight he unhorsed Guincel, and took Gaudin of the\nMountain; he captured knights and horses alike: my lord Gawain did well.\nGirtlet the son of Do, and Yvain, and Sagremor the Impetuous, so evilly\nentreated their adversaries that they drove them back to the gates,\ncapturing and unhorsing many of them. In front of the gate of the town\nthe strife began again between those within and those without. There\nSagremor was thrown down, who was a very gallant knight. He was on the\npoint of being detained and captured, when Erec spurs to rescue him,\nbreaking his lance into splinters upon one of the opponents. So hard he\nstrikes him on the breast that he made him quit the saddle. Then he\nmade of his sword and advances upon them, crushing and splitting their\nhelmets. Some flee, and others make way before him, for even the boldest\nfears him. Finally, he distributed so many blows and thrusts that he\nrescued Sagremor from them, and drove them all in confusion into the\ntown. Meanwhile, the vesper hour drew to a close. Erec bore himself so\nwell that day that he was the best of the combatants. But on the morrow\nhe did much better yet: for he took so many knights and left so many\nsaddles empty that none could believe it except those who had seen it.\nEvery one on both sides said that with his lance and shield he had won\nthe honours of the tournament. Now was Erec's renown so high that no one\nspoke save of him, nor was any one of such goodly favour. In countenance\nhe resembled Absalom, in language he seemed a Solomon, in boldness he\nequalled Samson, [124] and in generous giving and spending he was the\nequal of Alexander. On his return from the tourney Erec went to speak\nwith the King. He went to ask him for leave to go and visit his own\nland; but first he thanked him like a frank, wise, and courteous man for\nthe honour which he had done him; for very deep was his gratitude.\nThen he asked his permission to leave, for he wished to visit his own\ncountry, and he wished to take his wife with him. This request the King\ncould not deny, and yet he would have had him stay. He gives him leave\nand begs him to return as soon as possible: for in the whole court there\nwas no better or more gallant knight, save only his dear nephew Gawain;\n[125] with him no one could be compared. But next after him, he prized\nErec most, and held him more dear than any other knight.\n\n(Vv. 2293-2764.) Erec wished to delay no longer. As soon as he had the\nKing's leave, he bid his wife make her preparations, and he retained as\nhis escort sixty knights of merit with horses and with dappled and grey\nfurs. As soon as he was ready for his journey, he tarried little further\nat court, but took leave of the Queen and commended the knights to God.\nThe Queen grants him leave to depart. At the hour of prime he set out\nfrom the royal palace. In the presence of them all he mounted his steed,\nand his wife mounted the dappled horse which she had brought from her\nown country; then all his escort mounted. Counting knights and squires,\nthere were full seven score in the train. After four long days' journey\nover hills and slopes, through forests, plains, and streams, they\ncame on the fifth day to Camant, where King Lac was residing in a very\ncharming town. No one ever saw one better situated; for the town was\nprovided with forests and meadow-land, with vineyards and farms, with\nstreams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths,\nand polite, well-mannered clerks who spent their incomes freely, with\nfair and charming maidens, and with prosperous burghers. Before Erec\nreached the town, he sent two knights ahead to announce his arrival\nto the King. When he heard the news, the King had clerks, knights, and\ndamsels quickly mount, and ordered the bells to be rung, and the streets\nto be hung with tapestries and silken stuffs, that his son might be\nreceived with joy; then he himself got on his horse. Of clerks there\nwere present fourscore, gentle and honourable men, clad in grey cloaks\nbordered with sable. Of knights there were full five hundred, mounted\non bay, sorrel, or white-spotted steeds. There were so many burghers and\ndames that no one could tell the number of them. The King and his son\ngalloped and rode on till they saw and recognised each other. They both\njump down from their horses and embrace and greet each other for a long\ntime, without stirring from the place where they first met. Each party\nwished the other joy: the King makes much of Erec, but all at once\nbreaks off to turn to Enide. On all sides he is in clover: he embraces\nand kisses them both, and knows not which of the two pleases him the\nmore. As they gaily enter the castle, the bells all ring their peals to\nhonour Erec's arrival. The streets are all strewn with reeds, mint, and\niris, and are hung overhead with curtains and tapestries of fancy silk\nand satin stuffs. There was great rejoicing; for all the people came\ntogether to see their new lord, and no one ever saw greater happiness\nthan was shown alike by young and old. First they came to the church,\nwhere very devoutly they were received in a procession. Erec kneeled\nbefore the altar of the Crucifix, and two knights led his wife to the\nimage of Our Lady. When she had finished her prayer, she stepped back\na little and crossed herself with her right hand, as a well-bred dame\nshould do. Then they came out from the church and entered the royal\npalace, when the festivity began. That day Erec received many presents\nfrom the knights and burghers: from one a palfrey of northern stock, and\nfrom another a golden cup. One presents him with a golden pigeon-hawk,\nanother with a setter-dog, this one a greyhound, this other a\nsparrowhawk, and another a swift Arab steed, this one a shield, this one\nan ensign, this one a sword, and this a helmet. Never was a king more\ngladly seen in his kingdom, nor received with greater joy, as all strove\nto serve him well. Yet greater joy they made of Enide than of him, for\nthe great beauty which they saw in her, and still more for her open\ncharm. She was seated in a chamber upon a cushion of brocade which had\nbeen brought from Thessaly. Round about her was many a fair lady; yet as\nthe lustrous gem outshines the brown flint, and as the rose excels the\npoppy, so was Enide fairer than any other lady or damsel to be found in\nthe world, wherever one might search. She was so gentle and honourable,\nof wise speech and affable, of pleasing character and kindly mien. No\none could ever be so watchful as to detect in her any folly, or sign of\nevil or villainy. She had been so schooled in good manners that she had\nlearned all virtues which any lady can possess, as well as generosity\nand knowledge. All loved her for her open heart, and whoever could do\nher any service was glad and esteemed himself the more. No one spoke any\nill of her, for no one could do so. In the realm or empire there was no\nlady of such good manners. But Erec loved her with such a tender love\nthat he cared no more for arms, nor did he go to tournaments, nor have\nany desire to joust; but he spent his time in cherishing his wife. He\nmade of her his mistress and his sweetheart. He devoted all his heart\nand mind to fondling and kissing her, and sought no delight in other\npastime. His friends grieved over this, and often regretted among\nthemselves that he was so deep in love. Often it was past noon before\nhe left her side; for there he was happy, say what they might. He rarely\nleft her society, and yet he was as open-handed as ever to his knights\nwith arms, dress, and money. There was not a tournament anywhere to\nwhich he did not send them well apparelled and equipped. Whatever the\ncost might be, he gave them fresh steeds for the tourney and joust. All\nthe knights said it was a great pity and misfortune that such a valiant\nman as he was wont to be should no longer wish to bear arms. He was\nblamed so much on all sides by the knights and squires that murmurs\nreached Enide's ears how that her lord had turned craven about arms\nand deeds of chivalry, and that his manner of life was greatly changed.\n[126] She grieved sorely over this, but she did not dare to show her\ngrief; for her lord at once would take affront, if she should speak to\nhim. So the matter remained a secret, until one morning they lay in bed\nwhere they had had sport together. There they lay in close embrace, like\nthe true lovers they were. He was asleep, but she was awake, thinking\nof what many a man in the country was saying of her lord. And when she\nbegan to think it all over, she could not keep back the tears. Such\nwas her grief and her chagrin that by mischance she let fall a word for\nwhich she later felt remorse, though in her heart there was no guile.\nShe began to survey her lord from head to foot, his well-shaped body and\nhis clear countenance, until her tears fell fast upon the bosom of her\nlord, and she said: \"Alas, woe is me that I ever left my country! What\ndid I come here to seek? The earth ought by right to swallow me up when\nthe best knight, the most hardy, brave, fair, and courteous that ever\nwas a count or king, has completely abjured all his deeds of chivalry\nbecause of me. And thus, in truth, it is I who have brought shame upon\nhis head, though I would fain not have done so at any price.\" Then she\nsaid to him: \"Unhappy thou!\" And then kept silence and spoke no more.\nErec was not sound asleep and, though dozing, heard plainly what she\nsaid. He aroused at her words, and much surprised to see her weeping, he\nasked her: \"Tell me, my precious beauty, why do you weep thus? What has\ncaused you woe or sorrow? Surely it is my wish to know. Tell me now,\nmy gentle sweetheart; and raise care to keep nothing back, why you said\nthat woe was me? For you said it of me and of no one else. I heard your\nwords plainly enough.\" Then was Enide in a great plight, afraid and\ndismayed. \"Sire,\" says she, \"I know nothing of what you say.\" \"Lady, why\ndo you conceal it? Concealment is of no avail. You hare been crying; I\ncan see that, and you do not cry for nothing. And in my sleep I heard\nwhat you said.\" \"Ah! fair sire, you never heard it, and I dare say it\nwas a dream.\" \"Now you are coming to me with lies. I hear you calmly\nlying to me. But if you do not tell me the truth now, you will come to\nrepent of it later.\" \"Sire, since you torment me thus, I will tell you\nthe whole truth, and keep nothing back. But I am afraid that you will\nnot like it. In this land they all say--the dark, the fair, and the\nruddy--that it is a great pity that you should renounce your arms; your\nreputation has suffered from it. Every one used to say not long ago that\nin all the world there was known no better or more gallant knight.\nNow they all go about making game of you--old and young, little and\ngreat--calling you a recreant. Do you suppose it does not give me pain\nto hear you thus spoken of with scorn? It grieves me when I hear it\nsaid, and yet it grieves me more that they put the blame for it on me.\nYes, I am blamed for it, I regret to say, and they all assert it is\nbecause I have so ensnared and caught you that you are losing all your\nmerit, and do not care for aught but me. You must choose another course,\nso that you may silence this reproach and regain your former fame; for I\nhave heard too much of this reproach, and yet I did not dare to disclose\nit to you. Many a time, when I think of it, I have to weep for very\ngrief. Such chagrin I felt just now that I could not keep myself from\nsaying that you were ill-starred.\" \"Lady,\" said he, \"you were in the\nright, and those who blame me do so with reason. And now at once prepare\nyourself to take the road. Rise up from here, and dress yourself in your\nrichest robe, and order your saddle to be put on your best palfrey.\" Now\nEnide is in great distress: very sad and pensive, she gets up, blaming\nand upbraiding herself for the foolish words she spoke: she had now\nmade her bed, and must lie in it. \"Ah!\" said she, \"poor fool! I was too\nhappy, for there lacked me nothing. God! why was I so forward as to dare\nto utter such folly? God! did not my lord love me to excess? In faith,\nalas, he was too fond of me. And now I must go away into exile. But I\nhave yet a greater grief, that I shall no longer see my lord, who loved\nme with such tenderness that there was nothing he held so dear. The best\nman that was ever born had become so wrapped up in me that he cared for\nnothing else. I lacked for nothing then. I was very happy. But pride\nit is that stirred me up: because of my pride, I must suffer woe for\ntelling him such insulting words, and it is right that I should suffer\nwoe. One does not know what good fortune is until he has made trial of\nevil.\" Thus the lady bemoaned her fate, while she dressed herself fitly\nin her richest robe. Yet nothing gave her any pleasure, but rather cause\nfor deep chagrin. Then she had a maid call one of her squires, and bids\nhim saddle her precious palfrey of northern stock, than which no count\nor king ever had a better. As soon as she had given him the command, the\nfellow asked for no delay, but straightway went and saddled the dappled\npalfrey. And Erec summoned another squire and bade him bring his arms to\narm his body withal. Then he went up into a bower, and had a Limoges rug\nlaid out before him on the floor. Meanwhile, the squire ran to fetch the\narms and came back and laid them on the rug. Erec took a seat opposite,\non the figure of a leopard which was portrayed on the rug. He prepares\nand gets ready to put on his arms: first, he had laced on a pair of\ngreaves of polished steel; next, he dons a hauberk, which was so fine\nthat not a mesh could be cut away from it. This hauberk of his was rich,\nindeed, for neither inside nor outside of it was there enough iron to\nmake a needle, nor could it gather any rust; for it was all made of\nworked silver in tiny meshes triple-wove; and it was made with such\nskill that I can assure you that no one who had put it on would have\nbeen more uncomfortable or sore because of it, than if he had put on a\nsilk jacket over his undershirt. The knights and squires all began to\nwonder why he was being armed; but no one dared to ask him why. When\nthey had put on his hauberk, a valet laces about his head a helmet\nfluted with a band of gold, shining brighter than a mirror. Then he\ntakes the sword and girds it on, and orders them to bring him saddled\nhis bay steed of Gascony. Then he calls a valet to him, and says:\n\"Valet, go quickly, run to the chamber beside the tower where my wife\nis, and tell her that she is keeping me waiting here too long. She has\nspent too much time on her attire. Tell her to come and mount at once,\nfor I am awaiting her.\" And the fellow goes and finds her all ready,\nweeping and making moan: and he straightway addressed her thus: \"Lady,\nwhy do you so delay? My lord is awaiting you outside yonder, already\nfully armed. He would have mounted some time ago, had you been ready.\"\nEnide wondered greatly what her lord's intention was; but she very\nwisely showed herself with as cheerful a countenance as possible, when\nshe appeared before him. In the middle of the courtyard she found him,\nand King Lac comes running out. Knights come running, too, striving with\neach other to reach there first. There is neither young nor old but goes\nto learn and ask if he will take any of them with him. So each offers\nand presents himself. But he states definitely and affirms that he will\ntake no companion except his wife, asserting that he will go alone.\nThen the King is in great distress. \"Fair son,\" says he, \"what dost thou\nintend to do? Thou shouldst tell me thy business and keep nothing back.\nTell me whither thou will go; for thou art unwilling on any account\nto be accompanied by an escort of squires or knights. If thou hast\nundertaken to fight some knight in single combat, yet shouldst thou not\nfor that reason fail to take a part of thy knights with thee to betoken\nthy wealth and lordship. A king's son ought not to fare alone. Fair son,\nhave thy sumpters loaded now, and take thirty or forty or more of thy\nknights, and see that silver and gold is taken, and whatever a gentleman\nneeds.\" Finally Erec makes reply and tells him all in detail how he has\nplanned his journey. \"Sire,\" says he, \"it must be so. I shall take no\nextra horse, nor have I any use for gold or silver, squire or sergeant;\nnor do I ask for any company save that of my wife alone. But I pray you,\nwhatever may happen, should I die and she come back, to love her and\nhold her dear for love of me and for my prayer, and give her so long as\nshe live, without contention or any strife, the half of your land to be\nher own.\" Upon hearing his son's request, the King said: \"Fair son, I\npromise it. But I grieve much to see thee thus go off without escort,\nand if I had my way, thou shouldst not thus depart.\" \"Sire, it cannot\nbe otherwise. I go now, and to God commend you. But keep in mind my\ncompanions, and give them horses and arms and all that knight may need.\"\nThe King cannot keep back the tears when he is parted from his son. The\npeople round about weep too; the ladies and knights shed tears and make\ngreat moan for him. There is not one who does not mourn, and many a one\nin the courtyard swoons. Weeping, they kiss and embrace him, and are\nalmost beside themselves with grief. I think they would not have been\nmore sad if they had seen him dead or wounded. Then Erec said to comfort\nthem: \"My lords, why do you weep so sore? I am neither in prison nor\nwounded. You gain nothing by this display of grief. If I go away, I\nshall come again when it please God and when I can. To God I commend you\none and all; so now let me go; too long you keep me here. I am sorry and\ngrieved to see you weep.\" To God he commends them and they him.\n\n(Vv. 2765-2924.) So they departed, leaving sorrow behind them. Erec\nstarts, and leads his wife he knows not whither, as chance dictates.\n\"Ride fast,\" he says, \"and take good care not to be so rash as to speak\nto me of anything you may see. Take care never to speak to me, unless I\naddress you first. Ride on now fast and with confidence.\" \"Sire,\" says\nshe, \"it shall be done.\" She rode ahead and held her peace. Neither one\nnor the other spoke a word. But Enide's heart is very sad, and within\nherself she thus laments, soft and low that he may not hear: \"Alas,\" she\nsays, \"God had raised and exalted me to such great joy; but now He\nhas suddenly cast me down. Fortune who had beckoned me has quickly now\nwithdrawn her hand. I should not mind that so much, alas, if only I\ndared to address my lord. But I am mortified and distressed because my\nlord has turned against me, I see it clearly, since he will not speak\nto me. And I am not so bold as to dare to look at him.\" While she thus\nlaments, a knight who lived by robbery issued forth from the woods. He\nhad two companions with him, and all three were armed. They covet the\npalfrey which Enide rides. \"My lords, do you know the news I bring?\"\nsays he to his two companions. \"If we do not now make a haul, we are\ngood-for-nothing cowards and are playing in bad luck. Here comes a lady\nwondrous fair, whether married or not I do not know, but she is very\nrichly dressed. The palfrey and saddle, with the breast-strap and reins,\nare worth a thousand livres of Chartres. I will take the palfrey for\nmine, and the rest of the booty you may have. I don't want any more for\nmy share. The knight shall not lead away the lady, so help me God. For I\nintend to give him such a thrust as he will dearly pay. I it was who saw\nhim first, and so it is my right to go the first and offer battle.\"\nThey give him leave and he rides off, crouching well beneath his shield,\nwhile the other two remain aloof. In those days it was the custom and\npractice that in an attack two knights should not join against one;\nthus if they too had assailed him, it would seem that they had acted\ntreacherously. Enide saw the robbers, and was seized with great fear.\n\"God,\" says she, \"what can I say? Now my lord will be either killed\nor made a prisoner; for there are three of them and he is alone. The\ncontest is not fair between one knight and three. That fellow will\nstrike him now at a disadvantage; for my lord is off his guard. God,\nshall I be then such a craven as not to dare to raise my voice? Such a\ncoward I will not be: I will not fail to speak to him.\" On the spot\nshe turns about and calls to him: \"Fair sire, of what are you thinking?\nThere come riding after you three knights who press you hard. I greatly\nfear they will do you harm.\" \"What?\" says Erec, \"what's that you say?\nYou have surely been very bold to disdain my command and prohibition.\nThis time you shall be pardoned; but if it should happen another time,\nyou would not be forgiven.\" Then turning his shield and lance, he rushes\nat the knight. The latter sees him coming and challenges him. When Erec\nhears him, he defies him. Both give spur and clash together, holding\ntheir lances at full extent. But he missed Erec, while Erec used him\nhard; for he knew well the right attack. He strikes him on the shield\nso fiercely that he cracks it from top to bottom. Nor is his hauberk any\nprotection: Erec pierces and crushes it in the middle of his breast, and\nthrusts a foot and a half of his lance into his body. When he drew back,\nhe pulled out the shaft. And the other fell to earth. He must needs die,\nfor the blade had drunk of his life's blood. Then one of the other two\nrushes forward, leaving his companion behind, and spurs toward Erec,\nthreatening him. Erec firmly grasps his shield, and attacks him with\na stout heart. The other holds his shield before his breast. Then they\nstrike upon the emblazoned shields. The knight's lance flies into two\nbits, while Erec drives a quarter of lance's length through the other's\nbreast. He will give him no more trouble. Erec unhorses him and leaves\nhim in a faint, while he spurs at an angle toward the third robber. When\nthe latter saw him coming on he began to make his escape. He was afraid,\nand did not dare to face him; so he hastened to take refuge in the\nwoods. But his flight is of small avail, for Erec follows him close\nand cries aloud: \"Vassal, vassal, turn about now, and prepare to defend\nyourself, so that I may not slay you in act of flight. It is useless\nto try to escape.\" But the fellow has no desire to turn about, and\ncontinues to flee with might and main. Following and overtaking him,\nErec hits him squarely on his painted shield, and throws him over on the\nother side. To these three robbers he gives no further heed: one he has\nkilled, another wounded, and of the third he got rid by throwing him\nto earth from his steed. He took the horses of all three and tied them\ntogether by the bridles. In colour they were not alike: the first was\nwhite as milk, the second black and not at all bad looking, while the\nthird was dappled all over. He came back to the road where Enide was\nawaiting him. He bade her lead and drive the three horses in front of\nher, warning her harshly never again to be so bold as to speak a single\nword unless he give her leave. She makes answer: \"I will never do so,\nfair sire, if it be your will.\" Then they ride on, and she holds her\npeace.\n\n(Vv. 2925-3085.) They had not yet gone a league when before them in a\nvalley there came five other knights, with lances in rest, shields held\nclose in to the neck, and their shining helmets laced up tight; they,\ntoo, were on plunder bent. All at once they saw the lady approach in\ncharge of the three horses, and Erec who followed after. As soon as they\nsaw them, they divided their equipment among themselves, just as if they\nhad already taken possession of it. Covetousness is a bad thing. But it\ndid not turn out as they expected; for vigorous defence was made. Much\nthat a fool plans is not executed, and many a man misses what he thinks\nto obtain. So it befell them in this attack. One said that he would\ntake the maid or lose his life in the attempt; and another said that the\ndappled steed shall be his, and that he will be satisfied with that. The\nthird said that he would take the black horse. \"And the white one for\nme,\" said the fourth. The fifth was not at all backward, and vowed that\nhe would have the horse and arms of the knight himself. He wished to win\nthem by himself, and would fain attack him first, if they would give him\nleave: and they willingly gave consent. Then he leaves them and rides\nahead on a good and nimble steed. Erec saw him, but made pretence that\nhe did not yet notice him. When Enide saw them, her heart jumped with\nfear and great dismay. \"Alas!\" said she, \"I know not what to say or do;\nfor my lord severely threatens me, and says that he will punish me, if\nI speak a word to him. But if my lord were dead now, there would be no\ncomfort for me. I should be killed and roughly treated. God! my lord\ndoes not see them! Why, then, do I hesitate, crazed as I am? I am indeed\ntoo chary of my words, when I have not already spoken to him. I know\nwell enough that those who are coming yonder are intent upon some wicked\ndeed. And God! how shall I speak to him? He will kill me. Well, let him\nkill me! Yet I will not fail to speak to him.\" Then she softly calls\nhim: \"Sire!\" \"What?\" says he, \"what do you want?\" \"Your pardon, sire. I\nwant to tell you that five knights have emerged from yonder thicket, of\nwhom I am in mortal fear. Having noticed them, I am of the opinion that\nthey intend to fight with you. Four of them have stayed behind, and the\nother comes toward you as fast as his steed can carry him. I am afraid\nevery moment lest he will strike you. 'Tis true, the four have stayed\nbehind; but still they are not far away, and will quickly aid him,\nif need arise.\" Erec replies: \"You had an evil thought, when you\ntransgressed my command--a thing which I had forbidden you. And yet I\nknew all the time that you did not hold me in esteem. Your service has\nbeen ill employed; for it has not awakened my gratitude, but rather\nkindled the more my ire. I have told you that once, and I say it again.\nThis once again I will pardon you; but another time restrain yourself,\nand do not again turn around to watch me: for in doing so you would\nbe very foolish. I do not relish your words.\" Then he spurs across the\nfield toward his adversary, and they come together. Each seeks out and\nassails the other. Erec strikes him with such force that his shield\nflies from his neck, and thus he breaks his collar-bone. His stirrups\nbreak, and he falls without the strength to rise again, for he was badly\nbruised and wounded. One of the others then appeared, and they attack\neach other fiercely. Without difficulty Erec thrusts the sharp and well\nforged steel into his neck beneath the chin, severing thus the bones\nand nerves. At the back of his neck the blade protrudes, and the hot red\nblood flows down on both sides from the wound. He yields his spirit, and\nhis heart is still. The third sallies forth from his hiding-place on\nthe other side of a ford. Straight through the water, on he comes. Erec\nspurs forward and meets him before he came out of the water, striking\nhim so hard that he beats down flat both rider and horse. The steed lay\nupon the body long enough to drown him in the stream, and then struggled\nuntil with difficulty he got upon his feet. Thus he conquered three of\nthem, when the other two thought it wise to quit the conflict and not to\nstrive with him. In flight they follow the stream, and Erec after them\nin hot pursuit, until he strikes one upon the spine so hard that he\nthrows him forward upon the saddle-bow. He put all his strength into the\nblow, and breaks his lance upon his body, so that the fellow fell head\nforemost. Erec makes him pay dearly for the lance which he has broken\non him, and drew his sword from the scabbard. The fellow unwisely\nstraightened up; for Erec gave him three such strokes that he slaked his\nsword's thirst in his blood. He severs the shoulder from his body, so\nthat it fell down on the ground. Then, with sword drawn, he attacked the\nother, as he sought to escape without company or escort. When he sees\nErec pursuing him, he is so afraid that he knows not what to do: he does\nnot dare to face him, and cannot turn aside; he has to leave his horse,\nfor he has no more trust in him. He throws away his shield and lance,\nand slips from his horse to earth. When he saw him on his feet, Erec\nno longer cared to pursue him, but he stooped over for the lance, not\nwishing to leave that, because of his own which had been broken. He\ncarries off his lance and goes away, not leaving the horses behind: he\ncatches all five of them and leads them off. Enide had hard work to\nlead them all; for he hands over all five of them to her with the other\nthree, and commands her to go along smartly, and to keep from addressing\nhim in order that no evil or harm may come to her. So not a word does\nshe reply, but rather keeps silence; and thus they go, leading with them\nall the eight horses.\n\n(Vv. 3086-3208.) They rode till nightfall without coming to any town or\nshelter. When night came on, they took refuge beneath a tree in an open\nfield. Erec bids his lady sleep, and he will watch. She replies that she\nwill not, for it is not right, and she does not wish to do so. It is\nfor him to sleep who is more weary. Well pleased at this, Erec accedes.\nBeneath his head he placed his shield, and the lady took her cloak, and\nstretched it over him from head to foot. Thus, he slept and she kept\nwatch, never dozing the whole night, but holding tight in her hand by\nthe bridle the horses until the morning broke; and much she blamed and\nreproached herself for the words which she had uttered, and said that\nshe acted badly, and was not half so ill-treated as she deserved to be.\n\"Alas,\" said she, \"in what an evil hour have I witnessed my pride and\npresumption! I might have known without doubt that there was no knight\nbetter than, or so good as, my lord. I knew it well enough before, but\nnow I know it better. For I have seen with my own eyes how he has not\nquailed before three or even five armed men. A plague for ever upon\nmy tongue for having uttered such pride and insult as now compel me\nto suffer shame!\" All night long she thus lamented until the morning\ndawned. Erec rises early, and again they take the road, she in front and\nhe behind. At noon a squire met them in a little valley, accompanied\nby two fellows who were carrying cakes and wine and some rich autumn\ncheeses to those who were mowing the hay in the meadows belonging to\nCount Galoain. The squire was a clever fellow, and when he saw Erec and\nEnide, who were coming from the direction of the woods, he perceived\nthat they must have spent the night in the forest and had had nothing to\neat or drink; for within a radius of a day's journey there was no town,\ncity or tower, no strong place or abbey, hospice or place of refuge. So\nhe formed an honest purpose and turned his steps toward them, saluting\nthem politely and saving: \"Sire, I presume that you have had a hard\nexperience last night. I am sure you have had no sleep and have spent\nthe night in these woods. I offer you some of this white cake, if it\nplease you to partake of it. I say it not in hope of reward: for I ask\nand demand nothing of you. The cakes are made of good wheat; I have good\nwine and rich cheeses, too, a white cloth and fine jugs. If you feel\nlike taking lunch, you need not seek any farther. Beneath these white\nbeeches, here on the greensward, you might lay off your arms and rest\nyourself a while. My advice is that you dismount.\" Erec got down from\nhis horse and said: \"Fair gentle friend, I thank you kindly: I will eat\nsomething, without going farther.\" The young man knew well what to do:\nhe helped the lady from her horse, and the boys who had come with the\nsquire held the steeds. Then they go and sit down in the shade. The\nsquire relieves Erec of his helmet, unlaces the mouth-piece from before\nhis face; then he spreads out the cloth before them on the thick tuff.\nHe passes them the cake and wine, and prepares and cuts a cheese. Hungry\nas they were, they helped themselves, and gladly drank of the wine. The\nsquire serves them and omits no attention. When they had eaten and drunk\ntheir fill, Erec was courteous and generous. \"Friend,\" says he, \"as a\nreward, I wish to present you with one of my horses. Take the one you\nlike the best. And I pray it may be no hardship for you to return to the\ntown and make ready there a goodly lodging.\" And he replies that he\nwill gladly do whatever is his will. Then he goes up to the horses and,\nuntying them, chooses the dapple, and speaks his thanks; for this one\nseems to be the best. Up he springs by the left stirrup, and leaving\nthem both there, he rode off to the town at top speed, where he engaged\nsuitable quarters. Now behold! he is back again: \"Now mount, sire,\nquickly,\" says he, \"for you have a good fine lodging ready.\" Erec\nmounted, and then his lady, and, as the town was hard by, they soon had\nreached their lodging-place. There they were received with joy. The host\nwith kindness welcomed them, and with joy and gladness made generous\nprovision for their needs.\n\n(Vv. 3209-3458.) When the squire had done for them all the honour that\nhe could do, he came and mounted his horse again, leading it off in\nfront of the Count's bower to the stable. The Count and three of his\nvassals were leaning out of the bower, when the Count, seeing his squire\nmounted on the dappled steed, asked him whose it was. And he replied\nthat it was his. The Count, greatly astonished, says: \"How is that?\nWhere didst thou get him?\" \"A knight whom I esteem highly gave him to\nme, sire,\" says he. \"I have conducted him within this town, and he\nis lodged at a burgher's house. He is a very courteous knight and the\nhandsomest man I ever saw. Even if I had given you my word and oath,\nI could not half tell you how handsome he is.\" The Count replies: \"I\nsuppose and presume that he is not more handsome than I am.\" \"Upon my\nword, sire,\" the sergeant says, \"you are very handsome and a gentleman.\nThere is not a knight in this country, a native of this land, whom you\ndo not excel in favour. But I dare maintain concerning this one that\nhe is fairer than you, if he were not beaten black and blue beneath his\nhauberk, and bruised. In the forest he has been fighting single-handed\nwith eight knights, and leads away their eight horses. And there comes\nwith him a lady so fair that never lady was half so fair as she.\" [128]\nWhen the Count hears this news, the desire takes him to go and see if\nthis is true or false. \"I never heard such a thing,\" says he; \"take me\nnow to his lodging-place, for certainly I wish to know if thou dost lie\nor speak the truth.\" He replies: \"Right gladly, sire. This is the way\nand the path to follow, for it is not far from here.\" \"I am anxious to\nsee them,\" says the Count. Then he comes down, and the squire gets off\nhis horse, and makes the Count mount in his place. Then he ran ahead\nto tell Erec that the Count was coming to visit him. Erec's lodging was\nrich indeed--the kind to which he was accustomed. There were many tapers\nand candles lighted all about. The Count came attended by only three\ncompanions. Erec, who was of gracious manners, rose to meet him, and\nexclaimed: \"Welcome, sire!\" And the Count returned his salutation. They\nboth sat down side by side upon a soft white couch, where they chat with\neach other. The Count makes him an offer and urges him to consent to\naccept from him a guarantee for the payment of his expenses in the\ntown. But Erec does not deign to accept, saying he is well supplied with\nmoney, and has no need to accept aught from him. They speak long of many\nthings, but the Count constantly glances about in the other direction,\nwhere he caught sight of the lady. Because of her manifest beauty, he\nfixed all his thought on her. He looked at her as much as he could;\nhe coveted her, and she pleased him so that her beauty filled him with\nlove. Very craftily he asked Erec for permission to speak with her.\n\"Sire,\" he says \"I ask a favour of you, and may it not displease you. As\nan act of courtesy and as a pleasure, I would fain sit by yonder lady's\nside. With good intent I came to see you both, and you should see no\nharm in that. I wish to present to the lady my service in all respects.\nKnow well that for love of you I would do whatever may please her.\" Erec\nwas not in the least jealous and suspected no evil or treachery. \"Sire,\"\nsays he, \"I have no objection. You may sit down and talk with her. Don't\nthink that I have any objection. I give you permission willingly.\" The\nlady was seated about two spear-lengths away from him. And the Count\ntook his seat close beside her on a low stool. Prudent and courteous,\nthe lady turned toward him. \"Alas,\" quoth he, \"how grieved I am to see\nyou in such humble state! I am sorry and feel great distress. But if you\nwould believe my word, you could have honour and great advantage, and\nmuch wealth would accrue to you. Such beauty as yours is entitled to\ngreat honour and distinction. I would make you my mistress, if it should\nplease you and be your will; you would be my mistress dear and lady over\nall my land. When I deign to woo you thus, you ought not to disdain my\nsuit. I know and perceive that your lord does not love and esteem you.\nIf you will remain with me, you would be mated with a worthy lord.\"\n\"Sire,\" says Enide, \"your proposal is vain. It cannot be. Ah! better\nthat I were yet unborn, or burnt upon a fire of thorns and my ashes\nscattered abroad than that I should ever in any wise be false to my\nlord, or conceive any felony or treachery toward him. You have made a\ngreat mistake in making such a proposal to me. I shall not agree to it\nin any wise.\" The Count's ire began to rise. \"You disdain to love me,\nlady?\" says he; \"upon my word, you are too proud. Neither for flattery\nnor for prayer you will do my will? It is surely true that a woman's\npride mounts the more one prays and flatters her; but whoever insults\nand dishonours her will often find her more tractable. I give you my\nword that if you do not do my will there soon will be some sword-play\nhere. Rightly or wrongly, I will have your lord slain right here before\nyour eyes.\" \"Ah, sire,\" says Enide, \"there is a better way than that you\nsay. You would commit a wicked and treacherous deed if you killed him\nthus. Calm yourself again, I pray; for I will do your pleasure. You\nmay regard me as all your own, for I am yours and wish to be. I did not\nspeak as I did from pride, but to learn and prove if I could find in you\nthe true love of a sincere heart. But I would not at any price have you\ncommit an act of treason. My lord is not on his guard; and if you should\nkill him thus, you would do a very ugly deed, and I should have the\nblame for it. Every one in the land would say that it had been done with\nmy consent. Go and rest until the morrow, when my lord shall be about\nto rise. Then you can better do him harm without blame and without\nreproach.\" With her heart's thoughts her words do not agree. \"Sire,\"\nsays she, \"believe me now! Have no anxiety; but send here to-morrow your\nknights and squires and have me carried away by force. My lord will rush\nto my defence, for he is proud and bold enough. Either in earnest or in\njest, have him seized and treated ill, or strike his head off, if you\nwill. I have led this life now long enough; to tell the truth. I like\nnot the company of this my lord. Rather would I feel your body lying\nbeside me in a bed. And since we have reached this point, of my love you\nmay rest assured.\" The Count replies: \"It is well, my lady! God bless\nthe hour that you were born; in great estate you shall be held.\" \"Sire,\"\nsays she, \"indeed, I believe it. And yet I would fain have your word\nthat you will always hold me dear; I could not believe you otherwise.\"\nGlad and merry, the Count replies: \"See here, my faith I will pledge to\nyou loyally as a Count, Madame, that I shall do all your behests. Have\nno further fear of that. All you want you shall always have.\" Then she\ntook his plighted word; but little she valued or cared for it, except\ntherewith to save her lord. Well she knows how to deceive a fool, when\nshe puts her mind upon it. Better it were to lie to him than that her\nlord should be cut off. The Count now rose from her side, and commends\nher to God a hundred times. But of little use to him will be the faith\nwhich she has pledged to him. Erec knew nothing at all of this that they\nwere plotting to work his death; but God will be able to lend him aid,\nand I think He will do so. Now Erec is in great peril, and does not know\nthat he must be on his guard. The Count's intentions are very base in\nplanning to steal away his wife and kill him when he is without defence.\nIn treacherous guise he takes his leave: \"To God I commend you,\" says\nhe, and Erec replies: \"And so do I you, sire.\" Thus they separated.\nAlready a good part of the night was passed. Out of the way, in one of\nthe rooms, two beds were made upon the floor. In one of them Erec lays\nhim down, in the other Enide went to rest. Full of grief and anxiety,\nshe never closed her eyes that night, but remained on watch for her\nlord's sake; for from what she had seen of the Count, she knew him to be\nfull of wickedness. She knows full well that if he once gets possession\nof her lord, he will not fail to do him harm. He may be sure of being\nkilled: so for his sake she is in distress. All night she must needs\nkeep her vigil; but before the dawn, if she can bring it about, and if\nher lord will take her word, they will be ready to depart.\n\n(Vv. 3459-3662.) Erec slept all night long securely until daylight. Then\nEnide realised and suspected that she might hesitate too long. Her heart\nwas tender toward her lord, like a good and loyal lady. Her heart was\nneither deceitful nor false. So she rises and makes ready, and drew near\nto her lord to wake him up. \"Ah, sire,\" says she, \"I crave your\npardon. Rise quickly now, for you are betrayed beyond all doubt, though\nguiltless and free from any crime. The Count is a proven traitor, and\nif he can but catch you here, you will never get away without his having\ncut you in pieces. He hates you because he desires me. But if it please\nGod, who knows all things, you shall be neither slain nor caught. Last\nevening he would have killed you had I not assured him that I would be\nhis mistress and his wife. You will see him return here soon: he wants\nto seize me and keep me here and kill you if he can find you.\" Now Erec\nlearns how loyal his wife is to him. \"Lady,\" says he, \"have our horses\nquickly saddled; then run and call our host, and tell him quickly to\ncome here. Treason has been long abroad.\" Now the horses are saddled,\nand the lady summoned the host. Erec has armed and dressed himself, and\ninto his presence came the host. \"Sire,\" said he, \"what haste is this,\nthat you are risen at such an hour, before the day and the sun appear?\"\nErec replies that he has a long road and a full day before him, and\ntherefore he has made ready to set out, having it much upon his mind;\nand he added: \"Sire, you have nor yet handed me any statement of my\nexpenses. You have received me with honour and kindness, and therein\ngreat merit redounds to you. Cancel my indebtedness with these seven\nhorses that I brought here with me. Do not disdain them, but keep them\nfor your own. I cannot increase my gift to you by so much as the value\nof a halter.\" The burgher was delighted with this gift and bowed low,\nexpressing his thanks and gratitude. Then Erec mounts and takes his\nleave, and they set out upon their way. As they ride, he frequently\nwarns Enide that if she sees anything she should not be so bold as to\nspeak to him about it. Meanwhile, there entered the house a hundred\nknights well armed, and very much dismayed they were to find Erec no\nlonger there. Then the Count learned that the lady had deceived him. He\ndiscovered the footsteps of the horses, and they all followed the trail,\nthe Count threatening Erec and vowing that, if he can come up with him,\nnothing can keep him from having his head on the spot. \"A curse on\nhim who now hangs back, and does not spur on fast!\" quoth he; \"he who\npresents me with the head of the knight whom I hate so bitterly, will\nhave served me to my taste.\" Then they plunge on at topmost speed,\nfilled with hostility toward him who had never laid eyes on them and had\nnever harmed them by deed or word. They ride ahead until they made him\nout; at the edge of a forest they catch sight of him before he was hid\nby the forest trees. Not one of them halted then, but all rushed on in\nrivalry. Enide hears the clang and noise of their arms and horses, and\nsees that the valley is full of them. As soon as she saw them, she could\nnot restrain her tongue. \"Ah, sire,\" she cries, \"alas, how this Count\nhas attacked you, when he leads against you such a host! Sire, ride\nfaster now, until we be within this wood. I think we can easily distance\nthem, for they are still a long way behind. If you go on at this pace,\nyou can never escape from death, for you are no match for them.\" Erec\nreplies: \"Little esteem you have for me, and lightly you hold my words.\nIt seems I cannot correct you by fair request. But as the Lord have\nmercy upon me until I escape from here, I swear that you shall pay\ndearly for this speech of yours; that is, unless my mind should change.\"\nThen he straightway turns about, and sees the seneschal drawing near\nupon a horse both strong and fleet. Before them all he takes his stand\nat the distance of four cross-bow shots. He had not disposed of his\narms, but was thoroughly well equipped. Erec reckons up his opponents'\nstrength, and sees there are fully a hundred of them. Then he who thus\nis pressing him thinks he had better call a hair. Then they ride to meet\neach other, and strike upon each other's shield great blows with their\nsharp and trenchant swords. Erec caused his stout steel sword to pierce\nhis body through and through, so that his shield and hauberk protected\nhim no more than a shred of dark-blue silk. And next the Count comes\nspurring on, who, as the story tells, was a strong and doughty knight.\nBut the Count in this was ill advised when he came with only shield and\nlance. He placed such trust in his own prowess that he thought that he\nneeded no other arms. He showed his exceeding boldness by rushing on\nahead of all his men more than the space of nine acres. When Erec saw\nhim stand alone, he turned toward him; the Count is not afraid of him,\nand they come together with clash of arms. First the Count strikes him\nwith such violence upon the breast that he would have lost his stirrups\nif he had not been well set. He makes the wood of his shield to split\nso that the iron of his lance protrudes on the other side. But Erec's\nhauberk was very solid and protected him from death without the tear\nof a single mesh. The Count was strong and breaks his lance; then Erec\nstrikes him with such force on his yellow painted shield that he\nran more than a yard of his lance through his abdomen, knocking him\nsenseless from his steed. Then he turned and rode away without further\ntarrying on the spot. Straight into the forest he spurs at full speed.\nNow Erec is in the woods, and the others paused a while over those who\nlay in the middle of the field. Loudly they swear and vow that they will\nrather follow after him for two or three days than fail to capture and\nslaughter him. The Count, though grievously wounded in the abdomen,\nhears what they say. He draws himself up a little and opens his eyes a\ntiny bit. Now he realises what an evil deed he had begun to execute. He\nmakes the knights step back, and says: \"My lords, I bid you all, both\nstrong and weak, high and low, that none of you be so bold as to dare\nto advance a single step. All of you return now quickly! I have done\na villainous deed, and I repent me of my foul design. The lady who\noutwitted me is very honourable, prudent, and courteous. Her beauty\nfired me with love for her; because I desired her, I wished to kill her\nlord and keep her back with me by force. I well deserved this woe, and\nnow it has come upon me. How abominably disloyal and treacherous I was\nin my madness! Never was there a better knight born of mother than he.\nNever shall he receive harm through me if I can in any way prevent it.\nI command you all to retrace your steps.\" Back they go disconsolate,\ncarrying the lifeless seneschal on the shield reversed. The Count,\nwhose wound was not mortal, lived on for some time after. Thus was Erec\ndelivered.\n\n(Vv. 3663-3930.) Erec goes off at full speed down a road between two\nhedgerows--he and his wife with him. Both putting spurs to their\nhorses, they rode until they came to a meadow which had been mown. After\nemerging from the hedged enclosure they came upon a drawbridge before a\nhigh tower, which was all closed about with a wall and a broad and deep\nmoat. They quickly pass over the bridge, but had not gone far before the\nlord of the place espied them from up in his tower. About this man I\ncan tell you the truth: that he was very small of stature, but very\ncourageous of heart. When he sees Erec cross the bridge, he comes down\nquickly from his tower, and on a great sorrel steed of his he causes\na saddle to be placed, which showed portrayed a golden lion. Then he\norders to be brought his shield, his stiff, straight lance, a sharp\npolished sword, his bright shining helmet, his gleaming hauberk, and\ntriple-woven greaves; for he has seen an armed knight pass before his\nlist against whom he wishes to strive in arms, or else this stranger\nwill strive against him until he shall confess defeat. His command\nwas quickly done: behold the horse now led forth; a squire brought him\naround already bridled and with saddle on. Another fellow brings the\narms. The knight passed out through the gate, as quickly as possible,\nall alone, without companion. Erec is riding along a hill-side, when\nbehold the knight comes tearing down over the top of the hill, mounted\nupon a powerful steed which tore along at such a pace that he crushed\nthe stones beneath his hoofs finer than a millstone grinds the corn; and\nbright gleaming sparks flew off in all directions, so that it seemed as\nif his four feet were all ablaze with fire. Enide heard the noise and\ncommotion, and almost fell from her palfrey, helpless and in a faint.\nThere was no vein in her body in which the blood did not turn, and her\nface became all pale and white as if she were a corpse. Great is her\ndespair and dismay, for she does not dare to address her lord, who often\nthreatens and chides at her and charges her to hold her peace. She is\ndistracted between two courses to pursue, whether to speak or to hold\nher peace. She takes counsel with herself, and often she prepares to\nspeak, so that her tongue already moves, but the voice cannot issue\nforth; for her teeth are clenched with fear, and thus shut up her speech\nwithin. Thus she admonishes and reproaches herself, but she closes her\nmouth and grits her teeth so that her speech cannot issue forth. At\nstrife with herself, she said: \"I am sure and certain that I shall incur\na grievous loss, if here I lose my lord. Shall I tell him all, then,\nopenly? Not I. Why not? I would not dare, for thus I should enrage my\nlord. And if my lord's ire is once aroused, he will leave me in this\nwild place alone, wretched and forlorn. Then I shall be worse off than\nnow. Worse off? What care I? May grief and sorrow always be mine as long\nas I live, if my lord does not promptly escape from here without being\ndelivered to a violent death. But if I do not quickly inform him, this\nknight who is spurring hither will have killed him before he is aware;\nfor he seems of very evil intent. I think I have waited too long from\nfear of his vigorous prohibition. But I will no longer hesitate because\nof his restraint. I see plainly that my lord is so deep in thought that\nhe forgets himself; so it is fight that I should address him.\" She\nspoke to him. He threatens her, but has no desire to do her harm, for he\nrealises and knows full well that she loves him above all else, and\nhe loves her, too, to the utmost. He rides toward the knight, who\nchallenges him to battle, and they meet at the foot of the hill, where\nthey attack and defy each other. Both smite each other with their\niron-tipped lances with all their strength. The shields that hang about\ntheir necks are not worth two coats of bark: the leather tears, and they\nsplit the wood, and they shatter the meshes of the hauberks. Both are\npierced to the vitals by the lances, and the horses fall to earth. Now,\nboth the warriors were doughty. Grievously, but not mortally, wounded,\nthey quickly got upon their feet and grasped afresh their lances, which\nwere not broken nor the worse for wear. But they cast them away on the\nground, and drawing their swords from the scabbard, they attack each\nother with great fury. Each wounds and injures the other, for there\nis no mercy on either side. They deal such blows upon the helmets\nthat gleaming sparks fly out when their swords recoil. They split and\nsplinter the shields; they batter and crush the hauberks. In four places\nthe swords are brought down to the bare flesh, so that they are greatly\nweakened and exhausted. And if both their swords had lasted long without\nbreaking, they would never have retreated, nor would the battle have\ncome to an end before one of them perforce had died. Enide, who was\nwatching them, was almost beside herself with grief. Whoever could\nhave seen her then, as she showed her great woe by wringing her hands,\ntearing her hair and shedding tears, could have seen a loyal lady. And\nany man would have been a vulgar wretch who saw and did not pity her.\nAnd the knights still fight, knocking the jewels from the helmets and\ndealing at each other fearful blows. From the third to the ninth hour\nthe battle continued so fierce that no one could in any wise make out\nwhich was to have the better of it. Erec exerts himself and strives; he\nbrought his sword down upon his enemy's helmet, cleaving it to the inner\nlining of mail and making him stagger; but he stood firmly and did not\nfall. Then he attacked Erec in turn, and dealt him such a blow upon the\ncovering of his shield that his strong and precious sword broke when he\ntried to pull it out. When he saw that his sword was broken, in a spite\nhe threw as far away as he could the part that remained in his hand. Now\nhe was afraid and must needs draw back; for any knight that lacks his\nsword cannot do much execution in battle or assault. Erec pursues\nhim until he begs him, for God's sake, not to kill him. \"Mercy, noble\nknight,\" he cries, \"be not so cruel and harsh toward me. Now that I am\nleft without my sword, you have the strength and the power to take my\nlife or make me your prisoner, for I have no means of defence.\" Erec\nreplies: \"When thou thus dost petition me I fain would hear thee admit\noutright whether thou art defeated and overcome. Thou shalt not again be\ntouched by me if thou dost surrender at my discretion.\" The knight was\nslow to make reply. So, when Erec saw him hesitate, in order to further\ndismay him, he again attacked him, rushing at him with drawn sword;\nwhereupon, thoroughly terrified, he cried: \"Mercy, sire! Regard me as\nyour captive, since it cannot be otherwise.\" Erec answers: \"More than\nthat is necessary. You shall not get off so easily as that. Tell me your\nstation and your name, and I in turn will tell you mine.\" \"Sire,\" says\nhe, \"you are right. I am king of this country. My liegemen are Irishmen,\nand there is none who does not have to pay me rent. [129] My name\nis Guivret the Little. I am very rich and powerful; for there is no\nlandholder whose lands touch mine in any direction who ever transgresses\nmy command and who does not do my pleasure. I have no neighbour who does\nnot fear me, however proud and bold he may be. But I greatly desire to\nbe your confidant and friend from this time on.\" Erec replies: \"I, too,\ncan boast that I am a noble man. My name is Erec, son of King Lac. My\nfather is king of Farther Wales, and has many a rich city, fine hall,\nand strong town; no king or emperor has more than he, save only King\nArthur. Him, of course, I except; for with him none can compare.\"\nGuivret is greatly astonished at this, and says: \"Sire, a great marvel\nis this I hear. I was never so glad of anything as of your acquaintance.\nYou may put full trust in me! And should it please you to abide in my\ncountry within my estates, I shall have you treated with great honour.\nSo long as you care to remain here, you shall be recognised as my lord.\nWe both have need of a physician, and I have a castle of mine near here,\nnot eight leagues away, nor even seven. I wish to take you thither with\nme, and there we shall have our wounds tended.\" Erec replies: \"I thank\nyou for what I have heard you say. However, I will not go, thank you.\nBut only so much I request of you, that if I should be in need, and\nyou should hear that I had need of aid, you would not then forget me.\"\n\"Sire\" says he, \"I promise you that never, so long as I am alive, shall\nyou have need of my help but that I shall go at once to aid you with all\nthe assistance I can command.\" \"I have nothing more to ask of you,\" says\nErec; \"you have promised me much. You are now my lord and friend, if\nyour deed is as good as your word.\" Then each kisses and embraces the\nother. Never was there such an affectionate parting after such a fierce\nbattle; for from very affection and generosity each one cut off long,\nwide strips from the bottom of his shirt and bound up the other's\nwounds. When they had thus bandaged each other, they commended each\nother to God.\n\n(Vv. 3931-4280.) So thus they parted. Guivret takes his way back alone,\nwhile Erec resumed his road, in dire need of plaster wherewith to heal\nhis wounds. He did not cease to travel until he came to a plain beside a\nlofty forest all full of stags, hinds, deer, does, and other beasts,\nand all sorts of game. Now King Arthur and the Queen and the best of his\nbarons had come there that very day. The King wished to spend three or\nfour days in the forest for pleasure and sport, and had commanded tents,\npavilions, and canopies to be brought. My lord Gawain had stepped into\nthe King's tent, all tired out by a long ride. In front of the tent a\nwhite beech stood, and there he had left a shield of his, together with\nhis ashen lance. He left his steed, all saddled and bridled, fastened to\na branch by the rein. There the horse stood until Kay the seneschal came\nby. [130] He came up quickly and, as if to beguile the time, took the\nsteed and mounted, without the interference of any one. He took the\nlance and the shield, too, which were close by under the tree. Galloping\nalong on the steed, Kay rode along a valley until it came about by\nchance that Erec met him. Now Erec recognised the seneschal, and he knew\nthe arms and the horse, but Kay did not recognise him, for he could not\nbe distinguished by his arms. So many blows of sword and lance had he\nreceived upon his shield that all the painted design had disappeared\nfrom it. And the lady, who did not wish to be seen or recognised by him,\nshrewdly held her veil before her face, as if she were doing it because\nof the sun's glare and the dust. Kay approached rapidly and straightway\nseized Erec's rein, without so much as saluting him. Before he let him\nmove, he presumptuously asked him: \"Knight,\" says he, \"I wish to know\nwho you are and whence you come.\" \"You must be mad to stop me thus,\"\nsays Erec; \"you shall not know that just now.\" And the other replies:\n\"Be not angry; I only ask it for your good. I can see and make out\nclearly that you are wounded and hurt. If you will come along with me\nyou shall have a good lodging this night; I shall see that you are well\ncared for, honoured and made comfortable: for you are in need of\nrest. King Arthur and the Queen are close by here in a wood, lodged in\npavilions and tents. In all good faith, I advise you to come with me to\nsee the Queen and King, who will take much pleasure in you and will\nshow you great honour.\" Erec replies: \"You say well; yet will I not\ngo thither for anything. You know not what my business is: I must yet\nfarther pursue my way. Now let me go; too long I stay. There is still\nsome daylight left.\" Kay makes answer: \"You speak madness when you\ndecline to come. I trow you will repent of it. And however much it\nmay be against your will, you shall both go, as the priest goes to the\ncouncil, willy-nilly. To-night you will be badly served, if, unmindful\nof my advice, you go there as strangers. Come now quickly, for I will\ntake you.\" At this word Erec's ire was roused. \"Vassal,\" says he, \"you\nare mad to drag me thus after you by force. You have taken me quite off\nmy guard. I tell you you have committed an offence. For I thought to be\nquite safe, and was not on my guard against you.\" Then he lays his hand\nupon his sword and cries: \"Hands off my bridle, vassal! Step aside. I\nconsider you proud and impudent. I shall strike you, be sure of that, if\nyou drag me longer after you. Leave me alone now.\" Then he lets him go,\nand draws off across the field more than an acre's width; then turns\nabout and, as a man with evil intent, issues his challenge. Each\nrushed at the other. But, because Kay was without armour, Erec acted\ncourteously and turned the point of his lance about and presented the\nbutt-end instead. Even so, he gave him such a blow high up on the broad\nexpanse of his shield that he caused it to wound him on the temple,\npinning his arm to his breast: all prone he throws him to the earth.\nThen he went to catch the horse and hands him over by the bridle to\nEnide. He was about to lead it away, when the wounded man with his\nwonted flattery begs him to restore it courteously to him. With fair\nwords he flatters and wheedles him. \"Vassal,\" says he, \"so help me God,\nthat horse is not mine. Rather does it belong to that knight in whom\ndwells the greatest prowess in the world, my lord Gawain the Bold. I\ntell you so much on his behalf, in order that you may send it back to\nhim and thus win honour. So shall you be courteous and wise, and I shall\nbe your messenger.\" Erec makes answer: \"Take the horse, vassal, and lead\nit away. Since it belongs to my lord Gawain it is not meet that I should\nappropriate it.\" Kay takes the horse, remounts, and coming to the royal\ntent, tells the King the whole truth, keeping nothing back. And the King\nsummoned Gawain, saying: \"Fair nephew Gawain, if ever you were true and\ncourteous, go quickly after him and ask him in winsome wise who he is\nand what his business. And if you can influence him and bring him along\nwith you to us, take care not to fail to do so.\" Then Gawain mounts his\nsteed, two squires following after him. They soon made Erec out, but did\nnot recognise him. Gawain salutes him, and he Gawain: their greetings\nwere mutual. Then said my lord Gawain with his wonted openness: \"Sire,\"\nsays he, \"King Arthur sends me along this way to encounter you. The\nQueen and King send you their greeting, and beg you urgently to come and\nspend some time with them (it may benefit you and cannot harm), as they\nare close by.\" Erec replies: \"I am greatly obliged to the King and Queen\nand to you who are, it seems, both kind of heart and of gentle mien. I\nam not in a vigorous state; rather do I bear wounds within my body: yet\nwill I not turn aside from my way to seek a lodging-place. So you need\nnot longer wait: I thank you, but you may be gone.\" Now Gawain was a man\nof sense. He draws back and whispers in the ear of one of the squires,\nbidding him go quickly and tell the King to take measures at once to\ntake down and lower his tents and come and set them up in the middle of\nthe road three or four leagues in advance of where they now are.\nThere the King must lodge to-night, if he wishes to meet and extend\nhospitality to the best knight in truth whom he can ever hope to see;\nbut who will not go out of his way for a lodging at the bidding of any\none. The fellow went and gave his message. The King without delay causes\nhis tents to be taken down. Now they are lowered, the sumpters loaded,\nand off they set. The King mounted Aubagu, and the Queen afterwards\nmounted a white Norse palfrey. All this while, my lord Gawain did not\ncease to detain Erec, until the latter said to him: \"Yesterday I covered\nmore ground than I shall do to-day. Sire, you annoy me; let me go.\nYou have already disturbed a good part of my day.\" And my lord Gawain\nanswers him: \"I should like to accompany you a little way, if you do not\nobject; for it is yet a long while until night. They spent so much time\nin talking that all the tents were set up before them, and Erec sees\nthem, and perceives that his lodging is arranged for him. \"Ah! Gawain,\"\nhe says, \"your shrewdness has outwitted me. By your great cunning you\nhave kept me here. Since it has turned out thus, I shall tell you my\nname at once. Further concealment would be useless. I am Erec, who was\nformerly your companion and friend.\" Gawain hears him and straightway\nembraces him. He raised up his helmet and unlaced his mouthpiece.\nJoyfully he clasps him in his embrace, while Erec embraces him in\nturn. Then Gawain leaves him, saying, \"Sire, this news will give great\npleasure to my lord; he and my lady will both be glad, and I must go\nbefore to tell them of it. But first I must embrace and welcome and\nspeak comfortably to my lady Enide, your wife. My lady the Queen has a\ngreat desire to see her. I heard her speak of her only yesterday.\" Then\nhe steps up to Enide and asks her how she is, if she is well and in good\ncase. She makes answer courteously: \"Sire, I should have no cause for\ngrief, were I not in great distress for my lord; but as it is, I am in\ndismay, for he has hardly a limb without a wound.\" Gawain replies: \"This\ngrieves me much. It is perfectly evident from his face, which is all\npale and colourless. I could have wept myself when I saw him so pale\nand wan, but my joy effaced my grief, for at sight of him I felt so glad\nthat I forgot all other pain. Now start and ride along slowly. I shall\nride ahead at top-speed to tell the Queen and the King that you are\nfollowing after me. I am sure that they will both be delighted when they\nhear it.\" Then he goes, and comes to the King's tent. \"Sire,\" he cries,\n\"now you and my lady must be glad, for here come Erec and his wife.\" The\nKing leaps to his feet with joy. \"Upon my word!\" he says, \"right glad\nI am. I could hear no news which could give me so much happiness.\" The\nQueen and all the rest rejoice, and come out from the tents as fast as\nthey may. Even the King comes forth from his pavilion, and they met Erec\nnear at band. When Erec sees the King coming, he quickly dismounts,\nand Enide too. The King embraces and meets them, and the Queen likewise\ntenderly kisses and embraces them: there is no one that does not show\nhis joy. Right there, upon the spot, they took off Erec's armour; and\nwhen they saw his wounds, their joy turned to sadness. The King draws a\ndeep sigh at the sight of them, and has a plaster brought which Morgan,\nhis sister, had made. This piaster, which Morgan had given to Arthur,\nwas of such sovereign virtue that no wound, whether on nerve or joint,\nprovided it were treated with the piaster once a day, could fail to be\ncompletely cured and healed within a week. They brought to the King the\npiaster which gave Erec great relief. When they had bathed, dried, and\nbound up his wounds, the King leads him and Enide into his own royal\ntent, saying that he intends, out of love for Erec, to tarry in the\nforest a full fortnight, until he be completely restored to health.\nFor this Erec thanks the King, saying: \"Fair sire, my wounds are not so\npainful that I should desire to abandon my journey. No one could detain\nme; to-morrow, without delay, I shall wish to get off in the morning, as\nsoon as I see the dawn.\" At this the King shook his head and said: \"This\nis a great mistake for you not to remain with us. I know that you are\nfar from well. Stay here, and you will do the right thing. It will be\na great pity and cause for grief if you die in this forest. Fair gentle\nfriend, stay here now until you are quite yourself again.\" Erec replies:\n\"Enough of this. I have undertaken this journey, and shall not tarry in\nany wise.\" The King hears that he would by no means stay for prayer of\nhis; so he says no more about it, and commands the supper to be prepared\nat once and the tables to be spread. The servants go to make their\npreparations. It was a Saturday night; so they ate fish and fruit, pike\nand perch, salmon and trout, and then pears both raw and cooked. [131]\nSoon after supper they ordered the beds to be made ready. The King, who\nheld Erec dear, had him laid in a bed alone; for he did not wish that\nany one should lie with him who might touch his wounds. That night he\nwas well lodged. In another bed close by lay Enide with the Queen under\na cover of ermine, and they all slept in great repose until the day\nbroke next morning.\n\n(Vv. 4281-4307.) Next day, as soon as it is dawn. Erec arises, dresses,\ncommands his horses to be saddled, and orders his arms to be brought to\nhim. The valets run and bring them to him. Again the King and all the\nknights urge him to remain; but entreaty is of no avail, for he will not\nstay for anything. Then you might have seen them all weep and show such\ngrief as if they already saw him dead. He puts on his arms, and Enide\narises. All the knights are sore distressed, for they think they will\nnever see them more. They follow them out from the tents, and send for\ntheir own horses, that they may escort and accompany them. Erec said to\nthem: \"Be not angry! but you shall not accompany me a single step. I'll\nthank you if you'll stay behind!\" His horse was brought to him, and he\nmounts without delay. Taking his shield and lance, he commends them all\nto God, and they in turn wish Erec well. Then Enide mounts, and they\nride away.\n\n(Vv. 4308-4380.) Entering a forest, they rode on without halting till\nhour of prime. While they thus traversed the wood, they heard in the\ndistance the cry of a damsel in great distress. When Erec heard the cry,\nhe felt sure from the sound that it was the voice of one in trouble and\nin need of help. Straightway calling Enide, he says: \"Lady, there is\nsome maiden who goes through the wood calling aloud. I take it that she\nis in need of aid and succour. I am going to hasten in that direction\nand see what her trouble is. Do you dismount and await me here, while\nI go yonder.\" \"Gladly, sire,\" she says. Leaving her alone, he makes his\nway until he found the damsel, who was going through the wood, lamenting\nher lover whom two giants had taken and were leading away with very\ncruel treatment. The maiden was rending her garments, and tearing her\nhair and her tender crimson face. Erec sees her and, wondering greatly,\nbegs her to tell him why she cries and weeps so sore. The maiden cries\nand sighs again, then sobbing, says: \"Fair sire, it is no wonder if I\ngrieve, for I wish I were dead. I neither love nor prize my life, for my\nlover has been led away prisoner by two wicked and cruel giants who are\nhis mortal enemies. God! what shall I do? Woe is me! deprived of the\nbest knight alive, the most noble and the most courteous. And now he\nis in great peril of death. This very day, and without cause, they will\nbring him to some vile death. Noble knight, for God's sake, I beg you to\nsuccour my lover, if now you can lend him any aid. You will not have to\nrun far, for they must still be close by.\" \"Damsel,\" says Erec, \"I will\nfollow them, since you request it, and rest assured that I shall do all\nwithin my power: either I shall be taken prisoner along with him, or\nI shall restore him to you safe and sound. If the giants let him live\nuntil I can find him, I intend to measure my strength with theirs.\"\n\"Noble knight,\" the maiden said, \"I shall always be your servant if you\nrestore to me my lover. Now go in God's name, and make haste, I beseech\nyou.\" \"Which way lies their path?\" \"This way, my lord. Here is the path\nwith the footprints.\" Then Erec started at a gallop, and told her to\nawait him there. The maid commends him to the Lord, and prays God very\nfervently that He should give him force by His command to discomfit\nthose who intend evil toward her lover.\n\n(Vv. 4381-4579.) Erec went off along the trail, spurring his horse in\npursuit of the giants. He followed in pursuit of them until he caught\nsight of them before they emerged from the wood; he saw the knight with\nbare limbs mounted naked on a nag, his hands and feet bound as if he\nwere arrested for highway robbery. The giants had no lances, shields or\nwhetted swords; but they both had clubs and scourges, with which they\nwere beating him so cruelly that already they had cut the skin on his\nback to the bone. Down his sides and flanks the blood ran, so that the\nnag was all covered with blood down to the belly. [132] Erec came along\nalone after them. He was very sad and distressed about the knight whom\nhe saw them treat so spitefully. Between two woods in an open field he\ncame up with them, and asks: \"My lords,\" says he, \"for what crime do you\ntreat this man so ill and lead him along like a common thief? You are\ntreating him too cruelly. You are driving him just as if he had been\ncaught stealing. It is a monstrous insult to strip a knight naked, and\nthen bind him and beat him so shamefully. Hand him over to me, I beg of\nyou with all good-will and courtesy. I have no wish to demand him of you\nforcibly.\" \"Vassal,\" they say, \"what business is this of yours? You must\nbe mad to make any demand of us. If you do not like it, try and improve\nmatters.\" Erec replies: \"Indeed, I like it not, and you shall not lead\nhim away so easily. Since you have left the matter in my hands, I say\nwhoever can get possession of him let him keep him. Take your positions.\nI challenge you. You shall not take him any farther before some blows\nhave been dealt.\" \"Vassal,\" they reply, \"you are mad, indeed, to wish\nto measure your strength with us. If you were four instead of one,\nyou would have no more strength against us than one lamb against two\nwolves.\" \"I do not know how it will turn out,\" Erec replies; \"if the sky\nfails and the earth melts, then many a lark will be caught. Many a man\nboasts loudly who is of little worth. On guard now, for I am going\nto attack you.\" The giants were strong and fierce, and held in their\nclenched hands their big clubs tipped with iron. Erec went at them lance\nin rest. He fears neither of them, in spite of their menace and their\npride, and strikes the foremost of them through the eye so deep into the\nbrain that the blood and brains spurt out at the back of his neck; that\none lies dead and his heart stops beating. When the other saw him dead,\nhe had reason to be sorely grieved. Furious, he went to avenge him: with\nboth hands he raised his club on high and thought to strike him squarely\nupon his unprotected head: but Erec watched the blow, and received it on\nhis shield. Even so, the giant landed such a blow that it quite stunned\nhim, and almost made him fall to earth from his steed. Erec covers\nhimself with his shield and the giant, recovering himself, thinks to\nstrike again quickly upon his head. But Erec had drawn his sword, and\nattacked him with such fierceness that the giant was severely handled:\nhe strikes him so hard upon the neck that he splits him down to the\nsaddle-bow. He scatters his bowels upon the earth, and the body falls\nfull length, split in two halves. The knight weeps with joy and,\nworshipping, praises God who has sent him this aid. Then Erec unbound\nhim, made him dress and arm himself, and mount one of the horses; the\nother he made him lead with his right hand, and asks him who he is. And\nhe replied: \"Noble knight, thou art my liege lord. I wish to regard\nthee as my lord, as by right I ought to do, for thou hast saved my life,\nwhich but now would have been cut off from my body with great torment\nand cruelty. What chance, fair gentle sire, in God's name, guided thee\nhither to me, to free me by thy courage from the hands of my enemies?\nSire, I wish to do thee homage. Henceforth, I shall always accompany\nthee and serve thee as my lord.\" Erec sees that he is disposed to serve\nhim gladly, if he may, and says: \"Friend, for your service I have no\ndesire; but you must know that I came hither to succour you at the\ninstance of your lady, whom I found sorrowing in this wood. Because of\nyou, she grieves and moans; for full of sorrow is her heart. I wish to\npresent you to her now. As soon as I have reunited you with her, I shall\ncontinue my way alone; for you have no call to go with me. I have no\nneed cf your company; but I fain would know your name.\" \"Sire,\" says he,\n\"as you wish. Since you desire to know my name, it must not be kept from\nyou. My name is Cadoc of Tabriol: know that thus I am called. But since\nI must part from you. I should like to know, if it may be, who you are\nand of what land, where I may sometime find and search for you, when\nI shall go a way from here.\" Erec replies: \"Friend, that I will never\nconfide to you. Never speak of it again; but if you wish to find it out\nand do me honour in any wise go quickly now without delay to my lord,\nKing Arthur, who with might and main is hunting the stag in yonder wood,\nas I take it, not five short leagues from here. Go thither quickly and\ntake him word that you are sent to him as a gift by him whom yesterday\nwithin his tent he joyfully received and lodged. And be careful not to\nconceal from him from what peril I set free both your life and body. I\nam dearly cherished at the court, and if you present yourself in my name\nyou will do me a service and honour. There you shall ask who I am; but\nyou cannot know it otherwise.\" \"Sire,\" says Cadoc, \"I will follow your\nbidding in all respects. You need never have any fear that I do not go\nwith a glad heart. I shall tell the King the full truth regarding\nthe battle which you have fought on my behalf.\" Thus speaking, they\ncontinued their way until they came to the maiden where Erec had left\nher. The damsel's joy knew no bounds when she saw coming her lover whom\nshe never thought to see again. Taking him by the hand, Erec presents\nhim to her with the words: \"Grieve no longer, demoiselle! Behold your\nlover glad and joyous.\" And she with prudence makes reply: \"Sire, by\nright you have won us both. Yours we should be, to serve and honour. But\nwho could ever repay half the debt we owe you?\" Erec makes answer: \"My\ngentle lady, no recompense do I ask of you. To God I now commend you\nboth, for too long, methinks, I have tarried here.\" Then he turns his\nhorse about, and rides away as fast as he can. Cadoc of Tabriol with his\ndamsel rides off in another direction; and soon he told the news to King\nArthur and the Queen.\n\n(Vv. 4580-4778.) Erec continues to ride at great speed to the place\nwhere Enide was awaiting him in great concern, thinking that surely he\nhad completely deserted her. And he, too, was in great fear lest some\none, finding her alone, might have carried her off. So he made all haste\nto return. But the heat of the day was such, and his arms caused him\nsuch distress, that his wounds broke open and burst the bandages. His\nwounds never stopped bleeding before he came directly to the spot where\nEnide was waiting for him. She espied him and rejoiced: but she did not\nrealise or know the pain from which he was suffering; for all his body\nwas bathed in blood, and his heart hardly had strength to beat. As he\nwas descending a hill he fell suddenly over upon his horse's neck. As he\ntried to straighten up, he lost his saddle and stirrups, falling, as if\nlifeless, in a faint. Then began such heavy grief, when Enide saw him\nfall to earth. Full of fear at the sight of him, she runs toward him\nlike one who makes no concealment of her grief. Aloud she cries, and\nwrings her hands: not a shred of her robe remains untorn across her\nbreast. She begins to tear her hair and lacerate her tender face. [133]\n\"Ah God!\" she cries, \"fair gentle Lord, why dost Thou let me thus live\non? Come Death, and kill me hastily!\" With these words she faints upon\nhis body. When she recovered, she said to herself reproachfully: \"Woe is\nme, wretched Enide; I am the murderer of my lord, in having killed\nhim by my speech. My lord would still be now alive, if I in my mad\npresumption had not spoken the word which engaged him in this adventure.\nSilence never harmed any one, but speech often worketh woe. The truth of\nthis I have tried and proved in more ways than one.\" Beside her lord she\ntook her seat, holding his head upon her lap. Then she begins her dole\nanew. \"Alas,\" she says, \"my lord, unhappy thou, thou who never hadst a\npeer; for in thee was beauty seen and prowess was made manifest; wisdom\nhad given thee its heart, and largess set a crown upon thee, without\nwhich no one is esteemed. But what did I say? A grievous mistake I made\nin uttering the word which has killed my lord--that fatal poisoned word\nfor which I must justly be reproached; and I recognise and admit that\nno one is guilty but myself; I alone must be blamed for this.\" Then\nfainting she falls upon the ground, and when she later sat up again, she\nonly moans again the more: \"God, what shall I do, and why live on? Why\ndoes Death delay and hesitate to come and seize me without respite?\nTruly, Death holds me in great contempt! Since Death does not deign to\ntake my life, I must myself perforce achieve the vengeance for my sinful\ndeed. Thus shall I die in spite of Death, who will not heed my call for\naid. Yet, I cannot die through mere desire, nor would complaining avail\nme aught. The sword, which my lord had gilded on, ought by right to\navenge his death. I will not longer consume myself in distress, in\nprayer, and vain desire.\" She draws the sword forth from its sheath and\nbegins to consider it. God, who is full of mercy, caused her to delay\na little; and while she passes in review her sorrow and her misfortune,\nbehold there comes riding apace a Count with numerous suite, who from\nafar had heard the lady's loud outcry. God did not wish to desert her;\nfor now she would have killed herself, had she not been surprised by\nthose who took away from her the sword and thrust it back into its\nsheath. The Count then dismounted from his horse and began to inquire\nof her concerning the knight, and whether she was his wife or his\nlady-love. \"Both one and the other, sire,\" she says, \"my sorrow is such\nas I cannot tell. Woe is me that I am not dead.\" And the Count begins\nto comfort her: \"Lady,\" he says, \"by the Lord, I pray you, to take some\npity on yourself! It is meet that you should mourn, but it is no use to\nbe disconsolate; for you may yet rise to high estate. Do not sink into\napathy, but comfort yourself; that will be wise, and God will give you\njoy again. Your wondrous beauty holds good fortune in store for you; for\nI will take you as my wife, and make you a countess and dame of rank:\nthis ought to bring you much consolation. And I shall have the body\nremoved and laid away with great honour. Leave off now this grief of\nyours which in your frenzy you display.\" And she replies: \"Sire, begone!\nFor God's sake, let me be! You can accomplish nothing here. Nothing that\none could say or do could ever make me glad again.\" At this the Count\ndrew back and said: \"Let us make a bier, whereon to carry away this body\nwith the lady to the town of Limors. There the body shall be interred.\nThen will I espouse the lady, whether or not she give consent: for never\ndid I see any one so fair, nor desire any as I do her. Happy I am to\nhave met with her. Now make quickly and without delay a proper bier for\nthis dead knight. Halt not for the trouble, nor from sloth.\" Then some\nof his men draw out their swords and soon cut two saplings, upon which\nthey laid branches cross-wise. Upon this litter they laid Erec down;\nthen hitched two horses to it. Enide rides alongside, not ceasing to\nmake lament, and often fainting and falling back; but the horsemen hold\nher tight, and try to support her with their arms, and raise her up and\ncomfort her. All the way to Limors they escort the body, until they come\nto the palace of the Count. All the people follow up after them--ladies,\nknights, and townspeople. In the middle off the hall upon a dais they\nstretched the body out full length, with his lance and shield alongside.\nThe hall is full, the crowd is dense. Each one is anxious to inquire\nwhat is this trouble, what marvel here. Meanwhile the Count takes\ncounsel with his barons privily. \"My lords,\" he says, \"upon the spot I\nwish to espouse this lady here. We can plainly judge by her beauty\nand prudent mien that she is of very gentle rank. Her beauty and noble\nbearing show that the honour of a kingdom or empire might well be\nbestowed upon her. I shall never suffer disgrace through her; rather I\nthink to win more honour. Have my chaplain summoned now, and do you go\nand fetch the lady. The half of all my land I will give her as her dower\nif she will comply with my desire.\" Then they bade the chaplain come,\nin accordance with the Count's command, and the dame they brought there,\ntoo, and made her marry him perforce; for she flatly refused to give\nconsent. But in spite of all, the Count married her in accordance with\nhis wish. And when he had married her, the constable at once had the\ntables set in the palace, and had the food prepared; for already it was\ntime for the evening meal.\n\n(Vv. 4779-4852.) After vespers, that day in May, Enide was in sore\ndistress, nor did her grief cease to trouble her. And the Count urged\nher mildly by prayer and threat to make her peace and be consoled, and\nhe made her sit down upon a chair, though it was against her will. In\nspite of her, they made her take a seat and placed the table in front of\nher. The Count takes his place on the other side, almost beside himself\nwith rage to find that he cannot comfort her. \"Lady,\" he says, \"you must\nnow leave off this grief and banish it. You can have full trust in\nme, that honour and riches will be yours. You must surely realise that\nmourning will not revive the dead; for no one ever saw such a thing come\nabout. Remember now, though poor you were, that great riches are within\nyour reach. Once you were poor; rich now you will be. Fortune has\nnot been stingy toward you, in bestowing upon you the honour of being\nhenceforth hailed as Countess. It is true that your lord is dead. If\nyou grieve and lament because of this, do you think that I am surprised?\nNay. But I am giving you the best advice I know how to give. In that I\nhave married you, you ought to be content. Take care you do not anger\nme! Eat now, as I bid you do.\" And she replies: \"Not I, my lord. In\nfaith, as long as I live I will neither eat nor drink unless I first\nsee my lord eat who is lying on yonder dais\" \"Lady, that can never be.\nPeople will think that you are mad when you talk such great nonsense.\nYou will receive a poor reward if you give occasion to-day for further\nreproof.\" To this she vouchsafed no reply, holding his threats in slight\nesteem, and the Count strikes her upon the face. At this she shrieks,\nand the barons present blame the Count. \"Hold, sire!\" they cry to the\nCount; \"you ought to be ashamed of having struck this lady because she\nwill not eat. You have done a very ugly deed. If this lady is distressed\nbecause of her lord whom she now sees dead, no one should say that she\nis wrong.\" \"Keep silence, all.\" the Count replies; \"the dame is mine and\nI am hers, and I will do with her as I please.\" At this she could not\nhold her peace, but swears she will never be his. And the Count springs\nup and strikes her again, and she cries out aloud. \"Ha! wretch,\" she\nsays, \"I care not what thou say to me, or what thou do! I fear not thy\nblows, nor yet thy threats. Beat me and strike me, as thou wilt. I shall\nnever heed thy power so much as to do thy bidding more or less, even\nwere thou with thy hands fight now to snatch out my eyes or flay me\nalive.\"\n\n(Vv. 4853-4938.) In the midst of these words and disputes Erec recovered\nfrom his swoon, like a man who awakes from sleep. No wonder that he was\namazed at the crowd of people he saw around. But great was his grief\nand great his woe when he heard the voice of his wife. He stepped to the\nfloor from off the dais and quickly drew his sword. Wrath and the love\nhe bore his wife gave him courage. He runs thither where he sees her,\nand strikes the Count squarely upon the head, so that he beats out\nhis brains and, knocking in his forehead, leaves him senseless and\nspeechless; his blood and brains flow out. The knights spring from the\ntables, persuaded that it is the devil who had made his way among them\nthere. Of young or old there none remains, for all were thrown in great\ndismay. Each one tries to outrun the other in beating a hasty retreat.\nSoon they were all clear of the palace, and cry aloud, both weak and\nstrong: \"Flee, flee, here comes the corpse!\" At the door the press is\ngreat: each one strives to make his escape, and pushes and shoves as\nbest he may. He who is last in the surging throng would fain get into\nthe foremost line. Thus they make good their escape in flight, for one\ndares not stand upon another's going. Erec ran to seize his shield,\nhanging it about his neck by the strap, while Enide lays hands upon the\nlance. Then they step out into the courtyard. There is no one so bold as\nto offer resistance; for they did not believe it could be a man who had\nthus expelled them, but a devil or some enemy who had entered the\ndead body. Erec pursues them as they flee, and finds outside in\nthe castle-yard a stable-boy in the act of leading his steed to the\nwatering-place, all equipped with bridle and saddle. This chance\nencounter pleased Erec well: as he steps up quickly to the horse, the\nboy in fear straightway yields him up. Erec takes his seat between the\nsaddle-bows, while Enide, seizing the stirrup, springs up on to the\nhorse's neck, as Erec, who bade her mount, commanded and instructed her\nto do. The horse bears them both away; and finding open the town gate,\nthey make their escape without detention. In the town there was great\nanxiety about the Count who had been killed; but there is no one,\nhowever brave, who follows Erec to take revenge. At his table the Count\nwas slain; while Erec, who bears his wife away, embraces and kisses and\ngives her cheer. In his arms he clasps her against his heart, and\nsays: \"Sweet sister mine, my proof of you has been complete! Be no more\nconcerned in any wise, for I love you now more than ever I did before;\nand I am certain and rest assured that you love me with a perfect love.\nFrom this time on for evermore, I offer myself to do your will just as\nI used to do before. And if you have spoken ill of me, I pardon you\nand call you quit of both the offence and the word you spoke.\" Then he\nkisses her again and clasps her tight. Now Enide is not ill at ease when\nher lord clasps and kisses her and tells her again that he loves her\nstill. Rapidly through the night they ride, and they are very glad that\nthe moon shines bright.\n\n(Vv. 4939-5058.) Meanwhile, the news has travelled fast, and there is\nnothing else so quick. The news had reached Guivret the Little that a\nknight wounded with arms had been found dead in the forest, and that\nwith him was a lady making moan, and so wondrous fair that Iseut would\nhave seemed her waiting-maid. Count Oringle of Limors had found them\nboth, and had caused the corpse to be borne away, and wished himself to\nespouse the lady; but she refused him. When Guivret heard this news,\nhe was by no means pleased; for at once the thought of Erec occurred to\nhim. It came into his heart and mind to go and seek out the lady, and\nto have the body honourably interred, if it should turn out to be he.\nHe assembled a thousand men-at-arms and knights to take the town. If the\nCount would not surrender of his own accord the body and the lady, he\nwould put all to fire and flame. In the moonlight shining clear he led\nhis men on toward Limors, with helmets laced, in hauberks clad, and from\ntheir necks the shields were hung. Thus, under arms, they all advanced\nuntil nearly midnight, when Erec espied them. Now he expects to be\nensnared or killed or captured inevitably. He makes Enide dismount\nbeside a thicket-hedge. No wonder if he is dismayed. \"Lady, do you stay\nhere,\" he says, \"beside this thicket-hedge a while, until these people\nshall have passed. I do not wish them to catch sight of you, for I do\nnot know what manner of people they are, nor of what they go in search.\nI trust we may not attract their attention. But I see nowhere any place\nwhere we could take refuge, should they wish to injure us. I know not\nif any harm may come to me, but not from fear shall I fail to sally out\nagainst them. And if any one assails me, I shall not fail to joust with\nhim. Yet, I am so sore and weary that it is no wonder if I grieve. Now\nto meet them I must go, and do you stay quiet here. Take care that no\none see you, until they shall have left you far behind.\" Behold now\nGuivret, with lance outstretched, who espied him from afar. They did not\nrecognise each other, for the moon had gone behind the shadow of a\ndark cloud. Erec was weak and exhausted, and his antagonist was quite\nrecovered from his wounds and blows. Now Erec will be far from wise if\nhe does not promptly make himself known. He steps out from the hedge.\nAnd Guivret spurs toward him without speaking to him at all, nor does\nErec utter a word to him: he thought he could do more than he could.\nWhoever tries to run farther than he is able must perforce give up or\ntake a rest. They clash against each other; but the fight was unequal,\nfor one was weak and the other strong. Guivret strikes him with such\nforce that he carries him down to earth from his horse's back. Enide,\nwho was in hiding, when she sees her lord on the ground, expects to be\nkilled and badly used. Springing forth from the hedge, she runs to help\nher lord. If she grieved before, now her anguish is greater. Coming up\nto Guivret, she seized his horse's rein, and then said: \"Cursed be thou,\nknight! For thou hast attacked a weak and exhausted man, who is in\npain and mortally wounded, with such injustice that thou canst not find\nreason for thy deed. If thou hadst been alone and helpless, thou wouldst\nhave rued this attack, provided my lord had been in health. Now be\ngenerous and courteous, and kindly let cease this battle which thou\nhast begun. For thy reputation would be no better for having killed or\ncaptured a knight who has not the strength to rise, as thou canst see.\nFor he has suffered so many blows of arms that he is all covered with\nwounds\" And he replies: \"Fear not, lady! I see that loyally you love\nyour lord, and I commend you for it. Have no fear whatsoever of me or of\nmy company. But tell me now without concealment what is the name of your\nlord; for only advantage will you get from telling me. Whoever he be,\ntell me his name; then he shall go safe and unmolested. Neither he nor\nyou have aught to fear, for you are both in safe hands.\"\n\n(Vv. 5059-5172.) Then Enide learns that she is safe, she answers him\nbriefly in a word: \"His name is Erec; I ought not to lie, for I see you\nare honest and of good intent.\" Guivret, in his delight, dismounts\nand goes to fall at Erec's feet, where he was lying on the ground.\n\"My lord,\" he says, \"I was going to seek for you, and was on my way to\nLimors, where I expected to find you dead. It was told and recounted to\nme as true that Count Oringle had carried off to Limors a knight who was\nmortally wounded, and that he wickedly intended to marry a lady whom\nhe had found in his company; but that she would have nothing to do with\nhim. And I was coming urgently to aid and deliver her. If he refused\nto hand over to me both the lady and you without resistance, I should\nesteem myself of little worth if I left him a foot of earth to stand\nupon. Be sure that had I not loved you dearly I should never have taken\nthis upon myself. I am Guivret, your friend; but if I have done you any\nhurt through my failure to recognise you, you surely ought to pardon\nme.\" At this Erec sat up, for he could do no more, and said: \"Rise up,\nmy friend. Be absolved of the harm you have done me, since you did not\nrecognise me.\" Guivret gets up, and Erec tells him how he has killed the\nCount while he sat at meat, and how he had gained possession again of\nhis steed in front of the stable, and how the sergeants and the squires\nhad fled across the yard, crying: \"Flee, flee, the corpse is chasing\nus;\" then, how he came near being caught, and how he escaped through the\ntown and down the hill, carrying his wife on his horse's neck: all this\nadventure of his he told him. Then Guivret said, \"Sire, I have a castle\nhere close by, which is well placed in a healthful site. For your\ncomfort and benefit I wish to take you there to-morrow and have your\nwounds cared for. I have two charming and sprightly sisters who are\nskilful in the care of wounds: they will soon completely cure you.\n[134] To-night we shall let our company lodge here in the fields until\nmorning; for I think a little rest to-night will do you much good. My\nadvice is that we spend the night here.\" Erec replies: \"I am in favour\nof doing so.\" So there they stayed and spent the night. They were not\nreluctant to prepare a lodging-place, but they found few accommodations,\nfor the company was quite numerous. They lodge as best they may among\nthe bushes: Guivret had his tent set up, and ordered tinder to be\nkindled, that they might have light and cheer. He has tapers taken out\nfrom the boxes, and they light them within the tent. Now Enide no longer\ngrieves, for all has turned out well. She strips her lord of his arms\nand clothes, and having washed his wounds, she dried them and bound them\nup again; for she would let no one else touch him. Now Erec knows no\nfurther reason to reproach her, for he has tried her well and found that\nshe bears great love to him. And Guivret, who treats them kindly, had\na high, long bed constructed of quilted coverlids, laid upon grass and\nreed, which they found in abundance. There they laid Erec and covered\nhim up. Then Guivret opened a box and took out two patties. \"Friend,\"\nsays he, \"now try a little of these cold patties, and drink some wine\nmixed with water. I have as much as six barrels of it, but undiluted it\nis not good for you; for you are injured and covered with wounds. Fair\nsweet friend, now try to eat; for it will do you good. And my lady will\neat some too--your wife who has been to-day in sore distress on your\naccount. But you have received full satisfaction for all that, and have\nescaped. So eat now, and I will eat too, fair friend.\" Then Guivret sat\ndown by Erec's side, and so did Enide who was much pleased by all that\nGuivret did. Both of them urge him to eat, giving him wine mixed with\nwater'; for unmixed it is too strong and heating. Erec ate as a sick man\neats, and drank a little--all he dared. But he rested comfortably and\nslept all night; for on his account no noise or disturbance was made.\n\n(Vv. 5173-5366.) In the early morning they awoke, and prepared again to\nmount and ride. Erec was so devoted to his own horse that he would ride\nno other. They gave to Enide a mule, for she had lost her palfrey. But\nshe was not concerned; to judge by her looks, she gave the matter\nno thought. She had a good mule with an easy gait that bore her very\ncomfortably. And it gave her great satisfaction that Erec was not cast\ndown, but rather assured them that he would recover completely.\nBefore the third hour they reached Penevric, a strong castle, well and\nhandsomely situated. There dwelt the two sisters of Guivret; for the\nplace was agreeable enough. Guivret escorted Erec to a delightful,\nairy room in a remote part of the castle. His sisters, at his request,\nexerted themselves to cure Erec; and Erec placed himself in their hands,\nfor they inspired him with perfect confidence. First, they removed the\ndead flesh, then applied plaster and lint, devoting to his care all\ntheir skill, like women who knew their business well. Again and again\nthey washed his wounds and applied the plaster. Four times or more each\nday they made him eat and drink, allowing him, however, no garlic or\npepper. But whoever might go in or out Enide was always with him, being\nmore than any one else concerned. Guivret often came in to ask and\ninquire if he wanted anything. He was well kept and well served, and\neverything that he wished was willingly done. But the damsels cheerfully\nand gladly showed such devotion in caring for him that by the end of a\nfortnight he felt no hurt or pain. Then, to bring his colour back, they\nbegan to give him baths. There was no need to instruct the damsels,\nfor they understood the treatment well. When he was able to walk about.\nGuivret had two loose gowns made of two different kinds of silk, one\ntrimmed with ermine, the other with vair. One was of a dark purple\ncolour, and the other striped, sent to him as a present by a cousin of\nhis from Scotland. Enide had the purple gown trimmed with ermine, which\nwas very precious, while Erec had the striped stuff with the fur, which\nwas no less valuable. Now Erec was strong and well, cured and recovered.\nNow that Enide was very happy and had everything she desired, her great\nbeauty returned to her; for her great distress had affected her so much\nthat she was very pale and wan. Now she was embraced and kissed, now she\nwas blessed with all good things, now she had her joy and pleasures; for\nunadorned they lie in bed and each enfolds and kisses the other; nothing\ngives them so much joy. They have had so much pain and sorrow, he for\nher, and she for him, that now they have their satisfaction. Each vies\nin seeking to please the other. Of their further sport I must not speak.\nNow they have so welded their love and forgotten their grief that they\nscarcely remember it any more. But now they must go on their way; so\nthey asked his leave to depart from Guivret, in whom they had found a\nfriend indeed; for he had honoured and served them in every way. When he\ncame to take leave, Erec said: \"Sire, I do not wish to delay longer\nmy departure for my own land. Order everything to be prepared and\ncollected, in order that I may have all I need. I shall wish to start\nto-morrow morning, as soon as it is day. I have stayed so long with you\nthat I feel strong and vigorous. God grant, if it please Him, that I may\nlive to meet you again somewhere, when I may be able in my turn to serve\nand honour you. Unless I am captured or detained, I do not expect to\ntarry anywhere until I reach the court of King Arthur, whom I hope to\nfind either at Robais or Carduel.\" To which Guivret makes prompt reply,\n\"Sire, you shall not go off alone! For I myself shall go with you and\nshall take companions with us, if it be your pleasure.\" Erec accedes to\nthis advice, and says that, in accordance with his plans, he wishes\nthe journey to be begun. That night they make preparations for their\njourney, not wishing to delay there longer. They all make ready and\nprepare. In the early morning, when they awake, the saddles are placed\nupon the steeds. Before he leaves, Erec goes to bid farewell to the\ndamsels in their rooms; and Enide (who was glad and full of joy) thither\nfollows him. When their preparations for departure were made, they took\ntheir leave of the damsels. Erec, who was very courteous, in taking\nleave of them, thanks them for his health and life, and pledges to them\nhis service. Then he took one of them by the hand she who was the nearer\nto him and Enide took the other's hand: hand in hand they came up from\nthe bedroom into the castle hall. Guivret urges them to mount at once\nwithout delay. Enide thinks the time will never come for them to mount.\nThey bring around to the block for her a good-tempered palfrey, a soft\nstepper, handsome and well shaped. The palfrey was of fine appearance\nand a good mount: it was no less valuable than her own which had stayed\nbehind at Limors. That other one was dappled, this one was sorrel; but\nthe head was of another colour: it was marked in such a way that one\ncheek was all white, while the other was raven black. Between the\ntwo colours there was a line, greener than a grape-vine leaf, which\nseparated the white from the black. Of the bridle, breast-strap, and\nsaddle I can surely say that the workmanship was rich and handsome. All\nthe breast-strap and bridle was of gold set with emeralds. The saddle\nwas decorated in another style, covered with a precious purple cloth.\nThe saddle-bows were of ivory, on which was carved the story of how\nAeneas came from Troy, how at Carthage with great joy Dido received him\nto her bed, how Aeneas deceived her, and how for him she killed herself,\nhow Aeneas conquered Laurentum and all Lombardy, of which he was king\nall his life. [135] Cunning was the workmanship and well carved, all\ndecorated with fine gold. A skilful craftsman, who made it spent more\nthan seven years in carving it, without touching any other piece of\nwork. I do not know whether he sold it; but he ought to have obtained a\ngood price for it. Now that Enide was presented with this palfrey, she\nwas well compensated for the loss of her own. The palfrey, thus richly\napparelled, was given to her and she mounted it gladly; then the\ngentlemen and squires quickly mounted too. For their pleasure and\nsport Guivret caused to be taken with them rich falcons, both young\nand moulted, many a tercel and sparrow-hawk, and many a setter and\ngreyhound.\n\n(Vv. 5367-5446.) [136] They rode straight on from morn till eve more\nthan thirty Welsh leagues, and then came to the towers of a stronghold,\nrich and fair, girt all about with a new wall. And all around, beneath\nthis wall, ran a very deep stream, roaring rushing like a storm. Erec\nstops to look at it, and ask and find out if any one could truly\ntell him who was the lord of this town. \"Friend,\" said he to his kind\ncompanion, \"could you tell me the name of this town, and whose it is?\nTell me if it belongs to a count or a king. Since you have brought me\nhere, tell me, if you know.\" \"Sire,\" he says, \"I know very well, and\nwill tell you the truth about it. The name of the town is Brandigant,\nand it is so strong and fine that it fears neither king nor emperor.\nIf France, and all of England, and all who live from here to Liege were\nranged about to lay a siege, they would never take it in their lives;\nfor the isle on which the town stands stretches away four leagues or\nmore, and within the enclosure grows all that a rich town needs: fruit\nand wheat and wine are found; and of wood and water there is no lack.\nIt fears no assault on any side, nor could anything reduce it to\nstarvation. King Evrain had it fortified, and he has possessed it all\nhis days unmolested, and will possess it all his life. But not because\nhe feared any one did he thus fortify it; but the town is more pleasing\nso. For if it had no wall or tower, but only the stream that encircles\nit, it would still be so secure and strong that it would have no fear\nof the whole world.\" \"God!\" said Erec, \"what great wealth! Let us go and\nsee the fortress, and we shall take lodging in the town, for I wish to\nstop here.\" \"Sire,\" said the other in great distress, \"were it not\nto disappoint you, we should not stop here. In the town there is a\ndangerous passage.\" \"Dangerous?\" says Erec; \"do you know about it?\nWhatever it be, tell us about it; for very gladly would I know.\" \"Sire,\"\nsays he, \"I should fear that you might suffer some harm there. I know\nthere is so much boldness and excellence in your heart that, were I to\ntell you what I know of the perilous and hard adventure, you would wish\nto enter in. I have often heard the story, and more than seven years\nhave passed since any one that went in quest of the adventure has come\nback from the town; yet, proud, bold knights have come hither from many\na land. Sire, do not treat this as a jest: for you will never learn the\nsecret from me until you shall have promised me, by the love you have\nsworn to me, that never by you will be undertaken this adventure, from\nwhich no one escapes without receiving shame or death.\"\n\n(Vv. 5447-5492.) Now Erec hears what pleases him, and begs Guivret not\nto be grieved, saying: \"Ah, fair sweet friend, permit that our lodging\nbe made in the town, and do not be disturbed. It is time to halt for the\nnight, and so I trust that it will not displease you; for if any honour\ncomes to us here you ought to be very glad. I appeal to you conceding\nthe adventure that you tell me just the name of it, and I'll not insist\nupon the rest.\" \"Sire.\" he says, \"I cannot be silent and refuse the\ninformation you desire. The name is very fair to say, but the execution\nis very hard: for no one can come from it alive. The adventure, upon my\nword, is called 'the Joy of the Court.'\" \"God! there can be nothing but\ngood in joy,\" says Erec; \"I go to seek it. Don't go now and discourage\nme about this or anything else, fair gentle friend; but let us have our\nlodgings taken, for great good may come to us of this. Nothing could\nrestrain me from going to seek the Joy.\" \"Sire,\" says he, \"God grant\nyour prayer, that you may find joy and return without mishap. I clearly\nsee that we must go in. Since otherwise it may not be, let us go in.\nOur lodging is secured; for no knight of high degree, as I have heard it\nsaid and told, can enter this castle with intent to lodge here but that\nKing Evrain offers to shelter him. So gentle and courteous is the King\nthat he has given notice to all his townsmen, appealing to their love\nfor him, that any gentleman from afar should not find lodging in their\nhouses, so that he himself may do honour to all gentlemen who may wish\nto tarry here.\"\n\n(Vv. 5493-5668.) [137] Thus they proceed toward the castle, passing the\nlist and the drawbridge; and when they passed the listing-place, the\npeople who were gathered in the streets in crowds see Erec in all his\nbeauty, and apparently they think and believe that all the others are\nin his train. Marvelling much, they stare at him; the whole town was\nstirred and moved, as they take counsel and discuss about him. Even\nthe maidens at their song leave off their singing and desist, as all\ntogether they look at him; and because of his great beauty they cross\nthemselves, and marvellously they pity him. One to another whispers low:\n\"Alas! This knight, who is passing, is on his way to the 'Joy of the\nCourt.' He will be sorry before he returns; no one ever came from\nanother land to claim the 'Joy of the Court' who did not receive shame\nand harm, and leave his head there as a forfeit.\" Then, that he may hear\ntheir words, they cry-aloud: \"God defend thee, knight, from harm; for\nthou art wondrously handsome, and thy beauty is greatly to be pitied,\nfor to-morrow we shall see it quenched. Tomorrow thy death is come;\nto-morrow thou shalt surely die if God does not guard and defend thee.\"\nErec hears and understands that they are speaking of him through the\nlower town: more than two thousand pitied him; but nothing causes him\ndismay. He passes on without delay, bowing gaily to men and women\nalike. And they all salute him too; and most of them swear with anxiety,\nfearing more than he does himself, for his shame and for his hurt. The\nmere sight of his countenance, his great beauty and his bearing, has so\nwon to him the hearts of all, that knights, ladies, and maids alike fear\nhis harm. King Evrain hears the news that men were arriving at his court\nwho brought with them a numerous train, and by his harness it appeared\nthat their leader was a count or king. King Evrain comes down the street\nto meet them, and saluting them he cries: \"Welcome to this company, both\nto the master and all his suite. Welcome, gentlemen! Dismount.\" They\ndismounted, and there were plenty to receive and take their horses. Nor\nwas King Evrain backward when he saw Enide coming; but he straightway\nsaluted her and ran to help her to dismount. Taking her white and tender\nhand, he led her up into the palace, as was required by courtesy, and\nhonoured her in every way he could, for he knew right well what he ought\nto do, without nonsense and without malice. He ordered a chamber to\nbe scented with incense, myrrh, and aloes. When they entered, they all\ncomplimented King Evrain on its fine appearance. Hand in hand they enter\nthe room, the King escorting them and taking great pleasure in them. But\nwhy should I describe to you the paintings and the silken draperies with\nwhich the room was decorated? I should only waste time in folly, and I\ndo not wish to waste it, but rather to hasten on a little; for he who\ntravels the straight road passes him who turns aside; therefore I do not\nwish to tarry. When the time and hour arrived, the King orders supper to\nbe prepared; but I do not wish to stop over that if I can find some more\ndirect way. That night they had in abundance all that heart desires and\ncraves: birds, venison, and fruit, and wines of different sorts. But\nbetter than all is a happy cheer! For of all dishes the sweetest is a\njoyful countenance and a happy face. They were very richly served until\nErec suddenly left off eating and drinking, and began speaking of\nwhat rested most upon his heart: he remembered 'the Joy', and began a\nconversation about it in which King Evrain joined. \"Sire\" says he, \"it\nis time now to tell you what I intend, and why I have come here. Too\nlong I have refrained from speech, and now can no longer conceal my\nobject. I ask you for 'the Joy' of the Court, for I covet nothing else\nso much. Grant it to me, whatever it be, if you are in control of it.\"\n\"In truth, fair friend.\" the King replies, \"I hear you speak great\nnonsense. This is a very parlous thing, which has caused sorrow to many\na worthy man; you yourself will eventually be killed and undone if you\nwill not heed my counsel. But if you were willing to take my word, I\nshould advise you to desist from soliciting so grievous a thing in which\nyou would never succeed. Speak of it no more! Hold your peace! It would\nbe imprudent on your part not to follow my advice. I am not at all\nsurprised that you desire honour and fame; but if I should see you\nharmed or injured in your body I should be distressed at heart. And know\nwell that I have seen many a man ruined who solicited this joy. They\nwere never any the better for it, but rather did they all die and\nperish. Before to-morrow's evening come you may expect a like reward.\nIf you wish to strive for the Joy, you shall do so, though it grieve me\nsore. It is something from which you are free to retreat and draw back\nif you wish to work your welfare. Therefore I tell you, for I should\ncommit treachery and do you wrong were I not to tell you all the truth.\"\nErec hears him and admits that the King with reason counsels him. But\nthe greater the wonder and the more perilous the adventure, the more he\ncovets it and yearns for it, saying: \"Sire, I can tell you that I find\nyou a worthy and a loyal man, and I can put no blame on you. I wish to\nundertake this boon, however it may fall out with me. The die is cast,\nfor I shall never draw back from anything I have undertaken without\nexerting all my strength before I quit the field.\" \"I know that well,\"\nthe King replied; \"you are acting against my will. You shall have the\nJoy which you desire. But I am in great despair; for I greatly fear you\nwill be undone. But now be assured that you shall have what you desire.\nIf you come out of it happily, you will have won such great honour that\nnever did man win greater; and may God, as I desire, grant you a joyous\ndeliverance.\"\n\n(Vv. 5669-5738.) All that night they talked of it, until the beds were\nprepared and they went to rest. In the morning, when it was daylight,\nErec, who was on the watch, saw the clear dawn and the sun, and quickly\nrising, clothed himself. Enide again is in distress, very sad and ill at\nease; all night she is greatly disquieted with the solicitude and fear\nwhich she felt for her lord, who is about to expose himself to great\nperil. But nevertheless he equips himself, for no one can make him\nchange his mind. For his equipment the King sent him, when he arose,\narms which he put to good use. Erec did not refuse them, for his own\nwere worn and impaired and in bad state. He gladly accepted the arms\nand had himself equipped with them in the hall. When he was armed, he\ndescends the steps and finds his horse saddled and the King who had\nmounted. Every one in the castle and in the houses of the town hastened\nto mount. In all the town there remained neither man nor woman, erect or\ndeformed, great or small, weak or strong, who is able to go and does not\ndo so. When they start, there is a great noise and clamour in all the\nstreets; for those of high and low degree alike cry out: \"Alas, alas!\noh knight, the Joy that thou wishest to win has betrayed thee, and thou\ngoest to win but grief and death.\" And there is not one but says: \"God\ncurse this joy! which has been the death of so many gentlemen. To-day it\nwill wreak the worst woe that it has ever yet wrought.\" Erec hears well\nand notes that up and down they said of him: \"Alas, alas, ill-starred\nwert thou, fair, gentle, skilful knight! Surely it would not be just\nthat thy life should end so soon, or that harm should come to wound\nand injure thee.\" He hears clearly the words and what they said; but\nnotwithstanding, he passes on without lowering his head, and without\nthe bearing of a craven. Whoever may speak, he longs to see and know and\nunderstand why they are all in such distress, anxiety, and woe. The King\nleads him without the town into a garden that stood near by; and all the\npeople follow after, praying that from this trial God may grant him a\nhappy issue. But it is not meet that I should pass on, from weariness\nand exhaustion of tongue, without telling you the whole truth about the\ngarden, according as the story runs.\n\n(Vv. 5739-5826.) [138] The garden had around it no wall or fence except\nof air: yet, by a spell, the garden was on all sides so shut in by the\nair that nothing could enter there any more than if the garden were\nenclosed in iron, unless it flew in over the top. And all through the\nsummer and the winter, too, there were flowers and ripe fruits there;\nand the fruit was of such a nature that it could be eaten inside; the\ndanger consisted in carrying it out; for whoever should wish to carry\nout a little would never be able to find the gate, and never could issue\nfrom the garden until he had restored the fruit to its place. And there\nis no flying bird under heaven, pleasing to man, but it sings there to\ndelight and to gladden him, and can be heard there in numbers of every\nkind. And the earth, however far it stretch, bears no spice or root of\nuse in making medicine, but it had been planted there, and was to be\nfound in abundance. Through a narrow entrance the people entered--King\nEvrain and all the rest. Erec went riding, lance in rest, into the\nmiddle of the garden, greatly delighting in the song of the birds which\nwere singing there; they put him in mind of his Joy the thing he most\nwas longing for. But he saw a wondrous thing, which might arouse fear\nin the bravest warrior of all whom we know, be it Thiebaut the Esclavon,\n[139] or Ospinel, or Fernagu. For before them, on sharpened stakes,\nthere stood bright and shining helmets, and each one had beneath the rim\na man's head. But at the end there stood a stake where as yet there was\nnothing but a horn. [140] He knows not what this signifies, yet draws\nnot back a step for that; rather does he ask the King, who was beside\nhim at the right, what this can be. The King speaks and explains to him:\n\"Friend,\" he says, \"do you know the meaning of this thing that you see\nhere? You must be in great terror of it, if you care at all for your own\nbody; for this single stake which stands apart, where you see this horn\nhung up, has been waiting a very long time, but we know not for whom,\nwhether for you or someone else. Take care lest thy head be set up\nthere; for such is the purpose of the stake. I had warned you well of\nthat before you came here. I do not expect that you will escape hence,\nbut that you will be killed and rent apart. For this much we know, that\nthe stake awaits your head. And if it turns out that it be placed\nthere, as the matter stands agreed, as soon as thy head is fixed upon it\nanother stake will be set up beside it which will await the arrival of\nsome one else--I know not when or whom. I will tell you nothing of the\nhorn; but never has any one been able to blow it. [141] However, he\nwho shall succeed in blowing it his fame and honour will grow until it\ndistance all those of his country, and he shall find such renown that\nall will come to do him honour, and will hold him to be the best of them\nall. Now there is no more of this matter. Have your men withdraw; for\n'the Joy' will soon arrive, and will make you sorry, I suspect.\"\n\n(Vv. 5827-6410.) Meanwhile King Evrain leaves his side, and Erec stoops\nover before Enide, whose heart was in great distress, although she held\nher peace; for grief on lips is of no account unless it also touch the\nheart. And he who well knew her heart, said to her: \"Fair sister dear,\ngentle, loyal, and prudent lady, I am acquainted with your thoughts.\nYou are in fear, I see that well, and yet you do not know for what; but\nthere is no reason for your dismay until you shall see that my shield is\nshattered and that my body is wounded, and until you see the meshes of\nmy bright hauberk covered with blood, and my helmet broken and smashed,\nand me defeated and weary, so that I can no longer defend myself, but\nmust beg and sue for mercy against my will; then you may lament, but now\nyou have begun too soon. Gentle lady, as yet you know not what this\nis to be; no more do I. You are troubled without cause. But know this\ntruly: if there were in me only so much courage as your love inspires,\ntruly I should not fear to face any man alive. But I am foolish to vaunt\nmyself; yet I say it not from any pride, but because I wish to comfort\nyou. So comfort yourself, and let it be! I cannot longer tarry here, nor\ncan you go along with me; for, as the King has ordered, I must not take\nyou beyond this point.\" Then he kisses her and commends her to God, and\nshe him. But she is much chagrined that she cannot follow and escort\nhim, until she may learn and see what this adventure is to be, and\nhow he will conduct himself. But since she must stay behind and cannot\nfollow him, she remains sorrowful and grieving. And he went off alone\ndown a path, without companion of any sort, until he came to a silver\ncouch with a cover of gold-embroidered cloth, beneath the shade of\na sycamore; and on the bed a maiden of comely body and lovely face,\ncompletely endowed with all beauty, was seated all alone. I intended to\nsay no more of her; but whoever could consider well all her attire and\nher beauty might well say that never did Lavinia of Laurentum, who was\nso fair and comely, possess the quarter of her beauty. Erec draws near\nto her, wishing to see her more closely, and the onlookers go and sit\ndown under the trees in the orchard. Then behold, there comes a knight\narmed with vermilion arms, and he was wondrous tall; and if he were not\nso immeasurably tall, under the heavens there would be none fairer than\nhe; but, as every one averred, he was a foot taller than any knight he\nknew. Before Erec caught sight of him, he cried out: \"Vassal, vassal!\nYou are mad, upon my life, thus to approach my damsel. I should say\nyou are not worthy to draw near her. You will pay dearly for your\npresumption, by my head! Stand back!\" And Erec stops and looks at him,\nand the other, too, stood still. Neither made advance until Erec had\nreplied all that he wished to say to him. \"Friend,\" he says, \"one can\nspeak folly as well as good sense. Threaten as much as you please, and\nI will keep silence; for in threatening there is no sense. Do you know\nwhy? A man sometimes thinks he has won the game who afterward loses it.\nSo he is manifestly a fool who is too presumptuous and who threatens too\nmuch. If there are some who flee there are plenty who chase, but I do\nnot fear you so much that I am going to run away yet. I am ready to make\nsuch defence, if there is any who wishes to offer me battle, that he\nwill have to do his uttermost, or otherwise he cannot escape.\" \"Nay,\"\nquoth he, \"so help me God! know that you shall have the battle, for I\ndefy and challenge you.\" And you may know, upon my word, that then the\nreins were not held in. The lances they had were not light, but were big\nand square; nor were they planed smooth, but were rough and strong. Upon\nthe shields with mighty strength they smote each other with their sharp\nweapons, so that a fathom of each lance passes through the gleaming\nshields. But neither touches the other's flesh, nor was either lance\ncracked; each one, as quickly as he could, draws back his lance, and\nboth rushing together, return to the fray. One against the other rides,\nand so fiercely they smite each other that both lances break and the\nhorses fall beneath them. But they, being seated on their steeds,\nsustain no harm; so they quickly rise, for they were strong and lithe.\nThey stand on foot in the middle of the garden, and straightway attack\neach other with their green swords of German steel, and deal great\nwicked blows upon their bright and gleaming helmets, so that they hew\nthem into bits, and their eyes shoot out flame. No greater efforts can\nbe made than those they make in striving and toiling to injure and wound\neach other. Both fiercely smite with the gilded pommel and the cutting\nedge. Such havoc did they inflict upon each other's teeth, cheeks, nose,\nhands, arms, and the rest, upon temples, neck, and throat that their\nbones all ache. They are very sore and very tired; yet they do not\ndesist, but rather only strive the more. Sweat, and the blood which\nflows down with it, dim their eyes, so that they can hardly see a thing;\nand very often they missed their blows, like men who did not see to\nwield their swords upon each other. They can scarcely harm each other\nnow; yet, they do not desist at all from exercising all their strength.\nBecause their eyes are so blinded that they completely lose their sight,\nthey let their shields fall to the ground, and seize each other angrily.\nEach pulls and drags the other, so that they fall upon their knees.\nThus, long they fight until the hour of noon is past, and the big knight\nis so exhausted that his breath quite fails him. Erec has him at his\nmercy, and pulls and drags so that he breaks all the lacing of his\nhelmet, and forces him over at his feet. He falls over upon his face\nagainst Erec's breast, and has not strength to rise again. Though it\ndistresses him, he has to say and own: \"I cannot deny it, you have\nbeaten me; but much it goes against my will. And yet you may be of such\ndegree and fame that only credit will redound to me; and insistently I\nwould request, if it may be in any way, that I might know your name, and\nhe thereby somewhat comforted. If a better man has defeated me, I shall\nbe glad, I promise you; but if it has so fallen out that a baser man\nthan I has worsted me, then I must feel great grief indeed.\" \"Friend,\ndost thou wish to know my name?\" says Erec; \"Well, I shall tell thee ere\nI leave here; but it will be upon condition that thou tell me now why\nthou art in this garden. Concerning that I will know all what is thy\nname and what the Joy; for I am very anxious to hear the truth from\nbeginning to end of it.\" \"Sire,\" says he, \"fearlessly I will tell you\nall you wish to know.\" Erec no more withholds his name, but says: \"Didst\nthou ever hear of King Lac and of his son Erec?\" \"Yea, sire, I knew\nhim well; for I was at his father's court for many a day before I was\nknighted, and, if he had had his will, I should never have left him for\nanything.\" \"Then thou oughtest to know me well, if thou weft ever with\nme at the court of my father, the King.\" \"Then, upon my faith, it has\nturned out well. Now hear who has detained me so long in this garden. I\nwill tell the truth in accordance with your injunction, whatever it\nmay cost me. That damsel who yonder sits, loved me from childhood and\nI loved her. It pleased us both, and our love grew and increased, until\nshe asked a boon of me, but did not tell me what it was. Who would\ndeny his mistress aught? There is no lover but would surely do all his\nsweet-heart's pleasure without default or guile, whenever he can in any\nway. I agreed to her desire; but when I had agreed, she would have it,\ntoo, that I should swear. I would have done more than that for her, but\nshe took me at my word. I made her a promise, without knowing what. Time\npassed until I was made a knight. King Evrain, whose nephew I am, dubbed\nme a knight in the presence of many honourable men in this very garden\nwhere we are. My lady, who is sitting there, at once recalled to me my\nword, and said that I had promised her that I would never go forth from\nhere until there should come some knight who should conquer me by trial\nof arms. It was right that I should remain, for rather than break my\nword, I should never have pledged it. Since I knew the good there was in\nher, I could nor reveal or show to the one whom I hold most dear that\nin all this I was displeased; for if she had noticed it, she would have\nwithdrawn her heart, and I would not have had it so for anything that\nmight happen. Thus my lady thought to detain me here for a long stay;\nshe did not think that there would ever enter this garden any vassal who\ncould conquer me. In this way she intended to keep me absolutely shut up\nwith her all the days of my life. And I should have committed an offence\nif I had had resort to guile and not defeated all those against whom I\ncould prevail; such escape would have been a shame. And I dare to assure\nyou that I have no friend so dear that I would have feigned at all in\nfighting with him. Never did I weary of arms, nor did I ever refuse to\nfight. You have surely seen the helmets of those whom I have defeated\nand put to death; but the guilt of it is not mine, when one considers it\naright. I could not help myself, unless I were willing to be false and\nrecreant and disloyal. Now I have told you the truth, and be assured\nthat it is no small honour which you have gained. You have given great\njoy to the court of my uncle and my friends; for now I shall be released\nfrom here; and because all those who are at the court will have joy of\nit, therefore those who awaited the joy called it 'Joy of the Court'.\nThey have awaited it so long that now it will be granted them by you who\nhave won it by your fight. You have defeated and bewitched my prowess\nand my chivalry. Now it is right that I tell you my name, if you would\nknow it. I am called Mabonagrain; but I am not remembered by that name\nin any land where I have been, save only in this region; for never, when\nI was a squire, did I tell or make known my name. Sire, you knew the\ntruth concerning all that you asked me. But I must still tell you that\nthere is in this garden a horn which I doubt not you have seen. I cannot\nissue forth from here until you have blown the horn; but then you will\nhave released me, and then the Joy will begin. Whoever shall hear and\ngive it heed no hindrance will detain him, when he shall hear the sound\nof the horn, from coming straight-way to the court. Rise up, sire! Go\nquickly now! Go take the horn right joyfully; for you have no further\ncause to wait; so do that which you must do.\" Now Erec rose, and the\nother rises with him, and both approach the horn. Erec takes it and\nblows it, putting into it all his strength, so that the sound of it\nreaches far. Greatly did Enide rejoice when she heard the note, and\nGuivret was greatly delighted too. The King is glad, and so are his\npeople; there is not one who is not well suited and pleased at this.\nNo one ceases or leaves off from making merry and from song. Erec could\nboast that day, for never was such rejoicing made; it could not be\ndescribed or related by mouth of man, but I will tell you the sum of it\nbriefly and with few words. The news spreads through the country that\nthus the affair has turned out. Then there was no holding back from\ncoming to the court. All the people hasten thither in confusion, some\non foot and some on horse, without waiting for each other. And those who\nwere in the garden hastened to remove Erec's arms, and in emulation they\nall sang a song about the Joy; and the ladies made up a lay which they\ncalled 'the Lay of Joy', [142] but the lay is not well known. Erec was\nwell sated with joy and well served to his heart's desire; but she who\nsat on the silver couch was not a bit pleased. The joy which she saw was\nnot at all to her taste. But many people have to keep still and look\non at what gives them pain. Enide acted graciously; because she saw her\nsitting pensive, alone on the couch, she felt moved to go and speak with\nher and tell her about her affairs and about herself, and to strive, if\npossible, to make her tell in return about herself, if it did not cause\nher too great distress. Enide thought to go alone, wishing to take no\none with her, but some of the most noble and fairest dames and damsels\nfollowed her out of affection to bear her company, and also to comfort\nher to whom the joy brings great chagrin; for she assumed that now her\nlover would be no longer with her so much as he had been, inasmuch as he\ndesired to leave the garden. However disappointing it may be, no one can\nprevent his going away, for the hour and the time have come. Therefore\nthe tears ran down her face from her eyes. Much more than I can say was\nshe grieving and distressed; nevertheless she sat up straight. But she\ndoes not care so much for any of those who try to comfort her that she\nceases her moan. Enide salutes her kindly; but for a while the other\ncould not reply a word, being prevented by the sighs and sobs which\ntorment and distress her. Some time it was before the damsel returned\nher salutation, and when she had looked at her and examined her for a\nwhile, it seemed that she had seen and known her before. But not being\nvery certain of it, she was not slow to inquire from whence she was, of\nwhat country, and where her lord was born; she inquires who they both\nare. Enide replies briefly and tells her the truth, saying: \"I am the\nniece of the Count who holds sway over Lalut, the daughter of his own\nsister; at Lalut I was born and brought up.\" The other cannot help\nsmiling, without hearing more, for she is so delighted that she forgets\nher sorrow. Her heart leaps with joy which she cannot conceal. She runs\nand embraces Enide, saying: \"I am your cousin! This is the very truth,\nand you are my father's niece; for he and your father are brothers. But\nI suspect that you do not know and have never heard how I came into this\ncountry. The Count, your uncle, was at war, and to him there came to\nfight for pay knights of many lands. Thus, fair cousin, it came about,\nthat with these hireling knights there came one who was the nephew of\nthe king of Brandigan. He was with my father almost a year. That was, I\nthink, twelve years ago, and I was still but a little child. He was very\nhandsome and attractive. There we had an understanding between us that\npleased us both. I never had any wish but his, until at last he began to\nlove me and promised and swore to me that he would always be my lover,\nand that he would bring me here; that pleased us both alike. He could\nnot wait, and I was longing to come hither with him; so we both came\naway, and no one knew of it but ourselves. In those days you and I were\nboth young and little girls. I have told you the truth; so now tell me\nin turn, as I have told you, all about your lover, and by what adventure\nhe won you.\" \"Fair cousin, he married me in such a way that my father\nknew all about it, and my mother was greatly pleased. All our relatives\nknew it and rejoiced over it, as they should do. Even the Count was\nglad. For he is so good a knight that better cannot be found, and he\ndoes not need to prove his honour and knighthood, and he is of very\ngentle birth: I do not think that any can be his equal. He loves me\nmuch, and I love him more, and our love cannot be greater. Never yet\ncould I withhold my love from him, nor should I do so. For is not my\nlord the son of a king? For did he not take me when I was poor and\nnaked? Through him has such honour come to me that never was any such\nvouchsafed to a poor helpless girl. And if it please you, I will tell\nyou without lying how I came to be thus raised up; for never will I be\nslow to tell the story.\" Then she told and related to her how Erec\ncame to Lalut; for she had no desire to conceal it. She told her the\nadventure word for word, without omission. But I pass over it now,\nbecause he who tells a story twice makes his tale now tiresome. While\nthey were thus conversing, one lady slipped away alone, who sent and\ntold it all to the gentlemen, in order to increase and heighten their\npleasure too. All those who heard it rejoiced at this news. And when\nMabonagrain knew it he was delighted for his sweetheart because now\nshe was comforted. And she who bore them quickly the news made them all\nhappy in a short space. Even the King was glad for it; although he was\nvery happy before, yet now he is still happier, and shows Erec great\nhonour. Enide leads away her fair cousin, fairer than Helen, more\ngraceful and charming. Now Erec and Mabonagrain, Guivret and King\nEvrain, and all the others run to meet them and salute them and do them\nhonour, for no one is grudging or holds back. Mabonagrain makes much of\nEnide, and she of him. Erec and Guivret, for their part, rejoice over\nthe damsel as they all kiss and embrace each other. They propose to\nreturn to the castle, for they have stayed too long in the garden. They\nare all prepared to go out; so they sally forth joyfully, kissing each\nother on the way. All go out after the King, but before they reached the\ncastle, the nobles were assembled from all the country around, and all\nthose who knew of the Joy, and who could do so, came hither. Great was\nthe gathering and the press. Every one, high and low, rich and poor,\nstrives to see Erec. Each thrusts himself before the other, and they\nall salute him and bow before him, saying constantly: \"May God save\nhim through whom joy and gladness come to our court! God save the most\nblessed man whom God has ever brought into being!\" Thus they bring him\nto the court, and strive to show their glee as their hearts dictate.\nBreton zithers, harps, and viols sound, fiddles, psalteries, and other\nstringed instruments, and all kinds of music that one could name or\nmention. But I wish to conclude the matter briefly without too long\ndelay. The King honours him to the extent of his power, as do all the\nothers ungrudgingly. There is no one who does not gladly offer to do his\nservice. Three whole days the Joy lasted, before Erec could get away.\nOn the fourth he would no longer tarry for any reason they could urge.\nThere was a great crowd to accompany him and a very great press when it\ncame to taking leave. If he had wished to reply to each one, he would\nnot have been able in half a day to return the salutations individually.\nThe nobles he salutes and embraces; the others he commends to God in\na word, and salutes them. Enide, for her part, is not silent when she\ntakes leave of the nobles. She salutes them all by name, and they in\nturn do the like. Before she goes, she kisses her cousin very tenderly\nand embraces her. Then they go and the Joy is over.\n\n(Vv. 6411-6509.) They go off and the others return. Erec and Guivret do\nnot tarry, but keep joyfully on their way, until they came in nine days\nto Robais, where they were told the King was. The day before he had\nbeen bled privately in his apartments; with him he had only five hundred\nnobles of his household. Never before at any time was the King found so\nalone, and he was much distressed that he had no more numerous suite at\nhis court. At that time a messenger comes running, whom they had sent\nahead to apprise the King of their approach. This man came in before the\nassembly, found the King and all his people, and saluting him correctly,\nsaid: \"I am a messenger of Erec and of Guivret the Little.\" Then he told\nhim how they were coming to see him at his court. The King replies: \"Let\nthem be welcome, as valiant and gallant gentlemen! Nowhere do I know\nof any better than they two. By their presence my court will be much\nenhanced.\" Then he sent for the Queen and told her the news. The others\nhave their horses saddled to go and meet the gentlemen. In such haste\nare they to mount that they did not put on their spurs. I ought to state\nbriefly that the crowd of common people, including squires, cooks, and\nbutlers, had already entered the town to prepare for the lodgings.\nThe main party came after, and had already drawn so near that they had\nentered the town. Now the two parties have met each other, and salute\nand kiss each other. They come to the lodgings and make themselves\ncomfortable, removing their hose and making their toilet by donning\ntheir rich robes. When they were completely decked out, they took their\nway to the court. They come to court, where the King sees them, and the\nQueen, who is beside herself with impatience to see Erec and Enide. The\nKing makes them take seats beside him, kisses Erec and Guivret; about\nEnide's neck he throws his arms and kisses her repeatedly, in his great\njoy. Nor is the Queen slow in embracing Erec and Enide. One might well\nrejoice to see her now so full of joy. Every one enters with spirit into\nthe merry-making. Then the King causes silence to be made, and appeals\nto Erec and asks news of his adventures. When the noise had ceased, Erec\nbegan his story, telling him of his adventures, without forgetting any\ndetail. Do you think now that I shall tell you what motive he had had in\nstarting out? Nay, for you know the whole truth about this and the rest,\nas I have revealed it to you. To tell the story again would burden me;\nfor the tale is not short, that any one should wish to begin it afresh\nand re-embelish it, as he told and related it: of the three knights whom\nhe defeated, and then of the five, and then of the Count who strove to\ndo him harm, and then of the two giants--all in order, one after the\nother, he told him of his adventures up to the point where he met Count\nOringle of Limors. \"Many a danger have you gone through, fair gentle\nfriend,\" said the King to him; \"now tarry in this country at my court,\nas you are wont to do.\" \"Sire, since you wish it, I shall remain very\ngladly three or four years entire. But ask Guivret to remain here too a\nrequest in which I would fain join.\" The King prays him to remain, and\nhe consents to stay. So they both stay: the King kept them with him, and\nheld them dear and honoured them.\n\n(Vv. 6510-6712.) Erec stayed at court, together with Guivret and Enide,\nuntil the death of his father, the king, who was an old man and full of\nyears. The messengers then started out: the nobles who went to seek him,\nand who were the greatest men of the land, sought and searched for him\nuntil they found him at Tintagel three weeks before Christmas; they told\nhim the truth what had happened to his old, white-haired father, and\nhow he now was dead and gone. This grieved Erec much more than he showed\nbefore the people. But sorrow is not seemly in a king, nor does it\nbecome a king to mourn. There at Tintagel where he was, he caused vigils\nfor the dead and Masses to be sung; he promised and kept his promises,\nas he had vowed to the religious houses and churches; he did well all\nthat he ought to do: he chose out more than one hundred and sixty-nine\nof the wretched poor, and clothed them all in new garments. To the poor\nclerks and priors he gave, as was right, black copes and warm linings to\nwear beneath. For God's sake he did great good to all: to those who were\nin need he distributed more than a barrel of small coins. When he had\nshared his wealth, he then did a very wise thing in receiving his land\nfrom the King's hand; and then he begged the King to crown him at his\ncourt. The King bade him quickly be prepared; for they shall both be\ncrowned, he together with his wife, at the approaching Christmastide;\nand he added: \"You must go hence to Nantes in Brittany; there you shall\ncarry a royal ensign with crown on head and sceptre in hand; this gift\nand privilege I bestow upon you.\" Erec thanked the King, and said that\nthat was a noble gift. At Christmas the King assembles all his nobles,\nsummoning them individually and commanding them to come to Nantes. He\nsummoned them all, and none stayed behind. Erec, too, sent word to many\nof his followers, and summoned them to come thither; but more came than\nhe had bidden, to serve him and do him honour. I cannot tell you or\nrelate who each one was, and what his name; but whoever came or did not\ncome, the father and mother of my lady Enide were not forgotten. Her\nfather was sent for first of all, and he came to court in handsome\nstyle, like a great lord and a chatelain. There was no great crowd of\nchaplains or of silly, gaping yokels, but of excellent knights and of\npeople well equipped. Each day they made a long day's journey, and rode\non each day with great joy and great display, until on Christmas eve\nthey came to the city of Nantes. They made no halt until they entered\nthe great hall where the King and his courtiers were. Erec and Enide\nsee them, and you may know how glad they were. To meet them they quickly\nmake their way, and salute and embrace them, speaking to them tenderly\nand showing their delight as they should. When they had rejoiced\ntogether, taking each other by the hand, they all four came before the\nKing, saluting him and likewise the Queen, who was sitting by his side.\nTaking his host by the hand, Erec said: \"Sire, behold my good host, my\nkind friend, who did me such honour that he made me master in his\nown house. Before he knew anything about me, he lodged me well and\nhandsomely. All that he had he made over to me, and even his daughter he\nbestowed upon me, without the advice or counsel of any one.\" \"And this\nlady with him,\" the King inquires, \"who is she?\" Erec does not conceal\nthe truth: \"Sire,\" says he, \"of this lady I may say that she is the\nmother of my wife.\" \"Is she her mother?\" \"Yes, truly, sire.\" \"Certainly,\nI may then well say that fair and comely should be the flower born of so\nfair a stem, and better the fruit one picks; for sweet is the smell\nof what springs from good. Fair is Enide and fair she should be in all\nreason and by right; for her mother is a very handsome lady, and her\nfather is a goodly knight. Nor does she in aught belie them; for she\ndescends and inherits directly from them both in many respects.\" Then\nthe King ceases and sits down, bidding them be seated too. They do not\ndisobey his command, but straightway take seats. Now is Enide filled\nwith joy when she sees her father and mother, for a very long time had\npassed since she had seen them. Her happiness now is greatly increased,\nfor she was delighted and happy, and she showed it all she could, but\nshe could not make such demonstration but that her joy was yet greater.\nBut I wish to say no more of that, for my heart draws me toward the\ncourt which was now assembled in force. From many a different country\nthere were counts and dukes and kings, Normans, Bretons. Scotch, and\nIrish: from England and Cornwall there was a very rich gathering of\nnobles; for from Wales to Anjou, in Maine and in Poitou, there was no\nknight of importance, nor lady of quality, but the best and the most\nelegant were at the court at Nantes, as the King had bidden them. Now\nhear, if you will, the great joy and grandeur, the display and the\nwealth, that was exhibited at the court. Before the hour of nones had\nsounded, King Arthur dubbed four hundred knights or more all sons of\ncounts and of kings. To each one he gave three horses and two pairs of\nsuits, in order that his court may make a better showing. Puissant and\nlavish was the King; for the mantles he bestowed were not of serge, nor\nof rabbit-skins, nor of cheap brown fur, but of heavy silk and ermine,\nof spotted fur and flowered silks, bordered with heavy and stiff gold\nbraid. Alexander, who conquered so much that he subdued the whole world,\nand who was so lavish and rich, compared with him was poor and mean.\nCaesar, the Emperor of Rome, and all the kings whose names you hear in\nstories and in epic songs, did not distribute at any feast so much\nas Arthur gave on the day that he crowned Erec; nor would Caesar and\nAlexander dare to spend so much as he spent at the court. The raiment\nwas taken from the chests and spread about freely through the halls; one\ncould take what he would, without restraint. In the midst of the court,\nupon a rug, stood thirty bushels of bright sterlings; [143] for since\nthe time of Merlin until that day sterlings had currency throughout\nBritain. There all helped themselves, each one carrying away that night\nall that he wanted to his lodging-place. At nine o'clock on Christmas\nday, all came together again at court. The great joy that is drawing\nnear for him had completely filched Erec's heart away. The tongue and\nthe mouth of no man, however skilful, could describe the third, or the\nfourth, or the fifth part of the display which marked his coronation. So\nit is a mad enterprise I undertake in wishing to attempt to describe\nit. But since I must make the effort, come what may, I shall not fail to\nrelate a part of it, as best I may.\n\n(Vv. 6713-6809.) The King had two thrones of white ivory, well\nconstructed and new, of one pattern and style. He who made them beyond a\ndoubt was a very skilled and cunning craftsman. For so precisely did he\nmake the two alike in height, in breadth, and in ornamentation, that you\ncould nor look at them from every side to distinguish one from the other\nand find in one aught that was not in the other. There was no part of\nwood, but all of gold and fine ivory. Well were they carved with great\nskill, for the two corresponding sides of each bore the representation\nof a leopard, and the other two a dragon's shape. A knight named Bruiant\nof the Isles had made a gift and present of them to King Arthur and the\nQueen. King Arthur sat upon the one, and upon the other he made Erec\nsit, who was robed in watered silk. As we read in the story, we find the\ndescription of the robe, and in order that no one may say that I lie,\nI quote as my authority Macrobius, [144] who devoted himself to the\ndescription of it. Macrobius instructs me how to describe, according\nas I have found it in the book, the workmanship and the figures of the\ncloth. Four fairies had made it with great skill and mastery. [145] One\nrepresented there geometry, how it estimates and measures the extent of\nthe heavens and the earth, so that nothing is lacking there; and\nthen the depth and the height, and the width, and the length; then it\nestimates, besides, how broad and deep the sea is, and thus measures\nthe whole world. Such was the work of the first fairy. And the second\ndevoted her effort to the portrayal of arithmetic, and she strove hard\nto represent clearly how it wisely enumerates the days and the hours of\ntime, and the water of the sea drop by drop, and then all the sand, and\nthe stars one by one, knowing well how to tell the truth, and how many\nleaves there are in the woods: such is the skill of arithmetic that\nnumbers have never deceived her, nor will she ever be in error when she\nwishes to apply her sense to them. The third design was that of music,\nwith which all merriment finds itself in accord, songs and harmonies,\nand sounds of string: of harp, of Breton violin, and of viol. This\npiece of work was good and fine; for upon it were portrayed all the\ninstruments and all the pastimes. The fourth, who next performed her\ntask, executed a most excellent work; for the best of the arts she there\nportrayed. She undertook astronomy, which accomplishes so many marvels\nand draws inspiration from the stars, the moon, and the sun. Nowhere\nelse does it seek counsel concerning aught which it has to do. They give\nit good and sure advice. Concerning whatever inquiry it make of them,\nwhether in the past or in the future, they give it information without\nfalsehood and without deception. This work was portrayed on the stuff\nof which Erec's robe was made, all worked and woven with thread of gold.\nThe fur lining that was sewed within, belonged to some strange beasts\nwhose heads are all white, and whose necks are as black as mulberries,\nand which have red backs and green bellies, and dark blue tail. These\nbeasts live in India and they are called \"barbiolets\". They eat nothing\nbut spices, cinnamon, and fresh cloves. What shall I tell you of the\nmantle? It was very rich and fine and handsome; it had four stones\nin the tassels--two chrysolites on one side, and two amethysts on the\nother, which were mounted in gold.\n\n(Vv. 6810-6946.) As yet Enide had not come to the palace. When the King\nsees that she delays, he bids Gawain go quickly to bring her and the\nQueen. Gawain hastens and was not slow, and with him King Cadoalant\nand the generous King of Galloway. Guivret the Little accompanies them,\nfollowed by Yder the son of Nut. So many of the other nobles ran thither\nto escort the two ladies that they would have sufficed to overcome a\nhost; for there were more than a thousand of them. The Queen had made\nher best effort to adorn Enide. Into the palace they brought her\nthe courteous Gawain escorting her on one side, and on the other the\ngenerous King of Galloway, who loved her dearly on account of Erec who\nwas his nephew. When they came to the palace, King Arthur came quickly\ntoward them, and courteously seated Enide beside Erec; for he wished to\ndo her great honour. Now he orders to be brought forth from his treasure\ntwo massive crowns of fine gold. As soon as he had spoken and given the\ncommand, without delay the crowns were brought before him, all sparkling\nwith carbuncles, of which there were four in each. The light of the moon\nis nothing compared with the light which the least of the carbuncles\ncould shed. Because of the radiance which they shed, all those who were\nin the palace were so dazzled that for a moment they could see nothing;\nand even the King was amazed, and yet filled with satisfaction, when\nhe saw them to be so clear and bright. He had one of them held by two\ndamsels, and the other by two gentlemen. Then he bade the bishops and\npriors and the abbots of the Church step forward and anoint the new\nKing, as the Christian practice is. Now all the prelates, young and old,\ncame forward; for at the court there were a great number of bishops and\nabbots. The Bishop of Nantes himself, who was a very worthy and saintly\nman, anointed the new King in a very holy and becoming manner, and\nplaced the crown upon his head. King Arthur had a sceptre brought which\nwas very fine. Listen to the description of the sceptre, which was\nclearer than a pane of glass, all of one solid emerald, fully as large\nas your fist. I dare to tell you in very truth that in all the world\nthere is no manner of fish, or of wild behest, or of man, or of flying\nbird that was not worked and chiselled upon it with its proper figure.\nThe sceptre was handed to the King, who looked at it with amazement;\nthen he put it without delay into King Erec's right hand; and now he\nwas King as he ought to be. Then he crowned Enide in turn. Now the\nbells ring for Mass, and they go to the main church to hear the Mass and\nservice; they go to pray at the cathedral. You would have seen weeping\nwith joy the father of Queen Enide and her mother, Carsenefide. In truth\nthis was her mother's name, and her father's name was Liconal. Very\nhappy were they both. When they came to the cathedral, the procession\ncame out from the church with relics and treasures to meet them. Crosses\nand prayerbooks and censers and reliquaries, with all the holy relics,\nof which there were many in the church, were all brought out to meet\nthem; nor was there any lack of chants made. Never were seen so many\nkings, counts, dukes, and nobles together at a Mass, and the press was\nso great and thick that the church was completely filled. No low-born\nman could enter there, but only ladies and knights. Outside the door\nof the church a great number still remained, so many were there come\ntogether who could not get inside the church. When they had heard all\nthe Mass they returned to the palace. It was all prepared and decorated:\ntables set and cloths spread five hundred tables and more were there;\nbut I do not wish to make you believe a thing which does not seem true.\nIt would seem too great a lie were I to say that five hundred tables\nwere set in rows in one palace, so I will not say it; rather were there\nfive hails so filled with them that with great difficulty could one make\nhis way among the tables. At each table there was in truth a king or a\nduke or a count; and full a hundred knights were seated at each table. A\nthousand knights served the bread, and a thousand served the wine, and a\nthousand the meat--all of them dressed in fresh fur robes of ermine. All\nare served with divers dishes. Even if I did not see them, I might still\nbe able to tell you about them; but I must attend to something else than\nto tell you what they had to eat. They had enough, without wanting more;\njoyfully and liberally they were served to their heart's desire.\n\n(Vv. 6947-6958.) When this celebration was concluded, the King dismissed\nthe assemblage of kings, dukes, and counts, of which the number was\nimmense, and of the other humble folk who had come to the festival.\nHe rewarded them liberally with horses, arms and silver, cloths and\nbrocades of many kinds, because of his generosity, and because of Erec\nwhom he loved so much. Here the story ends at last.\n\n\n\n----Endnotes: Erec Et Enide\n\nNOTE: Endnotes supplied by Prof. Foerster are indicated by \"(F.)\"; all\nother endnotes are supplied by W.W. Comfort.\n\n\n[Footnote 11: A Welsh version, \"Geraint the Son of Erbin\", included in\nLady Charlotte Guest's translation of \"The Mabinogion\" (London, 1838-49;\na modern edition will be found in Everyman Library, London, 1906),\ntells the same story as \"Erec et Enide\" with some variations. This Welsh\nversion has also been translated into modern French by J. Loth (\"Les\nMabinogion\", Paris, 1889), where it may be consulted with the greatest\nconfidence. The relation of the Welsh prose to the French poem is a\nmoot point. Cf. E. Philipot in \"Romania\", XXV. 258-294, and earlier,\nK. Othmer, \"Ueber das Verhaltnis Chrestiens Erec und Enide zu dem\nMabinogion des rothen Buch von Hergest\" (Koln, 1889); G. Paris in\n\"Romania\", XIX. 157, and id. XX. 148-166.]\n\n[Footnote 12: We frequently read in the romances of a hunt at Easter\n(F.). As here, so in \"Fergus\" (ed. Martin, Halle, 1872), p. 2 f., the\nknights hunt a white stag, which Perceval finally slays, but there is no\nmention of the ceremony of the bestowal of a kiss.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Chr\u00e9tien nowhere gives any description of the nature of\nthe Round Table. With him, it is an institution. Layamon in \"Brut\" and\nWace in \"Le Roman de Brut\" are more specific in their accounts of this\nremarkable piece of furniture. From their descriptions, and from other\nsources in Welsh and Irish literature, it is reasonable to suppose that\nthe Round Table had a place in primitive Celtic folk-lore. Cf. L.F.\nMott, \"The Round Table\" in \"Pub. of the Modern Language Association of\nAmerica\", XX. 231-264; A.C.L. Brown, \"The Round Table before Wace\" in\n\"Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature\", vii. 183-205\n(Boston, 1900); Miss J.L Weston, \"A Hitherto Unconsidered Aspect of the\nRound Table\" in \"Melanges de philologie romane offerts a M. Wilmotte\",\nii. 883-894, 2 vols. (Paris, 1910).]\n\n[Footnote 14: There exists a romance devoted to Yder, of which G. Paris\nprinted a resume in \"Hist. Litt. de la France\", XXX., and which has\nbeen recently edited by Heinrich Gelzer: \"Der altfranzosische Yderroman\"\n(Dresden, 1913). There are apparently three different knight of this\nname in the old French romances (F.).]\n\n[Footnote 15: The word \"chastel\" (from \"castellum\") is usually to be\ntranslated as \"town\" or strong place within fortifications. Only where\nit plainly refers to a detached building will the word \"castle\" be\nused.]\n\n[Footnote 16: A \"tercel\" is a species of falcon, of which the male bird\nis one-third smaller than the female.]\n\n[Footnote 17: A \"vavasor\" (from \"vassus vassallorum\") was a low order\nof vassal, but a freeman. The vavasors are spoken of with respect in\nthe old French romances, as being of honourable character, though not of\nhigh birth.]\n\n[Footnote 18: The numerous references to the story of King Mark,\nTristan, and Iseut in the extant poems of Chr\u00e9tien support his own\nstatement, made at the outset of \"Clig\u00e9s\", that he himself composed a\npoem on the nephew and wife of the King of Cornwall. We have fragments\nof poems on Tristan by the Anglo-Norman poets Beroul and Thomas, who\nwere contemporaries of Chr\u00e9tien. Foerster's hypothesis that the lost\n\"Tristan\" of Chr\u00e9tien antedated \"Erec\" is doubtless correct. That\nthe poet later treated of the love of Clig\u00e9s and Fenice as a sort of\nliterary atonement for the inevitable moral laxity of Tristan and Iseut\nhas been held by some, and the theory is acceptable in view of the\nreferences to be met later in \"Clig\u00e9s\". For the contrary opinion of\nGaston Paris see \"Journal des Savants\" (1902), p. 297 f.]\n\n[Footnote 19: In the Mabinogi \"Geraint the Son of Erbin\", the host\nexplains that he had wrongfully deprived his nephew of his possessions,\nand that in revenge the nephew had later taken all his uncle's property,\nincluding an earldom and this town. See Guest, \"The Mabinogion\".]\n\n[Footnote 110: The hauberk was a long shirt of mail reaching to the\nknees, worn by knights in combat. The helmet, and the \"coiffe\" beneath\nit, protected the head; the \"ventail\" of linked meshes was worn across\nthe lower part of the face, and was attached on each side of the neck to\nthe \"coiffe\", so that it protected the throat; the greaves covered the\nlegs. The body of the knight was thus well protected against blow of\nsword or lance. Cf. Vv.711 f.]\n\n[Footnote 111: This passage seems to imply that charms and enchantments\nwere sometimes used when a knight was armed (F.).]\n\n[Footnote 112: The \"loges\", so often mentioned in old French romances,\nwere either window-balconies or architectural points of vantage\ncommanding some pleasing prospect. The conventional translation in the\nold English romances is \"bower\".]\n\n[Footnote 113: Tristan killed Morholt, the uncle of Iseut, when he came\nto claim tribute form King Mark (cf. Bedier, \"Le Roman de Tristan\",\netc., i. 85 f., 2 vols., Paris, 1902). The combat took place on an\nisland, unnamed in the original text (id. i. 84), but later identified\nwith St. Samson's Isle, one of the Scilly Isles.]\n\n[Footnote 114: The same act of feeding a hunting-bird with a plover's\nwing is mentioned in \"Le Roman de Thebes\", 3857-58 (ed. \"Anciens\nTextes\").]\n\n[Footnote 115: For such figurative expressions used to complement the\nnegative, cf. Gustav Dreyling, \"Die Ausdruckweise der ubertriebenen\nVerkleinerung im altfranzosischen Karlsepos\", in Stengel's \"Ausgaben und\nAbhandlungen\", No. 82 (Marsburg, 1888); W.W. Comfort in \"Modern Language\nNotes\" (Baltimore, February 1908).]\n\n[Footnote 116: Chr\u00e9tien in his later romances will avoid compiling such\na prosaic blue-book as is found in this passage, though similar lists of\nknights occur in the old English romances as late as Malory, though of\nsome of them but little is known. Unfortunately, we have for the old\nFrench romances no such complete work as that furnished for the epic\npoems by E. Langois, \"Table des noms propres de toute nature compris\ndans les chansons de geste\" (Paris, 1904).]\n\n[Footnote 117: The only mention by Chr\u00e9tien of this son of Arthur, whose\nrole is absolutely insignificant in the Arthurian romances.]\n\n[Footnote 118: What was this drinking-cup, and who sent it to Arthur? We\nhave \"Le Lai du cor\" (ed. Wulff, Lund, 1888), which tells how a certain\nKing Mangount of Moraine sent a magic drinking-cup to Arthur. No one\ncould drink of this cup without spilling the contents if he were a\ncuckold. Drinking from this cup was, then, one of the many current tests\nof chastity. Further light may be thrown on the passage in our text by\nthe English poem \"The Cokwold's Daunce\" (in C.H. Hartshorne's \"Ancient\nMetrical Ballads\", London, 1829), where Arthur is described as a cuckold\nhimself and as having always by him a horn (cup) which he delights\nin trying on his knights as a test of their ladies' chastity. For\nbibliography see T.P. Cross, \"Notes on the Chastity-Testing Horns and\nMantle\" in \"Modern Philology\", x. 289-299.]\n\n[Footnote 119: A unique instance of such a division of the material in\nChr\u00e9tien's poems (F.).]\n\n[Footnote 120: Outre-Gales=Estre-Gales (v.3883)=Extra-Galliam.]\n\n[Footnote 121: Such fanciful descriptions of men and lands are common\nin the French epic poems, where they are usually applied to the Saracens\n(F.). Cf. W.w. Comfort, \"The Saracens in Christian Poetry\" in \"The\nDublin Review\", July 1911; J. Malsch, \"Die Charakteristik der Volker im\naltfranzosischen nationalen Epos\" (Heidelberg, 1912).]\n\n[Footnote 122: With what seems to us mistaken taste, Chr\u00e9tien frequently\nthus delays mentioning the name of his leading charecters. The father\nand mother of Enide remain anonymous until the end of this poem. The\nreader will remark other instances of this peculiarity in \"Yvain\" and\n\"Lancelot\".]\n\n[Footnote 123: The maid Brangien was substituted for Iseut, the bride,\nupon the first night after her marriage with Mark. Similar traditions\nare associated with the marriage of Arthur and Guinevere, and of Pepin\nand Berte aus grans pies, the parents of Charlemagne. Adenet le Roi\ntoward the end of the 13th century is the author of the most artistic\ntreatments of Berte's history (ed. A. Scheler, Bruxelles, 1874).\nCf. W.W. Comfort, \"Adenet le Roi: The End of a Literary Era\" in \"The\nQuarterly Review\", April 1913.]\n\n[Footnote 124: The reading \"Sanson\" (=Samson) is Foerster's most recent\n(1904) suggestion to replace the word \"lion\" which stands in all\nthe MSS. Solomon's name has always been synonymous with wisdom, and\nAlexander's generosity was proverbial in the Middle Ages. For Alexander,\ncf. Paul Meyer, \"Alexandre le Grand dans la litterature francaise du\nmoyen age\", 2 vols. (Paris, 1886), vol ii., pp. 372-376, and Paget\nToynbee, \"Dante Studies and Researches\" (London, 1902), p. 144.]\n\n[Footnote 125: Of Arthur's several nephews, Gawain is represented by\nChr\u00e9tien as peerless in respect of courage and courtesy. In the English\nromances his character steadily deteriorates.]\n\n[Footnote 126: This sentence contains the motive for all the action\nin the sequel. The same situation is threatened in \"Yvain\", but there\nGawain rescues the hero from the lethargy, ignoble in the eyes of a\nfeudal audience, into which he was falling. Cf. also \"Marques de Rome\"\n(\"Lit. Verein in Stuttgart\", Tubingen, 1889), p. 36, where the Empress\nof Rome thus incites her husband to the chase: \"Toz jors cropez vos a\nPostel; vos n'estes point chevalereus, si come vos deussiez estre, si\njuenes hom come vos estes\"; also J. Gower, \"Le Mirour de l'omme, 22, 813\nff.:\n\n\"Rois est des femmes trop decu, Qant plus les ayme que son dieu, Dont\nlaist honour pour foldelit: Cil Rois ne serra pas cremu, Q'ensi voet\nlaisser sou escu Et querre le bataille ou lit.\"]\n\n[Footnote 127: This brusque command, implying so sudden a change in\nErec's attitude toward his wife, initiates a long series of tests of\nEnide's devotion, which fill the rest of the romance. Why did Erec treat\nhis wife with such severity? In the Mabinogi of \"Geraint the Son of\nErbin\", it is plain that jealousy was the hero's motive. The reader of\n\"Erec\" may judge whether, as we believe, the hero's sudden resolve is\nnot rather that of a man piqued at being justly reproved by his wife\nfor a delinquency he had not himself remarked; irate at his wife's\nimputation, and fearful of having forfeited her respect, he starts\nout to redeem his reputation in her eyes, and to maker her retract any\ninsinuation she had made. Erec is simply angry with himself, but he\nexpends his wrath upon his defenceless wife until he is reassured of her\nlove and respect for him.]\n\n[Footnote 128: The situation here is a common one. Parallels will be\nfound in the \"Voyage de Charlemagne\", in the first tale of the \"Arabian\nNights\", in the poem \"Biterolf and Dietlieb\", and in the English ballad\nof \"King Arthur and King Cornwall\". Professor Child, in his \"English and\nScotch Ballads\", indexes the ballads in his collection, which present\nthis motive, under the following caption: \"King who regards himself as\nthe richest, most magnificent, etc., in the world, is told that there is\none who outstrips him, and undertakes to see for himself whether this is\nso, threatening death to the person who has affirmed his inferiority in\ncase this is disproved.\"]\n\n[Footnote 129: The presence of the Irish in this connection is explained\nby G. Paris in \"Romania\", xx. 149.]\n\n[Footnote 130: Kay the Seneschal appears here for the first time in\nChr\u00e9tien's poems with the character which he regularly ascribes to him.\nReaders of Arthurian romance are all familiar with Sir Kay; they will\nfind that in Chr\u00e9tien, the seneschal, in addition to his undeniable\nqualities of bravery and frankness, has less pleasing traits; he is\nfoolhardy, tactless, mean, and a disparager of others' merit. He figures\nprominently in \"Yvain\" and \"Lancelot\". His poetic history has not yet\nbeen written. His role in the German romances has been touched upon by\nDr. Friedrich Sachse, \"Ueber den Ritter Kei\" (Berlin, 1860).]\n\n[Footnote 131: No meat was eaten because it was the eve of Sunday.]\n\n[Footnote 132: In the French epic poems and romances of adventure alike\nit is customary for giants and all manner of rustic boors to carry\nclubs, the arms of knighthood being appropriate for such ignoble\ncreatures. Other instances of this convention will be remarked in the\ntext.]\n\n[Footnote 133: There follows and excellent example of an old French\nlament for the dead. Such a wail was known in old French as a \"regret\",\na word which has lost its specific meaning in English.]\n\n[Footnote 134: Many examples will be met of women skilled in the\npractice of medicine and surgery. On the subject, cf. A. Hertel,\n\"Versauberte Oertlichkeiten und Gegenstande in der altfranzosschen\nDichtung\" (Hanover, 1908); Georg Manheimer, \"Etwas liber die Aerzte im\nalten Frankreich\" in \"Romanische Forschungen\", vi. 581-614.]\n\n[Footnote 135: The reference here and in v.5891 is probably suggested by\nthe \"Roman d'Eneas\", which tells the same story as Virgil's \"Aeneid\",\nin old French eight-syllable rhymed couplets, and which is dated by\nthe most recent scholarship 1160 circ. Cf. F.M. Warren in \"Modern\nPhilology\", iii. 179-209; iii. 513-539; iv. 655-675. Also M. Wilmotte,\n\"L'Evolution du roman francais aux environs de 1150\" (Paris, 1903).\nScenes from classical and medieval romance were for a long time\nfavourite subject of portrayal upon cloths and tapestries, as well as of\nilluminations for manuscripts.]\n\n[Footnote 136: Various conjectures have been advanced concerning the\nsignificance of this strange adventure and its mysterious name \"La\nJoie de la cour\". It is a quite extraneous episode, and Tennyson in his\nartistic use of our hero and heroine in the Idyl of \"Geraint and Enid\"\ndid well to omit it. Chr\u00e9tien's explanation, a little farther on, of \"La\nJoie de la cour\" is lame and unsatisfactory, as if he himself did not\nunderstand the significance of the matter upon which he was working. Cf.\nE. Philipot in \"Romania\", xxv. 258-294; K. Othmer, \"Ueber das Verhaltnis\nChrestiens Erec und Enide zu dem Mabinogion des rothen Buch von Hergest\"\n(Bonn, 1889); G. Paris in \"Romania\", xx. 152 f.]\n\n[Footnote 137: The following description of Erec's reception is repeated\nwith variations at the time of Yvain's entrance in the \"Chastel de Pesme\nAvanture\" (\"Yvain\", 5107 f.) (F.).]\n\n[Footnote 138: For such conventional mediaeval descriptions of\nother-world castles, palaces, and landscapes, cf. O.M. Johnston in\n\"Ztsch fur romanische Philologie\", xxxii. 705-710.]\n\n[Footnote 139: Tiebaut li Esclavon, frequently mentioned in the epic\npoems, was a Saracen king, the first husband of Guibourne, who later\nmarried the Christian hero Guillaume d'Orange. Opinel was also a\nSaracen, mentioned in \"Gaufrey\", p. 132, and the hero of a lost epic\npoem (see G. Paris, \"Historie poetique de Charlemagne\", p. 127). Fernagu\nwas another Saracen king, killed in a famous encounter by Roland,\n\"Otinel\", p. 9 (F.). For further references to these characters, see\nE. Langlois, \"Table des noms propres de toute nature compris dans les\nchansons de geste\" (Paris, 1904).]\n\n[Footnote 140: There is a similar picket fence topped with helmets in\nthe \"Las de la Mule sanz frain\", v. 433 (ed. By R.T. Hill, Baltimore,\n1911).]\n\n[Footnote 141: For such magic horns, cf. A. Hertel, \"Verzauberte\nOertlichkeiten\", etc. (Hanover, 1908).]\n\n[Footnote 142: In fact, nothing is known of this \"lai\", if, indeed, it\never existed. For a recent definition of \"lai\", se L. Foulet in \"Ztsch.\nfur romanische Philologie\", xxxii. 161 f.]\n\n[Footnote 143: The sterling was the English silver penny, 240 of which\nequalled 1 Pound Sterling of silver of 5760 grains 925 fine. It is early\ndescribed as \"denarius Angliae qui vocatur sterlingus\" (\"Ency. Brit\").]\n\n[Footnote 144: Macrobius was a Neoplatonic philosopher and Latin\ngrammarian of the early part of the 5th century A.D. He is best known\nas the author of the \"Saturnalia\" and of a commentary upon Cicero's\n\"Somnium Scipionis\" in that author's \"De republica\". It is this latter\nwork that is probably in the mind of Chr\u00e9tien, as well as of Gower, who\nrefers to him in his \"Mirour l'omme\", and of Jean de Meun, the author of\nthe second part of the \"Roman de la Rose\".]\n\n[Footnote 145: For fairies and their handiwork in the Middle Ages, cf.\nL.F.A. Maury, \"Les Fees du moyen age\" (Paris, 1843); Keightley,\n\"Fairy Mythology\" (London, 1860); Lucy A. Paton, \"Studies in the Fairy\nMythology of Arthurian Romance\", Radcliffe Monograph (Boston, 1903);\nD.B. Easter, \"The Magic Elements in the romans d'aventure and the romans\nbretons\" (Baltimore, 1906).]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCLIG\u00c9S [21]\n\n(Vv. 1-44.) He who wrote of Erec and Enide, and translated into French\nthe commands of Ovid and the Art of Love, and wrote the Shoulder\nBite, [22] and about King Mark and the fair Iseut, [23] and about the\nmetamorphosis of the Lapwing, [24] the Swallow, and the Nightingale,\nwill tell another story now about a youth who lived in Greece and was\na member of King Arthur's line. But before I tell you aught of him, you\nshall hear of his father's life, whence he came and of what family. He\nwas so bold and so ambitious that he left Greece and went to England,\nwhich was called Britain in those days, in order to win fame and renown.\nThis story, which I intend to relate to you, we find written in one of\nthe books of the library of my lord Saint Peter at Beauvais. [25] From\nthere the material was drawn of which Chr\u00e9tien has made this romance.\nThe book is very old in which the story is told, and this adds to its\nauthority. [26] From such books which have been preserved we learn the\ndeeds of men of old and of the times long since gone by. Our books have\ninformed us that the pre-eminence in chivalry and learning once belonged\nto Greece. Then chivalry passed to Rome, together with that highest\nlearning which now has come to France. God grant that it may be\ncherished here, and that it may be made so welcome here that the honour\nwhich has taken refuge with us may never depart from France: God had\nawarded it as another's share, but of Greeks and Romans no more is\nheard, their fame is passed, and their glowing ash is dead.\n\n(Vv. 45-134.) Chr\u00e9tien begins his story as we find it in the history,\nwhich tells of an emperor powerful in wealth and honour who ruled over\nGreece and Constantinople. A very noble empress, too, there was, by\nwhom the emperor had two children. But the elder son was already so\nfar advanced before the younger one was born that, if he had wished, he\nmight have become a knight and held all the empire beneath his sway.\nThe name of the elder was Alexander, and the other's name was Alis.\nAlexander, too, was the father's name, and the mother's name was\nTantalis. I shall now say nothing more of the emperor and of Alis; but\nI shall speak of Alexander, who was so bold and proud that he scorned\nto become a knight in his own country. He had heard of King Arthur, who\nreigned in those days, and of the knights whom he always kept about\nhim, thus causing his court to be feared and famed throughout the world.\nHowever, the affair may result and whatever fortune may await him,\nnothing can restrain Alexander from his desire to go into Britain, but\nhe must obtain his father's consent before proceeding to Britain and\nCornwall. So Alexander, fair and brave, goes to speak with the emperor\nin order to ask and obtain his leave. Now he will tell him of his desire\nand what he wishes to do and undertake. \"Fair sire,\" he says, \"in quest\nof honour and fame and praise I dare to ask you a boon, which I desire\nyou to give me now without delay, if you are willing to grant it to me.\"\nThe emperor thinks no harm will come from this request: he ought rather\nto desire and long for his son's honour. \"Fair son,\" he says, \"I grant\nyou your desire; so tell me now what you wish me to give you.\" Now the\nyouth has accomplished his purpose, and is greatly pleased when the boon\nis granted him which he so greatly desired. \"Sire,\" says he, \"do you\nwish to know what it is that you have promised me? I wish to have a\ngreat plenty of gold and silver, and such companions from among your\nmen as I will select; for I wish to go forth from your empire, and to\npresent my service to the king who rules over Britain, in order that he\nmay make me a knight. I promise you never in my life to wear armour on\nmy face or helmet upon my head until King Arthur shall gird on my sword,\nif he will graciously do so. For from no other than from him will I\naccept my arms.\" Without hesitation the emperor replies: \"Fair son, for\nGod's sake, speak not so! This country all belongs to you, as well as\nrich Constantinople. You ought not to think me mean, when I am ready\nto make you such a gift. I shall be ready soon to have you crowned, and\nto-morrow you shall be a knight. All Greece will be in your hands, and\nyou shall receive from your nobles, as is right, their homage and oaths\nof allegiance. Whoever refuses such an offer is not wise.\"\n\n(Vv. 135-168.) The youth hears the promise how the next morning after\nMass his father is ready to dub him knight; but he says he will seek his\nfortune for better or worse in another land. \"If you are willing in this\nmatter to grant the boon I have asked of you, then give me mottled and\ngrey furs, some good horses and silken stuffs: for before I become\na knight I wish to enrol in King Arthur's service. Nor have I yet\nsufficient strength to bear arms. No one could induce me by prayer or\nflattery not to go to the foreign land to see his nobles and that king\nwhose fame is so great for courtesy and prowess. Many men of high degree\nlose through sloth the great renown which they might win, were they to\nwander about the world. [27] Repose and glory ill agree, as it seems to\nme; for a man of wealth adds nothing to his reputation if he spends all\nhis days at ease. Prowess is irksome to the ignoble man, and cowardice\nis a burden to the man of spirit; thus the two are contrary and\nopposite. He is the slave of his wealth who spends his days in storing\nand increasing it. Fair father, so long as I have the chance, and so\nlong as my rigour lasts, I wish to devote my effort and energy to the\npursuit of fame.\"\n\n(Vv. 169-234.) Upon hearing this; the emperor doubtless feels both joy\nand grief: he is glad that his son's intention is fixed upon honour,\nand on the other hand he is sorrowful because his son is about to be\nseparated from him. Yet, because of the promise which he made, despite\nthe grief he feels, he must grant his request; for an emperor must keep\nhis word. \"Fair son,\" he says, \"I must not fail to do your pleasure,\nwhen I see you thus striving for honour. From my treasure you may have\ntwo barges full of gold and silver; but take care to be generous and\ncourteous and well-behaved.\" Now the youth is very happy when his father\npromises him so much, and places his treasure at his disposal, and bids\nhim urgently to give and spend generously. And his father explains his\nreason for this: \"Fair son,\" he says, \"believe me, that generosity is\nthe dame and queen which sheds glory upon all the other virtues. And the\nproof of this is not far to seek. For where could you find a man, be he\nnever so rich and powerful, who is not blamed if he is mean? Nor could\nyou find one, however ungracious he may be, whom generosity will not\nbring into fair repute? Thus largess makes the gentleman, which\nresult can be accomplished neither by high birth, courtesy, knowledge,\ngentility, money, strength, chivalry, boldness, dominion, beauty, or\nanything else. [28] But just as the rose is fairer than any other flower\nwhen it is fresh and newly blown, so there, where largess dwells, it\ntakes its place above all other virtues, and increases five hundred fold\nthe value of other good traits which it finds in the man who acquits\nhimself well. So great is the merit of generosity that I could not tell\nyou the half of it.\" The young man has now successfully concluded the\nnegotiations for what he wished; for his father has acceded to all\nhis desires. But the empress was sorely grieved when she heard of the\njourney which her son was about to take. Yet, whoever may grieve or\nsorrow, and whoever may attribute his intention to youthful folly, and\never may blame and seek to dissuade him, the youth ordered his ships to\nbe made ready as soon as possible, desiring to tarry no longer in his\nnative land. At his command the ships were freighted that very night\nwith wine, meat, and biscuit.\n\n(Vv. 235-338.) The ships were loaded in the port, and the next morning\nAlexander came to the strand in high spirits, accompanied by his\ncompanions, who were happy over the prospective voyage. They were\nescorted by the emperor and the empress in her grief. At the port they\nfind the sailors in the ships drawn up beside the cliff. The sea was\ncalm and smooth, the wind was light, and the weather clear. When he had\ntaken leave of his father, and bidden farewell to the empress, whose\nheart was heavy in her bosom, Alexander first stepped from the small\nboat into the skip; then all his companions hastened by fours, threes,\nand twos to embark without delay. Soon the sail was spread and the\nanchor raised. Those on shore whose heart is heavy because of the men\nwhom they watch depart, follow them with their gaze as long as they can:\nand in order to watch them longer, they all climb a high hill behind\nthe beach. From there they sadly gaze, as long as their eyes can follow\nthem. With sorrow, indeed, they watch them go, being solicitous for\nthe youths, that God may bring them to their haven without accident and\nwithout peril. All of April and part of May they spent at sea. Without\nany great danger or mishap they came to port at Southampton. [29]\nOne day, between three o'clock and vespers, they cast anchor and\nwent ashore. The young men, who had never been accustomed to endure\ndiscomfort or pain, had suffered so long from their life at sea that\nthey had all lost their colour, and even the strongest and most vigorous\nwere weak and faint. In spite of that, they rejoice to have escaped from\nthe sea and to have arrived where they wished to be. Because of their\ndepleted state, they spend the night at Southampton in happy frame, and\nmake inquiries whether the King is in England. They are told that he\nis at Winchester, and that they can reach there in a very short time if\nthey will start early in the morning and keep to the straight road. At\nthis news they are greatly pleased, and the next morning at daybreak the\nyouths wake early, and prepare and equip themselves. And when they were\nready, they left Southampton, and kept to the direct road until they\nreached Winchester, where the King was. Before six o'clock in the\nmorning the Greeks had arrived at the court. The squires with the horses\nremain below in the yard, while the youths go up into the presence of\nthe King, who was the best that ever was or ever will be in the world.\nAnd when the King sees them coming, they please him greatly, and meet\nwith his favour. But before approaching the King's presence, they\nremove the cloaks from about their necks, lest they should be considered\nill-bred. Thus, all unmantled, they came before the King, while all the\nnobles present held their peace, greatly pleased at the sight of these\nhandsome and well-behaved young men. They suppose that of course they\nare all sons of counts or kings; and, to be sure, so they were, and of a\nvery charming age, with graceful and shapely forms. And the clothes\nthey wore were all of the same stuff and cut of the same appearance and\ncolour. There were twelve of them beside their lord, of whom I need tell\nyou no more than that there was none better than he. With modesty and\norderly mien, he was handsome and shapely as he stood uncovered before\nthe King. Then he kneeled before him, and all the others, for honour's\nsake, did the same beside their lord.\n\n(Vv. 339-384.) Alexander, with his tongue well skilled in speaking fair\nand wisely, salutes the King. \"King,\" he says, \"unless the report is\nfalse that spreads abroad your fame, since God created the first man\nthere was never born a God-fearing man of such puissance as yours. King,\nyour widespread renown has drawn me to serve and honour you in your\ncourt, and if you will accept my service, I would fain remain here\nuntil I be dubbed a knight by your hand and by no one else. For unless\nI receive this honour from your hand, I shall renounce all intention of\nbeing knighted. If you will accept my service until you are willing\nto dub me a knight, retain me now, oh gentle King, and my companions\ngathered here.\" To which at once the King replies: \"Friend, I refuse\nneither you nor your companions. Be welcome all. For surely you seem,\nand I doubt it not, to be sons of high-born men. Whence do you come?\"\n\"From Greece.\" \"From Greece?\" \"Yes.\" \"Who is thy father?\" \"Upon my word,\nsire, the emperor.\" \"And what is thy name, fair friend?\" \"Alexander is\nthe name that was given me when I received the salt and holy oil, and\nChristianity and baptism.\" \"Alexander, my dear, fair friend. I will keep\nyou with me very gladly, with great pleasure and delight. For you have\ndone me signal honour in thus coming to my court. I wish you to be\nhonoured here, as free vassals who are wise and gentle. You have been\ntoo long upon your knees; now, at my command, and henceforth make your\nhome with man and in my court; it is well that you have come to us.\"\n\n(Vv. 385-440.) Then the Greeks rise up, joyful that the King has so\nkindly invited them to stay. Alexander did well to come; for he lacks\nnothing that he desires, and there is no noble at the court who does not\naddress him kindly and welcome him. He is not so foolish as to be puffed\nup, nor does he vaunt himself nor boast. He makes acquaintance with my\nlord Gawain and with the others, one by one. He gains the good graces of\nthem all, but my lord Gawain grows so fond of him that he chooses him as\nhis friend and companion. [210] The Greeks took the best lodgings to be\nhad, with a citizen of the town. Alexander had brought great possessions\nwith him from Constantinople, intending to give heed above all to the\nadvice and counsel of the Emperor, that his heart should be ever\nready to give and dispense his riches well. To this end he devotes his\nefforts, living well in his lodgings, and giving and spending liberally,\nas is fitting in one so rich, and as his heart dictates. The entire\ncourt wonders where he got all the wealth that he bestows; for on all\nsides he presents the valuable horses which he had brought from his own\nland. So much did Alexander do, in the performance of his service,\nthat the King, the Queen, and the nobles bear him great affection.\nKing Arthur about this time desired to cross over into Brittany. So he\nsummons all his barons together to take counsel and inquire to whom he\nmay entrust England to be kept in peace and safety until his return.\nBy common consent, it seems, the trust was assigned to Count Angres of\nWindsor, for it was their judgement that there was no more trustworthy\nlord in all the King's realm. When this man had received the land, King\nArthur set out the next day accompanied by the Queen and her damsels.\nThe Bretons make great rejoicing upon hearing the news in Brittany that\nthe King and his barons are on the way.\n\n(Vv. 441-540.) Into the ship in which the King sailed there entered\nno youth or maiden save only Alexander and Soredamors, whom the Queen\nbrought with her. This maiden was scornful of love, for she had never\nheard of any man whom she would deign to love, whatever might be his\nbeauty, prowess, lordship, or birth. And yet the damsel was so charming\nand fair that she might fitly have learned of love, if it had pleased\nher to lend a willing ear; but she would never give a thought to love.\nNow Love will make her grieve, and will avenge himself for all the pride\nand scorn with which she has always treated him. Carefully Love has\naimed his dart with which he pierced her to the heart. Now she grows\npale and trembles, and in spite of herself must succumb to Love. Only\nwith great difficulty can she restrain herself from casting a glance\ntoward Alexander; but she must be on her guard against her brother, my\nlord Gawain. Dearly she pays and atones for her great pride and disdain.\nLove has heated for her a bath which heats and burns her painfully. At\nfirst it is grateful to her, and then it hurts; one moment she likes it,\nand the next she will have none of it. She accuses her eyes of treason,\nand says: [211] \"My eyes, you have betrayed me now! My heart, usually\nso faithful, now bears me ill-will because of you. Now what I see\ndistresses me. Distresses? Nay, verily, rather do I like it well. And if\nI actually see something that distresses me, can I not control my eyes?\nMy strength must indeed have failed, and little should I esteem myself,\nif I cannot control my eyes and make them turn their glance elsewhere.\nThus, I shall be able to baffle Love in his efforts to get control of\nme. The heart feels no pain when the eye does not see; so, if I do not\nlook at him, no harm will come to me. He addresses me no request or\nprayer, as he would do were he in love with me. And since he neither\nloves nor esteems me, shall I love him without return? If his beauty\nallures my eyes, and my eyes listen to the call, shall I say that I love\nhim just for that? Nay, for that would be a lie. Therefore, he has no\nground for complaint, nor can I make any claim against him. One cannot\nlove with the eyes alone. What crime, then, have my eyes committed, if\ntheir glance but follows my desire? What is their fault and what their\nsin? Ought I to blame them, then? Nay, verily. Who, then, should be\nblamed? Surely myself, who have them in control. My eye glances at\nnothing unless it gives my heart delight. My heart ought not to have any\ndesire which would give me pain. Yet its desire causes me pain. Pain?\nUpon my faith, I must be mad, if to please my heart I wish for something\nwhich troubles me. If I can, I ought to banish any wish that distresses\nme. If I can? Mad one, what have I said? I must, indeed, have little\npower if I have no control over myself. Does Love think to set me in\nthe same path which is wont to lead others astray? Others he may lead\nastray, but not me who care not for him. Never shall I be his, nor\never was, and I shall never seek his friendship.\" Thus she argues with\nherself, one moment loving, and hating the next. She is in such doubt\nthat she does not know which course she had better adopt. She thinks to\nbe on the defence against Love, but defence is not what she wants. God!\nShe does not know that Alexander is thinking of her too! Love bestows\nupon them equally such a share as is their due. He treats them very\nfairly and justly, for each one loves and desires the other. And this\nlove would be true and right if only each one knew what was the other's\nwish. But he does not know what her desire is, and she knows not the\ncause of his distress.\n\n(Vv. 541-574.) The Queen takes note of them and sees them often blanch\nand pale and heave deep sighs and tremble. But she knows no reason why\nthey should do so, unless it be because of the sea where they are. I\nthink she would have divined the cause had the sea not thrown her off\nher guard, but the sea deceives and tricks her, so that she does not\ndiscover love because of the sea; and it is from love that comes the\nbitter pain that distresses them. [212] But of the three concerned,\nthe Queen puts all the blame upon the sea; for the other two accuse the\nthird to her, and hold it alone responsible for their guilt. Some one\nwho is not at fault is often blamed for another's wrong. Thus, the Queen\nlays all the blame and guilt upon the sea, but it is unfair to put the\nblame upon the sea, for it is guilty of no misdeed. Soredamors' deep\ndistress continued until the vessel came to port. As for the King, it is\nwell known that the Bretons were greatly pleased, and served him gladly\nas their liege lord. But of King Arthur I will not longer speak in\nthis place; rather shall you hear me tell how Love distresses these two\nlovers whom he has attacked.\n\n(Vv. 575-872.) Alexander loves and desires her; and she, too, pines for\nthe love of him, but he knows it not, nor will he know it until he\nhas suffered many a pain and many a grief. It is for her sake that he\nrenders to the Queen loving service, as well as to her maids-in-waiting;\nbut to her on whom his thoughts are fixed, he dares not speak or address\na word. If she but dared to assert to him the right which she thinks she\nhas, she would gladly inform him of the truth; but she does not dare,\nand cannot do it. They dare neither speak nor act in accordance with\nwhat each sees in the other--which works a great hardship to them both,\nand their love but grows and flames the more. However, it is the custom\nof all lovers to feast their eyes gladly with gazing, if they can do\nno more; and they assume that, because they find pleasure in that which\ncauses their love to be born and grow, therefore it must be to their\nadvantage; whereas it only harms them more, just as he who approaches\nand draws close beside the fire burns himself more than he who holds\naloof. Their love waxes and grows anon; but each is abashed before the\nother, and so much is hidden and concealed that no flame or smoke arises\nfrom the coals beneath the ashes. The heat is no less on this account,\nbut rather is better sustained beneath the ashes than above. Both of\nthem are in great torment; for, in order that none may perceive their\ntrouble, they are forced to deceive people by a feigned bearing; but at\nnight comes the bitter moan, which each one makes within his breast. Of\nAlexander I will tell you first how he complains and vents his grief.\nLove presents before his mind her for whom he is in such distress; it is\nshe who has filched his heart away, and grants him no rest upon his bed,\nbecause, forsooth, he delights to recall the beauty and the grace of her\nwho, he has no hope, will ever bring him any joy. \"I may as well hold\nmyself a madman.\" he exclaims. \"A madman? Truly, I am beside myself,\nwhen I dare not speak what I have in mind; for it would speedily fare\nworse with me (if I held my peace). I have engaged my thoughts in a mad\nemprise. But is it not better to keep my thoughts to myself than to be\ncalled a fool? My wish will never then be known. Shall I then conceal\nthe cause of my distress, and not dare to seek aid and healing for my\nwound? He is mad who feels himself afflicted, and seeks not what will\nbring him health, if perchance he may find it anywhere; but many a one\nseeks his welfare by striving for his heart's desire, who pursues only\nthat which brings him woe instead. And why should one ask for advice,\nwho does not expect to gain his health? He would only exert himself\nin vain. I feel my own illness to be so grievous that I shall never be\nhealed by any medicine or draught, by any herb or root. For some ills\nthere is no remedy, and mine lies so deep within that it is beyond the\nreach of medicine. Is there no help, then? Methinks I have lied. When\nfirst I felt this malady, if I had dared to make mention of it. I might\nhave spoken with a physician who could have completely cured me. But I\nlike not to discuss such matters; I think he would pay me no heed and\nwould not consent to accept a fee. No wonder, then, if I am terrified;\nfor I am very ill, yet I do not know what disease this is which has me\nin its grip, and I know not whence this pain has come. I do not know? I\nknow full well that it is Love who does me this injury. How is that? Can\nLove do harm? Is he not gentle and well-bred? I used to think that there\nwas naught but good in Love; but I have found him full of enmity. He who\nhas not had experience of him does not know what tricks Love plays.\nHe is a fool who joins his ranks; for he always seeks to harm his\nfollowers. Upon my faith, his tricks are bad. It is poor sport to play\nwith him, for his game will only do me harm. What shall I do, then?\nShall I retreat? I think it would be wise to do so, but I know not\nhow to do it. If Love chastens and threatens me in order to teach and\ninstruct me, ought I to disdain my teacher? He is a fool who scorns his\nmaster. I ought to keep and cherish the lesson which Love teaches me,\nfor great good may soon come of it. But I am frightened because he beats\nme so. And dost thou complain, when no sign of blow or wound appears?\nArt thou not mistaken? Nay, for he has wounded me so deep that he has\nshot his dart to my very heart, and has not yet drawn it out again.\n[213] How has he pierced thy body with it, when no wound appears\nwithout? Tell me that, for I wish to know. How did he make it enter in?\nThrough the eye. Through the eye? But he has not put it out? He did not\nharm the eye at all, but all the pain is in the heart. Then tell me, if\nthe dart passed through the eye, how is it that the eye itself is not\ninjured or put out. If the dart entered through the eye, why does the\nheart in the breast complain, when the eye, which received the first\neffect, makes no complaint of it at all? I can readily account for that:\nthe eye is not concerned with the understanding, nor has it any part in\nit; but it is the mirror of the heart, and through this mirror passes,\nwithout doing harm or injury, the flame which sets the heart on fire.\nFor is not the heart placed in the breast just like a lighted candle\nwhich is set in a lantern? If you take the candle away no light will\nshine from the lantern; but so long as the candle lasts the lantern is\nnot dark at all, and the flame which shines within does it no harm or\ninjury. Likewise with a pane of glass, which might be very strong and\nsolid, and yet a ray of the sun could pass through it without cracking\nit at all; yet a piece of glass will never be so bright as to enable one\nto see, unless a stronger light strikes its surface. Know that the same\nthing is true of the eyes as of the glass and the lantern; for the\nlight strikes the eyes in which the heart is accustomed to see itself\nreflected, and lo! it sees some light outside, and many other things,\nsome green, some purple, others red or blue; and some it dislikes, and\nsome it likes, scorning some and prizing others. But many an object\nseems fair to it when it looks at it in the glass, which will deceive it\nif it is not on its guard. My mirror has greatly deceived me; for in\nit my heart saw a ray of light with which I am afflicted, and which has\npenetrated deep within me, causing me to lose my wits. I am ill-treated\nby my friend, who deserts me for my enemy. I may well accuse him of\nfelony for the wrong he has done to me. I thought I had three friends,\nmy heart and my two eyes together; but it seems that they hate me. Where\nshall I ever find a friend, when these three are my enemies, belonging\nto me, yet putting me to death? My servants mock at my authority, in\ndoing what they please without consulting my desire. After my experience\nwith these who have done me wrong, I know full well that a good man's\nlove may be befouled by wicked servants in his employ. He who is\nattended by a wicked servant will surely have cause to rue it, sooner or\nlater. Now I will tell you how the arrow, which has come into my keeping\nand possession, is made and fashioned; but I fear greatly that I shall\nfail in the attempt; for the fashion of it is so fine that it will be no\nwonder if I fail. Yet I shall devote all my effort to telling you how\nit seems to me. The notch and the feathers are so close together, when\ncarefully examined, that the line of separation is as fine as a hair's\nbreadth; but the notch is so smooth and straight that in it surely no\nimprovement could be made. The feathers are coloured as if they were\nof gold or gilt; but gilt is here beside the mark, for I know these\nfeathers were more brilliant than any gilt. This dart is barbed with the\ngolden tresses that I saw the other day at sea. That is the dart which\nawakes my love. God! What a treasure to possess! Would he who could gain\nsuch a prize crave other riches his whole life long? For my part I could\nswear that I should desire nothing else; I would not give up even the\nbarb and the notch for all the gold of Antioch. And if I prize so highly\nthese two things, who could estimate the value of what remains? That is\nso fair and full of charm, so dear and precious, that I yearn and long\nto gaze again upon her brow, which God's hand has made so clear that it\nwere vain to compare with it any mirror, emerald, or topaz. But all this\nis of little worth to him who sees her flashing eyes; to all who gaze on\nthem they seem like twin candles burning. And whose tongue is so expert\nas to describe the fashion of her well-shaped nose and radiant face, in\nwhich the rose suffuses the lily so as to efface it somewhat, and thus\nenhance the glory of her visage? And who shall speak of her laughing\nmouth, which God shaped with such great skill that none might see it and\nnot suppose that she was laughing? And what about her teeth? They are so\nclose to one another that it seems they are all of one solid piece,\nand in order that the effect might still be enhanced Nature added her\nhandiwork; for any one, to see her part her lips, would suppose that the\nteeth were of ivory or of silver. There is so much to be said were I\nto portray each detailed charm of chin and ears, that it would not be\nstrange were I to pass over some little thing. Of her throat I shall\nonly say that crystal beside it looks opaque. And her neck beneath her\nhair is four times as white as ivory. Between the border of her gown and\nthe buckle at the parted throat, I saw her bosom left exposed and whiter\nthan new-fallen snow. My pain would be indeed assuaged, if I had seen\nthe dart entire. Gladly would I tell, if I but knew, what was the nature\nof the shaft. But I did nor see it, and it is not my fault if I do\nnot attempt to describe something I have never seen. At that time Love\nshowed me only the notch and the barb; for the shaft was hidden in the\nquiver, to wit, in the robe and shift in which the damsel was arrayed.\nUpon my faith, malady which tortures me is the arrow--it is the dart at\nwhich I am a wretch to be enraged. I am ungrateful to be incensed. Never\nshall a straw be broken because of any distrust or quarrel that may\narise between Love and me. Now let Love do what he will with me as with\none who belongs to him; for I wish it, and so it pleases me. I hope that\nthis malady may never leave me, but that it may thus always maintain its\nhold, and that health may never come to me except from the source of my\nillness.\"\n\n(Vv. 873-1046.) Alexander's complaint is long enough; but that of the\nmaiden is nothing less. All night she lies in such distress that\nshe cannot sleep or get repose. Love has confined within her heart a\nstruggle and conflict which disturbs her breast, and which causes her\nsuch pain and anguish that she weeps and moans all night, and tosses\nabout with sudden starts, so that she is almost beside herself. And when\nshe has tossed and sobbed and groaned and started up and sighed again\nthen she looked within her heart to see who and what manner of man it\nwas for whom Love was tormenting her. And when she has refreshed herself\nsomewhat with thinking to her heart's content, she stretches and tosses\nabout again, and ridicules all the thoughts she has had. Then she takes\nanother course, and says: \"Silly one, what matters it to me if this\nyouth is of good birth and wise and courteous and valorous? All this is\nsimply to his honour and credit. And as for his beauty, what care I? Let\nhis beauty be gone with him! But if so, it will be against my will, for\nit is not my wish to deprive him of anything. Deprive? No, indeed! That\nI surely will not do. If he had the wisdom of Solomon, and if Nature had\nbestowed on him all the beauty she can place in human form, and if God\nhad put in my power to undo it all, yet would I not injure him; but I\nwould gladly, if I could, make him still more wise and fair. In faith,\nthen, I do not hate him! And am I for that reason his friend? Nay, I am\nnot his any more than any other man's. Then what do I think of him so\nmuch, if he pleases me no more than other men? I do not know; I am all\nconfused; for I never thought so much about any man in the world, and\nif I had my will, I should see him all the time, and never take my eyes\nfrom him. I feel such joy at the sight of him! Is this love? Yes, I\nbelieve it is. I should not appeal to him so often, if I did not love\nhim above all others. So I love him, then, let it be agreed. Then shall\nI not do what I please? Yes, provided he does not refuse. This intention\nof mine is wrong; but Love has so filled my heart that I am mad and\nbeside myself, nor will any defence avail me now, if I must endure the\nassault of Love. I have demeaned myself prudently toward Love so long,\nand would never accede to his will; but now I am more than kindly\ndisposed toward him. And what thanks will he owe to me, if he cannot\nhave my loving service and good-will? By force he has humbled my pride,\nand now I must follow his pleasure. Now I am ready to love, and I have\na master, and Love will teach me--but what? How I am to serve his will.\nBut of that I am very well informed, and am so expert in serving him\nthat no one could find fault with me. I need learn no more of that. Love\nwould have it, and so would I, that I should be sensible and modest and\nkind and approachable to all for the sake of one I love. Shall I love\nall men, then, for the sake of one? I should be pleasant to every one,\nbut Love does not bid me be the true friend of every one. Love's lessons\nare only good. It is not without significance that I am called by the\nname of Soredamors. [214] I am destined to love and be loved in turn,\nand I intend to prove it by my name, if I can find the explanation\nthere. There is some significance in the fact that the first part of\nmy name is of golden colour; for what is golden is the best. For this\nreason I highly esteem my name, because it begins with that colour with\nwhich the purest gold harmonises. And the end of the name calls Love to\nmy mind; for whoever calls me by my right name always refreshes me with\nlove. And one half gilds the other with a bright coat of yellow gold;\nfor Soredamors has the meaning of 'one gilded over with Love.' Love has\nhighly honoured me in gilding me over with himself. A gilding of\nreal gold is not so fine as that which makes me radiant. And I shall\nhenceforth do my best to be his gilding, and shall never again complain\nof it. Now I love and ever more shall love. Whom? Truly, that is a fine\nquestion! Him whom Love bids me love, for no other shall ever have\nmy love. What will he care in his ignorance, unless I tell him of it\nmyself? What shall I do, if I do not make to him my prayer? Whoever\ndesires anything ought to ask for it and make request. What? Shall I\nbeseech him, then? Nay. Why? Did ever such a thing come about that a\nwoman should be so forward as to make love to any man; unless she were\nclean beside herself. I should be mad beyond question if I uttered\nanything for which I might be reproached. If he should know the truth\nthrough word of mine I think he would hold me in slight esteem, and\nwould often reproach me with having solicited his love. May love never\nbe so base that I should be the first to prefer a request which would\nlower me in his eyes! Alas, God! How will he ever know the truth, since\nI shall not tell him of it? As yet I have very little cause to complain.\nI will wait until his attention is aroused, if ever it is to be aroused.\nHe will surely guess the truth, I think, if ever he has had commerce\nwith Love, or has heard of it by word of mouth. Heard of it? That is a\nfoolish thing to say. Love is not of such easy access that any one may\nclaim acquaintance by hear-say only and without personal experience.\nI have come to know that well enough myself; for I could never learn\nanything of love through flattery and wooing words, though I have often\nbeen in the school of experience, and have been flattered many a time.\nBut I have always stood aloof, and now he makes me pay a heavy penalty:\nnow I know more about it than does the ox of ploughing. But one thing\ncauses me despair: I fear he has never been in love. And if he is not in\nlove, and never has been so, then I have sowed in the sea where no seed\ncan take root. So there is nothing to do but wait and suffer, until\nI see whether I can lead him on by hints and covered words. I shall\ncontinue this until he is sure of my love and dares to ask me for it. So\nthere is nothing more about the matter, but that I love him and am his.\nIf he loves me not, yet will I love him.\"\n\n(Vv. 1047-1066.) Thus he and she utter their complaint, unhappy at night\nand worse by day, each hiding the truth from the other's eyes. In such\ndistress they remained a long time in Brittany, I believe, until the end\nof the summer came. At the beginning of October there came messengers\nby Dover from London and Canterbury, bearing to the King news which\ntroubled him. The messengers told him that he might be tarrying too long\nin Brittany; for, he to whom he had entrusted the kingdom was intending\nto withstand him, and had already summoned a great army of his vassals\nand friends, and had established himself in London for the purpose of\ndefending the city against Arthur when he should return.\n\n(Vv. 1067-1092.) When the King heard this news, angry and sore\ndispleased he summons all his knights. In order the better to spur them\non to punish the traitor, he tells them that they are entirely to blame\nfor his trouble and strife; for on their advice he entrusted his land to\nthe hands of the traitor, who is worse than Ganelon. [215] There is not\na single one who does not agree that the King is right, for he had only\nfollowed their advice; but now this man is to be outlawed, and you may\nbe sure that no town or city will avail to save his body from being\ndragged out by force. Thus they all assure the King, giving him their\nword upon oath, that they will deliver the traitor to him, or never\nagain claim their fiefs. And the King proclaims throughout Brittany that\nno one who can bear arms shall refuse to follow him at once.\n\n(Vv. 1093-1146.) All Brittany is now astir. Never was such an army seen\nas King Arthur brought together. When the ships came to set sail, it\nseemed that the whole world was putting out to sea; for even the water\nwas hid from view, being covered with the multitude of ships. It is\ncertainly true that, to judge by the commotion, all Brittany is under\nway. Now the ships have crossed the Channel, and the assembled host is\nquartered on the shore. Alexander bethought himself to go and pray the\nKing to make him a knight, for if ever he should win renown it will be\nin this war. Prompted by his desire, he takes his companions with him\nto accomplish what he has in mind. On reaching the King's quarters, they\nfound him seated before his tent. When he saw the Greeks approaching, he\nsummoned them to him, saying: \"Gentlemen, do not conceal what business\nhas brought you here.\" Alexander replied on behalf of all, and told him\nhis desire: \"I have come,\" he says, \"to request of you, as I ought to do\nof my liege lord, on behalf of my companions and myself, that you should\nmake us knights.\" The King replies: \"Very gladly; nor shall there be any\ndelay about it, since you have preferred your request.\" Then the\nKing commands that equipment shall be furnished for twelve knights.\nStraightway the King's command is done. As each one asks for his\nequipment, it is handed to him--rich arms and a good horse: thus each\none received his outfit. The arms and robes and horse were of equal\nvalue for each of the twelve; but the harness for Alexander s body, if\nit should be valued or sold, was alone worth as much as that of all the\nother twelve. At the water's edge they stripped, and then washed and\nbathed themselves. Not wishing that any other bath should be heated for\nthem, they washed in the sea and used it as their tub. [216]\n\n(Vv. 1147-1196.) All this is known to the Queen, who bears Alexander no\nill will, but rather loves, esteems, and values him. She wishes to make\nAlexander a gift, but it is far more precious than she thinks. She seeks\nand delves in all her boxes until she finds a white silk shirt, well\nmade of delicate texture, and very soft. Every thread in the stitching\nof it was of gold, or of silver at least. Soredamors had taken a hand in\nthe stitching of it here and there, and at intervals, in the sleeves and\nneck, she had inserted beside the gold a strand of her own hair, to see\nif any man could be found who, by close examination, could detect the\ndifference. For the hair was quite as bright and golden as the thread of\ngold itself. The Queen takes the shirt and presents it to Alexander. Ah,\nGod! What joy would Alexander have felt had he known what the Queen was\ngiving him! And how glad would she, too, have been, who had inserted her\nown hair, if she had known that her lover was to own and wear it! She\ncould then have taken great comfort; for she would not have cared\nso much for all the hair she still possessed as for the little that\nAlexander had. But, more is the pity, neither of them knew the truth.\nThe Queen's messenger finds the youths on the shore where they are\nbathing, and gives the shirt to Alexander. He is greatly pleased with\nit, esteeming the present all the more because it was given him by the\nQueen. But if he had known the rest, he would have valued it still more;\nin exchange for it he would not have taken the whole world, but rather\nwould have made a shrine of it and worshipped it, doubtless, day and\nnight.\n\n(Vv. 1197-1260.) Alexander delays no longer, but dresses himself at\nonce. When he was dressed and ready, he returned to the King's tent with\nall his companions. The Queen, it seems, had come there, too, wishing\nto see the new knights present themselves. They might all be called\nhandsome, but Alexander with his shapely body was the fairest of them\nall. Well, now that they are knights I will say no more of them for the\npresent, but will tell of the King and of his host which came to\nLondon. Most of the people remained faithful to him, though many allied\nthemselves with the opposition. Count Angres assembled his forces,\nconsisting of all those whose influence could be gained by promises or\ngifts. When he had gathered all his strength, he slipped away quietly at\nnight, fearing to be betrayed by the many who hated him. But before he\nmade off, he sacked London as completely as possible of provisions, gold\nand silver, which he divided among his followers. This news was told to\nthe King, how the traitor had escaped with all his forces, and that\nhe had carried off from the city so many supplies that the distressed\ncitizens were impoverished and destitute. Then the King replied that\nhe would not take a ransom for the traitor, but rather hang him, if he\ncould catch him or lay hands on him. Thereupon, all the army proceeded\nto Windsor. However it may be now, in those days the castle was not easy\nto take when any one chose to defend it. The traitor made it secure, as\nsoon as he planned his treacherous deed, with a triple line of walls\nand moats, and had so braced the walls inside with sharpened stakes that\ncatapults could not throw them down. They had taken great pains with the\nfortifications, spending all of June, July, and August in building walls\nand barricades, making moats and drawbridges, ditches, obstructions, and\nbarriers, and iron portcullises and a great square tower of stone. The\ngate was never closed from fear or against assault. The castle stood\nupon a high hill, and around beneath it flows the Thames. The host\nencamped on the river bank, and that day they have time only to pitch\ncamp and set up the tents.\n\n(Vv. 1261-1348.) The army is in camp beside the Thames, and all the\nmeadow is filled with green and red tents. The sun, striking on the\ncolours, causes the river to flash for more than a league around. Those\nin the town had come down to disport themselves upon the river bank with\nonly their lances in their hands and their shields grasped before their\nbreasts, and carrying no other arms at all. In coming thus, they showed\nthose without the walls that they stood in no fear of them. Alexander\nstood aloof and watched the knights disporting themselves at feats of\narms. He yearns to attack them, and summons his companions one by one\nby name. First Cornix, whom he dearly loved, then the doughty Licorides,\nthen Nabunal of Mvcene, and Acorionde of Athens, and Ferolin of\nSalonica, and Calcedor from Africa, Parmenides and Francagel, mighty\nTorin and Pinabel, Nerius and Neriolis. \"My lords,\" he says, \"I feel the\ncall to go with shield and lance to make the acquaintance of those who\ndisport themselves yonder before our eyes. I see they scorn us and hold\nus in slight esteem, when they come thus without their arms to exercise\nbefore our very eyes. We have just been knighted, and have not yet given\nan account of ourselves against any knight or manikin. [217] We have\nkept our first lances too long intact. And for what were our shields\nintended? As yet, they have not a hole or crack to show. There is no use\nin having them except in a combat or a fight. Let's cross the ford and\nrush at them!\" \"We shall not fail you,\" all reply; and each one adds:\n\"So help me God, who fails you now is no friend of yours.\" Then they\nfasten on their swords, tighten their saddles and girths, and mount\ntheir steeds with shields in hand. When they had hung the shields about\ntheir necks, and taken their lances with the gaily coloured ensigns,\nthey all proceed to the ford at once. Those on the farther side lower\ntheir lances, and quickly ride to strike at them. But they (on the\nhither bank) knew how to pay them back, not sparing nor avoiding them,\nnor yielding to them a foot of ground. Rather, each man struck his\nopponent so fiercely that there is no knight so brave but is compelled\nto leave the saddle. They did not underestimate the experience, skill,\nand bravery of their antagonists, but made their first blows count, and\nunhorsed thirteen of them. The report spread to the camp of the fight\nand of the blows that were being struck. There would soon have been a\nmerry strife if the others had dared to stand their ground. All through\nthe camp they run to arms, and raising a shout they cross the ford. And\nthose on the farther bank take to flight, seeing no advantage in staying\nwhere they are. And the Greeks pursue them with blows of lance and\nsword. Though they struck off many a head they themselves did not\nreceive a wound, and gave a good account of themselves that day. But\nAlexander distinguished himself, who by his own efforts led off four\ncaptive knights in bonds. The sands are strewn with headless dead, while\nmany others lie wounded and injured.\n\n(Vv. 1349-1418.) Alexander courteously presents the victims of his first\nconquest to the Queen, not wishing them to fall into the hands of the\nKing, who would have had them all hanged. The Queen, however, had them\nseized and safely kept under guard, as being charged with treason.\nThroughout the camp they talk of the Greeks, and all maintain that\nAlexander acted very courteously and wisely in not surrendering the\nknights whom he had captured to the King, who would surely have had them\nburned or hanged. But the King is not so well satisfied, and sending\npromptly to the Queen he bids her come into his presence and not detain\nthose who have proved treacherous towards him, for either she must give\nthem up or offend him by keeping them. While the Queen was in conference\nwith the King, as was necessary, about the traitors, the Greeks\nremained in the Queen's tent with her maids-in-waiting. While his twelve\ncompanions conversed with them, Alexander uttered not a word. Soredamors\ntook note of this, seated as she was close by his side. Her head resting\nupon her hand, it was plain that she was lost in thought. [218] Thus\nthey sat a long time, until Soredamors saw on his sleeve and about his\nneck the hair which she had stitched into the shirt. Then she drew a\nlittle closer thinking now to find an excuse for speaking a word to him.\nShe considers how she can address him first, and what the first word is\nto be--whether she should address him by his name; and thus she takes\ncounsel with herself: \"What shall I say first?\" she says; \"shall I\naddress him by his name, or shall I call him 'friend'? Friend? Not I.\nHow then? Shall I call him by his name? God! The name of 'friend' is\nfair and sweet to take upon the lips. If I should dare to call him\n'friend'! Should I dare? What forbids me to do so? The fact that that\nimplies a lie. A lie? I know not what the result will be, but I shall be\nsorry if I do not speak the truth. Therefore, it is best to admit that\nI should not like to speak a lie. God! yet he would not speak a lie were\nhe to call me his sweet friend! And should I lie in thus addressing him?\nWe ought both to tell the truth. But if I lie the fault is his. But why\ndoes his name seem so hard to me that I should wish to replace it by a\nsurname? I think it is because it is so long that I should stop in the\nmiddle. But if I simply called him 'friend', I could soon utter so short\na name. Fearing lest I should break down in uttering his proper name, I\nwould fain shed my blood if his name were simply 'my sweet friend.'\"\n\n(Vv. 1419-1448.) She turns this thought over in her mind until the Queen\nreturns from the King who had summoned her. Alexander, seeing her come,\ngoes to meet her, and inquires what is the King's command concerning\nthe prisoners, and what is to be their fate. \"Friend,\" says she, \"he\nrequires of me to surrender them at his discretion, and to let his\njustice be carried out. Indeed, he is much incensed that I have not\nalready handed them over. So I must needs send them to him, since I see\nno help for it.\" Thus they passed that day; and the next day there was\na great assembly of all the good and loyal knights before the royal tent\nto sit in judgment and decide by what punishment and torture the four\ntraitors should die. Some hold that they should be flayed alive, and\nothers that they should be hanged or burned. And the King, for his part,\nmaintains that traitors ought to be torn asunder. Then he commands them\nto be brought in. When they are brought, he orders them to be bound, and\nsays that they shall not be torn asunder until they are taken beneath\nthe town, so that those within may see the sight. [219]\n\n(Vv. 1449-1472.) When this sentence was pronounced, the King addresses\nAlexander, calling him his dear friend. \"My friend,\" he says, \"yesterday\nI saw you attack and defend yourself with great bravery. I wish now\nto reward your action! I will add to your company five hundred Welsh\nknights and one thousand troopers from that land. In addition to what I\nhave given you, when the war is over I will crown you king of the best\nkingdom in Wales. Towns and castles, cities and halls will I give you\nuntil the time you receive the land which your father holds, and\nof which you are to be emperor.\" Alexander's companions join him in\nthanking the King kindly for this boon, and all the nobles of the court\nsay that the honour which the King has bestowed upon Alexander is well\ndeserved.\n\n(Vv. 1473-1490.) As soon as Alexander sees his force, consisting of the\ncompanions and the men-at-arms whom it had pleased the King to give him,\nstraightway they begin to sound the horns and trumpets throughout the\ncamp. Men of Wales and Britain, of Scotland and Cornwall, both good and\nbad without exception--all take arms, for the forces of the host were\nrecruited from all quarters. The Thames was low because of the drought\nresulting from a summer without rain, so that all the fish were dead,\nand the ships were stranded upon the shore, and it was possible to ford\nthe stream even in the widest part.\n\n(Vv. 1491-1514.) After fording the Thames, the army divided, some taking\npossession of the valley, and others occupying the high ground. Those\nin the town take notice of them, and when they see approaching the\nwonderful array, bent upon reducing and taking the town, they prepare\non their side to defend it. But before any assault is made, the King has\nthe traitors drawn by four horses through the valleys and over the hills\nand unploughed fields. At this Count Angres is much distressed, when he\nsees those whom he held dear dragged around outside the town. And his\npeople, too, are much dismayed, but in spite of the anxiety which they\nfeel, they have no mind to yield the place. They must needs defend\nthemselves, for the King makes it plain to all that he is angry, and\nill-disposed, and they see that if he should lay hands upon them he\nwould make them die a shameful death.\n\n(Vv.1515-1552.) When the four had been torn asunder and their limbs lay\nstrewn upon the field, then the assault begins. But all their labour is\nin vain, for no matter how much they cast and shoot, their efforts are\nof no effect. Yet they strive to do their utmost, hurling their javelins\namain, and shooting darts and bolts. On all sides is heard the din of\ncross-bows and slings as the arrows and the round stones fly thick,\nlike rain mixed with hail. Thus all day long the struggle of attack and\ndefence continues, until the night separates them. And the King causes\nto be proclaimed what gift he will bestow upon him who shall effect the\nsurrender of the town: a cup of great price weighing fifteen marks of\ngold, the richest in his treasure, shall be his reward. The cup will be\nvery fine and rich, and, to tell the truth, the cup is to be esteemed\nfor the workmanship rather than for the material of which it is made.\nBut good as the workmanship may be, and fine though the gold, if the\ntruth be told, the precious stones set in the outside of the cup were of\nmost value. He through whose efforts the town shall be taken is to have\nthe cup, if he be only a foot soldier; and if the town is taken by a\nknight, with the cup in his possession he shall never seek his fortune\nin vain, if there is any to be found in the world.\n\n(Vv. 1553-1712.) When this news was announced, Alexander had not\nforgotten his custom of going to see the Queen each evening. That night,\ntoo, he had gone thither and was seated beside the Queen. Soredamors was\nsitting alone close by them, looking at him with such satisfaction\nthat she would not have exchanged her lot for Paradise. The Queen took\nAlexander by the hand, and examined the golden thread which was showing\nthe effects of wear; but the strand of hair was becoming more lustrous,\nwhile the golden thread was tarnishing. And she laughed as she happened\nto recall that the embroidery was the work of Soredamors. Alexander\nnoticed this, and begged her to tell him, if suitable, why she laughed.\nThe Queen was slow to make reply, and looking toward Soredamors, bade\nher come to her. Gladly she went and knelt before her. Alexander was\noverjoyed when he saw her draw so near that he could have touched her.\nBut he is not so bold as even to look at her; but rather does he so lose\nhis senses that he is well-nigh speechless. And she, for her part, is so\novercome that she has not the use of her eyes; but she casts her glance\nupon the ground without fastening it upon anything. The Queen marvels\ngreatly at seeing her now pale, now crimson, and she notes well in her\nheart the bearing and expression of each of them. She notices and thinks\nshe sees that these changes of colour are the fruit of love. But not\nwishing to embarrass them, she pretends to understand nothing of what\nshe sees. In this she did well, for she gave no evidence of what was in\nher mind beyond saying: \"Look here, damsel, and tell us truly where the\nshirt was sewed that this knight has on, and if you had any hand in\nit or worked anything of yours into it.\" Though the maiden feels some\nshame, yet she tells the story gladly; for she wishes the truth to be\nknown by him, who, when he hears her tell of how the shirt was made, can\nhardly restrain himself for joy from worshipping and adoring the golden\nhair. His companions and the Queen, who were with him, annoy him and\nembarrass him; for their presence prevents him from raising the hair to\nhis eyes and mouth, as he would fain have done, had he not thought that\nit would be remarked. He is glad to have so much of his lady, but he\ndoes not hope or expect ever to receive more from her: his very desire\nmakes him dubious. Yet, when he has left the Queen and is by himself, he\nkisses it more than a hundred thousand times, feeling how fortunate he\nis. All night long he makes much of it, but is careful that no one shall\nsee him. As he lies upon his bed, he finds a vain delight and solace in\nwhat can give him no satisfaction. All night he presses the shirt in his\narms, and when he looks at the golden hair, he feels like the lord of\nthe whole wide world. Thus Love makes a fool of this sensible man,\nwho finds his delight in a single hair and is in ecstasy over its\npossession. But this charm will come to an end for him before the sun's\nbright dawn. For the traitors are met in council to discuss what they\ncan do; and what their prospects are. To be sure they will be able to\nmake a long defence of the town if they determine so to do; but they\nknow the King's purpose to be so firm that he will not give up his\nefforts to take the town so long as he lives, and when that time comes\nthey needs must die. And if they should surrender the town, they need\nexpect no mercy for doing so. Thus either outcome looks dark indeed, for\nthey see no help, but only death in either case. But this decision at\nlast is reached, that the next morning, before dawn appears, they shall\nissue secretly from the town and find the camp disarmed, and the knights\nstill sleeping in their beds. Before they wake and get their armour\non there will have been such slaughter done that posterity will always\nspeak of the battle of that night. Having no further confidence in life,\nthe traitors as a last resort all subscribe to this design. Despair\nemboldened them to fight, whatever the result might be; for they see\nnothing sure in store for them save death or imprisonment. Such an\noutcome is not attractive; nor do they see any use in flight, for they\nsee no place where they could find refuge should they betake themselves\nto flight, being completely surrounded by the water and their enemies.\nSo they spend no more time in talk, but arm and equip themselves and\nmake a sally by an old postern gate [220] toward the north-west, that\nbeing the side where they thought the camp would least expect attack.\nIn serried ranks they sallied forth, and divided their force into five\ncompanies, each consisting of two thousand well armed foot, in addition\nto a thousand knights. That night neither star nor moon had shed a ray\nacross the sky. But before they reached the tents, the moon began to\nshow itself, and I think it was to work them woe that it rose sooner\nthan was its wont. Thus God, who opposed their enterprise, illumined\nthe darkness of the night, having no love for these evil men, but rather\nhating them for their sin. For God hates traitors and treachery more\nthan any other sin. So the moon began to shine in order to hamper their\nenterprise.\n\n(Vv. 1713-1858.) They are much hampered by the moon, as it shines upon\ntheir shields, and they are handicapped by their helmets, too, as they\nglitter in the moonlight. They are detected by the pickets keeping watch\nover the host, who now shout throughout the camp: \"Up, knights, up! Rise\nquickly, take your arms and arm yourselves! The traitors are upon us.\"\nThrough all the camp they run to arms, and hastily strive to equip\nthemselves in the urgent need; but not a single one of them left his\nplace until they were all comfortably armed and mounted upon their\nsteeds. While they are arming themselves, the attacking forces are eager\nfor battle and press forward, hoping to catch them off their guard and\nfind them disarmed. They bring up from different directions the five\ncompanies into which they had divided their troops: some hug the woods,\nothers follow the river, the third company deploys upon the plain, while\nthe fourth enters a valley, and the fifth proceeds beside a rocky cliff.\nFor they planned to fall upon the tents suddenly with great fury.\nBut they did not find the path clear. For the King's men resist them,\ndefying them courageously and reproaching them for their treason. Their\niron lance-tips are splintered and shattered as they meet; they come\ntogether with swords drawn, striking each other and casting each other\ndown upon the face. They rush upon each other with the fury of lions,\nwhich devour whatever they capture. In this first rush there was heavy\nslaughter on both sides. When they can no longer maintain themselves,\nhelp comes to the traitors, who are defending themselves bravely and\nselling their lives dearly. They see their troops from four sides arrive\nto succour them. And the King's men ride hard with spur to attack them.\nThey deal such blows upon their shields that, beside the wounded, they\nunhorse more than five hundred of them. Alexander, with his Greeks,\nhas no thought of sparing them, making every effort to prevail into the\nthickest of the fight he goes to strike a knave whose shield and hauberk\nare of no avail to keep him from falling to the earth. When he has\nfinished with him, he offers his service to another freely and without\nstint, and serves him, too, so savagely that he drives the soul from his\nbody quite, and leaves the apartment without a tenant. After these two,\nhe addresses himself to another, piercing a noble and courteous knight\nclean through and through, so that the blood spurts out on the other\nside, and his expiring soul takes leave of the body. Many he killed and\nmany stunned, for like a flying thunderbolt he blasts all those whom\nhe seeks out. Neither coat of mail nor shield can protect him whom he\nstrikes with lance or sword. His companions, too, are generous in the\nspilling of blood and brains, for they, too, know well how to deal their\nblows. And the royal troops butcher so many of them that they break them\nup and scatter them like low-born folk who have lost their heads. So\nmany dead lay about the fields, and so long did the battle rage, that\nlong before the day dawned the ranks were so cut in pieces that the rows\nof dead stretched for five leagues along the stream. Count Angres leaves\nhis banner on the field and steals away, accompanied by only seven of\nhis men. Towards his town he made his way by a secret path, thinking\nthat no one could see him. But Alexander notices this, and sees them\nescaping from the troops, and he thinks that if he can slip away without\nthe knowledge of any one, he will go to catch up with them. But before\nhe got down into the valley, he saw thirty knights following him down\nthe path, of whom six were Greeks, and twenty-four were men of Wales.\nThese intended to follow him at a distance until he should stand in need\nof them. When Alexander saw them coming, he stopped to wait for them,\nwithout failing to observe what course was taken by those who were\nmaking their way back to the town. Finally, he saw them enter it. Then\nhe began to plan a very daring deed and a very marvellous design. And\nwhen he had made up his mind, he turned toward his companions and thus\naddressed them: \"My lords,\" says he, \"whether it be folly or wisdom,\nfrankly grant me my desire if you care for my good-will.\" And they\npromised him never to oppose his will in aught. Then he says: \"Let\nus change our outer gear, by taking the shields and lances from the\ntraitors whom we have killed. Thus, when we approach the town, the\ntraitors within will suppose that we are of their party, and regardless\nof the fate in store for them, they will throw open the gates for us.\nAnd do you know what reward we shall offer them? If God so will we shall\ntake them all dead or alive. Now, if any of you repents of his promise,\nbe sure that, so long as I live, I shall never hold him dear.\"\n\n(Vv. 1859-1954.) All the others grant his boon, and, despoiling the\ncorpses of their shields, they arm themselves with them instead. The\nmen within the town had mounted to the battlements, and, recognising the\nshields, suppose that they belong to their party, never dreaming of the\nruse hidden beneath the shields. The gatekeeper opens the gate for\nthem and admits them to the town. He is beguiled and deceived in not\naddressing them a word; for no one of them speaks to him, but silently\nand mute they pass, making such a show of grief that they trail their\nlances after them and support themselves upon their shields. Thus it\nseems that they are in great distress, as they pass on at their own\nsweet will until they are within the triple walls. Inside they find a\nnumber of men-at-arms and knights with the Count. I cannot tell you\njust how many; but they were unarmed, except eight of them who had just\nreturned from the fight, and even they were preparing to remove their\narms. But their haste was ill considered; for now the other party make\nno further pretence, but without any challenge by way of warning, they\nbrace themselves in the stirrups, and let their horses charge straight\nat them, attacking them with such rigour that they lay low more than\nthirty-one of them. The traitors in great dismay shout out: \"We are\nbetrayed, betrayed!\" But the assailants take no heed of this, and let\nthose whom they find unarmed feel the temper of their swords. Indeed,\nthree of those whom they found still armed were so roughly handled that\nbut five remained alive. Count Angres rushed at Calcedor, and in the\nsight of all struck him upon his golden shield with such violence that\nhe stretched him dead upon the ground. Alexander is greatly troubled,\nand is almost beside himself with rage when he sees his companion dead;\nhis blood boils with anger, but his strength and courage are doubled\nas he strikes the Count with such fury that he breaks his lance. If\npossible, he would avenge his friend. But the Count was a powerful man\nand a good and hardy knight, whose match it would have been hard to\nfind, had he not been a base traitor. He now returns the blow, making\nhis lance double up so that it splits and breaks; but the other's shield\nholds firm, and neither gives way before the other any more than a rock\nwould do, for both men were passing strong. But the fact that the Count\nwas in the wrong disturbs him greatly and troubles him. [221] The anger\nof each rises higher as they both draw their swords after their lances\nhad been broken. No escape would have been possible if these two\nswordsmen had persisted in continuing the fight. But at last one or the\nother must die. The Count dares not longer hold his ground, when he sees\nlying dead about him his men who had been caught unarmed. Meanwhile the\nothers press them hard, cutting, slashing, and carving them, spilling\ntheir brains, and reproaching the Count for his treachery. When he hears\nhimself accused of treason, he flees for safety to his tower, followed\nby his men. And their enemies follow after them, fiercely charging them\nfrom the rear, and not letting a single one escape of all upon whom they\nlay their hands. They kill and slay so many of them that I guess not\nmore than seven made good their escape.\n\n(Vv. 1955-2056.) When they had got inside the tower, they made a stand\nat the gate; for those who were coming close behind had followed so\nclosely after them that they too would have pressed in had the gateway\nbeen left exposed. The traitors make a brave defence, waiting for\nsuccour from their friends, who were arming themselves down in the town.\nBut upon the advice of Nabunal, who was a Greek of great wisdom, the\napproach was blocked so that relief could not arrive in time; for those\nbelow had tarried too long, either from cowardice or sloth. Now there\nwas only one entrance to the stronghold; so that, if they stop that\nentrance-way, they need have no fear that any force shall approach to do\nthem harm. Nabunal bids and exhorts twenty of them to hold the gate;\nfor soon such a company might arrive with force as would do them harm\nby their assault and attack. While these twenty hold the gate, the\nremaining ten should attack the tower and prevent the Count from\nbarricading himself inside. Nabunal's advice is taken: ten remain to\ncontinue the assault at the entrance of the tower, while twenty go to\ndefend the gate. In doing so, they delay almost too long; for they see\napproaching, furious and keen for the fight, a company containing many\ncross-bow men and foot soldiers of different grades who carried arms\nof divers sorts. Some carried light missiles, and others Danish axes,\nlances and Turkish swords, bolts for cross-bows, arrows and javelins.\nThe Greeks would have had to pay a heavy score, if this crowd had\nactually fallen upon them; but they did not reach the place in time.\nNabunal by his foresight and counsel had blocked their plans, and they\nwere forced to remain outside. When they see that they are shut out,\nthey pause in their advance, as it is evident they can gain nothing by\nmaking an assault. Then there begins such weeping and wailing of women\nand young children, of old men and youths, that those in the town\ncould not have heard a thunder-clap from heaven. At this the Greeks are\noverjoyed; for now they know of a certainty that the Count by no good\nluck can escape capture. Four of them mount the walls to keep watch lest\nthose outside by any means or ruse should enter the stronghold and\nfall upon them. The remaining sixteen returned to where the ten were\nfighting. The day was already breaking, and the ten had fought so well\nthat they had forced their way within the tower. The Count took his\nstand against a post, and, armed with a battleaxe, defended himself with\ngreat bravery. Those whom he reaches, he splits in half. And his men\nline up about him, and are not slow to avenge themselves in this last\nstand of the day, Alexander's men have reason to complain, for of the\noriginal sixteen there remain now but thirteen. Alexander is almost\nbeside himself when he sees the havoc wrought among his dead or\nexhausted followers. Yet his thoughts are fixed on vengeance: finding at\nhand a long heavy club, he struck one of the rascals with it so fiercely\nthat neither shield nor hauberk was worth a button in preventing him\nfrom failing to the ground. After finishing with him, he pursues the\nCount, and raising his club to strike him he deals him such a blow with\nhis square club that the axe falls from his hands; and he was so stunned\nand bewildered that he could not have stood up unless he had leaned\nagainst the wall.\n\n(Vv. 2057-2146.) After this blow the battle ceases. Alexander leaps at\nthe Count and holds him so that he cannot move. Of the others nothing\nneed be said, for they were easily mastered when they saw the capture\nof their lord. All are made prisoners with the Count and led away in\ndisgrace, in accordance with their deserts. Of all this the men outside\nknew nothing. But when morning came they found their companions shields\nlying among the slain when the battle was over. Then the Greeks, misled,\nmade a great lament for their lord. Recognising his shield, all are in\nan agony of grief, swooning at sight of his shield and saying that\nnow they have lived too long. Cornix and Nerius first swoon, then,\nrecovering their senses, wish they were dead. So do Torin and Acorionde.\nThe tears run down in floods from their eyes upon their breasts. Life\nand joy seem hateful now. And Parmenides more than the rest tore his\nhair in dire distress. No greater grief could be shown than that of\nthese five for their lord. Yet, their dismay is groundless, for it is\nanother's body which they bear away when they think to have their lord.\nTheir distress is further increased by the sight of the other shields,\nwhich cause them to mistake these corpses for their companions. So over\nthem they lament and swoon. But they are deceived by all these shields,\nfor of their men only one was killed, whose name was Neriolis. Him,\nindeed, they would have borne away had they known the truth. But they\nare in as great anxiety for the others as for him; so they bore them\nall away. In every case but one they were misled. But like the man who\ndreams and takes a fiction for the truth, so the shields cause them to\nsuppose this illusion to be a reality. It is the shields, then, that\ncause this mistake. [222] Carrying the corpses, they move away and come\nto their tents, where there was a sorrowing troop. Upon hearing the\nlament raised by the Greeks, soon all the others gathered, until there\nwas but one great outcry. Now Saredamors thinks of her wretched estate\nwhen she hears the cry and lament over her lover. Their anguish and\ndistress cause her to lose her senses and her colour, and her grief and\nsorrow are increased because she dares not openly show a trace of her\ndistress. She shut up her grief within her heart. Had any one looked at\nher, he could have seen by the expression of her face what agony she was\nin; but every one was so engrossed with his own sorrow that he had no\ncare for another's grief. Each one lamented his own loss. For they find\nthe river bank covered with their relatives and friends, who had been\nwounded or roughly treated. Each one wept for his own heavy and bitter\nloss: here is a son weeping for a father, there a father for a son;\none swoons at the sight of his cousin, another over his nephew. Thus\nfathers, brothers, and relatives bemoan their loss on every side. But\nabove all is noticeable the sorrow of the Greeks; and yet they might\nhave anticipated great joy, for the deepest grief of all the camp will\nsoon be changed into rejoicing.\n\n(Vv. 2147-2200.) The Greeks outside continue their lament, while\nthose inside strive to let them know the news which will cause them to\nrejoice. They disarm and bind their prisoners, who pray and beg of them\nto strike off their heads straightway. But the Greeks are unwilling, and\ndisdain their entreaties, saying that them will keep then under guard\nand hand them over to the King, who will grant them such recompense as\nshall require their services. When they had disarmed them all they made\nthem go up on the wall that they might be seen by the troops below. This\nprivilege is not to their liking, and when they saw their lord bound as\na prisoner, they were unhappy men. Alexander upon the walls swears to\nGod and all the saints that he will not let one of them live, but will\nkill them all speedily, unless they will go to surrender to the King\nbefore he can seize them. \"Go,\" says he, \"confidently to the King at\nmy command, and cast yourselves upon his mercy. None of you, except the\nCount, has deserved to die. You shall not lose either life or limb if\nyou surrender to the King. If you do not deliver yourselves from death\nby crying for mercy, you need have little hope of saving your lives or\nbodies. Go forth disarmed to meet the King, and tell him from me that\nAlexander sends you to him. Your action will not be in vain; for my lord\nthe King is so gentle and courteous that he will lay aside his wrath and\nanger. But if you wish to act otherwise, you must expect to die, for his\nheart will be closed to pity.\" All agree in accepting this advice, and\ndo not hesitate until they come to the King's tent, where they all fall\nat his feet. The story they told was soon known throughout the camp.\nThe King and all his men mounted and spurred their horses to the town\nwithout delay.\n\n(Vv. 2201-2248.) Alexander goes out from the town to meet the King, who\nwas greatly pleased, and to surrender to him the Count. The King did not\ndelay in fitly punishing him. But Alexander is congratulated and praised\nby the King and all the others who esteem him highly. Their joy drives\naway the grief which they had felt not long before. But no joy of the\nothers can compare with the exultation of the Greeks. The King presents\nhim with the precious cup, weighing fifteen marks, and tells him\nconfidently that there is nothing in his possession so valuable that he\nwould not place it in his hands upon request--save only the crown and\nthe Queen. Alexander dares not mention his heart's desire, though he\nknows well that he would not be refused in asking for his sweetheart's\nhand. But he fears so much lest he might displease her, whose heart\nwould have been made glad, that he prefers to suffer without her rather\nthan to win her against her will. Therefore, he asks for a little time,\nnot wishing to prefer his request until he is sure of her pleasure. But\nhe asked for no respite or delay in accepting the cup of gold. He takes\nthe cup, and courteously begs my lord Gawain to accept this cup as\na gift from him, which Gawain did most reluctantly. When Soredamors\nlearned the truth about Alexander she was greatly pleased and delighted.\nWhen she heard that he was alive, she was so happy that it seemed to\nher as though she could never be sad again. But she reflects that he is\nslower in coming than is his wont. Yet in good time she will have her\nwish, for both of them in rivalry are occupied with one common thought.\n\n(Vv. 2249-2278.) It seemed to Alexander an age before he could feast\nhis eyes with even one soft glance from her. Long ago he would fain have\ngone to the Queen's tent, if he had not been detained elsewhere. He was\nmuch put out by this delay, and as soon as he could, he betook himself\nto the Queen in her tent. The Queen went to greet him, and, without his\nhaving confided in her, she had already read his thoughts, and knew what\nwas passing in his mind. She greets him at the entrance of the tent, and\nstrives to make him welcome, well knowing for what purpose he has come.\nDesirous of according him a favour, she beckons Soredamors to join them,\nand they three engage in conversation at some distance from the rest.\nThe Queen first speaks, in whose mind there was no doubt that this\ncouple were in love. Of this fact she is quite sure, and is persuaded\nmoreover that Soredamors could not have a better lover. She took her\nplace between the two and began to say what was appropriate.\n\n(Vv. 2279-2310.) \"Alexander,\" says the Queen, \"any love is worse than\nhate, when it torments and distresses its devotee. Lovers know not what\nthey do when they conceal their passion from one another. Love is a\nserious business, and whoever does not boldly lay its foundation firm\ncan hardly succeed in completing the edifice. They say there is nothing\nso hard to cross as the threshold. Now I wish to instruct you in the\nlore of love; for I know well that Love is tormenting you. Therefore, I\nhave undertaken to instruct you; and do you take good care not to keep\nanything back from me, for I have plainly seen in the faces of you both\nthat of two hearts you have made but one. So beware, and conceal nothing\nfrom me! You are acting very foolishly in not speaking out your mind;\nfor concealment will be the death of you; thus you will be the murderers\nof Love. Now I counsel you to exercise no tyranny, and to seek no\npassing gratification in your love; but to be honourably joined together\nin marriage. So, I believe, your love shall long endure. I can assure\nyou that, if you agree to this, I will arrange the marriage.\"\n\n(Vv. 2311-2360.) When the Queen had spoken her mind, Alexander thus made\nreply: \"Lady,\" he says, \"I enter no defence against the charge you make,\nbut rather admit the truth of all you say. I wish never to be deserted\nby love, but always to fix my thoughts on it. I am pleased and delighted\nby what you have so kindly said. Since you know what my wishes are, I\nsee no reason why I should conceal them from you. Long ago, if I had\ndared I would have confessed them openly; for the silence has been hard.\nBut it may well be that for some reason this maiden may not wish that I\nbe hers and she mine. But even if she grant me no rights over her, yet\nwill I place myself in her hands.\" At these words she trembled, having\nno desire to refuse the gift. Her heart's desire betrays itself in her\nwords and her countenance. Falteringly she gives herself to him, and\nsays that without exception her will, her heart, and her body all is at\nthe disposal of the Queen, to do with her as she may please. The Queen\nclasps them both in her arms, and presents one to the other. Then\nlaughingly she adds: \"I give over to thee, Alexander, thy sweetheart's\nbody, and I know that thy heart does not draw back. Whoever may like it\nor like it not, I give each of you to the other. Do thou, Soredamors,\ntake what is thine, and thou, Alexander, take what is thine!\" Now she\nhas her own entire, and he has his without lack. At Windsor that day,\nwith the approval and permission of my lord Gawain and the King, the\nmarriage was celebrated. No one could tell, I am sure, so much of the\nmagnificence and the food, of the pleasure and entertainment, at this\nwedding without falling short of the truth. Inasmuch as it would be\ndistasteful to some, I do not care to waste further words upon the\nmatter, but am anxious to turn to another subject.\n\n(Vv. 2361-2382.) That day at Windsor Alexander had all the honour and\nhappiness that he could desire. Three different joys and honours were\nhis: one was the town which he captured; another was the present of the\nbest kingdom in Wales, which King Arthur had promised to give him when\nthe war was over; that very day he made him king in his hall. But the\ngreatest joy of all was the third--that his sweetheart was queen of the\nchess-board where he was king. Before five months had passed, Soredamors\nfound herself with child, and carried it until the time was fulfilled.\nThe seed remained in germ until the fruit was fully matured. No more\nbeautiful child was ever born before or since than he whom they now\ncalled Clig\u00e9s.\n\n(Vv. 2383-2456.) So Clig\u00e9s was born, in whose honour this story has\nbeen put in the Romance tongue. You shall hear me tell of him and of his\nvalorous deeds, when he shall have grown to manhood and obtained a good\nreport. But meanwhile in Greece it came about that he who ruled over\nConstantinople drew near his end. He died, as indeed he must, not being\nable to outlive his time. But before he died he assembled all the nobles\nof his land to send and seek for his son Alexander, who was happily\ndetained in Britain. The messengers start out from Greece, and begin\ntheir voyage over the seas; but a tempest catches them in its grasp, and\ndamages their ship and company. They were all drowned at sea, except one\nunfaithful wretch, who was more devoted to Alis the younger son than to\nAlexander the eider. When he escaped from the sea, he returned to\nGreece with the story that they had all been lost at sea as they were\nconducting their lord back from Britain, and that he was the only\nsurvivor of the tragedy. They believed this lie of his, and, taking Alis\nwithout objection or dissent, they crowned him emperor of Greece. But\nit was not long before Alexander learned that Alis was emperor. Then he\ntook leave of King Arthur, unwilling to let his brother usurp his land\nwithout protest. The King makes no opposition to his plan, but bids him\ntake with him so great a company of Welshmen, Scots, and Cornishmen that\nhis brother will not dare to withstand him when he sees him come with\nsuch a host. Alexander, had he pleased, might have led a mighty force;\nbut he has no desire to harm his own people, if his brother will consent\nto do his will. He took with him forty knights besides Soredamors and\nhis son; these two persons, who were so dear to him, he did not wish\nto leave behind. Escorted as far as Shoreham by the entire court, they\nthere embarked, and with fair winds their ship made way more quickly\nthan a fleeing stag. Within a month, I think, they arrived in port\nbefore Athens, a rich and powerful city. Indeed, the emperor was\nresiding there, and had convoked, a great assembly of his noblemen. As\nsoon as they arrived Alexander sent a privy messenger into the city to\nlearn whether they would receive him, or whether they would resist his\nclaim to be their only lawful lord.\n\n(Vv. 2457-2494.) He who was chosen for this mission was a courteous\nknight with good judgment, named Acorionde, a rich man and eloquent;\nhe was a native of the country, too, having been born in Athens. His\nancestors for generations had always exercised lordship in the city.\nWhen he had learned that the emperor was in the city he went and\nchallenged the crown on behalf of his brother Alexander, accusing him\nopenly of having usurped it unlawfully. Arriving at the palace, he finds\nplenty of people who welcome him; but he says nothing to any of those\nwho greet him until he learns what is their attitude and disposition\ntoward their lawful lord. Coming into the presence of the emperor he\nneither greets him nor bows before him nor calls him emperor. \"Alis,\"\nhe says, \"I bring thee tidings of Alexander, who is out yonder in the\nharbour. Listen to thy brother's message: he asks thee for what belongs\nto him, nor does he demand what is unjust. Constantinople, which thou\ndost hold, should be his and shall be his. It would be neither just nor\nright that discord should arise between you two. So give him the crown\nwithout contest, for it is right that thou shouldst surrender it.\"\n\n(Vv. 2495-2524.) Alis replies: \"Fair gentle friend, thou hast undertaken\na mad enterprise in bearing this message. There is little comfort in\nthy speech, for well I know that my brother is dead. I should rejoice,\nindeed, to learn that he was still alive. But I shall not believe the\nnews until I have seen him with my eyes. He died some time ago, alas!\nWhat thou sayest is not credible. And if he lives, why does he not come?\nHe need never fear that I will not bestow on him some lands. He is a\nfool to hold aloof from me, for in serving me he will find profit. But\nno one shall possess the crown and empire beside me.\" He liked not the\nspeech of the emperor, and did not fail to speak his mind in the reply\nhe made. \"Alis,\" he says, \"may God confound me if the matter is thus\nallowed to stand. I defy thee in thy brother's name, and dutifully\nspeaking in his name, I summon all those whom I see here to renounce\nthee and to join his cause. It is right that they should side with him\nand recognise him as their lord. Let him who is loyal now stand forth.\"\n\n(Vv. 2525-2554.) Upon saying this he leaves the court, and the emperor\nsummons those in whom he has most confidence. He requests their advice\nconcerning this defiance upon his brother's part, and wishes to learn\nif he can trust them to lend no support or help to his brother's claim.\nThus he tries to test the loyalty of each; but he finds not one who\nsides with him in the dispute, rather do they all bid him remember the\nwar which Eteocles undertook against his own brother Polynices, and how\neach one died by the other's hand. [223] \"So, too, it may happen to you,\nif you undertake a war, and all the land will be distressed.\" Therefore,\nthey advise that such a peace be sought as shall be both reasonable and\njust, and that neither one make excessive demands. Thus Alis understands\nthat if he does not make an equitable agreement with his brother all his\nvassals will desert him; so he says that he will respect their wishes in\nmaking any suitable contract, provided that however the affair may rum\nout the crown shall remain in his possession.\n\n(Vv. 2555-2618.) In order to secure a firm and stable peace Alis sends\none of his officers to Alexander, bidding him come to him in person and\nreceive the government of the land, but stipulating that he should leave\nto him the honour of emperor in name and of wearing the crown: thus, if\nAlexander is willing, peace may be established between them. When this\nnews was brought to Alexander his men made ready with him and came to\nAthens, where they were received with joy. But Alexander is not willing\nthat his brother should have the sovereignty of the empire and of the\ncrown unless he will pledge his word never to take a wife, and that\nafter him Clig\u00e9s shall be emperor of Constantinople. Upon this the\nbrothers both agreed. Alexander dictated the terms of the oath, and his\nbrother agreed and gave his word that he would never in his life take a\nwife in marriage. So peace is made, and they are friends again, to the\ngreat satisfaction of the lords. They hold Alis as their emperor, but\nall business is referred to Alexander. What he commands is done, and\nlittle is done except through him. Alis has nothing but the name of\nemperor; but Alexander is served and loved; and he who does not serve\nhim for love must needs do so from fear. Through the effect of one or\nthe other of these two motives he has all the land within his power. But\nhe whom they call Death spares neither the strong man nor the weak, but\nkills and slays them all. So Alexander had to die; for a disease caught\nhim in its grip from which he could obtain no relief. But before he\nwas surprised by death he summoned his son and said to him: \"Fair son\nClig\u00e9s, thou canst never know that prowess and valour are thine unless\nthou go first to make test of them with the Bretons and French at King\nArthur's court. If adventure takes thee thither, so conduct and demean\nthyself that thy identity be not known until thou hast tried thy\nstrength with the most excellent knights of that court. I beg thee to\nheed my counsel in this matter, and if the occasion arises have no fear\nto measure thy skill with thy uncle, my lord Gawain. Do not forget this\nadvice, I pray.\"\n\n(Vv. 2619-2665.) After he had thus exhorted him, he did not live long.\nSoredamors' grief was such that she could not survive him, but\ndied after him of a broken heart. Alis and Clig\u00e9s both mourned him\nbecomingly, but finally they ceased their grief, for sorrow, like\neverything else, must be outlived. To continue in sorrow is wrong, for\nno good can come from it. So the mourning was ended, and the emperor\nrefrained for a long time from taking a wife, being careful of his word.\nBut there is no court in all the world which is free from evil counsel.\nGreat men often go astray, and do not observe loyalty because of the bad\nadvice they take. Thus, the emperor hears his men giving him advice and\ncounselling him to take a wife; and daily they so exhort and urge him\nthat by their very insistence they persuade him to break his oath, and\nto accede to their desire. But he insists that she who is to be mistress\nof Constantinople must be gentle, fair, wise, rich, and noble. Then his\ncounsellors say that they wish to prepare to go away to the German land,\nand seek the daughter of the emperor. She is the choice they propose\nto him; for the emperor of Germany is very rich and powerful, and his\ndaughter is so charming that never was there a maid of her beauty in\nChristendom. The emperor grants them full authority, and they set out\nupon the journey well provided with all they need. They proceeded on\ntheir way until they found the emperor at Regensburg, when they asked\nhim to give them his oldest daughter at the instance of their lord.\n\n(Vv. 2669-2680.) The emperor was pleased with this request, and gladly\ngave them his daughter; for in doing so, he does not debase himself, nor\ndiminish his honour in any way. But he says that he had promised her\nto the Duke of Saxony, and that they would not be able to lead her away\nunless the emperor should come with a great army, so that the duke would\nbe unable to do him any harm or injury while homeward bound.\n\n(Vv. 2681-2706.) When the messengers heard the emperor's reply, they\ntook leave and departed. They returned to their lord, and bore him\nthe answer. And the emperor selected a chosen company of the most\nexperienced knights whom he could find, and took with him his nephew,\nin whose interests he had vowed never to marry a wife, but he will not\nrespect this vow if he can once reach Cologne. [224] Upon a certain day\nhe leaves Greece and draws near to Germany, intending to take a wife\ndespite all blame and reproach; but his honour will be smirched. Upon\nreaching Cologne, he found that the emperor had assembled all his court\nfor a festival. When the company of the Greeks reached Cologne, there\nwas such a great number of Greeks and Germans that it was necessary to\nlodge more than sixty thousand of them outside the city.\n\n(Vv.2707-2724.) Great was the crowd of people, and great the joy of the\ntwo emperors when they met. When the barons had gathered in the vast\npalace, the emperor summoned his charming daughter. The maiden made no\ndelay in coming straightway into the palace. She had been made very fair\nand shapely by the Creator, whose pleasure it had been to arouse the\npeople's admiration. God, who had fashioned her, never gave man a word\nwhich could adequately express such beauty as she possessed.\n\n(Vv. 2725-2760.) Fenice was the maiden's name, and for this there\nwas good reason: [225] for if the Phoenix bird is unique as the most\nbeautiful of all the birds, so Fenice, it seems to me, had no equal in\nbeauty. She was such a miracle and marvel that Nature was never able to\nmake her like again. In order to be more brief, I will not describe in\nwords her arms, her body, her head and hands; for if I should live a\nthousand years, and if my skill were to double every day, yet should\nI waste all my time in trying to tell the truth about her. I know very\nwell, if I should undertake it, that I would exhaust my brain and waste\nmy pains: it would be but misspent energy. [226] The damsel hastened\nuntil she came into the palace, with head uncovered and face unveiled;\nand the radiance of her beauty lighted the palace more brightly than\nfour carbuncles would have done. Clig\u00e9s stood, his over-cloak removed,\nin his uncle's presence. The day outside was somewhat dark, but he and\nthe maiden were both so fair that a ray shone forth from their beauty\nwhich illumined the palace, just as the morning sun shines clear and\nred.\n\n(Vv. 2761-2792.) I wish to attempt in a very few words to describe the\nbeauty of Clig\u00e9s. He was in his flower, being now almost fifteen years\nof age. He was more comely and charming than Narcissus who saw his\nreflection in the spring beneath the elm-tree, and, when he saw it,\nhe loved it so that he died, they say, because he could not get it.\nNarcissus was fair, but had little sense; [227] but as fine gold\nsurpasses copper, so was Clig\u00e9s better endowed with wisdom, and even\nthen I have not said all. His locks seemed made of fine gold, and his\nface was of a fresh rosy colour. He had a well-formed nose and shapely\nmouth, and in stature he was built upon Nature's best pattern; for in\nhim she had united gifts which she is wont to scatter wide. Nature was\nso lavish with him that she gave him all she could, and placed all in\none receptacle. Such was Clig\u00e9s, who combined good sense and beauty,\ngenerosity and strength. He possessed the wood as well as the bark;\nhe knew more of fencing and of the bow than did Tristan, King Mark's\nnephew, and more about birds and hounds than he. [228] In Clig\u00e9s there\nlacked no good thing.\n\n(Vv. 2793-2870.) Clig\u00e9s stood in all his beauty before his uncle, and\nthose who did not know who he was looked at him with eager curiosity.\nAnd on the other hand, the interest was aroused of those who did not\nknow the maiden: wonderingly they gaze upon her. But Clig\u00e9s, under the\nsway of love, let his eyes rest on her covertly, and withdrew them again\nso discreetly that in their passage to and fro no one could blame his\nlack of skill. Blithely he looks upon the maid, but does not note that\nshe repays him in kind. Not flattering him, but in sincere love, she\ngives him her eyes, and takes back his. This exchange seems good to her,\nand would have seemed to her better still had she known something of who\nhe was. But she knows nothing except that he is fair, and that, if she\nis ever to love any one for beauty's sake, she need not seek elsewhere\nto bestow her heart. She handed over to him the possession of her eyes\nand heart, and he pledged his in turn to her. Pledged? Rather gave\noutright. Gave? Nay, upon my faith, I lie; for no one can give away his\nheart. I must express it some other way. I will not say it, as some have\ndone who make two hearts dwell in one body, for it bears not even the\nsemblance of truth that there should be in one body two hearts; and even\nif they could be so united, it would never seem true. But if it please\nyou to heed my words, I shall be able explain how two hearts form but\none without coming to be identified. Only so far are they merged in one\nas the desire of each passes from one to the other, thus joining in one\ncommon desire; and because of this harmony of desire, there are some who\nare wont to say that each one has both hearts; but one heart cannot be\nin two places. Each one always keeps his own heart, though the desire\nbe shared by both, just as many different men may sing a song or tune\nin unison. By this comparison I prove that for one body to contain two\nhearts it is not enough to know each other's wish, nor yet for one to\nknow what the other loves and what he hates; just as voices which are\nheard together seem to be merged in one, and yet do not all come from\none mouth, so it is with a body which can contain but one heart. But\nthere is no need of further argument, for other matters press upon me.\nI must speak now of the damsel and of Clig\u00e9s, and you shall hear of\nthe Duke of Saxony, who has sent to Cologne a young nephew of his. This\nyouth informs the emperor that his uncle, the duke, sends word that\nhe need expect no peace or trace with him, unless he sends to him his\ndaughter, and that the one who is intending to carry her away with him\nhad better not start home, for he will find the road occupied and well\ndefended unless the maiden be surrendered.\n\n(Vv. 2871-3010.) The youth spoke his message well, without pride and\nwithout insult. But he found neither knight nor emperor who would answer\nhim. When he saw that they all held their peace and treated him with\nscorn, he left the court in defiant mood. But youth and thirst for\ndaring deeds made Clig\u00e9s defy him in combat as he left. For the contest\nthey mount their steeds, three hundred of them on either side, exactly\nequal thus in strength. All the palace is quite emptied of knights and\nladies, who mount to the balconies, battlements, and windows to see and\nwatch those who were about to fight. Even the maiden, whose will Love\nhad subdued beneath his sway, sought for a point from which to see. She\ntook her place at a window, where she sat with great delight, because\nfrom there she could get a view of him whom she holds secretly in her\nheart with no desire to remove him thence; for she will never love any\nother man. But she does not know his name, nor who he is, nor of what\nrace; for it is not proper to ask questions; but she yearns to hear\ntidings which will bring joy to her heart. She looks out of the window\nat the shields with their gleaming gold, and she gazes at those who wear\nthe shields about their necks, as they prepare for the trial at arms.\nBut all her thoughts and glances soon rest upon one object, and to all\nothers she is indifferent. Whereever Clig\u00e9s goes, she seeks to follow\nhim with her eyes. And he in turn does his best for her, and battles\nopenly, in order that she at least may hear it said that he is bold and\nvery skilled: thus she will be compelled to prize him for his prowess.\nHe attacks the duke's nephew, who was breaking many a lance and sorely\ndiscomfiting the Greeks. But Clig\u00e9s, who is displeased at this, braces\nhimself firmly in his stirrups, and goes to strike him so speedily that\nin spite of himself he had to vacate the saddle-bows. When he got up,\nthe uproar was great; for the youth arose and mounted, thinking to\navenge his shame. But many a man only falls into deeper disgrace who\nthinks to avenge his shame when he has the chance. The young man rushes\nat Clig\u00e9s, who lowers his lance to meet him, and thrusts at him with\nsuch force that he carries him to earth again. Now his shame is doubled,\nand all his followers are in dismay, seeing that they can never leave\nthe field with honour; for not one of them is so valiant that he can\nkeep his seat in the saddle when Clig\u00e9s thrust reaches him. But those of\nGermany and the Greeks are overjoyed when they see their party drive off\nthe Saxons, who retreat discomfited. With mockery they pursue them until\nthey come up with them at a stream, into which they drive them for\na plunge. In the deepest part of the ford Clig\u00e9s unhorsed the duke's\nnephew and so many of his men that they escaped grieving and sad in\ntheir shame and confusion. But Clig\u00e9s, twice victor, returned in glee,\nand entered a gate which was near the apartment where the maiden was;\nand as he passed through the gate she exacted as toll a tender glance,\nwhich he paid her as their eyes met. Thus was the maiden subdued by the\nman. But there is not a German of the lowland or highland, possessing\nthe power of speech who does not cry: \"God! who is this in whom such\nbeauty is radiant? God! how has it happened that so suddenly he has\nattained such great success?\" Thus one man and another asks: \"Who is\nthis youth, who is he, I say?\" Thus, soon throughout the city it is\nknown what his name is, and who is his father, and what pledge that was\nwhich had been made to him by the emperor. So much was said and noised\nabout that the news reached the ears of her who in her heart rejoiced\nbecause she could no more say that Love had made sport of her, nor had\nshe any ground for complaint. For Love has made her give her heart to\nthe fairest, most courteous, and valiant man that could anywhere be\nfound. But some force must be employed, if she would gain possession of\nhim who is not free do her will. This makes her anxious and distraught.\nFor she has no one with whom to take counsel concerning him for whom\nshe pines, but must waste herself in thought and vigils. She becomes so\naffected by these cares that she loses her colour and grows wan, and\nit becomes plain to all that her loss of colour betokens an unfulfilled\ndesire. She plays less now than she used to do, and laughs less and\nloses her gaiety. But she conceals her trouble and passes it off, if any\none asks what her ailment is. Her old nurse's name was Thessala, [229]\nwho was skilled in necromancy, having been born in Thessaly, where\ndevilish charms are taught and wrought; for the women of that country\nperform many a charm and mystic rite.\n\n(Vv. 3011-3062.) Thessala saw pale and wan her whom Love holds in his\nbonds, and thus she addressed her with advice: \"God!\" she said, \"are you\nbewitched, my lady dear, that your face should be so pale? I wonder what\nyour trouble is. Tell me, if you can, where this pain attacks you most,\nfor if any one can cure you, you may safely trust me to give you back\nyour health again. I can cure the dropsy, gout, quinsy, and asthma; I am\nso expert in examining the urine and the pulse that you need consult no\nother physician. And I dare say that I know more than ever Medea [230]\nknew of enchantments and of charms which tests have proven to be true.\nI have never spoken to you of this, though I have cared for you all your\nlife; and now I should not mention it did I not plainly see that you are\nso afflicted as to need my ministrations. My lady, you will do well to\ntell me what your sickness is before its hold becomes more severe. The\nemperor has committed you to me in order that I may care for you, and my\ndevotion has been such that I have kept you safe and sound. Now all my\npains will come to naught if I do not relieve this malady. Take care\nnot to conceal from me whether this is sickness or something else.\" The\ndamsel dares not openly expose her desire in all its fullness for she\nis in fear lest she be disapproved and blamed. And when she hears and\nunderstands how Thessala boasts and highly rates herself as being expert\nin enchantments, charms, and potions, she decides to tell her what\nis the cause of her pale and colourless face; but first she makes her\npromise to keep her secret and never to oppose her will.\n\n(Vv. 3063-3216.) \"Nurse,\" she said, \"I truly thought I felt no pain, but\nI shall soon feel differently. For as soon as I begin to think about it,\nI feel great pain, and am dismayed. But when one has no experience,\nhow can one tell what is sickness and what is health? My illness is\ndifferent from all others; for when I wish to speak of it, it causes me\nboth joy and pain, so happy I am in my distress. And if it can be that\nsickness brings delight, then my trouble and joy are one, and in my\nillness consists my health. So I do not know why I complain, for I know\nnot whence my trouble comes, unless it is caused by my desire. Perchance\nmy desire is my disease, but I find so much joy in it that the suffering\nit causes me is grateful, and there is so much contentment in my pain\nthat it is sweet to suffer so. Nurse Thessala, now tell me true, is not\nthis a deceitful ill, to charm and torment me both at once? I do not see\nhow I can tell whether this is a disease or not. Nurse, tell me now its\nname, nature, and character. But understand well that I have no desire\nto be cured of it, for my distress is very dear to me.\" Thessala, who\nwas very wise about love and its symptoms knows full well from what she\nhears that it is love which is tormenting her; the tender, endearing\nterms she uses are certain proof that she is in love, for all other\nwoes are hard to bear, except that alone which comes from love; but love\ntransforms its bitterness into sweetness and joy, then often transforms\nthem back again. The nurse, who was expert in this matter, thus replies\nto her: \"Have no fear, for I will tell you at once the name of your\nmalady. You told me, I believe, that the pain which you feel seems\nrather to be joy and health: now of such a nature is love-sickness,\nfor in it, too, there is joy and bliss. You are in love, then, as I can\nprove to you, for I find no pleasure in any malady save only in love.\nAll other sickness is always bad and horrible, but love is sweet and\npeaceable. You are in love; of that I am sure, nor do I see any wrong in\nthat. But I shall consider it very wrong, if through some childish\nfolly you conceal from me your heart.\" \"Nurse, there is no need of\nyour speaking so. But first I must be sure and certain that under no\ncircumstances will you speak of it to any living soul.\" \"My lady, surely\nthe winds will speak of it before I do without your leave, and I will\ngive you my word so to favour your desires that you may safely trust in\nhaving your joy fulfilled through my services.\" \"In that case, Nurse,\nI shall be cured. But the emperor is giving me in marriage, wherefore\nI grieve and am sorrowful; for he who has won my heart is the nephew of\nhim whom I must take. And though he may find joy in me, yet is my joy\nforever lost, and no respite is possible. I would rather be torn limb\nfrom limb than that men should speak of us as they speak of the loves of\nIseut and Tristan, of so many unseemly stories are told that I should\nbe ashamed to mention them. I could never bring myself to lead the\nlife that Iseut led. Such love as hers was far too base; for her body\nbelonged to two, whereas her heart was possessed by one. Thus all her\nlife was spent, refusing her favours to neither one. But mine is fixed\non one object, and under no circumstances will there be any sharing\nof my body and heart. Never will my body be portioned out between two\nshareholders. Who has the heart has the body, too, and may bid all\nothers stand aside. But I cannot clearly see how he whom I love can have\nmy body when my father gives me to another, and his will I do not dare\nresist. And when this other is lord of my body, and does something which\ndispleases me, it is not right for me to summon another to my aid.\nNor can this man marry a wife without breaking his plighted word; for,\nunless injustice be done, Clig\u00e9s is to have the empire after his uncle's\ndeath. But I should be well served by you, if you were so skilful as\nto present him, to whom I am pledged and engaged, from having any claim\nupon me. O Nurse, exert yourself to the end that he may not break the\npledge which he gave to the father of Clig\u00e9s, when he promised him\nsolemnly never to take a wife in marriage. For now, if he should marry\nme his promise would be broken. But Clig\u00e9s is so dear to me that I would\nrather be under ground than that he should ever lose through me a penny\nof the fortune which should be his. May never a child be born to me to\ncause his disinheritance! Nurse, now do your best, and I will always be\nyour slave.\" Then the nurse tells her and assures her that she will cast\nso many charms, and prepare so many potions and enchantments that she\nneed never have any worry or fear concerning the emperor after he shall\nhave drunk of the potion which she will give him; even when they shall\nlie together and she be at his side, she may be as secure as if there\nwere a wall between them. \"But do not be alarmed, if, in his sleep, he\nsports with you, for when he is plunged in sleep he will have his sport\nwith you, and he will be convinced that he has had you when wide awake,\nnor will he think it is all a dream, a fiction, and illusion. Thus he\nwill have his sport with you when asleep, he will think he is awake.\"\n\n(Vv. 3217-3250.) The maiden is highly pleased and delighted by the\nnurse's kindness and offer of help. Her nurse inspires good hope in her\nby the promise which she makes, and which she binds herself to keep;\nwith this hope she expects to obtain her desire, in spite of wearisome\ndelay, for if Clig\u00e9s' nature is as noble as she takes it to be he cannot\nfail to take pity upon her when he learns that she loves him, and\nthat she has imposed virginity upon herself in order to insure his\ninheritance. So the maiden believes her nurse, and puts full confidence\nin her. One promises to the other, and gives her word, that this plot\nshall be kept so secret as never to be revealed. At this point their\nconversation ceases, and the next morning the emperor summons his\ndaughter. At his command she goes to him. But why should I weary you\nwith details? The two emperors have so settled the matter that the\nmarriage is solemnised, and joy reigns in the palace. But I do not wish\nto stop to describe all this in detail. Rather will I address myself to\nThessala, as she diligently prepares and tempers her potions.\n\n(Vv. 3251-3328.) Thessala steeps her drink, putting in spices in\nabundance to sweeten and temper it. After having well beaten and mixed\nit, she strains it clear, with no sharp or bitter taste, for the spices\nshe puts in give it a sweet and pleasant fragrance. When the potion was\nprepared, the day had drawn to a close, the tables were set for supper,\nand the cloths were spread. But Thessala delays the supper, because\nshe must discover by what device and what agent she can have the potion\nserved. At supper, finally, all were seated, and more than six dishes\nhad been passed, and Clig\u00e9s served behind his uncle's place. Thessala,\nas she watches him, thinks how ill he serves his own interests, and how\nhe is assisting in his own disinheritance, and the thought torments and\nworries her. Then in her kindness she conceives the plan of having\nthe potion served by him to whom it will bring both joy and honour. So\nThessala summoned Clig\u00e9s; and when he had come to her, he asked her why\nshe had sent for him. \"Friend,\" said she, \"I wish to present the emperor\nat this meal with a beverage which he will esteem highly, and I want him\nto taste no other to-night, either at supper or when he goes to bed.\nI think he cannot fail to relish it, for he never has tasted a better\ndrink or one that has cost so much. And I warn you, take good care to\nlet no one else drink of it, for there is but a little of it. And this,\ntoo, I beg of you, not to let him know whence it came; but tell him it\ncame about by chance that you found it among the presents, and tasted it\nyourself, and detected the aroma of the sweet spices in the air; then,\nseeing the wine to be all clear you poured it into his cup. If by chance\nhe should inquire, you can satisfy him with this reply. But have no\nsuspicion yourself, after what I have said, for the drink is pure and\nhealthful, full excellent spices, and I think it may some day bring you\njoy.\" When he heard that advantage would come to him, he took the potion\nand went away, for he did not know there was any harm in it. He set\nit in a crystal cup before the emperor, who took it without question,\ntrusting in his nephew. After taking a long draught of the beverage, he\nstraightway feels its strength, as it descends from head to heart, and\nrises again from heart to head, and penetrates every part of him without\ndoing the slightest harm. And by the time they left the tables, the\nemperor had drunk so much of the pleasing drink that he can never escape\nit influence. Every night he will sleep under its influence, and its\neffects will be such that he will think he is awake when sound asleep.\n\n(Vv. 3329-3394.) Now the emperor has been deceived. Many bishops and\nabbots were present to bless and hallow the marriage-bed. When the time\ncame to retire, the emperor, as was his right, lay beside his wife that\nnight. \"As was his right;\" but the statement is inexact, for he neither\nkissed nor fondled her, yet they lay together in one bed. At first the\nmaiden trembled with fear and anxiety lest the potion should not act.\nBut it has so mastered him that he will never desire her or any other\nwoman except in his sleep. But when asleep he will have such sport with\nher as one may have in dreams, and he will think the dream is true.\nNevertheless, she is on her guard, and at first, holds aloof from him,\nso that he cannot approach her. But now he must needs fall asleep;\nthen he sleeps and dreams, though, the senses are awake, and he exerts\nhimself to win the favours of the maid, while she, realising the danger,\ndefends her virginity. He woos her and calls her gently his sweetheart,\nand thinks he possesses her, but in vain. But he is gratified by this\nvain semblance, embracing, kissing, and fondling an empty thing, seeing\nand speaking to no purpose, struggling and striving without effect.\nSurely the potion was effective in thus possessing and mastering him.\nAll his pains are of no avail, as he thinks and is persuaded that the\nfortress is won. Thus he thinks and is convinced, when he desists after\nhis vain efforts. But now I may say once for all that his satisfaction\nwas never more than this. To such relations with her he will for ever be\ncondemned if indeed he can lead her to his own land; but before he can\nget her to safety, I judge that there is trouble in store for him. For\nwhile he is on his journey home, the duke, to whom his bride had been\nbetrothed, will appear upon the scene. The duke gathered a numerous\nforce, and garrisoned the frontiers, while at court he had his spies to\ninform him each day of the emperor's doings and preparations, and how\nlong they are going to stay, and by what route they intend to return.\nThe emperor did not tarry long after the marriage, but left Cologne in\nhigh spirits. The German emperor escorted him with a numerous company,\nfearing and dreading the force of the Duke of Saxony.\n\n(Vv. 3395-3424.) The two emperors pursued their journey until they were\nbeyond Regensburg, where one evening they were encamped in a meadow by\nthe Danube. The Greeks were in their tents in the fields bordering upon\nthe Black Forest. Opposite to them the Saxons were lodged, spying\nupon them. The duke's nephew stood alone upon a hill, whence he could\nreconnoitre for a chance to inflict some loss or harm on the enemy.\nFrom that point of vantage he espied Clig\u00e9s with three of his young men\ndisporting themselves with lances and shields, eager for a conflict and\nshock of arms. If he could get the chance the duke's nephew would gladly\nattack them and do them harm. Starting out with five companions he\nconcealed them in a valley close by a wood, so that the Greeks never saw\nthem until they emerged from the valley; then the duke's nephew made an\nattack, and striking Clig\u00e9s, wounded him slightly in the back. Clig\u00e9s,\nbending over, avoids the lance which passed him, inflicting only a\nslight hurt.\n\n(Vv. 3425-3570.) When Clig\u00e9s felt himself wounded, he charged the youth,\nand struck him with such force that he drove his lance quite through his\nheart, and stretched him dead. Then all the Saxons in fear of him betook\nthemselves to flight through the woods. And Clig\u00e9s, ignorant of the\nambuscade, courageously but imprudently leaving his companions behind,\npursues them to the place where the duke's troops were in force\npreparing to attack the Greeks. Alone he goes in hot pursuit after the\nyouths, who, in despair over their lord whom they had lost, come running\nto the duke and tell him weeping of his nephew's death. The duke saw\nno joke in this affair; and, swearing by God and all His saints that he\nwill take no joy or pride in life so long as the slayer of his nephew\nremains alive, he adds that whoever will bring him his head will be his\nfriend and will serve him well. Then a knight made boast that if he\ncan find the guilty man, he will present him with Clig\u00e9s' head. Clig\u00e9s\nfollows the young men until he falls among the Saxons, when he is seen\nby him who had undertaken to carry off his head, and who starts after\nhim without delay. But Clig\u00e9s haste had turned back to escape from his\nenemies and came in to where he had left his companions; he found none\nthere, for they had returned to camp to relate their adventure. And the\nemperor ordered to horse the Greeks and Germans in one band. Soon all\nthrough the camp the knights are arming and mounting. Meanwhile Clig\u00e9s\nis hotly pursued by his enemy, all armed and with helmet closed. Clig\u00e9s,\nwho never wished to be numbered among the coward and craven-hearted,\nnotices that he comes alone. First, the knight challenged him, calling\nhim \"fellow,\" unable to conceal his rage: \"Young fellow,\" he cried,\n\"thou shalt leave me here a pledge for my lord whom thou hast killed.\nIf I do not carry away thy head with me, I am not worth a counterfeit\nbesant. I must make of it a present to the duke, and will accept no\nother forfeit. In return for his nephew, I shall make such restitution\nthat he will profit by the exchange.\" Clig\u00e9s hears him reproaching him\nthus boldly and with impudence. \"Vassal,\" he says, \"be on your guard!\nFor I will defend my head, and you shall not get it without my leave.\"\nThen the attack begins. The other missed his blow, while Clig\u00e9s struck\nhim with such force that horse and rider went down together in one heap.\nThe horse fell upon him so heavily that he shattered completely one of\nhis legs. Clig\u00e9s dismounted on the greensward and disarmed him. When he\nhad disarmed him, he appropriated his weapons, and cut off his enemy's\nhead with the sword which had just now been his. After severing his head\nhe fixed it firmly on the point of his lance, thinking to offer it to\nthe duke, to whom his nephew had promised to present his own if he\ncould meet him in the strife. Clig\u00e9s had no sooner put on the dead man's\nhelmet and taken his shield and mounted his steed, letting his own stray\nat large to terrify the Greeks, than he saw advancing with more than a\nhundred banners flying several full squadrons of Greeks and Germans. Now\nthe fierce and cruel struggles will soon begin between the Saxons and\nthe Greeks. As soon as Clig\u00e9s sees his men advancing, he betakes himself\ntoward the Saxons, his own men hotly pursuing him, and not knowing him\nin his disguise. It is no wonder that his uncle is in despair and fear,\nwhen he sees the head he is carrying off. So all the host pursue him\nfast, while Clig\u00e9s leads them on to provoke a fight, until the Saxons\nsee him drawing near. But they, too, are quite misled by the arms with\nwhich he has armed and equipped himself. He succeeds in deceiving\nand mocking them; for the duke and all the rest, when they saw him\napproaching lance in rest, cried out: \"Here comes our knight! On the\npoint of his lance he carries Clig\u00e9s' head, and the Greeks are hotly\npursuing him!\" Then, as they give their horses rein, Clig\u00e9s spurs\nto meet the Saxons, crouching low beneath his shield, the lance out\nstraight with the head affixed. Now, though he was braver than a lion,\nhe was no stronger than any other man. Both parties think that he is\ndead, and while the Saxons rejoice, the Greeks and Germans grieve. But\nbefore long the truth will out. For Clig\u00e9s no longer held his peace:\nbut, rushing fiercely at a Saxon, he struck him with his ashen lance\nupon the head and in the breast, so that he made him lose his stirrups,\nand at the same time he cried aloud: \"Strike gentlemen, for I am Clig\u00e9s\nwhom you seek. Come on, my bold and hardy knights! Let none hold back,\nfor the first joust is already won! He is a coward who does not relish\nsuch a dish.\"\n\n(Vv. 3571-3620.) The emperor's joy was great when he heard the voice of\nhis nephew Clig\u00e9s summoning and exhorting them; he was greatly pleased\nand comforted. But the duke is greatly chagrined now when he sees he\nis betrayed, unless his force should prove the stronger. While he\ndraws together his troops in serried lines, the Greeks do the same, and\npressing them close, attack and rush upon them. On both sides lances are\nlowered as they meet for the proper reception of a hostile host. At the\nfirst shock shields are pierced and lances shattered, girths are cut and\nstirrups broken, while the horses of those who fall to earth are left\nwithout a rider. But regardless of what any other does, Clig\u00e9s and the\nduke meet in the fray; holding their lances low, they strike one another\nupon the shield with such violence that the strong and well-made lances\nfly into splinters. Clig\u00e9s was skilful on horseback, and sits straight\nin his saddle without shaking or losing his balance. But the duke has\nlost his seat, and in spite of himself quits the saddle-bows. Clig\u00e9s\nstruggled and strove to capture him and carry him away, but his strength\ndid not suffice, for the Saxons were around about fighting to rescue\nhim. Nevertheless, Clig\u00e9s escapes from the conflict without receiving\nharm and with a precious prize; for he makes off with the duke's steed,\nwhich was whiter than wool, and was worth more to a gentleman than the\nfortune of Octavian [231] at Rome. The steed was an Arabian. The Greeks\nand Germans are overjoyed to see Clig\u00e9s on such a mount, for they had\nalready remarked the excellence and beauty of the Arab steed. But they\nwere not on their guard against an ambuscade; and before they are aware\nof it great damage will be done.\n\n(Vv. 3621-3748.) A spy came to the duke, bringing him welcome news.\n\"Duke,\" says the spy, \"not a man remains in all the encampment of the\nGreeks who is able to defend himself. If thou wilt take my word for it,\nnow is the time to have the emperor's daughter seized, while the Greeks\nare seen intent upon the battle and the strife. Lend me a hundred of thy\nknights, and I will put the lady in their hands. By an old and secluded\npath I will lead them so carefully that they will not be seen or met\nby any man of Germany, until they can seize the damsel in her tent and\ncarry her off so handily that no resistance will be made.\" At this the\nduke is highly pleased. He sent a hundred and more tried knights with\nthe spy, who so successfully conducted them that they carried the maiden\naway captive without exerting any force; for they could abduct her\neasily. After carrying her some distance from the tents, they send her\non under escort of twelve of their number whom they accompany but a\nshort distance. While the twelve led the damsel on, the others went to\ntell the duke how successful they had been. The duke's desire being now\nsatisfied, he at once makes a truce with the Greeks until next day. The\ntruce was sworn by both parties. The duke's men then turned back, while\nthe Greeks without delay repaired each man to his own tent. But Clig\u00e9s\nstays behind alone, stationed upon a little hill where no one caught\nsight of him, until he saw the twelve pass by with her whom they were\ncarrying off at topmost speed. Clig\u00e9s, in his thirst for glory, rides\nat them without delay; for he thinks within himself, and his heart tells\nhim, that it is not for nothing that they flee. So, as soon as he espied\nthem, he spurred after them; and when they saw him coming on, a foolish\nthought occurred to them: \"It is the duke,\" they said, \"who comes. Let\nus rein in a little; for he has left the troops and is riding hard after\nus alone.\" Every man thinks that so it is. They all want to turn back to\nmeet him, but each one wishes to go alone. Meanwhile, Clig\u00e9s must\nneeds descend a deep valley between two mountains. He would never have\nrecognised their blazons, if they had not come to meet him, or if they\nhad not awaited him. Six of the twelve come to meet him in an encounter\nthey will soon regret. The other six stay with the damsel, leading her\ngently at a walk and easy jog. And the six ride quickly on, spurring up\nthe valley, until he who had the swiftest horse reached him first\nand cried aloud: \"Hail, Duke of Saxony! God bless thee! Duke, we have\nrecovered thy lady. The Greeks shall not get her now, for she shall be\nplaced in thy hands.\" When Clig\u00e9s heard the words this fellow shouts,\nhis heart is not gay; rather is it strange that he does not lose his\nwits. Never was any wild beast--leopard, tiger, or lion--upon seeing its\nyoung captured, so fierce and furious as Clig\u00e9s, who sets no value upon\nhis life if he deserts his sweetheart now. He would rather die than not\nwin her back. In his trouble he feels great wrath, which gives him the\ncourage he requires. He urges and spurs the Arab steed, and rushes\nto give the Saxon such a blow upon his painted shield that without\nexaggeration, he makes his heart feel the lance. This gives Clig\u00e9s\nconfidence. He drove and spurred the Arab charger on for more than the\nspace of an acre before he came upon the next Saxon, for they came up\nsingly, each fearless of his predecessor's fare, for Clig\u00e9s fights\nthem one by one. As he takes them thus individually, no one receives\nanother's aid. He makes a rush at the second one, who, like the first,\nthought to give him joy by telling him of his own evil fate. But Clig\u00e9s\nhas no concern to heed his talk and idle charter. Thrusting his lance\ninto his body so that the blood spurts out when it is withdrawn, he\ndeprives him of life and the gift of speech. After these two he meets\nthe third, who expects to find him in good humour and to make him\nrejoice over his own mischance. Spurring eagerly he came up to him;\nbut before he has time to say a word, Clig\u00e9s ran a fathom of his lance\nthrough the middle of his body, leaving him senseless on the ground.\nTo the fourth he gives such a blow that he leaves him fainting on the\nfield. After the fourth he goes at the fifth, and after him he attacks\nthe sixth. None of them could defend himself, but each was left silent\nand mute. He stood in less fear of the others now, and more hardily\npressed after them, taking no further thought of the six dead men.\n\n(Vv. 3749-3816.) Feeling no further care for them, he starts to present\na debt of shame and woe to the others who are leading the maid away. He\ncaught up with them, and made such an onslaught upon them as a hungry\nand ravenous wolf makes when leaping upon its prey. Now he feels his\nluck has come, when he can display his chivalry and bravery openly\nbefore her who is his very life. Now may he die, if he does not rescue\nher! And she, too, is at death's door from anxiety for his sake, though\nshe does not know that he is no near. Lance in rest, Clig\u00e9s made an\nattack which pleased him well; for he struck first one Saxon and then\nanother, so that with a single rush he carried them both to earth,\nthough it cost him his ashen lance. And they both fall in such distress,\nbeing wounded in the body, that they have no power to rise again and\ndo him any harm or ill. The other four in bitter rage join in an attack\nupon Clig\u00e9s; but he neither quails nor trembles, and they are unable\nto dislodge him from his seat. Quickly drawing his keen sword from its\nsheath, in order to please her who awaits his love, he rode hard at a\nSaxon and, striking him with his whetted blade, he severed his head and\nhalf his neck from the body: such was the limit of his pity. Fenice, who\nwitnesses what transpires, does not know yet that this is Clig\u00e9s. She\nwishes that it were he, indeed, but because of the present danger she\nsays to herself that she would not have him there. Thus, doubly she\nshows the devotion of a sweetheart, fearing at once his death, and\ndesiring that honour may be his. And Clig\u00e9s sword in hand attacks the\nother three, who face him bravely and puncture and split his shield. But\nthey are unable to lay hands upon him, or to pierce the meshes of his\nhauberk. And whatever Clig\u00e9s reaches cannot stand against his blow,\nbut must needs be split and torn apart; for he turns faster than a\ntop driven and lashed by the whip. Boldness and love, which holds him\nenthralled, make him eager for the fray. He pressed the Saxons so hard\nthat he left them all dead and defeated, some only wounded, and others\ndead--except one whom he let escape, disdaining to kill him when left\nalone at his mercy; besides, he wished him to tell the duke of the loss\nand injury he had sustained. But before this fellow left Clig\u00e9s, he\nbegged him to tell him his name, which later he repeated to the duke,\nthus rousing his bitter ire.\n\n(Vv. 3817-3864.) Now bad luck had fallen to the duke, who was in great\ndistress and grief. And Clig\u00e9s takes back Fenice, whose love torments\nand troubles him. If he does not confess to her now, love will long be\nhis enemy, and hers too, if she holds her peace and speaks not the word\nwhich will bring him joy; for now each can tell the other privily the\nthoughts that lie within the heart. But they so fear to be refused that\nthey dare not reveal their hearts. For his part, he fears lest she will\nnot accept his love, whereas she, too, would have spoken out had she\nnot feared to be rejected. In spite of this, the eyes of each reveal the\nhidden thought, if only they had heeded this evidence. They converse\nby glance of eye, but their tongues are so cowardly that they dare not\nspeak in any wise of the love which possesses them. No wonder if she\nhesitates to begin, for a maid must be a simple and shrinking thing; but\nhe--why does he wait and hold back who was so bold for her just now, but\nnow in her presence is cowardly? God! whence comes this fear, that he\nshould shrink from a lonely girl, feeble and timid, simple and mild? It\nis as if I should see the dog flee before the hare, and the fish chase\nthe beaver, the lamb the wolf, and the dove the eagle. In the same\nfashion the labourer would forsake his pick with which he strives to\nearn a livelihood, and the falcon would flee from the duck, and the\ngerfalcon from the heron, and the pike from the minnow, and the stag\nwould chase the lion, and everything would be reversed. Now I feel\nwithin me the desire to give some reason why it should happen to true\nlovers that they lose their sense and boldness to say what they have in\nmind when they have leisure and place and time.\n\n(Vv. 3865-3914.) Ye who are interested in the art of Love, who do\nfaithfully maintain the customs and usage of his court, who never failed\nto obey his law, whatever the result might be, tell me if there is\nanything that pleases because of love without causing us to tremble\nand grow pale. If any one oppose me in this, I can at once refute his\nargument; for whoever does not grow pale and tremble, whoever does not\nlose his senses and memory, is trying to filch and get by stealth what\ndoes not by right belong to him. The servant who does not fear his\nmaster ought not to remain in his employ nor do his service. He who does\nnot esteem his lord does not fear him, and whoever does not esteem him\ndoes not hold him dear, but rather tries to deceive him and to steal\nfrom him what is his. The servant ought to tremble with fear when his\nmaster calls or summons him. And whoever commits himself to Love owns\nhim as his lord and master, and is bound to do him reverence and fear\nhim much and honour him, if he wishes to be numbered in his court. Love\nwithout alarm or fear is like a fire without flame or heat, day without\nsun, comb without honey, summer without flowers, winter without frost,\nsky without moon, and a book without letters. Such is my argument\nin refutation, for where fear is absent love is not to be mentioned.\nWhoever would love must needs feel fear, for otherwise he cannot be in\nlove. But let him fear only her whom he loves, and for her sake be brave\nagainst all others. Then if he stands in awe of his lady-love Clig\u00e9s\nis guilty of nothing wrong. Even so, he would not have failed to speak\nstraightway with her of love, whatever the outcome might have been, had\nit not been that she was his uncle's wife. This causes the festering of\nhis wound, and it torments and pains him the more because he dares not\nutter what he fain would say.\n\n(Vv. 3915-3962.) Thus they make their way back to their own people, and\nif they speak of anything it is nothing of much concern. Each seated on\na white horse, they rode rapidly toward the camp, which was plunged in\ngreat sorrow. The whole army is beside itself with grief, but they are\naltogether wrong in supposing Clig\u00e9s to be dead: hence their bitter and\npoignant grief. And for Fenice, too, they are in dismay, thinking never\nto win her back again. Thus, for her and him the whole army is in great\ndistress. But soon upon their return the whole affair will change its\naspect; for now they have reached the camp again, and have quickly\nchanged the grief to joy. Joy returns and sorrow flees. All the troops\ncome together and sally forth to welcome them. The two emperors, upon\nhearing the report about Clig\u00e9s and the damsel, go to meet them with\njoyful hearts, and each can hardly wait to hear how Clig\u00e9s found and\nrecovered the empress. Clig\u00e9s tells them, and, as they listen, they are\namazed and are loud in their praises of his courage and devotion.\nBut, for his part, the duke is furious, swearing and proclaiming his\ndetermination to fight Clig\u00e9s, if he dares, in single combat; and it\nshall be agreed that if Clig\u00e9s wins the battle the emperor shall proceed\nunchallenged, and freely take the maiden with him, and if he should kill\nor defeat Clig\u00e9s, who had done him such injury, then let there be no\ntruce or stay to prevent each party from doing its best. This is what\nthe duke desires, and by an interpreter of his, who knew both the Greek\nand the German tongues, he announces to the two emperors his desire thus\nto arrange the battle.\n\n(Vv. 3963-4010.) The messenger delivered his message so well in both\nlanguages that all could understand it. The entire army was in an\nuproar, saying that may God forbid that Clig\u00e9s ever engage in the\nbattle. Both emperors are in a fright, but Clig\u00e9s throws himself at\ntheir feet and begs them not to grieve, but if ever he did them any\nfavour, he prays them to grant him this battle as a guerdon and reward.\nAnd if the right to fight should be denied him, then he will never again\nserve for a single day his uncle's cause and honour. The emperor, who\nloved his nephew as he should, raised him by the hand and said: \"Fair\nnephew, I am deeply grieved to know you are so keen to fight; for after\njoy, sorrow is to be expected. [232] You have made me glad, I cannot\ndeny it; but it is hard for me to yield the point and send you forth to\nthis battle, when I see you still so young. And yet I know you to be\nso confident of yourself that I dare not ever refuse anything that you\nchoose to ask of me. Be assured that, merely to gratify you, it should\nbe done; but if my request has any power, you would never assume this\ntask.\" \"My lord, there is no need of further speech,\" said Clig\u00e9s; \"may\nGod damn me, if I would take the whole world, and miss this battle! I do\nnot know why I should seek from you any postponement or long delay.\"\nThe emperor weeps with pity, while Clig\u00e9s sheds tears of joy when the\npermission to fight is granted him. Many a tear was shed that day, and\nno respite or delay was asked. Before the hour of prime, by the duke's\nown messenger the challenge to battle was sent back to him accepted as\nhe had proposed.\n\n(Vv. 4011-4036.) The duke, who thinks and confidently trusts that Clig\u00e9s\nwill be unable to stave off death and defeat at his hands, has himself\nquickly armed. Clig\u00e9s, who is anxious for the fight, feels no concern\nas to how he shall defend himself. He asks the emperor for his arms, and\ndesires him to dub him a knight. So the emperor generously gives him his\narms, and he takes them, his heart being keen for the battle which he\nanticipates with joy and eagerness. No time is lost in arming him. And\nwhen he was armed from head to foot, the emperor, all sorrowing, girds\nthe sword upon his side. Thus Clig\u00e9s completely armed mounts his white\nArab steed; from his neck he hangs by the straps an ivory shield, such\nas will never break or split; and upon it there was neither colour nor\ndesign. All his armour was white, and the steed, and the harness, too,\nwas all whiter than any snow.\n\n(Vv. 4037-4094.) Clig\u00e9s and the duke, now being armed, summon each other\nto meet half way, and they stipulate that their men shall take their\nstand on either side, but without their swords and lances, under oath\nand pledge that not a man will be so rash, so long as the battle lasts,\nas to dare to move for any reason, any more than he would dare to pluck\nout his own eye. When this had been agreed upon, they came together,\neach yearning ardently for the glory he hopes to win and for the joy\nof victory. But before a single blow was dealt, the empress has herself\nborne thither, solicitous for Clig\u00e9s' fate. It seems to her that if he\ndies, she, too, must needs do so. No comfort can avail to keep her from\njoining him in death, for, without him, life has no joys for her. When\nall were gathered on the field--high and low, young and old--and the\nguards had taken their place, then both seized their lances and rushed\ntogether so savagely that they both broke their lances and fell to\nthe ground, unable to keep their saddles. But not being wounded, they\nquickly get upon their feet and attack each other without delay. Upon\ntheir resonant helmets they play such a tune with swords that it seems\nto those who are looking on that the helmets are on fire and send forth\nsparks. And when the swords rebound in air, gleaming sparks fly off\nfrom them as from a smoking piece of iron which the smith beats upon his\nanvil after, drawing it from the forge. Both of the vassals are generous\nin dealing blows in great plenty, and each has the best of intentions\nto repay quickly what he borrows; neither one holds back from repaying\npromptly capital and interest, without accounting and without measure.\nBut the duke is much chagrined with anger and discomfiture when he fails\nto defeat and slay Clig\u00e9s in the first assault. Such a marvellously\ngreat and mighty blow he deals him that he falls at his feet upon his\nknee.\n\n(Vv. 4095-4138.) When this blow brought Clig\u00e9s down, the emperor was\nstruck with fear, and would have been no more dismayed had he himself\nbeen beneath the shield. Nor could Fenice in her fear longer contain\nherself, whatever the effect might be, from crying: \"God help him!\"\nas loud as she could. But that was the only word she uttered, for\nstraightway her voice failed her, and she fell forward upon her face,\nwhich was somewhat wounded by the fall. Two high nobles raised her up\nand supported her upon her feet until she returned to consciousness.\nBut in spite of her countenance, none who saw her guessed why she had\nswooned. Not a man there blamed her, but rather praised her for her act,\nfor each one supposes that she would have done the same thing for him,\nif he had been in Clig\u00e9s' place, but in all this they are quite astray.\nClig\u00e9s heard, and well understood, the sound of Fenice's cry. Her voice\nrestored his strength and courage, as he leaped up quickly, and came\nwith fury, toward the duke, so charging and attacking him that the duke\nin turn was now dismayed. For now he found him more fierce for the\nfray, stronger and more agile and energetic than when at first they came\ntogether. And because he feared his onslaught, he cried: \"Young man, so\nhelp me God, I see thou art brave and very bold. If it were not for my\nnephew now, whom I shall never more forget, I would gladly make peace\nwith thee, and leave thy quarrel without interfering in it more.\"\n\n(Vv. 4139-4236.) \"Duke,\" says Clig\u00e9s, \"what is your pleasure now? Must\none not surrender his right when he is unable to recover it? When one of\ntwo evils must be faced, one should choose the lesser one. Your nephew\nwas not wise to become angrily embroiled with me. You may be sure that\nI shall treat you in like fashion, if I get the chance, unless you agree\nto my terms of peace.\" The duke, to whom it seems that Clig\u00e9s' vigour is\nsteadily growing, thinks that he had better desist in mid-career before\nhe is utterly undone. Nevertheless, he does not openly give in, but\nsays: \"Young man, I see thou art skilful and alert and not lacking in\ncourage. But thou art yet too young; therefore I feel assured that if I\ndefeat and kill thee I shall gain no praise or fame, and I should never\nlike to confess in the hearing of a man of honour that I had fought with\nthee, for I should but do thee honour, and myself win shame. But if thou\nart aware of honour's worth, it will always be a glorious thing for thee\nto have withstood me for two rounds at arms. So now my heart and feeling\nbid me let thee have thy way, and no longer fight with thee.\" [233]\n\"Duke,\" says Clig\u00e9s, \"that will not do. In the hearing of all you must\nrepeat those words, for it shall never be said and noised abroad that\nyou let me off and had mercy on me. In the hearing of all those who are\ngathered here, you must repeat your words, if you wish to be reconciled\nwith me.\" So the duke repeats his words in the hearing of all. Then they\nmake peace and are reconciled. But however the matter be regarded Clig\u00e9s\nhad all the honour and glory of it, and the Greeks were greatly pleased.\nFor their part, the Saxons could not laugh, all of them having plainly\nseen that their lord was worn out and exhausted just now; but there is\nno doubt at all that, if he could have helped himself, this peace would\nnever have been made, and that Clig\u00e9s' soul would have been drawn from\nhis body had it proven possible. The duke goes back to Saxony sorrowing,\ndowncast, and filled with shame; for of his men there are not even two\nwho do not regard him as worsted, defeated, and disgraced. The Saxons\nwith all their shame have now returned to Saxony, while the\nGreeks without delay make their way with joy and gladness toward\nConstantinople, for Clig\u00e9s by his prowess has opened the way for them.\nThe emperor of Germany no longer follows and convoys them. Taking leave\nof the Greek troops and of his daughter and Clig\u00e9s, and finally of the\nemperor, he stayed behind in Germany. And the emperor of the Greeks goes\noff happily and in joyous mood. Clig\u00e9s, brave and courteous, calls to\nmind his sire's command. If his uncle, the emperor, will give him his\npermission, he will go and ask him for leave to return to Britain and\nthere converse with his great-uncle, the King; for he is desirous of\nseeing and knowing him. So he presents himself before the emperor, and\nrequests that he consent to let him go to Britain to see his uncle and\nhis friends. Gently he proffered his request. But his uncle refused,\nwhen he had listened to the request he made. \"Fair nephew,\" he said, \"it\nis not my will that you should wish to leave me. I shall never give you\nwithout regret this permission to go away. For it is my pleasure and\ndesire that you should be my companion and lord, with me, of all my\nempire.\"\n\n(Vv. 4237-4282.) Now Clig\u00e9s hears something that does not suit him when\nhis uncle refuses the prayer and request he made. \"Fair sire,\" said he,\n\"I am not brave and wise enough, nor would it be seemly for me to join\nmyself with you or any one else in the duty of governing this empire; I\nam too young and inexperienced. They put gold to the test when they wish\nto learn if it is fine. And so it is my wish, in brief, to try to prove\nmyself, wherever I can find the test. In Britain, if I am brave, I can\napply myself to the whetstone and to the real true test, whereby my\nprowess shall be proved. In Britain are the gentlemen whom honour and\nprowess distinguish. And he who wishes to win honour should associate\nhimself with them, for honour is won and gained by him who associates\nwith gentlemen. And so I ask you for leave to go, and you may be very\nsure that if you do not grant me the boon and send me thither I shall go\nwithout your leave.\" \"Fair nephew, I will give you leave, seeing you\nare so disposed that I cannot keep you back either by force or prayer\nof mine. Now since prayer, prohibition, and force do not avail, may God\ngive you the desire and inclination promptly to return. I wish you to\ntake with you more than a bushel of gold and silver, and I will give for\nyour pleasure such horses as you may choose.\" He had no sooner spoken\nthan Clig\u00e9s bowed before him. All that the emperor, mentioned and\npromised him was straightway brought thither.\n\n(Vv. 4283-4574.) Clig\u00e9s took all the money and companions that he\nwished and needed. For his personal use he took four horses of different\ncolours: one white, one sorrel, one fallow red, and one black. But I\nmust have passed over something which it is not proper to omit. Clig\u00e9s\ngoes to ask and obtain leave to depart from his sweetheart Fenice; for\nhe wishes to commend her to God's safe keeping. Coming before her,\nhe throws himself upon his knees, weeping so bitterly that the tears\nmoisten his tunic and ermine, the while keeping his eyes upon the\nground; for he dares not raise his eyes to her, as if he were guilty\nof some crime and misdeed toward her, for which he seems overcome with\nshame. And Fenice, who timidly and fearfully looks at him, does not know\nthe occasion of his coming, and speaks to him with difficulty. \"Rise,\nfriend and fair sir! Sit here beside me, and weep no more, and tell me\nwhat your pleasure is.\" \"Lady, what shall I say, and what leave unsaid?\nI come to ask your leave.\" \"Leave? To do what?\" \"Lady, I must go off to\nBritain.\" \"Then tell me what your business is, before I give you leave\nto go.\" \"Lady, my father, before he departed this life and died, begged\nme not to fail to go to Britain as soon as I should be made a knight.\nI should not wish for any reason to disregard his command. I must not\nfalter until I have accomplished the journey. It is a long road from\nhere to Greece, and if I should go thither, the journey would be too\nlong from Constantinople to Britain. But it is right that I should ask\nleave from you to whom I altogether belong.\" Many a covert sigh and sob\nmarked the separation. But the eyes of none were keen enough, nor the\nears of any sharp enough, to learn from what he saw and heard that there\nwas any love between these two. Clig\u00e9s, in spite of the grief he felt,\ntook his leave at the first opportunity. He is full of thought as he\ngoes away, and so are the emperor and many others who stay behind. But\nmore than all the others, Fenice is pensive: she finds no bottom or\nbound to the reflections which occupy her, so abundantly are her cares\nmultiplied. She was still oppressed with thought when she arrived in\nGreece. There she was held in great honour as mistress and empress; but\nher heart and mind belong to Clig\u00e9s, wherever he goes, and she wishes\nher heart never to return to her, unless it is brought back to her by\nhim who is perishing of the same disease with which he has smitten her.\nIf he should get well, she would recover too, but he will never be its\nvictim without her being so as well. Her trouble appears in her pale and\nchanged colour; for the fresh, clear, and radiant colour which Nature\nhad given her is now a stranger to her face. She often weeps and often\nsighs. Little she cares for her empire and for the riches that are hers.\nShe always cherishes in her remembrance the hour when Clig\u00e9s went away,\nand the leave he took of her, how he changed colour and grew pale, and\nhow tearful his expression was, for he came to weep in her presence\nhumbly and simply upon his knees, as if constrained to worship her.\nAll this is sweet and pleasant for her to remember and think about. And\nafterward, as a little treat, she takes on her tongue instead of spice\na sweet word which for all Greece she would not wish him to have used\ncontrary to the sense she had understood when he first had uttered\nit; for she lives upon no other dainty, and there is nothing else that\npleases her. This word alone sustains and nourishes her, and assuages\nall her pain. She cares to eat and drink of no other dish or beverage,\nfor when the two lovers came to part, Clig\u00e9s had said he was \"altogether\nhers.\" This word is so sweet and tastes so good that from the tongue it\nstirs her heart, and she takes it into her mouth and heart to be all the\nmore sure of it. Under any other lock she would not dare to store this\ntreasure. Nowhere could it be lodged so well as in her own bosom. She\nwill never leave it exposed at any price, being in such fear of robbers\nand thieves. But there is no ground for her anxiety, and she need have\nno fear of the birds of prey, for her treasure is not movable, but is\nrather like a house which cannot be destroyed by fire or flood, but will\nalways stay fixed in a single place. But she feels no confidence in the\nmatter, so she worries and strives to find and hold some ground on which\nto stand, interpreting the situation in divers ways. She both opposes\nand defends her position, and engages in the following argument: \"With\nwhat intention should Clig\u00e9s say 'I am altogether yours' unless it was\nlove that prompted him? What power can I have over him that he should\nesteem me so highly as to make me the mistress of his heart? Is he not\nmore fair than I, and of higher rank than I? I see in it naught but\nlove, which could vouchsafe me such a boon. I, who cannot escape its\npower, will prove by my own case that unless he loved me he would never\nsay that he was mine; unless love holds him in its toils, Clig\u00e9s\ncould never say that he was mine any more than I could say that I was\naltogether his unless love had put me in his hands. For if he loves me\nnot, at least he does not fear me. I hope that love which gives me to\nhim will in return give him to me. But now I am sore dismayed because it\nis so trite a word, and I may simply be deceived, for many there be who\nin flattering terms will say even to a total stranger, 'I and all that\nI have are yours,' and they are more idle chatterers than the jays. So\nI do not know what to think, for it might well turn out that he said it\njust to flatter me. Yet I saw his colour change, and I saw him weeping\npiteously. In my judgment, the tears and his face confused and pale were\nnot produced by treachery, nor were they the fruits of trickery. Those\neyes from which I saw tears roll down were not guilty of falsehood.\nSigns enough of love I saw, if I know anything about it. Yes, in an\nevil hour I thought of love; woe is me that I ever learned it, for the\nexperience has been bitter. Has it indeed? Yes, verily. I am dead when\nI cannot see him who has stolen my heart away by his cajoling flattery,\nbecause of which my heart leaves its dwelling, and will not abide with\nme, hating my home and establishment. In truth I have been ill treated\nby him who has my heart in his keeping. He who robs me and takes what is\nmine cannot love me, of that I am sure. But am I sure? Why then did he\nweep? Why? It was not in vain, for there was cause enough. I must not\nassume that I was the cause of it, for one is always loath to leave\npeople whom one loves and knows. So it is not strange if he was sorry\nand grieved and if he wept when he left some one whom he knew. But\nhe who gave him this advice to go and dwell in Britain could not have\nsmitten me more effectively. He is cut to the quick who loses his heart.\nHe who deserves it, should be treated ill; but I have never deserved\nsuch treatment. Alas, unhappy one, why has Clig\u00e9s killed me when I\nam innocent? But I am unjust to accuse him thus without cause. Surely\nClig\u00e9s would never have deserted me if his heart were like mine. I am\nsure his heart is not like mine. And if my heart is lodged in his it\nwill never draw away, and his will never part from mine, for my heart\nfollows him secretly: they have formed such a goodly company. But, after\nall, to tell the truth, they are very different and contrary. How are\nthey different and contrary? Why, his is the master and mine the slave;\nand the slave can have no will of his own, but only do his master's will\nand forsake all other affairs. But what reference has that to me? My\nheart and service are no concern to him. This arrangement distresses\nme, that one is master of us both. Why is not my heart as independent\nas his? Then their power would be equalised. My heart is now a prisoner,\nunable to move itself unless his moves as well. And whether his heart\nwanders or stays still, mine must needs prepare to follow him in his\ntrain. God! why are our bodies not so near one another that I could\nin some way bring back my heart! Bring back? Foolish one, if I should\nremove it from its joy I should be the death of it. Let it stay there!\nI have no desire to dislodge it, but rather wish that it tarry with its\nlord until he feel some pity for it. For rather over there than here\nought he to have mercy on his servant, because they are both in a\nforeign land. If my heart knows well the language of flattery, as is\nnecessary for the courtier, it will be rich ere it comes back. Whoever\nwishes to stand in the good graces of his lord and sit beside him on his\nright, to be in the fashion now-a-days, must remove the feather from\nhis head, even when there is none there. But there is one bad feature of\nthis practice: while he is smoothing down his master, who is filled\nwith evil and villainy, he will never be so courteous as to tell him the\ntruth; rather he makes him think and believe that no one could compare\nwith him in prowess and in knowledge, and the master thinks that he is\nspeaking the truth. That man does not know himself who takes another's\nword about qualities which he does not possess. For even if he is a\nwicked and insolent wretch, and as cowardly as a hare, mean, crazy, and\nmisshapen, and a villain both in word and deed--yet some man will praise\nhim to his face who behind his back will mock at him. But when in his\nhearing he speaks of him to some other, he praises him, while his lord\npretends not to hear what they say between themselves; if, however, he\nthought that he would not be heard, he would say something his master\nwould not like. And if his master is pleased to lie, the servant is all\nready with his consent, and will never be backward in averring that all\nhis master says is true. He who frequents courts and lords must ever be\nready with a lie. So, too, must my heart do if it would find favour with\nits lord. Let it flatter and be obsequious. But Clig\u00e9s is such a knight,\nso fair, so open, and so loyal, that my heart, in praising him,\nneed never be false or perfidious, for in him there is nothing to be\nimproved. Therefore I wish my heart to serve him, for, as the people's\nproverb runs, 'He who serves a noble man is bad indeed if he does not\nimprove in his company.'\"\n\n(Vv. 4575-4628.) Thus love harrows Fenice. But this torment is her\ndelight, of which she can never grow weary. And Clig\u00e9s now has crossed\nthe sea and come to Wallingford. There he took expensive quarters in\ngreat state. But his thoughts are always of Fenice, not forgetting her\nfor a single hour. While he delays and tarries there, his men, acting\nunder his instructions, made diligent inquiries. They were informed that\nKing Arthur's barons and the King in person had appointed a tourney to\nbe held in the plain before Oxford, which lies close to Wallingford.\n[234] There the struggle was arranged, and it was to last four days. But\nClig\u00e9s will have abundant time to prepare himself if in the meantime\nhe needs anything, for more than a fortnight must elapse before the\ntournament begins. He orders three of his squires to go quickly to\nLondon and there buy three different sets of arms, one black, another\nred, the third green, and that on the way back each shall be kept\ncovered with new cloth, so that if any one should meet them on the road\nhe may not know the colour of the arms they carry. The squires start at\nonce and come to London, where they find available everything they need.\nHaving finished this errand, they return at once without losing any\ntime. When the arms they had brought were shown to Clig\u00e9s he was\nwell pleased with them. He ordered them to be set away and concealed,\ntogether with those which the emperor had given him by the Danube, when\nhe knighted him. I do not choose to tell you now why he had them stored\naway; but it will be explained to you when all the high barons of the\nland are mounted on their steeds and assemble in search of fame.\n\n(Vv. 4629-4726.) On the day which had been agreed upon, the nobles of\nrenown came together. King Arthur, with all his men whom he had selected\nfrom among the best, took up his position at Oxford, while most of the\nknights ranged themselves near Wallingford. Do not expect me to delay\nthe story and tell you that such and such kings and counts were there,\nand that this, that, and the other were of the number. [235] When the\ntime came for the knights to gather, in accordance with the custom\nof those days, there came forth alone between two lines one of King\nArthur's most valiant knights to announce that the tourney should begin.\nBut in this case no one dares to advance and confront him for the joust.\nThere is none who does not hold back. And there are some who ask: \"Why\ndo these knights of ours delay, without stepping forward from the ranks?\nSome one will surely soon begin.\" And the others make reply: \"Don't you\nsee, then, what an adversary yonder party has sent against us? Any one\nwho does not know should learn that he is a pillar, [236] able to stand\nbeside the best three in the world.\" \"Who is he, then?\" \"Why, don't\nyou see? It is Sagremor the Wild.\" \"Is it he?\" \"It surely is.\" Clig\u00e9s\nlistens and hears what they say, as he sits on his horse Morel, clad\nin armour blacker than a mulberry: for all his armour was black. As he\nemerges from the ranks and spurs Morel free of the crowd, there is not\none, upon seeing him, but exclaims to his neighbour: \"That fellow rides\nwell lance in rest; he is a very, skilful knight and carries his arms\nright handily; his shield fits well about his neck. But he must be a\nfool to undertake of his own free will to joust with one of the most\nvaliant knights to be found in all the land. Who can he be? Where was\nhe born? Who knows him here?\" \"Not I.\" \"Nor I.\" \"There is not a flake\nof snow on him; but all his armour is blacker far than the cloak of any\nmonk or prior.\" While thus they talk, the two contestants give their\nhorses rein without delay, for they are very eager and keen to come\ntogether in the fight. Clig\u00e9s strikes him so that he crushes the shield\nagainst his arm, and the arm against his body, whereupon Sagremor falls\nfull length. Clig\u00e9s goes unerringly and bids him declare himself his\nprisoner, which Sagremor does at once. Now the tourney is fairly begun,\nand adversaries meet in rivalry. Clig\u00e9s rushes about the field, seeking\nadversaries with whom to joust, but not a knight presents himself whom\nhe does not cast down or take prisoner. He excels in glory, all the\nknights on either side, for wherever he goes to battle, there the fight\nis quickly ended. That man may be considered brave who holds his ground\nto joust with him, for it is more credit to dare face him than it is to\ndefeat another knight. And if Clig\u00e9s leads him away prisoner, for this\nat least he gains renown that he dared to wait and fight with him.\nClig\u00e9s wins the fame and glory of all the tournament. When evening came,\nhe secretly repaired to his lodging-place in order that none might have\nany words with him. And lest any one should seek the house where the\nblack arms are displayed, he puts them away in a room in order that no\none may find them or see them, and he hangs up his green arms at the\nstreet-door, where they will be in evidence, and where passers-by will\nsee them. And if any one asks and inquires where his lodging is, he\ncannot learn when he sees no sign of the black shield for which he\nseeks.\n\n(Vv. 4727-4758.) By this ruse Clig\u00e9s remains hidden in the town. And\nthose who were his prisoners went from one end of the town to the other\nasking for the black knight, but none could give them any information.\nEven King Arthur himself has search made up and down for him; but there\nis only one answer: \"We have not seen him since we left the lists, and\ndo not know what became of him.\" More than twenty young men seek him,\nwhom the King sent out; but Clig\u00e9s so successfully concealed himself\nthat they cannot find a trace of him. King Arthur is filled with\nastonishment when he is informed that no one of high or low degree\ncan point out his lodging-place, any more than if he were in Caesarea,\nToledo, or Crete. \"Upon my word,\" he says, \"I know not what they may\nsay, but to me this seems a marvellous thing. Perchance it was a phantom\nthat appeared in our midst. Many a knight has been unhorsed, and noble\nmen have pledged faith to one whose house they cannot find, or even his\ncountry or locality; each of these men perforce must fail to keep his\npledge.\" Thus the King spoke his mind, but he might as well have held\nhis peace.\n\n(Vv. 4759-4950.) That evening among all the barons there was much talk\nof the black knight, for indeed they spoke of nothing else. The next\nday they armed themselves again without summons and without request.\nLancelot of the Lake, in whom there is no lack of courage, rides forth\nwith lance upright to await a contestant in the first joust. Here comes\nClig\u00e9s tiding fast, greener than the grass of the field, and mounted on\na fallow red steed, carrying its mane on the right-hand side. Wherever\nClig\u00e9s spurs the horse, there is no one, either with hair or without,\nwho does not look at him amazed and exclaim to his neighbour on either\nside: \"This knight is in all respects more graceful and skilful than the\none who yesterday wore the black arms, just as a pine is more beautiful\nthan a white beech, and the laurel than the elder-bush. As yet we know\nnot who yesterday's victor was; but we shall know to-night who this man\nis.\" Each one makes reply: \"I don't know him, nor did I ever see him,\nthat I am aware. But he is fairer than he who fought yesterday, and\nfairer than Lancelot of the Lake. If this man rode armed in a bag and\nLancelot in silver and gold, this man would still be fairer than he.\"\nThus they all take Clig\u00e9s' part. And the two champions drive their\nsteeds together with all the force of spur. Clig\u00e9s gives him such a blow\nupon the golden shield with the lion portrayed thereon that he knocks\nhim down from his saddle and stands over him to receive his surrender.\nFor Lancelot there was no help; so he admitted himself his prisoner.\nThen the noise began afresh with the shock of breaking lances. Those who\nare on Clig\u00e9s' side place all their confidence in him. For of those whom\nhe challenges and strikes, there is none so strong but must fall from\nhis horse to earth. That day Clig\u00e9s did so well, and unhorsed and took\ncaptive so many knights, that he gave double the satisfaction to his\nside, and won for himself twice the glory that he had gained on the\npreceding day. When evening came, he betook himself as fast as he could\nto his lodging-place, and quickly ordered out the vermilion shield and\nhis other arms, while he ordered the arms which he had worn that day to\nbe laid away: the host carefully put them aside. Again that evening the\nknights whom he had captured sought for him, but without hearing any\nnews of him. In their lodging-places, most of those who speak of him do\nso with praise and admiration. The next day the gay and doughty knights\nreturn to the contest. From the Oxford side comes forth a vassal of\ngreat renown--his name was Perceval of Wales. As soon as Clig\u00e9s saw him\nstart, and learned certainly who it was, when he had heard the name of\nPerceval he was very anxious to contest with him. He issued straightway\nfrom the ranks upon a Spanish sorrel steed, and completely clad in\nvermilion armour. Then all gaze at him, wondering more than ever\nbefore, and saying that they had never seen so perfect a knight. And\nthe contestants without delay spur forward until their mighty blows land\nupon their shields. The lances, though they were short and stout, bend\nuntil they look like hoops. In the sight of all who were looking on,\nClig\u00e9s struck Perceval so hard that he knocked him from his horse and\nmade him surrender without a long struggle or much ado. When Perceval\nhad pledged his word then the joust began again, and the engagement\nbecame general. Every knight whom Clig\u00e9s meets he forces to earth. He\ndid not quit the lists that day even for a single hour, while all the\nothers struck at him as at a tower--individually, of course, and not\nin groups of two or three, for such was not the custom then. Upon his\nshield, as upon an anvil, the others strike and pound, splitting and\nhewing it to bits. But every one who strikes him there, he pays back by\ncasting him from his stirrups and saddle; and no one, unless he wished\nto lie, could fail to say when the jousting ceased that the knight with\nthe red shield had won all the glory on that day. And all the best and\nmost courtly knights would fain have made his acquaintance. But their\ndesire was not felt before he had departed secretly, seeing the sun\nalready set; and he had his vermilion shield and all his other harness\nremoved, and ordered his white arms to be brought out, in which he had\nfirst been dubbed a knight, while the other arms and the steeds were\nfastened outside by the door. Those who notice this realise and exclaim\nthat they have all been defeated and undone by one single man; for each\nday he has disguised himself with a different horse and set of armour,\nthus seeming to change his identity; for the first time now they noticed\nthis. And my lord Gawain proclaimed that he never saw such a champion,\nand therefore he wished to make his acquaintance and learn his name,\nannouncing that on the morrow he himself will be the first at the rally\nof the knights. Yet, withal, he makes no boast; on the other hand,\nhe says that he fully expects the stranger knight will have all the\nadvantage with the lance; but it may be that with the sword he will not\nbe his superior (for with the sword Gawain had no master). Now it is\nGawain's desire to measure his strength on the morrow with this strange\nknight who changes every day his arms, as well as his horse and harness.\nHis moultings will soon be numerous if he continues thus each day, as\nis his custom, to discard his old and assume new plumage. Thus, when he\nthought of the sword and the lance respectively. Gawain disparaged and\nesteemed highly the prowess of his foe. The next day he sees Clig\u00e9s come\nback whiter than the fleur-delis, his shield grasped tight by the inside\nstraps and seated on his white Arab steed, as he had planned the\nnight before. Gawain, brave and illustrious, seeks no repose on the\nbattleground, but spurs and rides forward, endeavouring as best he may\nto win honour in the fray, if he can find an opponent. In a moment they\nwill both be on the field. For Clig\u00e9s had no desire to hold back when he\noverheard the words of the men who said: \"There goes Gawain, who is no\nweakling either on foot or ahorse. He is a man whom no one will attack.\"\nWhen Clig\u00e9s hears these words, he rushes toward him in mid-field; they\nboth advance and come together with a swifter leap than that of the\nstag who hears the sound of the dogs as they come baying after him. The\nlances are thrust at the shields, and the blows produce such havoc that\nthe lances split, crack and break clear down to the butt-end, and the\nsaddle-bows behind give away, and the girths and breast-straps snap.\nBoth come to earth at once and draw their naked swords, while the others\ngather round to watch the battle. Then King Arthur stepped forward to\nseparate them and establish peace. But before the truce was sworn, the\nwhite hauberks were badly torn and rent apart, the shields were cracked\nand hewed to bits, and the helmets crushed.\n\n(Vv. 4951-5040.) The King viewed them with pleasure for a while, as did\nmany others who said that they esteemed the white knight's deeds of arms\nno less than those of my lord Gawain, and they were not ready yet to say\nwhich was the better and which the worse, nor which was likely to win,\nif they had been allowed to fight to a finish; but it did not please the\nKing to let them do more than they had done. So he stepped forward to\nseparate them, saying: \"Stop now! Woe if another blow be struck! Make\npeace now, and be good friends. Fair nephew Gawain, I make this request\nof you; for without resentment and hate it is not becoming for a\ngentleman to continue to fight and defy his foe. But if this knight\nwould consent to come to my court and join our sport it would not be\nto his sorrow or hurt. Nephew, make this request of him.\" \"Gladly, my\nlord.\" Clig\u00e9s has no desire to refuse, and gladly consents to go when\nthe tourney is concluded. For now he has more than sufficiently carried\nout the injunction of his father. And the King says he has no desire\nthat the tournament shall last too long, and that they can afford to\nstop at once. So the knights drew off, according to the wish and order\nof the King. Now that he is to follow in the royal suite, Clig\u00e9s sends\nfor all his armour. As soon as he can, he comes to court; but first,\nhe completely changed his gear, and came dressed in the style of the\nFrench. As soon as he arrived at court, all ran to meet him without\ndelay, making such joy and festival that never was there greater seen,\nand all those call him lord whom he had captured in the joust; but he\nwould hear none of this, and said they might all go free, if they were\nquite sure and satisfied that it was he who had captured them. And there\nwas not one who did not cry: \"You were the man; we are sure of that! We\nvalue highly your acquaintance, and we ought to love and esteem you\nand call you our lord, for none of us can equal you. Just as the sun\noutshines the little stars, so that their light cannot be seen in the\nsky when the sun's rays appear, so is our prowess extinguished and\nabased in the presence of yours, though ours too was once famous in\nthe world.\" Clig\u00e9s knows not what to reply, for in his opinion they all\npraise him more than he deserves; it pleases him, but he feels ashamed,\nand the blood rises in his face, revealing to all his modesty. Escorting\nhim into the middle of the hall, they led him to the King, where all\nceased their words of compliment and praise. The time for the meal had\ncome, and those whose duty it was hastened to set the tables. The tables\nin the hall were quickly spread, then while some took the towels, and\nothers held the basins, they offered water to all who came. When all had\nwashed, they took their seats. And the King, taking Clig\u00e9s by the hand,\nmade him sit down in front of him, for he wished to learn this very day,\nif possible, who he was. Of the meal I need not further speak, for the\ncourses were as well supplied as if beef were selling at a penny.\n\n(Vv. 5041-5114.) When all the courses had been served, the King no\nlonger held his peace. \"My friend,\" he says, \"I wish to learn if it\nwas from pride that you did not deign to come to court as soon as you\narrived in this country, and why you kept aloof from people, and why\nyou changed your arms; and tell me what your name is, too, and from what\nrace you spring.\" Clig\u00e9s replies: \"It shall not be hid.\" He told and\nrelated to the King everything he wished to know. And when the King had\nheard it all, he embraced him, and made much of him, while all joined in\ngreeting him. And when my lord Gawain learned the truth, he, more than\nthe others, cordially welcomed him. Thus, all unite in saluting him,\nsaying that he is very fair and brave. The King loves and honours him\nabove all his nephews. Clig\u00e9s tarries with the King until the summer\ncomes around, in the meantime visiting all Brittany, France, and\nNormandy, where he did so many knightly deeds that he thoroughly proved\nhis worth. But the love whose wound he bears gives him no peace or\nrelief. The inclination of his heart keeps him fixed upon a single\nthought. To Fenice his thought harks back, who from afar afflicts his\nheart. The desire takes him to go back; for he has been deprived too\nlong of the sight of the most desired lady who was ever desired by\nany one. He will not prolong this privation, but prepares to return to\nGreece, and sets out, after taking leave. The King and my lord Gawain\nwere grieved, I can well believe, when they could no longer detain him.\nBut he is anxious to return to her whom he loves and so covets that the\nway seems long to him as he passes over land and sea: so ardently he\nlongs for the sight of her who has stolen and filched Iris heart away.\nBut she makes him recompense in full; for she pays him, as it were rent,\nthe coin of her own heart, which is no less dear to her. But he is by no\nmeans sure of that, having no contract or agreement to show; wherefore\nhis anxiety is great. And she is in just as great distress, harried\nand tormented by love, taking no pleasure in aught she sees since that\nmoment when she saw him last. The fact that she does not even know\nwhether he be alive or not fills her heart with anguish. But Clig\u00e9s\ndraws nearer day by day, being fortunate in having favourable winds,\nuntil he joyfully comes to port before Constantinople. When the news\nreached the city, none need ask if the emperor was glad; but a hundred\ntimes greater was the empress's joy.\n\n(Vv. 5115-5156.) Clig\u00e9s, with his company, having landed at\nConstantinople, has now returned to Greece. The richest and most noble\nmen all come to meet him at the port. And when the emperor encounters\nhim, who before all others had gone to meet him with the empress by his\nside, he runs to embrace and greet him in the presence of them all. And\nwhen Fenice welcomes him, each changes colour in the other's presence,\nand it is indeed a marvel, when they are so close together, how they\nkeep from embracing each other and bestowing such kisses as love would\nhave; but that would have been folly and madness. The people come\ntogether from all sides with the desire to see him, and conduct him\nthrough the city, some on foot and some on horseback, until they bring\nhim to the imperial palace. No words can ever tell the joy and honour\nand courteous service that were there displayed. But each one strove as\nbest he might to do everything which he thought would please and gratify\nClig\u00e9s. And his uncle hands over to him all his possessions, except the\ncrown: he wishes him to gratify his pleasure fully, and to take all he\ndesires of his wealth, either in the form of land or treasure. But\nhe has no care for silver or gold, so long as he dares not reveal his\nthoughts to her because of whom he can find no repose; and yet he has\nplenty of time and opportunity to speak, if he were not afraid of\nbeing repelled; for now he can see her every day, and sit beside her\n\"tete-a-tete\" without opposition or hindrance, for no one sees any harm\nin that.\n\n(Vv. 5157-5280.) Some time after his return, he came alone one day to\nthe room of her who was not his enemy, and you may be sure that the door\nwas not barred at his approach. By her side he took his seat, while the\nothers moved away, so that no one might be seated near them and hear\ntheir words. First, Fenice spoke of Britain, and asked him about the\ncharacter and appearance of my lord Gawain, until her words finally hit\nupon the subject which filled her with dread. She asked him if he\nhad given his love to any dame or damsel in that land. Clig\u00e9s was not\nobstinate or slow to respond to this demand, but he knew at once what\nreply to make as soon as she had put the question. \"Lady,\" he says, \"I\nwas in love while there, but not with any one of that land. In Britain\nmy body was without my heart, as a piece of bark without the wood. Since\nleaving Germany I have not known what became of my heart, except that it\ncame here after you. My heart was here, and my body was there. I was not\nreally away from Greece; for hither my heart had come, for which I now\nhave come back again; yet, it does not return to its lodging-place,\nnor can I draw it back to me, nor do I wish to do so, if I could. And\nyou--how has it fared with you, since you came to this country? What joy\nhave you had here? Do you like the people, do you like the land? I ought\nnot to ask you any other question than whether the country pleases you.\"\n\"It has not pleased me until now; but at present I feel a certain joy\nand satisfaction, which, you may be sure, I would not lose for Pavia or\nPiacenza. From this joy I cannot wrest my heart, nor shall I ever use\nforce in the attempt. Nothing but the bark is left in me, for I live and\nexist without a heart. I have never been in Britain, and yet without\nme my heart has been engaged in business there I know not what.\" \"Lady,\nwhen was it that your heart was there? Tell me when it went thither--the\ntime and season--if it be a thing that you can fairly tell me or any one\nelse. Was it there while I was there?\" \"Yes, but you were not aware of\nit. It was there as long as you were, and came away again with you.\"\n\"God! I never saw it, nor knew it was there. God! why did I not know it?\nIf I had been informed of this, surely, my lady, I would have borne it\npleasant company.\" \"You would have repaid me with the consolation which\nyou really owed to me, for I should have been very gracious to your\nheart if it had been pleased to come where it might have known I was.\"\n\"Lady, surely it came to you.\" \"To me? Then it came to no strange place,\nfor mine also went to you.\" \"Then, lady, according to what you say, our\nhearts are here with us now, for my heart is altogether in your hands.\"\n\"You in turn have mine, my friend; so we are in perfect accord. And you\nmay be sure, so help me God, that your uncle has never shared in me, for\nit was not my pleasure, and he could not. Never has he yet known me\nas Adam knew his wife. In error I am called a wife; but I am sure that\nwhoever calls me wife does not know that I am still a maid. Even your\nuncle is not aware of it, for, having drunk of the sleeping potion, he\nthinks he is awake when he is asleep, and he fancies he has his sport\nwith me while I lie in his embrace. But his exclusion has been complete.\nMy heart is yours, and my body too, and from me no one shall ever\nlearn how to practise villainy. For when my heart went over to you it\npresented you with the body too, and it made a pledge that none other\nshould ever share in it. Love for you has wounded me so deep that I\nshould never recover from it, any more than the sea can dry up. If I\nlove you, and you love me, you shall never be called Tristan, nor I\nIseut; [237] for then our love would not be honourable. But I make you\nthis promise, that you shall never have other joy of me than that you\nnow have, unless you can devise some means whereby I can be removed from\nyour uncle and his society without his finding me again, or being able\nto blame either you or me, or having any ground for accusation. And\nto-morrow you shall tell me of the best plan you have devised, and I,\ntoo, will think of it. To-morrow, as soon as I arise, come and speak\nwith me; then each of us will speak his mind, and we shall proceed to\nexecute whatever seems best.\"\n\n(Vv. 5281-5400.) As soon as Clig\u00e9s heard her will be fully agreed with\nher, and said that would be the best thing to do. He leaves her happy,\nand goes off with a light heart himself. That night each one lies awake\nthinking over, with great delight, what the best plan will be. The next\nmorning, as soon as they had arisen, they meet again to take counsel\nprivately, as indeed they must. Clig\u00e9s speaks first and says what he\nhad thought of in the night: \"My lady,\" says he, \"I think, and am of\nthe opinion, that we could not do better than go to Britain; I thought I\nmight take you there; now do not refuse, for never was Helen so joyfully\nreceived at Troy when Paris took her thither but that still greater joy\nwould be felt over you and me in the land of the King, my uncle. And if\nthis plan does not meet with your favour, tell me what you think, for\nI am ready, whatever may happen, to abide by your decision.\" And she\nreplies: \"This is my answer: I will never go off with you thus; for\nafter we had gone away, every one would speak of us as they do of Iseut\nthe Blond and of Tristan. And everywhere all men and women would speak\nevil of our love. No one would believe, nor is it natural that they\nshould do so, the truth of the matter. Who would believe that I have\nthus, all to no purpose, evaded and escaped from your uncle still a\nmaid? I should be regarded simply as wanton and dissolute, and you would\nbe thought mad. It is well to remember and observe the injunction of St.\nPaul: if any one is unwilling to live chaste, St. Paul counsels him to\nact so that he shall receive no criticism, or blame, or reproach. [238]\nIt is well to stop evil mouths, and therefore, if you agree, I have\na proposal to make: it seems best to me to consent to feign that I am\ndead. I shall fall sick in a little while. And you in the meantime may\nplan some preparations for a place of burial. Put all your wits to work\nto the end that a sepulchre and bier be so constructed that I shall not\ndie in it, or be stifled, and that no one shall mount guard over it at\nnight when you come to take me out. So now seek such a retreat for me,\nwhere no one may see me excepting you; and let no one provide for any\nneed of mine except you, to whom I surrender and give myself. Never, my\nwhole life long, do I wish to be served by other man than you. My lord\nand my servant you shall be; whatever you do shall seem good to me; and\nnever shall I be mistress of any empire unless you are its master. Any\nwretched place, however dark and foul, will seem brighter to me than\nall these halls if you are with me. If I have you where I can see you,\nI shall be mistress of boundless treasure, and the world will belong to\nme. And if the business is carefully managed, no harm will come of it,\nand no one will ever be able to speak ill of it, for it will be believed\nthroughout the empire that I am mouldering in the ground. My maid,\nThessala, who has been my nurse, and in whom I have great confidence,\nwill give me faithful aid, for she is very clever, and I trust her\nfully.\" And Clig\u00e9s, when he heard his sweetheart, replies: \"My lady, if\nthis is feasible, and if you think your nurse's advice reliable, we have\nnothing to do but make our preparations without delay; but if we commit\nany imprudence, we are lost without escape. In this city there is an\nartisan who cuts and carves wonderful images: there is no land where he\nis not known for the figures which he has shapen and carved and made.\nJohn is his name, and he is a serf of mine. No one could cope with\nJohn's best efforts in any art, however varied it might be. For,\ncompared with him, they are all novices, and like a child with nurse.\nBy imitating his handiwork the artisans of Antioch and Rome have learned\nall they know how to do--and besides there is no more loyal man. Now I\nwant to make a test, and if I can put trust in him I will set him and\nall his descendants free; and I shall not fail to tell him of all\nour plan if he will swear and give his word to me that he will aid me\nloyally, and will never divulge my secret.\"\n\n(Vv. 5401-5466.) And she replies: \"So let it be.\" With her permission\nClig\u00e9s left the room and went away. And she sends for Thessala, her\nmaid, whom she brought with her from her native land. Thessala came at\nonce without delay, yet not knowing why she was summoned. When she asked\nFenice privately what was her desire and pleasure, she concealed none\nof her intentions from her. \"Nurse,\" she said, \"I know full well that\nanything I tell you will go no further, for I have tried you thoroughly\nand have found you very prudent. I love you for all you have done\nfor me. In all my troubles I appeal to you without seeking counsel\nelsewhere. You know why I lie awake, and what my thoughts and wishes\nare. My eyes behold only one object which pleases me, but I can have no\npleasure or joy in it if I do not first buy it with a heavy price. For I\nhave now found my peer; and if I love him he loves me in return, and if\nI grieve he grieves too for my pain and sorrow. Now I must acquaint you\nwith a plan and project upon which we two have privately agreed.\" Then\nshe told and explained to her how she was willing to feign illness, and\nwould complain so bitterly that at last she would pretend to be dead,\nand how Clig\u00e9s would steal her away at night, and then they would be\ntogether all their days. She thinks that in no other way she could\nlonger bear to live. But if she was sure that she would consent to lend\nher aid, the matter would be arranged in accordance with their wishes.\n\"But I am tired of waiting for my joy and luck.\" Then her nurse assured\nher that she would help her in every way, telling her to have no further\nfear. She said that as soon as she set to work she would bring it about\nthat there would be no man, upon seeing her, who would not certainly\nbelieve that the soul had left the body after she had drunk of a potion\nwhich would leave her cold, colourless, pale, and stiff, without power\nof speech and deprived of health; yet she would be alive and well, and\nwould have no sensations of any kind, and would be none the worse for a\nday and a night entire spent in the sepulchre and bier. [239]\n\n(Vv. 5467-5554.) When Fenice heard these words, she thus spoke in reply:\n\"Nurse, I commit myself to you, and, with full confidence in you, will\ntake no steps in my own behalf. I am in your hands; so think of my\ninterests, and tell all the people who are here to betake themselves\naway, for I am ill, and they bother me.\" So, like a prudent woman, she\nsaid to them: \"My lords, my lady is not well, and desires you all to\ngo away. You are talking loud and making a noise, and the noise is\ndisagreeable to her. She can get no rest or repose so long as you are in\nthe room. I never remember her to have complained of such a sickness\nas this so violent and serious does it seem. So go away, and don't feel\nhurt.\" As soon as she had issued this command, they all quickly go away.\nAnd Clig\u00e9s sent for John to come quickly, and thus in private spoke to\nhim: \"John, dost thou know what I am about to say? Thou art my slave and\nI thy master, and I can give away or sell thy body like a thing which is\nmy own. But if I could trust thee in an affair I meditate, thou wouldst\ngo for ever free, as well as the heirs which may be born of thee.\" John,\nin his desire for freedom, replies at once: \"My lord, there is nothing\nI would not gladly do to see myself, my wife, and children free. Tell me\nwhat your orders are, for nothing can be so hard as to cause me any\nwork or pain or be hard for me to execute. For that matter, even were\nit against my will, I must needs obey your commands and give up my own\naffairs.\" \"True, John; but this is a matter of which I hardly dare to\nspeak, unless thou wilt assure me upon thy oath thou wilt faithfully\ngive me aid and never betray me.\" \"Willingly, sire,\" John makes reply:\n\"have never a fear on that account! For I will swear and pledge my word\nthat, so long as I live, I will never say a word which I think will\ngrieve you or cause you harm.\" \"Ah John, even were I to die for it,\nthere is no man to whom I would dare mention the matter in which I\ndesire thy counsel; I would rather have my eye plucked out; I would\nrather be put to death by thee than that thou shouldst speak of it to\nanother man. But I hold thee to be so loyal and prudent that I will\nreveal to thee all my thought. I am sure thou wilt observe my wishes,\nboth by aiding me and holding thy peace.\" \"Truly, sire so, help me God!\"\nThen Clig\u00e9s speaks and explains to him openly the adventurous plan.\nAnd when he had revealed the project--as you have heard me set it\nforth--then John said that he would promise to construct the sepulchre\nin accordance with his best skill, and said that he would take him to\nsee a certain house of his which no one yet had ever seen--not even his\nwife or any child of his. This house, which he had built, he would show\nhim, if he cared to go with him to the place where in absolute privacy\nhe works and paints and carves. He would show him the finest and\nprettiest place that he had ever seen. Clig\u00e9s replies: \"Let us go\nthither then.\"\n\n(Vv. 5555-5662.) Below the city, in a remote spot, John had expended\nmuch labour in the construction of a tower. Thither he conducted Clig\u00e9s,\nleading him through the different storeys, which were decorated with\nfine painted pictures. He shows him the rooms and the fire-places,\ntaking him everywhere up and down. Clig\u00e9s examines this lonely house\nwhere no one lives or has access. He passes from one room to another,\nuntil he thinks he has seen it all, and he is much pleased with the\ntower and says he thinks it is very fine. The lady will be comfortable\nthere as long as she lives, for no one will know of her dwelling place.\n\"No sire, you are right; she will never be discovered here. But do you\nthink you have seen all of my tower and fair retreat? There still remain\nrooms so concealed that no man could ever find them out. And if you\nchoose to test the truth of this by investigating as thoroughly as you\ncan, you can never be so shrewd and clever in your search as to find\nanother story here, unless I show you and point it out. You must know\nthat baths are not lacking here, nor anything else which a lady needs,\nand which I can think of or recall. The lady will be here at her ease.\nBelow the level of the ground the tower widens out, as you will see,\nand you cannot anywhere find any entrance-door. The door is made of hard\nstone with such skill and art that you cannot find the crack.\" Clig\u00e9s\nsays: \"These are wonderful things I hear. Lead on and I will follow you,\nfor I am anxious to see all this.\" Then John started on, taking Clig\u00e9s\nby the hand, until he came to a smooth and polished door, all coloured\nand painted over. When John came to the wall, he stopped, holding Clig\u00e9s\nby the right hand. \"Sire,\" he says, \"there is no one who could see a\nwindow or a door in this wall; and do you think that any one could pass\nthrough it without using violence and breaking it down?\" And Clig\u00e9s\nreplies that he does not think so, and that he will never think so,\nunless he sees it first. Then John says that he shall see it at once,\nand that he will open a door in the wall for him. John, who constructed\nthis piece of work, unfastens the door in the wall and opens it for him,\nso that he has to use no strength or violence to force it; then, one\nstepping before the other, they descend by a winding-stair to a vaulted\napartment where John used to do his work, when it pleased him to labour\nat anything. \"Sire,\" he says, \"of all the men God ever made, no one but\nus two has ever been where we are now. And you shall see presently\nhow convenient the place is. My advice is that you choose this as your\nretreat, and that your sweetheart be lodged here. These quarters are\ngood enough for such a guest; for there are bedrooms, and bathrooms\nwith hot water in the tubs, which comes through pipes under the ground.\nWhoever is looking for a comfortable place in which to establish and\nconceal his lady, would have to go a long way before he would find\nanything so charming. When you shall have explored it thoroughly you\nwill find this place very suitable.\" Then John showed him everything,\nfine chambers and painted vaults, pointing out many examples of his\nwork which pleased Clig\u00e9s much. When they had examined the whole tower,\nClig\u00e9s said: \"John, my friend, I set you free and all your descendants,\nand my life is absolutely in your hands. I desire that my sweetheart be\nhere all alone, and that no one shall know of it excepting me and you\nand her.\" John makes answer: \"I thank you, sire. Now we have been here\nlong enough, and as we have nothing more to do, let us return.\" \"That is\nright,\" says Clig\u00e9s, \"let us be gone.\" Then they go away, and leave the\ntower. Upon their return they hear every one in the city saying to\nhis neighbour: \"Don't you know the marvellous news about my lady, the\nempress? May the Holy Spirit give her health--the gentle and prudent\nlady; for she lies sick of a grievous malady.\"\n\n(Vv. 5663-5698.) When Clig\u00e9s heard this talk he went in haste to the\ncourt. But there was no joy or gladness there: for all the people were\nsad and prostrated because of the empress, who is only feigning to be\nill; for the illness of which she complains causes her no grief or pain.\nBut she has told them all that she wishes no one to enter her room so\nlong as her sickness maintains its grip with its accompanying pains in\nher heart and head. She makes an exception, however, in favour of the\nemperor and his nephew, not wishing to place a ban upon them; but she\nwill not care if the emperor, her lord, does not come. For Clig\u00e9s' sake\nshe is compelled to pass through great pain and peril. It distresses\nher that he does not come, for she has no desire to see any one but him.\nClig\u00e9s, however, will soon be there, to tell her of what he has seen and\nfound. He came into the room and spoke to her, but stayed only a moment,\nfor Fenice, in order that they might think she was annoyed by what\npleased her so, cried out aloud: \"Be gone, be gone! You disturb and\nbother me too much, for I am so seriously ill that I shall never rise up\nagain.\" Clig\u00e9s, though pleased with this, goes away with a sad face: you\nwould never see so woeful a countenance. To judge from his appearance he\nis very sad; but within his heart is gay in anticipation of its joy.\n\n(Vv. 5699-5718.) The empress, without being really ill, complains and\npretends that she is sick. And the emperor, who has faith in her, ceases\nnot to grieve, and summons a physician. But she will not allow any one\nto see her or touch her. The emperor may well feel chagrined when she\nsays that she will never have but one doctor, who can easily restore her\nto health whenever it pleases him to do so. He can cause her to die or\nto live, and to him she trusts her health and life. They think that she\nrefers to God; but her meaning is very different, for she is thinking\nof no one but Clig\u00e9s. He is her god who can bring her health, or who can\ncause her death.\n\n(Vv. 5719-5814.) Thus the empress takes care that no physician shall\nexamine her; and more completely to deceive the emperor she refuses to\neat or drink, until she grows all pale and blue. Meanwhile her nurse\nkeeps busy about her, and with great shrewdness sought privily all\nthrough the city, without the knowledge of any one, until she found a\nwoman who was hopelessly ill with a mortal disease. In order to perfect\nher ruse she used to go to see her often and promised to cure her of her\nillness; so each day she used to take a urinal in which to examine the\nurine, until she saw one day that no medicine could ever be of any help,\nand that she would die that very day. This urine Thessala carried off\nand kept until the emperor arose, when she went to him and said: \"If now\nit be your will, my lord, send for all your physicians; for my mistress\nhas passed some water; she is very ill with this disease, and she\ndesires the doctors to see it, but she does not wish them to come where\nshe is.\" The doctors came into the hall and found upon examination that\nthe urine was very bad and colourless, and each one said what he thought\nabout it. Finally, they all agreed that she would never recover, and\nthat she would scarcely live till three o'clock, when, at the latest,\nGod would take her soul to Himself. This conclusion they reached\nprivately, when the emperor asked and conjured them to tell him the\ntruth. They reply that they have no confidence in her recovery, and that\nshe cannot live past three o'clock but will yield up her soul before\nthat time. When the emperor heard this, he almost fell unconscious to\nthe floor, as well as many others who heard the news. Never did any\npeople make such moan as there was then throughout the palace. However,\nI will speak no further of their grief; but you shall hear of Thessala's\nactivities--how she mixes and brews the potion. She mixed and stirred it\nup, for she had provided herself a long time in advance with everything\nwhich she would need for the potion. A little before three o'clock she\ngives her the potion to drink. At once her sight became dimmed, her face\ngrew as pale and white as if she had lost her blood: she could not have\nmoved a foot or hand, if they had flayed her alive, and she does not\nstir or say a word, although she perceives and hears the emperor's grief\nand the cries which fill the hall. The weeping crowds lament through all\nthe city, saying: \"God! what woe and misfortune has been brought upon us\nby wicked death! O covetous and voracious death! Death is worse than a\nshe-wolf which always remains insatiable. Such a cruel bite thou hast\nnever inflicted upon the world! Death, what hast thou done? May God\nconfound thee for having put out the light of perfect beauty! Thou hast\ndone to death the fairest and most lovely creature, had she but lived,\nwhom God has ever sought to form. God's patience surely is too great\nwhen He suffers thee to have the power to break in pieces what belongs\nto Him. Now God ought to be wroth with thee, and cast thee out of thy\nbailiwick; for thy impudence has been too great, as well as thy pride\nand disrespect.\" Thus the people storm about and wring their arms and\nbeat their hands; while the priests read their psalms, making prayers\nfor the good lady, that God may have mercy on her soul.\n\n(Vv. 5815-5904.) [240] In the midst of the tears and cries, as the story\nruns, there arrived aged physicians from Salerno, where they had long\nsojourned. At the sight of the great mourning they stopped to ask and\ninquire the cause of the cries and tears--why all the people are in\nsuch sorrow and distress. And this is the answer they receive: \"God!\ngentlemen, don't you know? The whole world would be beside itself as we\nare, if it but knew of the great sorrow and grief and woe and loss which\nhas come to us this day. God! where have you come from, then, that you\ndo not know what has happened just now in this city? We will tell you\nthe truth, for we wish you to join with us in the grief we feel. Do\nyou not know about grim Death, who desires and covets all things, and\neverywhere lies in wait for what is best, do you not know what mad act\nshe has committed to-day, as it is her wont to do? God has illuminated\nthe world with one great radiance, with one bright light. But Death\ncannot restrain herself from acting as her custom is. Every day, to the\nextent of her power, she blots out the best creature she can find. So\nshe wishes to try her power, and in one body she has carried off more\nexcellence than she has left behind. She would have done better to take\nthe whole world, and leave alive and sound this prey which now she has\ncarried off. Beauty, courtesy, and knowledge, and all that a lady can\npossess of goodness has been taken and filched from us by Death, who\nhas destroyed all goodness in the person of our lady, the empress. Thus\nDeath has deprived us all of life.\" \"Ah, God!\" the doctors say, \"we know\nthat Thou art wroth with this city because we did not reach here sooner.\nIf we had arrived here yesterday, Death might have boasted of her\nstrength if she could wrest her prey from us.\" \"Gentlemen, madame would\nnot have allowed you at any price to see her or to exercise your skill.\nOf good physicians there was no lack, but madame would not permit any\none of them to see her or to investigate her malady.\" \"No?\" \"Truly,\nsirs, that she would not.\" Then they recalled the case of Solomon, who\nwas so hated by his wife that she deceived him by feigning death. [241]\nThey think this woman has done the same. But if they could in any way\nbring about her cure, no one could make them lie or keep them from\nexposing the truth, if they discovered any trickery. So to the court\nthey take their way, where there was such a noise and cry that you could\nnot have heard God's thunder crash. The chief of these three doctors,\nwho knew the most, drew near the bier. No one says to him \"Keep hands\noff,\" and no one tries to hold him back. He places his hand on her\nbreast and side, and surely feels that life is still in the body: he\nperceives and knows that well enough. He sees the emperor standing by,\nmad and tormented by his grief. Seeing him, he calls aloud: \"Emperor,\nconsole thyself! I am sure and plainly see that this lady is not dead.\nLeave off thy grief, and be comforted! If I do not restore her alive to\nthee, thou mayst kill me or string me up.\"\n\n(Vv. 5995-5988.) At once throughout the palace the noise is quieted and\nhushed. And the emperor bade the doctor tell him fully his orders and\nwishes, whatever they might be. If he can restore life in the empress\nhe will be sire and lord over the emperor himself; but if he has in\nany respect lied to him he will be hanged like a common thief. And the\ndoctor said: \"I consent to that, and may you never have mercy upon me\nif I do not cause her to speak to you here! Without tarrying and without\ndelay have the palace cleared at once, and let not a single soul remain.\nI must examine in private the illness which afflicts the lady. These two\ndoctors, who are my friends, will remain with me alone in the room,\nand let every one else go out.\" This order would have been opposed by\nClig\u00e9s, John, and Thessala; but all the others who were there might have\nturned against them if they had tried to oppose his order. So they hold\ntheir peace and approve what they hear approved by the others, and leave\nthe palace. After the three doctors had forcibly tipped apart the lady's\nwinding-sheer, without using any knife or scissors, they said to\nher: \"Lady, don't be frightened, have no fear, but speak to us with\nconfidence! We know well enough that you are perfectly sound and in good\nstate. Be sensible and obliging now, and do not despair of anything,\nfor if you have any need of us we will all three assure you of our aid,\nwhether for good or ill. We shall be very loyal to you, both in keeping\nour counsel and in helping you. Do not keep us talking here! Since\nwe put at your disposal our skill and service, you should surely not\nrefuse.\" Thus they think to hoodwink and deceive her, but they have no\nsuccess; for she has no need or care for the service which they promise\nher; so they are wasting their time in a vain effort. When the three\nphysicians see that they will make nothing out of her either by prayer\nor flattery, then they take her from her bier, and begin to beat and\nbelabour her. But their efforts are foolish, for not a word can they\nextract from her. Then they threaten and try to terrify her by saying\nthat if she does not speak she will soon have reason to repent of her\nfolly, for they are going to do such a wonderful thing to her that such\na thing was never done to the body of any wretched woman. \"We know that\nyou are alive, and will not deign to speak to us. We know that you are\nfeigning death, and would thus deceive the emperor. Have no fear of us!\nIf any of us has angered you, before we do you further harm, cease your\nmad behaviour now, for you are acting wickedly; and we will lend you\nour aid in any enterprise--wise or mad.\" But it cannot be; they have no\nsuccess. Then they renew their attack, striking her with thongs upon the\nback, so that the welts are plainly seen, and they combine to tear her\ntender flesh until they cause the blood to flow.\n\n(Vv. 5989-6050.) When they had beaten her with the thongs until they had\nslashed her flesh, and when the blood is dropping down, as it trickles\nfrom among the wounds, even then their efforts are of no avail to\nextract from her a sigh or word, nor to make her stir or move. Then they\nsay that they must procure fire and lead, which they will melt and lay\nupon her hands, rather than fail in their efforts to make her speak.\nAfter securing a light and some lead they kindle a fire and melt the\nlead. Thus the miserable villains torment and afflict the lady, by\ntaking the lead all boiling hot from the fire and pouring it into the\npalms of her hands. Not satisfied with pouring the lead clean through\nher palms, the cowardly rascals say that, if she does not speak at once\nthey will straightway stretch her on the grate until she is completely\ngrilled. Yet, she holds her peace, and does not refuse to have her body\nbeaten and maltreated by them. Now they were on the point of placing\nher upon the fire to be roasted and grilled when more than a thousand\nladies, who were stationed before the palace, come to the door and\nthrough a little crack catch sight of the torture and anguish which they\nwere inflicting upon the lady, as with coal and flame they accomplished\nher martyrdom. They bring clubs and hammers to smash and break down the\ndoor. Great was the noise and uproar as they battered and broke in the\ndoor. If now they can lay hands on the doctors, the latter will not have\nlong to wait before they receive their full deserts. With a single rush\nthe ladies enter the palace, and in the press is Thessala, who has no\nother aim than to reach her mistress. Beside the fire she finds her\nstripped, severely wounded and injured. She puts her back in the bier\nagain, and over her she spreads a cloth, while the ladies go to give\ntheir reward to the three doctors, without wishing to wait for the\nemperor or his seneschal. Out of the windows they threw them down into\nthe court-yard, breaking the necks, ribs, arms, and legs of all: no\nbetter piece of work was ever done by any ladies.\n\n(Vv. 6051-6162.) Now the three doctors have received their gruesome\nreward at the hands of the ladies. But Clig\u00e9s is terror-stricken and\nfilled with grief upon hearing of the pain and martyrdom which his\nsweetheart has endured for him. He is almost beside himself, fearing\ngreatly, and with good reason, that she may be dead or badly injured by\nthe torture inflicted upon her by the three physicians who now are dead.\nSo he is in despair and despondency when Thessala comes, bringing with\nher a very precious ointment with which she has already gently rubbed\nthe body and wounds of her mistress. When they laid her back in her bier\nthe ladies wrapped her again in a cloth of Syrian stuff, leaving her\nface uncovered. All that night there is no abatement of the cries they\nraise unceasingly. Throughout the city, high and low, poor and rich, are\nbeside themselves with grief, and it seems as if each one boasts that he\nwill outdo all others in his woe, and would fain never be comforted. All\nthat night the grief continues. The next morning John came to the court;\nand the emperor sends for him and issues to him this command: \"John, if\never thou wroughtest a fine piece of work, now put forth and show all\nthy skill in constructing such a sepulchre as for beauty and workmanship\nshall have no match.\" And John, who had already performed the task,\nsays that he has already completed one which is very fine and cleverly\nwrought; but when he began the work he had no thought that other than a\nholy body should be laid in it. \"Now let the empress be laid in it and\nburied in some sacred place, for she, I think, is sanctified.\" \"You have\nspoken well,\" says the emperor; \"she shall be buried yonder in my lord\nSaint Peter's Church, where bodies are wont to be interred. For before\nher death she made this request of me, that I should have her buried\nthere. Now go about your task, and place your sepulchre in the best\nposition in the cemetery, where it ought rightfully to be.\" John\nreplies: \"Very well, my lord.\" John at once takes his leave, and\nprepares the sepulchre with great skill; a feather-bed he placed inside,\nbecause the stone was hard and cold; and in order that the odour may\nbe sweet, he spreads flowers and leaves about. Another reason for doing\nthis was that no one might perceive the mattress he had laid within\nthe grave. Already Mass had been said for the dead in the churches and\nparishes, and the bells were tolling continuously as is proper for the\ndead. Orders are given to bring the body to be laid in the sepulchre,\nwhich John with all his skill has constructed so richly and handsomely.\nIn all Constantinople none remains, whether small or great, who does\nnot follow the body in tears, cursing and reproaching Death. Knights and\nyouths alike grow faint, while the ladies and damsels beat their breasts\nas they thus find fault with Death: \"O Death,\" cries each, \"why didst\nthou not take ransom for my lady? Surely, thy gain was slight enough,\nwhereas the loss to us is great.\" And in this grief Clig\u00e9s surely bears\nhis part, as he suffers and laments more than all the others do, and it\nis strange he does not kill himself. But still he decides to put this\noff until the hour and the time shall come for him to disinter her and\nget possession of her and see whether she be alive or not. Over the\ngave stand the men who let down the body into its place; but, with John\nthere, they do not meddle with the adjustment of the sarcophagus, and\nsince they were so prostrated that they could not see, John had plenty\nof time to perform his special task. When the coffin was in its place,\nand nothing else was in the grave, he sealed up tightly all the joints.\nWhen this was done, any one would have been skilful who, except by\nforce or violence, could take away or loosen anything which John had put\ninside.\n\n(Vv. 6163-6316.) Fenice lies in the sepulchre until the darkness of\nnight came on. But thirty knights mount guard over her, and there\nare ten tapers burning there, which light up the place all about. The\nknights were weary and exhausted by the strain they had undergone; so\nthey ate and drank that night until they all fell sound asleep. When\nnight came on, Clig\u00e9s steals away from the court and from all his\nfollowers, so that there was not a single knight or servant who knew\nwhat had become of him. He did not stop until he found John, who advises\nhim as best he can. He furnishes him with arms, but he will never\nhave any need of them. Once armed, they both spur to the cemetery. The\ncemetery was enclosed all about with a high wall, so that the knights,\nwho had gone asleep after making the gate fast within, could rest\nassured that no one would enter there. Clig\u00e9s does not see how he can\nget in, for there is no passing through the gate. And yet, somehow he\nmust pass through, for love bids him and drives him on. He tries the\nwall and climbs up, being strong and agile. Inside was a garden planted\nwith trees, one of which stood so near the wall that it touched it. Now\nClig\u00e9s had what he needed, and after letting himself down by the tree,\nthe first thing he did was to go to open the gate for John. Seeing the\nknights asleep, they extinguished all the lights, so that the place\nremained in darkness. And John now uncovers the grave and opens the\ncoffin, taking care to do it no harm. Clig\u00e9s steps into the grave and\nlifts out his Sweetheart, all weak and prostrate, whom he fondles,\nkisses, and embraces. He does not know whether to rejoice or regret that\nshe does not stir or move. And John, as quickly as he could, closed\nup the sepulchre again, so that it was not apparent that any one had\ntampered with it. Then they betook themselves as fast as they could to\nthe tower. When they had set her in the tower, in the rooms which were\nbeneath the level of the ground, they took off her grave clothes; and\nClig\u00e9s, who knew nothing of the potion which she had taken, which made\nher dumb and kept her motionless, thinks that she is dead, and is in\ndespair with anxiety as he heavily sighs and weeps. But soon the time\nwill come for the potion to lose its force. And Fenice, who hears his\ngrief, struggles and strives for strength to comfort him by word or\nglance. Her heart almost bursts because of the sorrow which he shows.\n\"Ah Death!\" he says, \"how mean thou art, to spare and reprieve all\nthings despicable and vile--to let them live on and endure. Death! art\nthou beside thyself or drunk, who hast killed my lady without me? This\nis a marvellous thing I see: my lady is dead, and I still live on! Ah,\nprecious one, why does your lover live to see you dead? One now could\nrightly say that you have died in my service, and that it is I who\nhave killed and murdered you. Sweetheart, then I am the death that has\nsmitten you. Is not that wrong? For it is my own life I have lost in\nyou, and have preserved your life in me. For did not your health and\nlife belong to me, sweet one? And did not mine belong to you? For I\nloved nothing excepting you, and our double existence was as one. So now\nI have done what was right in keeping your soul in my body while mine\nhas escaped from your body, and one ought to go to seek the company of\nthe other, wherever it may be, and nothing ought to separate them.\" At\nthis she heaves a gentle sigh and whispers faintly: \"Lover mine, I am\nnot altogether dead, but very near it. I value my life but little now. I\nthought it a jest and a mere pretence; but now I am indeed to be pitied,\nfor death has not treated this as a jest. It will be a marvel if I\nescape alive. For the doctors have seriously wounded me, and broken my\nflesh and disfigured me. And yet, if it was possible for my nurse to\ncome here, and if efforts were of any avail, she would restore me to\nhealth again.\" \"Do not worry, dear, about that,\" says Clig\u00e9s, \"for this\nvery night I will bring her here.\" \"Dear, let John go for her now.\" So\nJohn departed and looked for her until he found her, and told her how\nhe wished her to come along and to let no other cause detain her; for\nFenice and Clig\u00e9s have sent for her to come to a tower where they are\nawaiting her; and that Fenice is in a grievous state, so that she must\ncome provided with ointments and remedies, and to bear in mind that\nshe will not live long, if she does not quickly come to bear her aid.\nThessala runs at once and, taking ointments, plaster, and remedies which\nshe has prepared, she meets John again. Secretly they go out from the\ncity, until they come straight to the tower. When Fenice sees her nurse,\nshe feels already cured, because of the loving faith and trust she\nplaces in her. And Clig\u00e9s greets her affectionately, and says: \"Welcome,\nnurse, whom I love and prize. Nurse, for God's sake, what do you think\nof this young lady's malady? What is your opinion? Will she recover?\"\n\"Yes, my lord, have no fear but that I shall restore her completely.\nA fortnight will not pass before I make her so well that she was never\nbefore so lively and strong.\"\n\n(Vv. 6317-6346.) While Thessala is busy with her remedies, John goes to\nprovide the tower with everything that is necessary. Clig\u00e9s goes to the\ntower and comes away bravely and openly, for he has lodged a moulting\nfalcon there, and he says that he goes to visit it; thus no one can\nguess that he goes there for any other reason than for the falcon. He\nmakes long stays there night and day. He orders John to guard the tower,\nso that no one shall enter against his will. Fenice now has no further\ncause to complain, for Thessala has completely cured her. If Clig\u00e9s were\nDuke of Almeria, Morocco, or Tudela, he would not consider it all worth\na holly-berry compared with the joy which he now feels. Certainly Love\ndid not debase itself when it joined these two, for it seems to them,\nwhen they embrace and kiss each other, that all the world must be better\nfor their joy and happiness. Now ask me no more of this, for one can\nhave no wish in which the other does not acquiesce. Thus they have but\none desire, as if they two themselves were one.\n\n(Vv. 6347-6392.) Fenice was in the tower, I believe, all that year and\nfull two months of the next, until summer came again. When the trees\nbring forth their flowers and leaves, and the little birds rejoice,\nsinging gaily their litanies, it came about that Fenice one morning\nheard the song of the nightingale. Clig\u00e9s was holding her tightly\nclasped with his arms about her waist and neck, and she held him in a\nlike embrace, as she said: \"Dear fair lover mine. A garden would do me\ngood, in which I could disport myself. For more than fifteen months I\nhave not seen the light of moon or sun. If possible, I would fain go out\nyonder into the daylight, for here in this tower I am confined. If there\nwas a garden near, where I could go and amuse myself, it would often do\nme good.\" Then Clig\u00e9s promises her to consult with John about it as soon\nas he can see him. At that very moment John came in, as he was often\nwont to do, and Clig\u00e9s spoke to him of what Fenice desired. John\nreplies: \"All that she asks for is already provided and supplied. This\ntower is well equipped with what she wishes and requires.\" Then Fenice\nwas very glad, and asked John to take her there, which he said he\nwould very gladly do. Then John goes and opens a door, constructed in\na fashion which I cannot properly describe. No one but John could have\nmade it, and no one could have asserted that there was any door or\nwindow there--so perfectly was it concealed.\n\n(Vv. 6393-6424.) When Fenice saw the door open, and the sun come\nstreaming in, as she had not seen it for many a day, her heart beat high\nwith joy; she said that now there was nothing lacking, since she could\nleave her dungeon-tower, and that she wished for no other lodging-place.\nShe passed out through the door into the garden, with its pleasures and\ndelights. In the middle of the garden stood a grafted tree loaded with\nblooming flowers and leaves, and with a wide-spreading top. The branches\nof it were so trained that they all hung downwards until they almost\ntouched the ground; the main trunk, however, from which they sprang,\nrose straight into the air. Fenice desires no other place. Beneath the\ntree the turf is very pleasant and fine, and at noon, when it is hot,\nthe sun will never be high enough for its rays to penetrate there. John\nhad shown his skill in arranging and training the branches thus. There\nFenice goes to enjoy herself, where they set up a bed for her by day.\nThere they taste of joy and delight. And the garden is enclosed about\nwith a high wall connected with the tower, so that nothing can enter\nthere without first passing through the tower.\n\n(Vv. 6425-6586.) Fenice now is very happy: there is nothing to cause her\ndispleasure, and nothing is lacking which she desires, when her lover is\nat liberty to embrace her beneath the blossoms and the leaves. [242]\nAt the season when people take the sparrow-hawk and setter and hunt the\nlark and brown-thrush or stalk the quail and partridge, it chanced that\na knight of Thrace, who was young and alert and inclined to knightly\nsport, came one day close by the tower in his search for game. The hawk\nof Bertrand (for such was his name) having missed a lark, had flown\naway, and Bertrand thought how great his loss would be if he should lose\nhis hunting-bird. When he saw it come down and light in a garden beneath\nthe tower he was glad, for he thought he could not lose it now. At once\nhe goes and clambers up the wall until he succeeds in getting over it,\nwhen beneath the tree he sees Fenice and Clig\u00e9s lying asleep and naked\nin close embrace. \"God!\" said he, \"what has happened to me now? What\nmarvel is this I see? Is that not Clig\u00e9s? It surely is. Is not that the\nempress with him there? Nay, but it looks like her. Never did one thing\nso resemble another. Her nose, her mouth, and brow are like those of\nmy lady the empress. Never did Nature make two creatures of such\nsimilitude. There is no feature in this woman here which I have not seen\nin my lady. If she were alive, I should say that it was certainly she\nherself.\" Just then a pear falls down and strikes close by Fenice's ear.\nShe jumps and awakes and, seeing Bertrand, cries out aloud: \"My dear, my\ndear, we are lost. Yonder is Bertrand. If he escapes you, we are caught\nin a bad trap, for he will tell that he has seen us.\" Then Bertrand\nrealised that it was the empress beyond any doubt. He sees the necessity\nof leaving at once, for Clig\u00e9s had brought with him his sword into\nthe garden, and had laid it down beside the bed. He jumped up now and\ngrasped his sword, while Bertrand hastily took his leave. As fast as he\ncould he scaled the wall, and was almost safely over when Clig\u00e9s coming\nafter him raised his sword and struck him with such violence that he\nsevered his leg below the knee, as if it had been a fennel stalk. In\nspite of this, Bertrand got away, though badly wounded and maimed.\nBeside themselves with grief and wrath at the sight of his sorry state,\nhis men on the other side picked him up, and insistently inquired who it\nwas who had used him thus. \"Don't speak to me now,\" he says, \"but help\nme to mount my horse. No mention shall be made of this excepting to the\nemperor. He who thus has treated me must be, and doubtless is, in great\nterror; for he is in great danger of his life.\" Then they set him upon\nhis palfrey and lead him through the city, sorely grieved in their\nfright the while. After them more than twenty thousand others come,\nfollowing them to the court. And all the people run together, each\nstriving to be there first. Bertrand made his complaint aloud, in the\nhearing of all, to the emperor: but they took him for an idle chatterer\nwhen he said that he had seen the empress all exposed. The city is in\na ferment of excitement: some regard the news they hear as simple\nnonsense, others advise and urge the emperor to visit the tower himself.\nGreat is the noise and confusion of the people who prepare to accompany\nhim. But they find nothing in the tower, for Fenice and Clig\u00e9s make\ntheir escape, taking with them Thessala, who comforts them and declares\nto them that, if perchance they see people coming after them to arrest\nthem, they need have no fear; that they would never approach to do them\nharm within the range of a strong cross-bow. And the emperor within the\ntower has John sought for and brought. He orders him to be bound and\ntied saying that he will have him hanged or burnt, and will have his\nashes scattered wide. He shall receive his due reward for the shame he\nhas caused the emperor; but this reward will not be agreeable, because\nJohn has hidden in the tower his nephew with his wife. \"Upon my word,\nyou tell the truth,\" says John; \"I will not lie, but will go still\nfurther and declare the truth, and if I have done any wrong it is right\nthat I should be seized. But I offer this as my excuse: that a servant\nought to refuse nothing when his lawful lord commands. Now, every one\nknows forsooth that I am his, and this tower is too.\" \"It is not, John.\nRather is it thine.\" \"Mine, sire? Yes, after him: but neither do I\nbelong to myself, nor have I anything which is mine, except what he\npleased to bestow on me. And if you should think to say that my lord\nis guilty of having done you wrong, I am ready to take up his defence\nwithout any command from him. But I feel emboldened to proclaim openly\nwhat is on my mind, just as I have thought it out, for I know full well\nthat I must die. So I will speak regardless of results. For if I die\nfor my lord's sake, I shall not die an ignoble death, for the facts\nare generally known about that oath and pledge which you gave to your\nbrother, that after you Clig\u00e9s should be emperor, who now is banished as\na wanderer. But if God will, he shall yet be emperor! Hence you are open\nto reproach, for you ought not to have taken a wife; yet you married her\nand did Clig\u00e9s a wrong, and he has done you no wrong at all. And if I am\npunished with death by you, and if I die wrongfully for his sake, and\nif he is still alive, he will avenge my death on you. Now go and do the\nbest you can, for if I die you shall also die.\"\n\n(Vv. 6587-6630.) The emperor trembles with wrath upon hearing the\nmocking words addressed to him by John. \"John,\" he says, \"thou shalt\nhave so much respite, until we find thy lord, who has done such wrong\nto me, though I loved him dearly and had no thought of defrauding him.\nMeanwhile, thou shalt stay in prison. If thou knowest what has become of\nhim, tell me at once, I order thee.\" \"I tell you? How can I commit such\ntreachery? Were the life to be drawn from my body I would not reveal my\nlord to you, even if I knew his whereabouts. As a matter of fact, I do\nnot know any more than you where they have gone, so help me God! But\nthere is no need for your jealousy. I do not so much fear your wrath\nthat I should not say, so that all can hear, how you have been deceived,\neven my words are not believed. You were deceived and tricked by potion\nyou drank on your wedding night. Unless it happened in dream, when you\nwere asleep, you have never had your pleasure with her; but the night\nmade you dream, and the dream gave you as much satisfaction as if it had\nhappened in your waking hours that she had held you in her arms: that\nwas the sum of your satisfaction. Her heart was so devoted to Clig\u00e9s\nthat she feigned death for his sake; and he had such confidence in me\nthat he explained it all to me and established her in my house, which\nrightfully belongs to him. You ought not to find fault with me. I ought,\nindeed, to be burnt or hanged, were I to betray my lord or refuse to do\nhis will.\"\n\n(Vv. 6631-6784.) When the emperor's attention is recalled to the potion\nwhich he had been pleased to drink, and with which Thessala had deceived\nhim, then he realised for the first time that he had never had pleasure\nwith his wife, unless it had happened in a dream: thus it was but an\nillusory joy. And he says that if he does not take vengeance for the\nshame and disgrace inflicted upon him by the traitor who has seduced\nhis wife, he will never again be happy. \"Now quick!\" he says, \"as far as\nPavia, and from here to Germany, let no castle, town, or city remain in\nwhich search is not made. I will hold that man above all others dear who\nwill bring to me captive the two of them. Now up and down, near and far,\ngo diligently and search!\" Then they started out with zeal and spent all\nthat day in the search. But in the number Clig\u00e9s had some friends, who,\nif they found them, would have led them to some hiding-place rather than\nhale them back again. All that fortnight they exhausted themselves in a\nfruitless search. For Thessala, who is acting as their guide, conducts\nthem by her arts and charms in such security that they feel no dread or\nfear of all the strength of the emperor. They seek repose in no town\nor city; yet they have all they wish or desire, even more so than is\nusually the case. For all they need is procured for them by Thessala,\nwho searches and scours and purveys for them. Nor is there any who hunts\nthem now, for all have returned to their homes again. Meanwhile Clig\u00e9s\nis not idle, but starts to find his uncle, King Arthur. He continued\nhis search until he found him, and to him he made his claim and protest\nabout his uncle, the emperor, who, in order to disinherit him, had\ndisloyally taken a wife, which it was not right for him to do; for he\nhad sworn to his father that he would never marry in his life. And the\nKing says that with a fleet he will proceed to Constantinople, and that\nhe will fill a thousand ships with knights, and three thousand more with\nmen-at-arms, until no city or burg, town or castle, however strong or\nhowever high, will be able to withstand their assault. Then Clig\u00e9s did\nnot forget to thank the King for the aid he offered him. The King sends\nout to seek and summon all the high barons of the land, and causes to be\nrequisitioned and equipped ships, war vessels, boats, and barks. He has\na hundred ships loaded and filled with shields, lances, bucklers, and\narmour fit for knights. The King makes such great preparations for\nthe war that never did Caesar or Alexander make the like. He orders to\nassemble at his summons all England, and all Flanders, Normandy, France,\nand Brittany, and all the men as far as the Pyrenees. [243] Already they\nwere about to set sail, when messengers arrived from Greece who delayed\nthe embarkation and kept the King and his people back. Among the\nmessengers who came was John, that trusty man, for he would never be a\nwitness or messenger of any news which was not true, and which he did\nnot know for a certainty. The messengers were high born men of Greece,\nwho came in search for Clig\u00e9s. They made inquiry and asked for him,\nuntil they found him at the King's court, when they said to him: \"God\nsave you, sire! Greece is made over to you, and Constantinople is given\nto you by all those of your empire, because of the right you have to\nthem. Your uncle (but you know it not) is dead of the grief he felt\nbecause he could not discover you. His grief was such that he lost\nhis mind; he would neither drink nor eat, but died like a man beside\nhimself. Fair sire, now come back again! For all your lords have sent\nfor you. Greatly they desire and long for you, wishing to make you their\nemperor.\" Some there were that rejoiced at this; and others there were\nwho would have gladly seen their guests elsewhere, and the fleet make\nsail for Greece. But the expedition is given up, and the King dismisses\nhis men, and the hosts depart to their homes again. And Clig\u00e9s hurriedly\nmakes haste in his desire to return to Greece. He has no wish to tarry.\nHis preparations made, he took his leave of the King, and then of all\nhis friends, and taking Fenice with him, he goes away. They travel until\nthey arrive in Greece, where they receive him with the jubilation\nwhich they ought to show to their rightful lord, and they give him\nhis sweetheart to be his wife. Both of them are crowned at once. His\nmistress he has made his wife, but he still calls her his mistress and\nsweetheart, and she can complain of no loss of affection, for he loves\nher still as his mistress, and she loves him, too, as a lady ought to\nlove her lover. And each day saw their love grow stronger: he never\ndoubted her, nor did she blame him for anything. She was never kept\nconfined, as so many women have been who have lived since her time. For\nnever since has there been an emperor who did not stand in fear of his\nwife, lest he should be deceived by her, upon his hearing the story of\nhow Fenice deceived Alis, first with the potion which he drank, and then\nlater by that other ruse. Therefore, every empress, however rich and\nnoble she may be, is guarded in Constantinople as in a prison, for the\nemperor has no confidence in her when he remembers the story of Fenice.\nHe keeps her constantly guarded in her room, nor is there ever allowed\nany man in her presence, unless he be a eunuch from his youth; in the\ncase of such there is no fear or doubt that Love will ensnare them in\nhis bonds. Here ends the work of Chr\u00e9tien. [244]\n\n\n\n----Endnotes: Clig\u00e9s\n\nEndnotes supplied by Prof. Foerster are indicated by \"(F.)\"; all other\nendnotes are supplied by W.W. Comfort.\n\n\n[Footnote 21: There is no English version corresponding to the old\nFrench \"Clig\u00e9s\". The English metrical romance \"Sir Cleges\" has nothing\nto do with the French romance.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Ovid in \"Metamorphosis\", vi. 404, relates how Tantalus at\na feast to the gods offered them the shoulder of his own son. It is not\ncertain, however, that Chr\u00e9tien is referring here to this slight episode\nof the \"Metamorphosis\".]\n\n[Footnote 23: This allusion is generally taken as evidence that the poet\nhad written previously of the love of Tristan and Iseut. Gaston Paris,\nhowever, in one of his last utterances (\"Journal des Savants\", 1902,\np. 297), says: \"Je n'hesite pas a dire que l'existence d'un poeme sur\nTristan par Chr\u00e9tien de Troies, a laquelle j'ai cru comme presque tout\nle monde, me parait aujourd'hui fort peu probable; j'en vais donner les\nraisons.\"]\n\n[Footnote 24: The story of Philomela or Philomena, familiar in Chaucer's\n\"Legende of Good Women\", is told by Ovid in \"Metamorphosis\", vi.\n426-674. Cretiens li Gois is cited by the author of the \"Ovide moralise\"\nas the author of the episode of Philomena incorporated in his long\ndidactic poem. This episode has been ascribed to Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes by\nmany recent critics, and has been separately edited by C. de Boer, who\noffers in his Introduction a lengthy discussion of its authorship. See\nC. de Boer, \"Philomena, conte raconte d'apres Ovide par Chr\u00e9tien de\nTroyes\" (Paris, 1909).]\n\n[Footnote 25: The present cathedral of Beauvais is dedicated to St.\nPeter, and its construction was begun in 1227. The earlier structure\nhere referred to, destroyed in 1118, probably was also dedicated to the\nsame saint. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 26: The real kernal of the Clig\u00e9s story, stripped of its\nlengthy introduction concerning Alexandre and Soredamors, is told in a\nfew lines in \"Marques de Rome\", p. 135 (ed. J. Alton in \"Lit. Verein in\nStuttgart\", No. 187, Tubingen, 1889), as one of the tales or \"exempla\"\nrecounted by the Empress of Rome to the Emperor and the Seven Sages. No\nnames are given except that of Clig\u00e9s himself; the version owes nothing\nto Chr\u00e9tien's poem, and seems to rest upon a story which the author may\nhave heard orally. See Foerster's \"Einleitung to Clig\u00e9s\" (1910), p. 32\nf.]\n\n[Footnote 27: This criticism of ignoble leisure on the part of a warrior\nis found also in \"Erec et Enide\" and \"Yvain\".]\n\n[Footnote 28: This allegorical tribute to \"largesse\" is quite in the\nspirit of the age. When professional poets lived upon the bounty of\ntheir patrons, it is not strange that their poetry should dwell upon the\nimportance of generosity in their heroes. For an exhaustive collection\nof \"chastisements\" or \"enseignements\", such as that here given to\nAlexandre by his father, see Eugen Altner, \"Ueber die chastiements in\nden altfranzosischen chansons de geste\" (Leipzig, 1885).]\n\n[Footnote 29: As Miss Weston has remarked (\"The Three Days' Tournament\",\np. 45), the peculiar georgraphy of this poem \"is distinctly Anglo-Norman\nrather than Arthurian\".]\n\n[Footnote 210: For this intimate relation between heroes, so common\nin the old French heroic and romantic poems, see Jacques Flach, \"Le\ncompagnonnage dans les chansons de geste\" in \"Etudes romances dediees a\nGaston Paris\" (Paris, 1891). Reviewed in \"Romania\", xxii. 145.]\n\n[Footnote 211: Here begins one of those long dialogues, where one person\nis represented as taking both sides of an argument. This rhetorical\ndevice, so wearisome to modern readers, is used by Chr\u00e9tien preferably\nwhen some sentiment or deep emotion is to be portrayed. Ovid may well\nhave suggested the device, but Ovid never abuses it as does the more\nprolix mediaeval poet. For the part playing by the eyes in mediaeval\nlove sophistry, see J.F. Hanford, \"The Debate of Heart and Eye\" in\n\"Modern Language Notes\", xxvi. 161-165; and H.R. Lang, \"The Eyes as\nGenerators of Love.\" id. xxiii. 126-127.]\n\n[Footnote 212: For play upon words and for fanciful derivation of proper\nnames in mediaeval romance literature, see the interesting article\nof Adolf Tobler in \"Vermischte Beitrage\", ii. 211-266. Gaston Paris\n(\"Journal des Savants\", 1902, p. 354) points out that Thomas used the\nsame scene and the play upon the same words \"mer\", \"amer\", and \"amers\"\nin his \"Tristan\" and was later imitated by Gottfried von Strassburg.]\n\n[Footnote 213: According to the 12th century troubadours, the shafts of\nLove entered the victim's body through the eyes, and thence pierced the\nheart.]\n\n[Footnote 214: For fanciful derivation of proper names, cf. A. Tobler,\n\"Vermischte Beitrage\", ii. 211-266.]\n\n[Footnote 215: Ganelon, the traitor in the \"Chanson de Roland\", to\nwhose charge is laid the defeat of Charlemagne's rear-guard at Ronceval,\nbecame the arch-traitor of mediaeval literature. It will be recalled\nthat Dante places him in the lowest pit of Hell (\"Inferno\", xxxii. 122).\n(NOTE: There is a slight time discrepance here. Roland, Ganelon, and the\nBattle of Ronceval were said to have happened in 8th Century A.D., fully\n300 years after Arthur and the Round Table.--DBK).]\n\n[Footnote 216: For the ceremonies attendant upon the conferring of\nknighthood, see Karl Treis, \"Die Formalitaten des Ritterschlags in der\naltfranzosischen Epik\" (Berlin, 1887).]\n\n[Footnote 217: The \"quintainne\" was \"a manikin mounted on a pivot and\narmed with a club in such a way that, when a man struck it unskilfully\nwith his lance, it turned and landed a blow upon his back\" (Larousse).]\n\n[Footnote 218: This conventional attitude of one engaged in thought or\na prey to sadness has been referred to by G.L. Hamilton in \"Ztsch fur\nromanische Philologie\", xxxiv. 571-572.]\n\n[Footnote 219: Many traitors in old French literature suffered the same\npunishments as Ganelon, and were drawn asunder by horses (\"Roland\",\n3960-74).]\n\n[Footnote 220: The same rare words \"galerne\" and \"posterne\" occur in\nrhyme in the \"Roman de Thebes\", 1471-72.]\n\n[Footnote 221: This qualified praise is often used in speaking of\ntraitors and of Saracens.]\n\n[Footnote 222: The failure to identify the warriors is due to the fact\nthat the knights are totally encased in armour.]\n\n[Footnote 223: A reference to the \"Roman de Thebes\", 1160 circ.]\n\n[Footnote 224: The disregard of Alis for his nephew Clig\u00e9s is similar to\nthat of King Mark for Tristan in another legend. In the latter, however,\nTristan joins with the other courtiers in advising his uncle to marry,\nthough he himself had been chosen heir to the throne by Mark. cf. J.\nBedier, \"Le Roman de Tristan\", 2 vols. (Paris, 1902), i. 63 f.]\n\n[Footnote 225: See Endnote #14 above.]\n\n[Footnote 226: Cf. Shakespeare, \"Othello\", ii. I, where Cassio, speaking\nof Othello's marriage with Desdemona, says: \"he hath achieved a maid\nThat paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of\nblazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the\nenginer.\"]\n\n[Footnote 227: Ovid (\"Metamorphosis\", iii. 339-510) is Chr\u00e9tien's\nauthority.]\n\n[Footnote 228: Cf. L. Sudre, \"Les allusions a la legende de Tristan dans\nla litterature du moyen age\", \"Romania\", xv. 435 f. Tristan was famed as\na hunter, fencer, wrestler, and harpist.]\n\n[Footnote 229: \"The word 'Thessala' was a common one in Latin, as\nmeaning 'enchantress', 'sorceress', 'witch', as Pliny himself tells\nus, adding that the art of enchantment was not, however, indigenous to\nThessaly, but came originally from Persia.\" (\"Natural History\", xxx.\n2).--D.B. Easter, \"Magic Elements in the romans d'aventure and the\nromans bretons, p. 7. (Baltimore, 1906). A Jeanroy in \"Romania\", xxxiii.\n420 note, says: \"Quant au nom de Thessala, il doit venir de Lucain, tres\nlu dans les ecoles au XIIe siecle.\" See also G. Paris in \"Journal des\nSavants\", 1902, p. 441 note. Thessala is mentioned in the \"Roman de la\nVioletta\", v. 514, in company with Brangien of the Tristan legend.]\n\n[Footnote 230: Medea, the wife of Jason, is the great sorceress of\nclassic legend.]\n\n[Footnote 231: This personage was regarded in the Middle Ages as an\nEmperor of Rome. In the 13th-century poem of \"Octavian\" (ed. Vollmuller,\nHeilbronn, 1883) he is represented as a contemporary of King Dagobert!]\n\n[Footnote 232: This commonplace remark is quoted as a proverb of the\nrustic in \"Ipomedon\", 1671-72; id., 10, 348-51; \"Roman de Mahomet\",\n1587-88; \"Roman de Renart\", vi. 85-86; Gower's \"Mirour de l'omme\", 28,\n599, etc.]\n\n[Footnote 233: It is curious to note that Corneille puts almost\nidentical words in the mouth of Don Gomes as he addresses the Cid (\"Le\nCid\", ii. 2).]\n\n[Footnote 234: For this tournament and its parallels in folk-lore,\nsee Miss J.L. Weston, \"The Three Days' Tournament\" (London, 1902). She\nargues (p. 14 f. and p. 43 f.) against Foerster's unqualified opinion of\nthe originality of Chr\u00e9tien in his use of this current description of\na tournament, an opinion set forth in his \"Einleitung to Lancelot\", pp.\n43, 126, 128, 138.]\n\n[Footnote 235: Note that Chr\u00e9tien here deliberately avoids such a list\nof knights as he introduces in \"Erec\". (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 236: It must be admitted that the text, which is offered\nby all but one MS., is here unintelligible. The reference, if any be\nintended, is not clear. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 237: Much has been made of this expression as intimating that\nChr\u00e9tien wrote \"Clig\u00e9s\" as a sort of disavowal of the immorality of\nhis lost \"Tristan\". Cf. Foerster, \"Clig\u00e9s\" (Ed. 1910), p. xxxix f., and\nMyrrha Borodine, \"La femme et l'amour au XXIe Seicle d'apres les poemes\nde Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes\" (Paris, 1909). G. Paris has ably defended another\ninterpretation of the references in \"Clig\u00e9s\" to the Tristan legend in\n\"Journal des Savants\", 1902, p. 442 f.]\n\n[Footnote 238: This curious moral teaching appears to be a perversion\nof three passages form St. Paul's Epistles: I Cor. vii. 9, I Cor. x. 32,\nEph. v. 15. Cf. H. Emecke, \"Chr\u00e9tien von Troyes als Personlichkeit und\nals Dichter\" (Wurzburg, 1892).]\n\n[Footnote 239: \"This feature of a woman who, thanks to some charm,\npreserves her virginity with a husband whom she does not love, is found\nnot only in widespread stories, but in several French epic poems. In\nonly one, \"Les Enfances Guillaume\", does the husband, like Alis, remain\nignorant of the fraud of which he is the victim, and think that he\nreally possesses the woman.... If Chr\u00e9tien alone gave to the charm\nof the form of a potion, it is in imitation of the love potion in\n\"Tristan\". (G. Paris in \"Journal des Savants\", 1902, p. 446). For\nmany other references to the effect of herb potions, cf. A. Hertel,\n\"Verzauberte Oerlichkeiten und Gegenstande in der altfranzosische\nerzahlende Dichtung\", p. 41 ff. (Hanover, 1908).]\n\n[Footnote 240: I have pointed out the curious parallel between the\nfollowing passage and Dante's \"Vita Nova\", 41 (\"Romantic Review\", ii.\n2). There is no certain evidence that Dante knew Chr\u00e9tien's work (cf. A.\nFarinelli, \"Dante e la Francia\", vol. i., p. 16 note), but it would be\nstrange if he did not know such a distinguished predecessor.]\n\n[Footnote 241: For the legend of Solomon deceived by his wife, see\nFoerster \"Clig\u00e9s\" (ed. 1910), p. xxxii. f., and G. Paris in \"Romania\",\nix. 436-443, and in \"Journal des Savants\", 1902, p. 645 f. For an\nadditional reference, add \"Ipomedon\", 9103.]\n\n[Footnote 242: For an imitation of the following scene, see Hans Herzog\nin \"Germania\", xxxi. 325.]\n\n[Footnote 243: \"Porz d'Espaingne\" refers to the passes in the Pyrenees\nwhich formed the entrance-ways to Spain. Cf. The \"Cilician Gates\" in\nXenophon's \"Anabasis\".]\n\n[Footnote 244: Chr\u00e9tien here insists upon his divergence from the\nfamous dictum attributed to the Countess Marie de Champagne by Andre le\nChapelain: \"Praeceptum tradit amoris, quod nulla etiam coniugata regis\npoterit amoris praemio coronari, nisi extra coniugii foedera ipsius\namoris militae cernatur adiuneta\". (Andreae Capellini, \"De Amore\", p.\n154; Ed. Trojel, Havniae, 1892).\n\n\n\n\n\nYVAIN\n\nor, The Knight with the Lion\n\n(Vv. 1-174.) Arthur, the good King of Britain, whose prowess teaches us\nthat we, too, should be brave and courteous, held a rich and royal\ncourt upon that precious feast-day which is always known by the name\nof Pentecost. [31] The court was at Carduel in Wales. When the meal was\nfinished, the knights betook themselves whither they were summoned by\nthe ladies, damsels, and maidens. Some told stories; others spoke of\nlove, of the trials and sorrows, as well as of the great blessings,\nwhich often fall to the members of its order, which was rich and\nflourishing in those days of old. But now its followers are few, having\ndeserted it almost to a man, so that love is much abased. For lovers\nused to deserve to be considered courteous, brave, generous, and\nhonourable. But now love is a laughing-stock, for those who have no\nintelligence of it assert that they love, and in that they lie. Thus\nthey utter a mockery and lie by boasting where they have no right. [32]\nBut let us leave those who are still alive, to speak of those of former\ntime. For, I take it, a courteous man, though dead, is worth more than\na living knave. So it is my pleasure to relate a matter quite worthy of\nheed concerning the King whose fame was such that men still speak of him\nfar and near; and I agree with the opinion of the Bretons that his name\nwill live on for evermore. And in connection with him we call to mind\nthose goodly chosen knights who spent themselves for honour's sake. But\nupon this day of which I speak, great was their astonishment at seeing\nthe King quit their presence; and there were some who felt chagrined,\nand who did not mince their words, never before having seen the King, on\nthe occasion of such a feast, enter his own chamber either to sleep or\nto seek repose. But this day it came about that the Queen detained him,\nand he remained so long at her side that he forgot himself and fell\nasleep. Outside the chamber door were Dodinel, Sagremor, and Kay, my\nlord Gawain, my lord Yvain, and with them Calogrenant, a very comely\nknight, who had begun to tell them a tale, though it was not to his\ncredit, but rather to his shame. The Queen could hear him as he told his\ntale, and rising from beside the King, she came upon them so stealthily\nthat before any caught sight of her, she had fallen, as it were, right\nin their midst. Calogrenant alone jumped up quickly when he saw her\ncome. Then Kay, who was very quarrelsome, mean, sarcastic, and abusive,\nsaid to him: \"By the Lord, Calogrenant, I see you are very bold and\nforward now, and certainly it pleases me to see you the most courteous\nof us all. And I know that you are quite persuaded of your own\nexcellence, for that is in keeping with your little sense. And of course\nit is natural that my lady should suppose that you surpass us all in\ncourtesy and bravery. We failed to rise through sloth, forsooth, or\nbecause we did not care! Upon my word, it is not so, my lord; but we\ndid not see my lady until you had risen first.\" \"Really, Kay,\" the Queen\nthen says, \"I think you would burst if you could not pour out the poison\nof which you are so full. You are troublesome and mean thus to annoy\nyour companions.\" \"Lady,\" says Kay, \"if we are not better for your\ncompany, at least let us not lose by it. I am not aware that I said\nanything for which I ought to be accused, and so I pray you say no more.\nIt is impolite and foolish to keep up a vain dispute. This argument\nshould go no further, nor should any one try to make more of it. But\nsince there must be no more high words, command him to continue the tale\nhe had begun.\" Thereupon Calogrenant prepares to reply in this fashion:\n\"My lord, little do I care about the quarrel, which matters little and\naffects me not. If you have vented your scorn on me, I shall never be\nharmed by it. You have often spoken insultingly, my lord Kay, to braver\nand better men than I, for you are given to this kind of thing. The\nmanure-pile will always stink, [33] and gadflies sting, and bees will\nhum, and so a bore will torment and make a nuisance of himself. However,\nwith my lady's leave, I'll not continue my tale to-day, and I beg her\nto say no more about it, and kindly not give me any unwelcome command.\"\n\"Lady,\" says Kay, \"all those who are here will be in your debt, for they\nare desirous to hear it out. Don't do it as a favour to me! But by the\nfaith you owe the King, your lord and mine, command him to continue, and\nyou will do well.\" \"Calogrenant,\" the Queen then says, \"do not mind the\nattack of my lord Kay the seneschal. He is so accustomed to evil speech\nthat one cannot punish him for it. I command and request you not to\nbe angered because of him, nor should you fail on his account to say\nsomething which it will please us all to hear; if you wish to preserve\nmy good-will, pray begin the tale anew.\" \"Surely, lady, it is a very\nunwelcome command you lay upon me. Rather than tell any more of my\ntale to-day, I would have one eye plucked out, if I did not fear your\ndispleasure. Yet will I perform your behest, however distasteful it may\nbe. Then since you will have it so, give heed. Let your heart and ears\nbe mine. For words, though heard, are lost unless understood within the\nheart. Some men there are who give consent to what they hear but do not\nunderstand: these men have the hearing alone. For the moment the heart\nfails to understand, the word falls upon the ears simply as the wind\nthat blows, without stopping to tarry there; rather it quickly passes on\nif the heart is not so awake as to be ready to receive it. For the heart\nalone can receive it when it comes along, and shut it up within. The\nears are the path and channel by which the voice can reach the heart,\nwhile the heart receives within the bosom the voice which enters through\nthe ear. Now, whoever will heed my words, must surrender to me his heart\nand ears, for I am not going to speak of a dream, an idle tale, or lie,\nwith which many another has regaled you, but rather shall I speak of\nwhat I saw.\"\n\n(Vv. 175-268.) \"It happened seven years ago that, lonely as a\ncountryman, I was making my way in search of adventures, fully armed\nas a knight should be, when I came upon a road leading off to the right\ninto a thick forest. The road there was very bad, full of briars and\nthorns. In spite of the trouble and inconvenience, I followed the road\nand path. Almost the entire day I went thus riding until I emerged from\nthe forest of Broceliande. [34] Out from the forest I passed into the\nopen country where I saw a wooden tower at the distance of half a Welsh\nleague: it may have been so far, but it was not anymore. Proceeding\nfaster than a walk, I drew near and saw the palisade and moat all round\nit, deep and wide, and standing upon the bridge, with a moulted falcon\nupon his wrist, I saw the master of the castle. I had no sooner saluted\nhim than he came forward to hold my stirrup and invited me to\ndismount. I did so, for it was useless to deny that I was in need of a\nlodging-place. Then he told me more than a hundred times at once that\nblessed was the road by which I had come thither. Meanwhile, we crossed\nthe bridge, and passing through the gate, found ourselves in the\ncourtyard. In the middle of the courtyard of this vavasor, to whom may\nGod repay such joy and honour as he bestowed upon me that night, there\nhung a gong not of iron or wood, I trow, but all of copper. Upon this\ngong the vavasor struck three times with a hammer which hung on a post\nclose by. Those who were upstairs in the house, upon hearing his voice\nand the sound, came out into the yard below. Some took my horse which\nthe good vavasor was holding; and I saw coming toward me a very fair and\ngentle maid. On looking at her narrowly I saw she was tall and slim and\nstraight. Skilful she was in disarming me, which she did gently and with\naddress; then, when she had robed me in a short mantle of scarlet stuff\nspotted with a peacock's plumes, all the others left us there, so that\nshe and I remained alone. This pleased me well, for I needed naught\nelse to look upon. Then she took me to sit down in the prettiest little\nfield, shut in by a wall all round about. There I found her so elegant,\nso fair of speech and so well informed, of such pleasing manners and\ncharacter, that it was a delight to be there, and I could have wished\nnever to be compelled to move. But as ill luck would have it, when night\ncame on, and the time for supper had arrived. The vavasor came to look\nfor me. No more delay was possible, so I complied with his request. Of\nthe supper I will only say that it was all after my heart, seeing that\nthe damsel took her seat at the table just in front of me. After the\nsupper the vavasor admitted to me that, though he had lodged many an\nerrant knight, he knew not how long it had been since he had welcomed\none in search of adventure. Then, as a favour, he begged of me to return\nby way of his residence, if I could make it possible. So I said to him:\n'Right gladly, sire!' for a refusal would have been impolite, and that\nwas the least I could do for such a host.\"\n\n(Vv. 269-580.) \"That night, indeed, I was well lodged, and as soon as\nthe morning light appeared, I found my steed ready saddled, as I had\nrequested the night before; thus my request was carried out. My kind\nhost and his dear daughter I commended to the Holy Spirit, and, after\ntaking leave of all, I got away as soon as possible. I had not proceeded\nfar from my stopping-place when I came to a clearing, where there were\nsome wild bulls at large; they were fighting among themselves and making\nsuch a dreadful and horrible noise that if the truth be known, I drew\nback in fear, for there is no beast so fierce and dangerous as a bull. I\nsaw sitting upon a stump, with a great club in his hand, a rustic\nlout, as black as a mulberry, indescribably big and hideous; indeed,\nso passing ugly was the creature that no word of mouth could do him\njustice. On drawing near to this fellow, I saw that his head was bigger\nthan that of a horse or of any other beast; that his hair was in tufts,\nleaving his forehead bare for a width of more than two spans; that his\nears were big and mossy, just like those of an elephant; his eyebrows\nwere heavy and his face was flat; his eyes were those of an owl, and his\nnose was like a cat's; his jowls were split like a wolf, and his teeth\nwere sharp and yellow like a wild boar's; his beard was black and his\nwhiskers twisted; his chin merged into his chest and his backbone was\nlong, but twisted and hunched. [35] There he stood, leaning upon his\nclub and accoutred in a strange garb, consisting not of cotton or wool,\nbut rather of the hides recently flayed from two bulls or two beeves:\nthese he wore hanging from his neck. The fellow leaped up straightway\nwhen he saw me drawing near. I do not know whether he was going to\nstrike me or what he intended to do, but I was prepared to stand him\noff, until I saw him stop and stand stock-still upon a tree trunk, where\nhe stood full seventeen feet in height. Then he gazed at me but spoke\nnot a word, any more than a beast would have done. And I supposed that\nhe had not his senses or was drunk. However, I made bold to say to him:\n'Come, let me know whether thou art a creature of good or not.' And\nhe replied: 'I am a man.' 'What kind of a man art thou?' 'Such as thou\nseest me to be: I am by no means otherwise.' 'What dost thou here?' 'I\nwas here, tending these cattle in this wood.' 'Wert thou really tending\nthem? By Saint Peter of Rome! They know not the command of any man.\nI guess one cannot possibly guard wild beasts in a plain or wood or\nanywhere else unless they are tied or confined inside.' 'Well, I tend\nand have control of these beasts so that they will never leave this\nneighbourhood.' 'How dost thou do that? Come, tell me now!' 'There is\nnot one of them that dares to move when they see me coming. For when\nI can get hold of one I give its two horns such a wrench with my hard,\nstrong hands that the others tremble with fear, and gather at once round\nabout me as if to ask for mercy. No one could venture here but me, for\nif he should go among them he would be straightway done to death. In\nthis way I am master of my beasts. And now thou must tell me in turn\nwhat kind of a man thou art, and what thou seekest here.' 'I am, as\nthou seest, a knight seeking for what I cannot find; long have I sought\nwithout success.' 'And what is this thou fain wouldst find?' 'Some\nadventure whereby to test my prowess and my bravery. Now I beg and\nurgently request thee to give me some counsel, if possible, concerning\nsome adventure or marvellous thing.' Says he: 'Thou wilt have to do\nwithout, for I know nothing of adventure, nor did I ever hear tell\nof such. But if thou wouldst go to a certain spring here hard by and\nshouldst comply with the practice there, thou wouldst not easily come\nback again. Close by here thou canst easily find a path which will\nlead thee thither. If thou wouldst go aright, follow the straight path,\notherwise thou mayst easily go astray among the many other paths.\nThou shalt see the spring which boils, though the water is colder than\nmarble. It is shadowed by the fairest tree that ever Nature formed, for\nits foliage is evergreen, regardless of the winter's cold, and an iron\nbasin is hanging there by a chain long enough to reach the spring. And\nbeside the spring thou shalt find a massive stone, as thou shalt see,\nbut whose nature I cannot explain, never having seen its like. On the\nother side a chapel stands, small, but very beautiful. If thou wilt take\nof the water in the basin and spill it upon the stone, thou shalt see\nsuch a storm come up that not a beast will remain within this wood;\nevery doe, star, deer, boar, and bird will issue forth. For thou shalt\nsee such lightning-bolts descend, such blowing of gales and crashing\nof trees, such torrents fail, such thunder and lightning, that, if thou\ncanst escape from them without trouble and mischance, thou wilt be more\nfortunate than ever any knight was yet.' I left the fellow then, after\nhe had pointed our the way. It must have been after nine o'clock and\nmight have been drawing on toward noon, when I espied the tree and the\nchapel. I can truly say that this tree was the finest pine that ever\ngrew on earth. I do not believe that it ever rained so hard that a\ndrop of water could penetrate it, but would rather drip from the outer\nbranches. From the tree I saw the basin hanging, [36] of the finest gold\nthat was ever for sale in any fair. As for the spring, you may take my\nword that it was boiling like hot water. The stone was of emerald, with\nholes in it like a cask, and there were four rubies underneath, more\nradiant and red than is the morning sun when it rises in the east.\nNow not one word will I say which is not true. I wished to see the\nmarvellous appearing of the tempest and the storm; but therein I was not\nwise, for I would gladly have repented, if I could, when I had sprinkled\nthe perforated stone with the water from the basin. But I fear I poured\ntoo much, for straightway I saw the heavens so break loose that from\nmore than fourteen directions the lightning blinded my eyes, and all at\nonce the clouds let fall snow and rain and hail. The storm was so fierce\nand terrible that a hundred times I thought I should be killed by the\nbolts which fell about me and by the trees which were rent apart. Know\nthat I was in great distress until the uproar was appeased. But God gave\nme such comfort that the storm did not continue long, and all the winds\ndied down again. The winds dared not blow against God's will. And when\nI saw the air clear and serene I was filled with joy again. For I have\nobserved that joy quickly causes trouble to be forgot. As soon as the\nstorm was completely past, I saw so many birds gathered in the pine tree\n(if any one will believe my words) that not a branch or twig was to be\nseen which was not entirely covered with birds. [37] The tree was all\nthe more lovely then, for all the birds sang in harmony, yet the note of\neach was different, so that I never heard one singing another's note. I,\ntoo, rejoiced in their joyousness, and listened to them until they had\nsung their service through, for I have never heard such happy song, nor\ndo I think any one else will hear it, unless he goes to listen to what\nfilled me with such joy and bliss that I was lost in rapture. I stayed\nthere until I heard some knights coming, as I thought it seemed that\nthere must be ten of them. But all the noise and commotion was made\nby the approach of a single knight. When I saw him coming on alone\nI quickly caught my steed and made no delay in mounting him. And the\nknight, as if with evil intent, came on swifter than an eagle, looking\nas fierce as a lion. From as far as his voice could reach he began to\nchallenge me, and said: 'Vassal, without provocation you have caused\nme shame and harm. If there was any quarrel between us you should first\nhave challenged me, or at least sought justice before attacking me. But,\nsir vassal, if it be within my power, upon you shall fall the punishment\nfor the damage which is evident. About me here lies the evidence of my\nwoods destroyed. He who has suffered has the right to complain. And I\nhave good reason to complain that you have driven me from my house with\nlightning-bolt and rain. You have made trouble for me, and cursed be he\nwho thinks it fair. For within my own woods and town you have made such\nan attack upon me that resources of men of arms and of fortifications\nwould have been of no avail to me; no man could have been secure, even\nif he had been in a fortress of solid stone and wood. But be assured\nthat from this moment there shall be neither truce nor peace between\nus.' At these words we rushed together, each one holding his shield well\ngripped and covering himself with it. The knight had a good horse and a\nstout lance, and was doubtless a whole head taller than I. Thus, I was\naltogether at a disadvantage, being shorter than he, while his horse was\nstronger than mine. You may be sure that I will tell the facts, in order\nto cover up my shame. With intent to do my best, I dealt him as hard a\nblow as I could give, striking the top of his shield, and I put all my\nstrength into it with such effect that my lance flew all to splinters.\nHis lance remained entire, being very heavy and bigger than any knight's\nlance I ever saw. And the knight struck me with it so heavily that he\nknocked me over my horse's crupper and laid me flat upon the ground,\nwhere he left me ashamed and exhausted, without bestowing another glance\nupon me. He took my horse, but me he left, and started back by the way\nhe came. And I, who knew not what to do, remained there in pain and\nwith troubled thoughts. Seating myself beside the spring I rested there\nawhile, not daring to follow after the knight for fear of committing\nsome rash act of madness. And, indeed, had I had the courage, I knew not\nwhat had become of him. Finally, it occurred to me that I would keep my\npromise to my host and would return by way of his dwelling. This idea\npleased me, and so I did. I laid off all my arms in order to proceed\nmore easily, and thus with shame I retraced my steps. When I reached\nhis home that night, I found my host to be the same good-natured and\ncourteous man as I had before discovered him to be. I could not observe\nthat either his daughter or he himself welcomed me any less gladly,\nor did me any less honour than they had done the night before. I am\nindebted to them for the great honour they all did me in that house; and\nthey even said that, so far as they knew or had heard tell, no one had\never escaped, without being killed or kept a prisoner, from the place\nwhence I returned. Thus I went and thus I returned, feeling, as I did\nso, deeply ashamed. So I have foolishly told you the story which I never\nwished to tell again.\"\n\n(Vv. 581-648.) \"By my head,\" cries my lord Yvain, \"you are my own\ncousin-german, and we ought to love each other well. But I must consider\nyou as mad to have concealed this from me so long. If I call you mad, I\nbeg you not to be incensed. For if I can, and if I obtain the leave, I\nshall go to avenge your shame.\" \"It is evident that we have dined,\" says\nKay, with his ever-ready speech; \"there are more words in a pot full of\nwine than in a whole barrel of beer. [38] They say that a cat is merry\nwhen full. After dinner no one stirs, but each one is ready to\nslay Noradin, [39] and you will take vengeance on Forre! Are your\nsaddle-cloths ready stuffed, and your iron greaves polished, and your\nbanners unfurled? Come now, in God's name, my lord Yvain, is it to-night\nor to-morrow that you start? Tell us, fair sire, when you will start for\nthis rude test, for we would fain convoy you thither. There will be no\nprovost or constable who will not gladly escort you. And however it may\nbe, I beg that you will not go without taking leave of us; and if you\nhave a bad dream to-night, by all means stay at home!\" \"The devil,\nSir Kay,\" the Queen replies, \"are you beside yourself that your tongue\nalways runs on so? Cursed be your tongue which is so full of bitterness!\nSurely your tongue must hate you, for it says the worst it knows to\nevery man. Damned be any tongue that never ceases to speak ill! As for\nyour tongue, it babbles so that it makes you hated everywhere. It cannot\ndo you greater treachery. See here: if it were mine, I would accuse it\nof treason. Any man that cannot be cured by punishment ought to be tied\nlike a madman in front of the chancel in the church.\" \"Really, madame,\"\nsays my lord Yvain, \"his impudence matters not to me. In every court my\nlord Kay has so much ability, knowledge, and worth that he will never be\ndeaf or dumb. He has the wit to reply wisely and courteously to all that\nis mean, and this he has always done. You well know if I lie in saying\nso. But I have no desire to dispute or to begin our foolishness again.\nFor he who deals the first blow does not always win the fight, but\nrather he who gains revenge. He who fights with his companion had better\nfight against some stranger. I do not wish to be like the hound that\nstiffens up and growls when another dog yaps at him.\"\n\n(Vv. 649-722.) While they were talking thus, the King came out of his\nroom where he had been all this time asleep. And when the knights saw\nhim they all sprang to their feet before him, but he made them at once\nsit down again. He took his place beside the Queen, who repeated to him\nword for word, with her customary skill, the story of Calogrenant. The\nKing listened eagerly to it, and then he swore three mighty oaths by the\nsoul of his father Utherpendragon, and by the soul of his son, and of\nhis mother too, that he would go to see that spring before a fortnight\nshould have passed; and he would see the storm and the marvels there by\nreaching it on the eve of my lord Saint John the Baptist's feast; there\nhe would spend the night, and all who wished might accompany him. All\nthe court thought well of this, for the knights and the young bachelors\nwere very eager to make the expedition. But despite the general joy and\nsatisfaction my lord Yvain was much chagrined, for he intended to go\nthere all alone; so he was grieved and much put out because of the King\nwho planned to go. The chief cause of his displeasure was that he knew\nthat my lord Kay, to whom the favour would not be refused if he should\nsolicit it, would secure the battle rather than he himself, or else\nperchance my lord Gawain would first ask for it. If either one of these\ntwo should make request, the favour would never be refused him. But,\nhaving no desire for their company, he resolves not to wait for them,\nbut to go off alone, if possible, whether it be to his gain or hurt. And\nwhoever may stay behind, he intends to be on the third day in the forest\nof Broceliande, and there to seek if possibly he may find the narrow\nwooded path for which he yearns eagerly, and the plain with the strong\ncastle, and the pleasure and delight of the courteous damsel, who is\nso charming and fair, and with the damsel her worthy sire, who is so\nhonourable and nobly born that he strives to dispense honour. Then he\nwill see the bulls in the clearing, with the giant boor who watches\nthem. Great is his desire to see this fellow, who is so stout and big\nand ugly and deformed, and as black as a smith. Then, too, he will see,\nif possible, the stone and the spring itself, and the basin and the\nbirds in the pine-tree, and he will make it rain and blow. But of all\nthis he will not boast, nor, if he can help it, shall any one know\nof his purpose until he shall have received from it either great\nhumiliation or great renown: then let the facts be known.\n\n(Vv. 723-746.) My lord Yvain gets away from the court without any one\nmeeting him, and proceeds alone to his lodging place. There he found all\nhis household, and gave orders to have his horse saddled; then, calling\none of his squires who was privy to his every thought, he says: \"Come\nnow, follow me outside yonder, and bring me my arms. I shall go out at\nonce through yonder gate upon my palfrey. For thy part, do not delay,\nfor I have a long road to travel. Have my steed well shod, and bring him\nquickly where I am; then shalt thou lead back my palfrey. But take good\ncare, I adjure thee, if any one questions thee about me, to give him no\nsatisfaction. Otherwise, whatever thy confidence in me, thou need never\nagain count on my goodwill.\" \"Sire,\" he says, \"all will be well, for no\none shall learn anything from me. Proceed, and I shall follow you.\"\n\n(Vv. 747-906.) My lord Yvain mounts at once, intending to avenge, if\npossible, his cousin's disgrace before he returns. The squire ran for\nthe arms and steed; he mounted at once without delay, since he was\nalready equipped with shoes and nails. Then he followed his master's\ntrack until he saw him standing mounted, waiting to one side of the road\nin a place apart. He brought him his harness and equipment, and then\naccoutred him. My lord Yvain made no delay after putting on his arms,\nbut hastily made his way each day over the mountains and through the\nvalleys, through the forests long and wide, through strange and wild\ncountry, passing through many gruesome spots, many a danger and many a\nstrait, until he came directly to the path, which was full of brambles\nand dark enough; then he felt he was safe at last, and could not now\nlose his way. Whoever may have to pay the cost, he will not stop until\nhe sees the pine which shades the spring and stone, and the tempest of\nhail and rain and thunder and wind. That night, you may be sure, he had\nsuch lodging as he desired, for he found the vavasor to be even more\npolite and courteous than he had been told, and in the damsel he\nperceived a hundred times more sense and beauty than Calogrenant had\nspoken of, for one cannot rehearse the sum of a lady's or a good man's\nqualities. The moment such a man devotes himself to virtue, his story\ncannot be summed up or told, for no tongue could estimate the honourable\ndeeds of such a gentleman. My lord Yvain was well content with the\nexcellent lodging he had that night, and when he entered the clearing\nthe next day, he met the bulls and the rustic boor who showed him the\nway to take. But more than a hundred times he crossed himself at sight\nof the monster before him--how Nature had ever been able to form such\na hideous, ugly creature. Then to the spring he made his way, and found\nthere all that he wished to see. Without hesitation and without sitting\ndown he poured the basin full of water upon the stone, when straightway\nit began to blow and rain, and such a storm was caused as had been\nforetold. And when God had appeased the storm, the birds came to perch\nupon the pine, and sang their joyous songs up above the perilous spring.\nBut before their jubilee had ceased there came the knight, more blazing\nwith wrath than a burning log, and making as much noise as if he were\nchasing a lusty stag. As soon as they espied each other they rushed\ntogether and displayed the mortal hate they bore. Each one carried a\nstiff, stout lance, with which they dealt such mighty blows that they\npierced the shields about their necks, and cut the meshes of their\nhauberks; their lances are splintered and sprung, while the fragments\nare cast high in air. Then each attacks the other with his sword, and in\nthe strife they cut the straps of the shields away, and cut the shields\nall to bits from end to end, so that the shreds hang down, no longer\nserving as covering or defence; for they have so split them up that they\nbring down the gleaming blades upon their sides, their arms, and hips.\nFierce, indeed, is their assault; yet they do not budge from their\nstanding-place any more than would two blocks of stone. Never were there\ntwo knights so intent upon each other's death. They are careful not to\nwaste their blows, but lay them on as best they may; they strike and\nbend their helmets, and they send the meshes of their hauberks flying\nso, that they draw not a little blood, for the hauberks are so hot with\ntheir body's heat that they hardly serve as more protection than a coat.\nAs they drive the sword-point at the face, it is marvellous that so\nfierce and bitter a strife should last so long. But both are possessed\nof such courage that one would not for aught retreat a foot before his\nadversary until he had wounded him to death. Yet, in this respect they\nwere very honourable in not trying or deigning to strike or harm their\nsteeds in any way; but they sat astride their steeds without putting\nfoot to earth, which made the fight more elegant. At last my lord Yvain\ncrushed the helmet of the knight, whom the blow stunned and made so\nfaint that he swooned away, never having received such a cruel blow\nbefore. Beneath his kerchief his head was split to the very brains, so\nthat the meshes of his bright hauberk were stained with the brains and\nblood, all of which caused him such intense pain that his heart almost\nceased to beat. He had good reason then to flee, for he felt that he had\na mortal wound, and that further resistance would not avail. With this\nthought in mind he quickly made his escape toward his town, where the\nbridge was lowered and the gate quickly opened for him; meanwhile my\nlord Yvain at once spurs after him at topmost speed. As a gerfalcon\nswoops upon a crane when he sees him rising from afar, and then draws so\nnear to him that he is about to seize him, yet misses him, so flees the\nknight, with Yvain pressing him so close that he can almost throw his\narm about him, and yet cannot quite come up with him, though he is so\nclose that he can hear him groan for the pain he feels. While the one\nexerts himself in flight the other strives in pursuit of him, fearing to\nhave wasted his effort unless he takes him alive or dead; for he still\nrecalls the mocking words which my lord Kay had addressed to him. He\nhad not yet carried out the pledge which he had given to his cousin;\nnor will they believe his word unless he returns with the evidence. The\nknight led him a rapid chase to the gate of his town, where they entered\nin; but finding no man or woman in the streets through which they\npassed, they both rode swiftly on till they came to the palace-gate.\n\n(Vv. 907-1054.) The gate was very high and wide, yet it had such a\nnarrow entrance-way that two men or two horses could scarcely enter\nabreast or pass without interference or great difficulty; for it was\nconstructed just like a trap which is set for the rat on mischief bent,\nand which has a blade above ready to fall and strike and catch, and\nwhich is suddenly released whenever anything, however gently, comes in\ncontact with the spring. In like fashion, beneath the gate there were\ntwo springs connected with a portcullis up above, edged with iron and\nvery sharp. If anything stepped upon this contrivance the gate descended\nfrom above, and whoever below was struck by the gate was caught and\nmangled. Precisely in the middle the passage lay as narrow as if it were\na beaten track. Straight through it exactly the knight rushed on, with\nmy lord Yvain madly following him apace, and so close to him that he\nheld him by the saddle-bow behind. It was well for him that he was\nstretched forward, for had it not been for this piece of luck he would\nhave been cut quite through; for his horse stepped upon the wooden\nspring which kept the portcullis in place. Like a hellish devil the gate\ndropped down, catching the saddle and the horse's haunches, which it cut\noff clean. But, thank God, my lord Yvain was only slightly touched when\nit grazed his back so closely that it cut both his spurs off even with\nhis heels. And while he thus fell in dismay, the other with his mortal\nwound escaped him, as you now shall see. Farther on there was another\ngate just like the one they had just passed; through this the knight\nmade his escape, and the gate descended behind him. Thus my lord Yvain\nwas caught, very much concerned and discomfited as he finds himself\nshut in this hallway, which was all studded with gilded nails, and whose\nwalls were cunningly decorated with precious paints. [310] But about\nnothing was he so worried as not to know what had become of the knight.\nWhile he was in this narrow place, he heard open the door of a little\nadjoining room, and there came forth alone a fair and charming maiden\nwho closed the door again after her. When she found my lord Yvain, at\nfirst she was sore dismayed. [311] \"Surely, sir knight,\" she says, \"I\nfear you have come in an evil hour. If you are seen here, you will be\nall cut to pieces. For my lord is mortally wounded, and I know it is you\nwho have been the death of him. My lady is in such a state of grief, and\nher people about her are crying so that they are ready to die with rage;\nand, moreover, they know you to be inside. But as yet their grief is\nsuch that they are unable to attend to you. The moment they come\nto attack you, they cannot fail to kill or capture you, as they may\nchoose.\" And my lord Yvain replies to her: \"If God will they shall never\nkill me, nor shall I fall into their hands.\" \"No,\" she says, \"for I\nshall do my utmost to assist you. It is not manly to cherish fear. So\nI hold you to be a man of courage, when you are not dismayed. And rest\nassured that if I could I would help you and treat you honourably, as\nyou in turn would do for me. Once my lady sent me on an errand to the\nKing's court, and I suppose I was not so experienced or courteous or\nso well behaved as a maiden ought to be; at any rate, there was not a\nknight there who deigned to say a word to me except you alone who stand\nhere now; but you, in your kindness, honoured and aided me. For the\nhonour you did me then I shall now reward you. I know full well what\nyour name is, and I recognised you at once: your name is my lord Yvain.\nYou may be sure and certain that if you take my advice you will never be\ncaught or treated ill. Please take this little ring of mine, which you\nwill return when I shall have delivered you.\" [312] Then she handed him\nthe little ring and told him that its effect was like that of the bark\nwhich covers the wood so that it cannot be seen; but it must be worn so\nthat the stone is within the palm; then he who wears the ring upon his\nfinger need have no concern for anything; for no one, however sharp his\neyes may be, will be able to see him any more than the wood which is\ncovered by the outside bark. All this is pleasing to my lord Yvain. And\nwhen she had told him this, she led him to a seat upon a couch covered\nwith a quilt so rich that the Duke of Austria had none such, and she\ntold him that if he cared for something to eat she would fetch it for\nhim; and he replied that he would gladly do so. Running quickly into the\nchamber, she presently returned, bringing a roasted fowl and a cake, a\ncloth, a full pot of good grape-wine covered with a white drinking-cup;\nall this she offered to him to eat. And he, who stood in need of food,\nvery gladly ate and drank.\n\n(Vv. 1055-1172.) By the time he had finished his meal the knights were\nastir inside looking for him and eager to avenge their lord, who was\nalready stretched upon his bier. Then the damsel said to Yvain: \"Friend,\ndo you hear them all seeking you? There is a great noise and uproar\nbrewing. But whoever may come or go, do not stir for any noise of\ntheirs, for they can never discover you if you do not move from this\ncouch. Presently you will see this room all full of ill-disposed and\nhostile people, who will think to find you here; and I make no doubt\nthat they will bring the body here before interment, and they will begin\nto search for you under the seats and the beds. It will be amusing for a\nman who is not afraid when he sees people searching so fruitlessly, for\nthey will all be so blind, so undone, and so misguided that they will be\nbeside themselves with rage. I cannot tell you more just now, for I dare\nno longer tarry here. But I may thank God for giving me the chance and\nthe opportunity to do some service to please you, as I yearned to do.\"\nThen she turned away, and when she was gone all the crowd with one\naccord had come from both sides to the gates, armed with clubs and\nswords. There was a mighty crowd and press of hostile people surging\nabout, when they espied in front of the gate the half of the horse which\nhad been cut down. Then they felt very sure that when the gates were\nopened they would find inside him whose life they wished to take. Then\nthey caused to be drawn up those gates which had been the death of many\nmen. But since no spring or trap was laid for their passage they all\ncame through abreast. Then they found at the threshold the other half of\nthe horse that had been killed; but none of them had sharp enough eyes\nto see my lord Yvain, whom they would gladly have killed; and he saw\nthem beside themselves with rage and fury, as they said: \"How can this\nbe? For there is no door or window here through which anything could\nescape, unless it be a bird, a squirrel, or marmot, or some other even\nsmaller animal; for the windows are barred, and the gates were closed\nas soon as my lord passed through. The body is in here, dead or alive,\nsince there is no sign of it outside there; we can see more than half\nof the saddle in here, but of him we see nothing, except the spurs which\nfell down severed from his feet. Now let us cease this idle talk, and\nsearch in all these comers, for he is surely in here still, or else we\nare all enchanted, or the evil spirits have filched him away from us.\"\nThus they all, aflame with rage, sought him about the room, beating\nupon the walls, and beds, and seats. But the couch upon which he lay was\nspared and missed the blows, so that he was not struck or touched. But\nall about they thrashed enough, and raised an uproar in the room with\ntheir clubs, like a blind man who pounds as he goes about his search.\nWhile they were poking about under the beds and the stools, there\nentered one of the most beautiful ladies that any earthly creature ever\nsaw. Word or mention was never made of such a fair Christian dame, and\nyet she was so crazed with grief that she was on the point of taking her\nlife. All at once she cried out at the top of her voice, and then fell\nprostrate in a swoon. And when she had been picked up she began to claw\nherself and tear her hair, like a woman who had lost her mind. She tears\nher hair and rips her dress, and faints at every step she takes; nor can\nanything comfort her when she sees her husband borne along lifeless\nin the bier; for her happiness is at an end, and so she made her loud\nlament. The holy water and the cross and the tapers were borne in\nadvance by the nuns from a convent; then came missals and censers\nand the priests, who pronounce the final absolution required for the\nwretched soul.\n\n(Vv. 1173-1242.) My lord Yvain heard the cries and the grief that can\nnever be described, for no one could describe it, nor was such ever set\ndown in a book. The procession passed, but in the middle of the room a\ngreat crowd gathered about the bier, for the fresh warm blood trickled\nout again from the dead man's wound, and this betokened certainly that\nthe man was still surely present who had fought the battle and had\nkilled and defeated him. Then they sought and searched everywhere, and\nturned and stirred up everything, until they were all in a sweat with\nthe trouble and the press which had been caused by the sight of the\ntrickling crimson blood. Then my lord Yvain was well struck and beaten\nwhere he lay, but not for that did he stir at all. And the people became\nmore and more distraught because of the wounds which burst open, and\nthey marvelled why they bled, without knowing whose fault it was. [313]\nAnd each one to his neighbour said: \"The murderer is among us here, and\nyet we do not see him, which is passing strange and mysterious.\" At this\nthe lady showed such grief that she made an attempt upon her life, and\ncried as if beside herself: \"All God, then will the murderer not be\nfound, the traitor who took my good lord's life? Good? Aye, the best of\nthe good, indeed! True God, Thine will be the fault if Thou dost let him\nthus escape. No other man than Thou should I blame for it who dost hide\nhim from my sight. Such a wonder was never seen, nor such injustice, as\nThou dost to me in not allowing me even to see the man who must be so\nclose to me. When I cannot see him, I may well say that some demon or\nspirit has interposed himself between us, so that I am under a spell. Or\nelse he is a coward and is afraid of me: he must be a craven to stand in\nawe of me, and it is an act of cowardice not to show himself before\nme. Ah, thou spirit, craven thing! Why art thou so in fear of me, when\nbefore my lord thou weft so brave? O empty and elusive thing, why cannot\nI have thee in my power? Why cannot I lay hands upon thee now? But how\ncould it ever come about that thou didst kill my lord, unless it was\ndone by treachery? Surely my lord would never have met defeat at thy\nhands had he seen thee face to face. For neither God nor man ever knew\nof his like, nor is there any like him now. Surely, hadst thou been a\nmortal man, thou wouldst never have dared to withstand my lord, for no\none could compare with him.\" Thus the lady struggles with herself, and\nthus she contends and exhausts herself. And her people with her, for\ntheir part, show the greatest possible grief as they carry off the\nbody to burial. After their long efforts and search they are completely\nexhausted by the quest, and give it up from weariness, inasmuch as they\ncan find no one who is in any way guilty. The nuns and priests, having\nalready finished the service, had returned from the church and were gone\nto the burial. But to all this the damsel in her chamber paid no heed.\nHer thoughts are with my lord Yvain, and, coming quickly, she said to\nhim: \"Fair sir, these people have been seeking you in force. They have\nraised a great tumult here, and have poked about in all the corners more\ndiligently than a hunting-dog goes ferreting a partridge or a quail.\nDoubtless you have been afraid.\" \"Upon my word, you are right,\" says he:\n\"I never thought to be so afraid. And yet, if it were possible I should\ngladly look out through some window or aperture at the procession\nand the corpse.\" Yet he had no interest in either the corpse or the\nprocession, for he would gladly have seen them all burned, even had it\ncost him a thousand marks. A thousand marks? Three thousand, verily,\nupon my word. But he said it because of the lady of the town, of whom he\nwished to catch a glimpse. So the damsel placed him at a little window,\nand repaid him as well as she could for the honour which he had done\nher. From this window my lord Yvain espies the fair lady, as she says:\n\"Sire, may God have mercy upon your soul! For never, I verily believe,\ndid any knight ever sit in saddle who was your equal in any respect.\nNo other knight, my fair sweet lord, ever possessed your honour or\ncourtesy. Generosity was your friend and boldness your companion. May\nyour soul rest among the saints, my fair dear lord.\" Then she strikes\nand tears whatever she can lay her hands upon. Whatever the outcome\nmay be, it is hard for my lord Yvain to restrain himself from running\nforward to seize her hands. But the damsel begs and advises him, and\neven urgently commands him, though with courtesy and graciousness, not\nto commit any rash deed, saying: \"You are well off here. Do not stir\nfor any cause until this grief shall be assuaged; let these people all\ndepart, as they will do presently. If you act as I advise, in accordance\nwith my views, great advantage may come to you. It will be best for you\nto remain seated here, and watch the people inside and out as they\npass along the way without their seeing you. But take care not to speak\nviolently, for I hold that man to be rather imprudent than brave who\ngoes too far and loses his self-restraint and commits some deed of\nviolence the moment he has the time and chance. So if you cherish some\nrash thought be careful not to utter it. The wise man conceals his\nimprudent thought and works out righteousness if he can. So wisely take\ngood care not to risk your head, for which they would accept no ransom.\nBe considerate of yourself and remember my advice. Rest assured until\nI return, for I dare not stay longer now. I might stay so long, I fear,\nthat they would suspect me when they did not see me in the crowd, and\nthen I should suffer for it.\"\n\n(Vv. 1339-1506.) Then she goes off, and he remains, not knowing how to\ncomport himself. He is loath to see them bury the corpse without his\nsecuring anything to take back as evidence that he has defeated and\nkilled him. If he has no proof or evidence he will be held in contempt,\nfor Kay is so mean and obstinate, so given to mockery, and so annoying,\nthat he could never succeed in convincing him. He would go about for\never insulting him, flinging his mockery and taunts as he did the other\nday. These taunts are still fresh and rankling in his heart. But with\nher sugar and honey a new Love now softened him; he had been to hunt\nupon his lands and had gathered in his prey. His enemy carries off\nhis heart, and he loves the creature who hates him most. The lady, all\nunaware, has well avenged her lord's death. She has secured greater\nrevenge than she could ever have done unless she had been aided by Love,\nwho attacks him so gently that he wounds his heart through his eyes.\nAnd this wound is more enduring than any inflicted by lance or sword.\nA sword-blow is cured and healed at once as soon as a doctor attends to\nit, but the wound of love is worst when it is nearest to its physician.\nThis is the wound of my lord Yvain, from which he will never more\nrecover, for Love has installed himself with him. He deserts and goes\naway from the places he was wont to frequent. He cares for no lodging\nor landlord save this one, and he is very wise in leaving a poor\nlodging-place in order to betake himself to him. In order to devote\nhimself completely to him, he will have no other lodging-place, though\noften he is wont to seek out lowly hostelries. It is a shame that\nLove should ever so basely conduct himself as to select the meanest\nlodging-place quite as readily as the best. But now he has come where he\nis welcome, and where he will be treated honourably, and where he will\ndo well to stay. This is the way Love ought to act, being such a noble\ncreature that it is marvellous how he dares shamefully to descend to\nsuch low estate. He is like him who spreads his balm upon the ashes and\ndust, who mingles sugar with gall, and suet with honey. However, he did\nnot act so this time, but rather lodged in a noble place, for which no\none can reproach him. When the dead man had been buried, all the people\ndispersed, leaving no clerks or knights or ladies, excepting only\nher who makes no secret of her grief. She alone remains behind, often\nclutching at her throat, wringing her hands, and beating her palms, as\nshe reads her psalms in her gilt lettered psalter. All this while my\nlord Yvain is at the window gazing at her, and the more he looks at her\nthe more he loves her and is enthralled by her. He would have wished\nthat she should cease her weeping and reading, and that she should\nfeel inclined to converse with him. Love, who caught him at the window,\nfilled him with this desire. But he despairs of realising his wish, for\nhe cannot imagine or believe that his desire can be gratified. So he\nsays: \"I may consider myself a fool to wish for what I cannot have.\nHer lord it was whom I wounded mortally, and yet do I think I can be\nreconciled with her? Upon my word, such thoughts are folly, for at\npresent she has good reason to hate me more bitterly than anything. I am\nright in saying 'at present', for a woman has more than one mind. That\nmind in which she is just now I trust she will soon change; indeed, she\nwill change it certainly, and I am mad thus to despair. God grant that\nshe change it soon! For I am doomed to be her slave, since such is the\nwill of Love. Whoever does not welcome Love gladly, when he comes to\nhim, commits treason and a felony. I admit (and let whosoever will,\nheed what I say) that such an one deserves no happiness or joy. But if I\nlose, it will not be for such a reason; rather will I love my enemy.\nFor I ought not to feel any hate for her unless I wish to betray Love.\nI must love in accordance with Love's desire. And ought she to regard me\nas a friend? Yes, surely, since it is she whom I love. And I call her\nmy enemy, for she hates me, though with good reason, for I killed the\nobject of her love. So, then, am I her enemy? Surely no, but her true\nfriend, for I never so loved any one before. I grieve for her fair\ntresses, surpassing gold in their radiance; I feel the pangs of anguish\nand torment when I see her tear and cut them, nor can her tears e'er\nbe dried which I see falling from her eyes; by all these things I am\ndistressed. Although they are full of ceaseless, ever-flowing tears, yet\nnever were there such lovely eves. The sight of her weeping causes me\nagony, but nothing pains me so much as the sight of her face, which she\nlacerates without its having merited such treatment. I never saw such a\nface so perfectly formed, nor so fresh and delicately coloured. And then\nit has pierced my heart to see her clutch her throat. Surely, it is all\ntoo true that she is doing the worst she can. And yet no crystal nor any\nmirror is so bright and smooth. God! why is she thus possessed, and why\ndoes she not spare herself? Why does she wring her lovely hands and beat\nand tear her breast? Would she not be marvellously fair to look upon\nwhen in happy mood, seeing that she is so fair in her displeasure?\nSurely yes, I can take my oath on that. Never before in a work of beauty\nwas Nature thus able to outdo herself, for I am sure she has gone beyond\nthe limits of any previous attempt. How could it ever have happened\nthen? Whence came beauty so marvellous? God must have made her with His\nnaked hand that Nature might rest from further toil. If she should try\nto make a replica, she might spend her time in vain without succeeding\nin her task. Even God Himself, were He to try, could not succeed, I\nguess, in ever making such another, whatever effort He might put forth.\"\n\n(Vv. 1507-1588.) Thus my lord Yvain considers her who is broken with her\ngrief, and I suppose it would never happen again that any man in prison,\nlike my lord Yvain in fear for his life, would ever be so madly in love\nas to make no request on his own behalf, when perhaps no one else will\nspeak for him. He stayed at the window until he saw the lady go away,\nand both the portcullises were lowered again. Another might have grieved\nat this, who would prefer a free escape to tarrying longer where he was.\nBut to him it is quite indifferent whether they be shut or opened. If\nthey were open he surely would not go away, no, even were the lady to\ngive him leave and pardon him freely for the death of her lord. For he\nis detained by Love and Shame which rise up before him on either hand:\nhe is ashamed to go away, for no one would believe in the success of his\nexploit; on the other hand, he has such a strong desire to see the lady\nat least, if he cannot obtain any other favour, that he feels little\nconcern about his imprisonment. He would rather die than go away. And\nnow the damsel returns, wishing to bear him company with her solace\nand gaiety, and to go and fetch for him whatever he may desire. But she\nfound him pensive and quite worn out with the love which had laid hold\nof him; whereupon she addressed him thus: \"My lord Yvain, what sort of\na time have you had to-day?\" \"I have been pleasantly occupied,\" was his\nreply. \"Pleasantly? In God's name, is that the truth? What? How can one\nenjoy himself seeing that he is hunted to death, unless he courts and\nwishes it?\" \"Of a truth,\" he says, \"my gentle friend, I should by no\nmeans wish to die; and yet, as God beholds me, I was pleased, am pleased\nnow, and always shall be pleased by what I saw.\" \"Well, let us say no\nmore of that,\" she makes reply, \"for I can understand well enough what\nis the meaning of such words. I am not so foolish or inexperienced that\nI cannot understand such words as those; but come now after me, for I\nshall find some speedy means to release you from your confinement. I\nshall surely set you free to-night or to-morrow, if you please. Come\nnow, I will lead you away.\" And he thus makes reply: \"You may be sure\nthat I will never escape secretly and like a thief. When the people are\nall gathered out there in the streets, I can go forth more honourably\nthan if I did so surreptitiously.\" Then he followed her into the little\nroom. The damsel, who was kind, secured and bestowed upon him all that\nhe desired. And when the opportunity arose, she remembered what he\nhad said to her how he had been pleased by what he saw when they were\nseeking him in the room with intent to kill him.\n\n(Vv. 1589-1652.) The damsel stood in such favour with her lady that she\nhad no fear of telling her anything, regardless of the consequences, for\nshe was her confidante and companion. Then, why should she be backward\nin comforting her lady and in giving her advice which should redound to\nher honour? The first time she said to her privily: \"My lady, I greatly\nmarvel to see you act so extravagantly. Do you think you can recover\nyour lord by giving away thus to your grief?\" \"Nay, rather, if I had my\nwish,\" says she, \"I would now be dead of grief.\" \"And why?\" \"In order to\nfollow after him.\" \"After him? God forbid, and give you again as good a\nlord, as is consistent with His might.\" \"Thou didst never speak such a\nlie as that, for He could never give me so good a lord again.\" \"He will\ngive you a better one, if you will accept him, and I can prove it.\"\n\"Begone! Peace! I shall never find such a one.\" \"Indeed you shall, my\nlady, if you will consent. Just tell me, if you will, who is going to\ndefend your land when King Arthur comes next week to the margin of the\nspring? You have already been apprised of this by letters sent you by\nthe Dameisele Sauvage. Alas, what a kind service she did for you! you\nought to be considering how you will defend your spring, and yet you\ncease not to weep! If it please you, my dear lady, you ought not to\ndelay. For surely, all the knights you have are not worth, as you well\nknow, so much as a single chamber-maid. Neither shield nor lance will\never be taken in hand by the best of them. You have plenty of craven\nservants, but there is not one of them brave enough to dare to mount a\nsteed. And the King is coming with such a host that his victory will\nbe inevitable.\" The lady, upon reflection, knows very well that she is\ngiving her sincere advice, but she is unreasonable in one respect, as\nalso are other women who are, almost without exception, guilty of their\nown folly, and refuse to accept what they really wish. \"Begone,\" she\nsays; \"leave me alone. If I ever hear thee speak of this again it will\ngo hard with thee, unless thou flee. Thou weariest me with thy idle\nwords.\" \"Very well, my lady,\" she says; \"that you are a woman is\nevident, for woman will grow irate when she hears any one give her good\nadvice.\"\n\n(Vv. 1653-1726.) Then she went away and left her alone. And the lady\nreflected that she had been in the wrong. She would have been very glad\nto know how the damsel could ever prove that it would be possible to\nfind a better knight than her lord had ever been. She would be very glad\nto hear her speak, but now she has forbidden her. With this desire in\nmind, she waited until she returned. But the warning was of no avail,\nfor she began to say to her at once: \"My lady, is it seemly that you\nshould thus torment yourself with grief? For God's sake now control\nyourself, and for shame, at least, cease your lament. It is not fitting\nthat so great a lady should keep up her grief so long. Remember your\nhonourable estate and your very gentle birth! Think you that all virtue\nceased with the death of your lord? There are in the world a hundred as\ngood or better men.\" \"May God confound me, if thou dost not lie! Just\nname to me a single one who is reputed to be so excellent as my lord was\nall his life.\" \"If I did so you would be angry with me, and would fly\ninto a passion and you would esteem me less.\" \"No, I will not, I assure\nthee.\" \"Then may it all be for your future welfare if you would but\nconsent, and may God so incline your will! I see no reason for holding\nmy peace, for no one hears or heeds what we say. Doubtless you will\nthink I am impudent, but I shall freely speak my mind. When two knights\nhave met in an affray of arms and when one has beaten the other, which\nof the two do you think is the better? For my part I award the prize\nto the victor. Now what do you think?\" \"It seems to me you are laying a\ntrap for me and intend to catch me in my words.\" \"Upon my faith, you may\nrest assured that I am in the right, and I can irrefutably prove to you\nthat he who defeated your lord is better than he was himself. He beat\nhim and pursued him valiantly until he imprisoned him in his house.\"\n\"Now,\" she replies, \"I hear the greatest nonsense that was ever uttered.\nBegone, thou spirit charged with evil! Begone, thou foolish and tiresome\ngirl! Never again utter such idle words, and never come again into my\npresence to speak a word on his behalf!\" \"Indeed, my lady, I knew full\nwell that I should receive no thanks from you, and I said so before I\nspoke. But you promised me you would not be displeased, and that you\nwould not be angry with me for it. But you have failed to keep your\npromise, and now, as it has turned out, you have discharged your wrath\non me, and I have lost by not holding my peace.\"\n\n(Vv. 1727-1942.) Thereupon she goes back to the room where my lord Yvain\nis waiting, comfortably guarded by her vigilance. But he is ill at ease\nwhen he cannot see the lady, and he pays no attention, and hears no word\nof the report which the damsel brings to him. The lady, too, is in great\nperplexity all night, being worried about how she should defend the\nspring; and she begins to repent of her action to the damsel, whom she\nhad blamed and insulted and treated with contempt. She feels very sure\nand certain that not for any reward or bribe, nor for any affection\nwhich she may bear him, would the maiden ever have mentioned him; and\nthat she must love her more than him, and that she would never give her\nadvice which would bring her shame or embarrassment: the maid is too\nloyal a friend for that. Thus, lo! the lady is completely changed: she\nfears now that she to whom she had spoken harshly will never love her\nagain devotedly; and him whom she had repulsed, she now loyally and with\ngood reason pardons, seeing that he had done her no wrong. So she argues\nas if he were in her presence there, and thus she begins her argument:\n\"Come,\" she says, \"canst thou deny that my lord was killed by thee?\"\n\"That,\" says he, \"I cannot deny. Indeed, I fully admit it.\" \"Tell me,\nthen, the reason of thy deed. Didst thou do it to injure me, prompted by\nhatred or by spite?\" \"May death not spare me now, if I did it to injure\nyou.\" \"In that case, thou hast done me no wrong, nor art thou guilty\nof aught toward him. For he would have killed thee, if he could. So it\nseems to me that I have decided well and righteously.\" Thus, by her own\narguments she succeeds in discovering justice, reason, and common sense,\nhow that there is no cause for hating him; thus she frames the matter to\nconform with her desire, and by her own efforts she kindles her love, as\na bush which only smokes with the flame beneath, until some one blows\nit or stirs it up. If the damsel should come in now, she would win the\nquarrel for which she had been so reproached, and by which she had\nbeen so hurt. And next morning, in fact, she appeared again, taking\nthe subject up where she had let it drop. Meanwhile, the lady bowed\nher head, knowing she had done wrong in attacking her. But now she is\nanxious to make amends, and to inquire concerning the name, character,\nand lineage of the knight: so she wisely humbles herself, and says: \"I\nwish to beg your pardon for the insulting words of pride which in my\nrage I spoke to you: I will follow your advice. So tell me now, if\npossible, about the knight of whom you have spoken so much to me: what\nsort of a man is he, and of what parentage? If he is suited to become\nmy mate, and provided he be so disposed, I promise you to make him my\nhusband and lord of my domain. But he will have to act in such a way\nthat no one can reproach me by saying: 'This is she who took him who\nkilled her lord.'\" \"In God's name, lady, so shall it be. You will have\nthe gentlest, noblest, and fairest lord who ever belonged to Abel's\nline.\" \"What is his name?\" \"My lord Yvain.\" \"Upon my word, if he is King\nUrien's son he is of no mean birth, but very noble, as I well know.\"\n\"Indeed, my lady, you say the truth.\" \"And when shall we be able to see\nhim?\" \"In five days' time.\" \"That would be too long; for I wish he were\nalready come. Let him come to-night, or to-morrow, at the latest.\" \"My\nlady, I think no one could fly so far in one day. But I shall send one\nof my squires who can run fast, and who will reach King Arthur's court\nat least by to-morrow night, I think; that is the place we must seek for\nhim.\" \"That is a very long time. The days are long. But tell him that\nto-morrow night he must be back here, and that he must make greater\nhaste than usual. If he will only do his best, he can do two days'\njourney in one. Moreover, to-night the moon will shine; so let him turn\nnight into day. And when he returns I will give him whatever he wishes\nme to give.\" \"Leave all care of that to me; for you shall have him in\nyour hands the day after to-morrow at the very latest. Meanwhile you\nshall summon your men and confer with them about the approaching visit\nof the King. In order to make the customary defence of your spring it\nbehoves you to consult with them. None of them will be so hardy as to\ndare to boast that he will present himself. In that case you will have\na good excuse for saving that it behoves you to marry again. A certain\nknight, highly qualified, seeks your hand; but you do not presume to\naccept him without their unanimous consent. And I warrant what the\noutcome will be: I know them all to be such cowards that in order to put\non some one else the burden which would be too heavy for them, they\nwill fall at your feet and speak their gratitude; for thus their\nresponsibility will be at an end. For, whoever is afraid of his own\nshadow willingly avoids, if possible, any meeting with lance or spear;\nfor such games a coward has no use.\" \"Upon my word,\" the lady replies,\n\"so I would have it, and so I consent, having already conceived the plan\nwhich you have expressed; so that is what we shall do. But why do you\ntarry here? Go, without delay, and take measures to bring him here,\nwhile I shall summon my liege-men.\" Thus concluded their conference. And\nthe damsel pretends to send to search for my lord Yvain in his country;\nwhile every day she has him bathed, and washed, and groomed. And besides\nthis she prepares for him a robe of red scarlet stuff, brand new and\nlined with spotted fur. There is nothing necessary for his equipment\nwhich she does not lend to him: a golden buckle for his neck, ornamented\nwith precious stones which make people look well, a girdle, and a wallet\nmade of rich gold brocade. She fitted him out perfectly, then informed\nher lady that the messenger had returned, having done his errand\nwell. \"How is that?\" she says, \"is he here? Then let him come at once,\nsecretly and privily, while no one is here with me. See to it that no\none else come in, for I should hate to see a fourth person here.\" At\nthis the damsel went away, and returned to her guest again. However, her\nface did not reveal the joy that was in her heart; indeed, she said\nthat her lady knew that she had been sheltering him, and was very much\nincensed at her. \"Further concealment is useless now. The news about\nyou has been so divulged that my lady knows the whole story and is very\nangry with me, heaping me with blame and reproaches. But she has given\nme her word that I may take you into her presence without any harm or\ndanger. I take it that you will have no objection to this, except for\none condition (for I must not disguise the truth, or I should be unjust\nto you): she wishes to have you in her control, and she desires such\ncomplete possession of your body that even your heart shall not be at\nlarge.\" \"Certainly,\" he said, \"I readily consent to what will be no\nhardship to me. I am willing to be her prisoner.\" \"So shall you be:\nI swear it by this right hand laid upon you!. Now come and, upon my\nadvice, demean yourself so humbly in her presence that your imprisonment\nmay not be grievous. Otherwise feel no concern. I do not think that your\nrestraint will be irksome.\" Then the damsel leads him off, now\nalarming, now reassuring him, and speaking to him mysteriously about\nthe confinement in which he is to find himself; for every lover is a\nprisoner. She is right in calling him a prisoner; for surely any one who\nloves is no longer free.\n\n(Vv. 1943-2036.) Taking my lord Yvain by the hand, the damsel leads him\nwhere he will be dearly loved; but expecting to be ill received, it\nis not strange if he is afraid. They found the lady seated upon a red\ncushion. I assure you my lord Yvain was terrified upon entering the\nroom, where he found the lady who spoke not a word to him. At this he\nwas still more afraid, being overcome with fear at the thought that he\nhad been betrayed. He stood there to one side so long that the damsel\nat last spoke up and said: \"Five hundred curses upon the head of him who\ntakes into a fair lady's chamber a knight who will not draw near,\nand who has neither tongue nor mouth nor sense to introduce himself.\"\nThereupon, taking him by the arm, she thrust him forward with the words:\n\"Come, step forward, knight, and have no fear that my lady is going to\nsnap at you; but seek her good-will and give her yours. I will join you\nin your prayer that she pardon you for the death of her lord, Esclados\nthe Red.\" Then my lord Yvain clasped his hands, and failing upon his\nknees, spoke like a lover with these words: \"I will not crave your\npardon, lady, but rather thank you for any treatment you may inflict on\nme, knowing that no act of yours could ever be distasteful to me.\" \"Is\nthat so, sir? And what if I think to kill you now?\" \"My lady, if it\nplease you, you will never hear me speak otherwise.\" \"I never heard of\nsuch a thing as this: that you put yourself voluntarily and absolutely\nwithin my power, without the coercion of any one.\" \"My lady, there is\nno force so strong, in truth, as that which commands me to conform\nabsolutely to your desire. I do not fear to carry out any order you\nmay be pleased to give. And if I could atone for the death, which came\nthrough no fault of mine, I would do so cheerfully.\" \"What?\" says she,\n\"come tell me now and be forgiven, if you did no wrong in killing my\nlord?\" \"Lady,\" he says, \"if I may say it, when your lord attacked me,\nwhy was I wrong to defend myself? When a man in self-defence kills\nanother who is trying to kill or capture him, tell me if in any way he\nis to blame.\" \"No, if one looks at it aright. And I suppose it would\nhave been no use, if I had had you put to death. But I should be glad\nto learn whence you derive the force that bids you to consent\nunquestioningly to whatever my will may dictate. I pardon you all your\nmisdeeds and crimes. But be seated, and tell us now what is the cause of\nyour docility?\" \"My lady,\" he says, \"the impelling force comes from\nmy heart, which is inclined toward you. My heart has fixed me in this\ndesire.\" \"And what prompted your heart, my fair sweet friend?\" \"Lady, my\neyes.\" \"And what the eyes?\" \"The great beauty that I see in you.\" \"And\nwhere is beauty's fault in that?\" \"Lady, in this: that it makes me\nlove.\" \"Love? And whom?\" \"You, my lady dear.\" \"I?\" \"Yes, truly.\"\n\"Really? And how is that?\" \"To such an extent that my heart will not\nstir from you, nor is it elsewhere to be found; to such an extent that I\ncannot think of anything else, and I surrender myself altogether to you,\nwhom I love more than I love myself, and for whom, if you will, I am\nequally ready to die or live.\" \"And would you dare to undertake the\ndefence of my spring for love of me?\" \"Yes, my lady, against the world.\"\n\"Then you may know that our peace is made.\"\n\n(Vv. 2037-2048.) Thus they are quickly reconciled. And the lady, having\npreviously consulted her lords, says: \"We shall proceed from here to the\nhall where my men are assembled, who, in view of the evident need, have\nadvised and counselled me to take a husband at their request. And I\nshall do so, in view of the urgent need: here and now I give myself to\nyou; for I should not refuse to accept as lord, such a good knight and a\nking's son.\"\n\n(Vv. 2049-2328.) Now the damsel has brought about exactly what she had\ndesired. And my lord Yvain's mastery is more complete than could be told\nor described; for the lady leads him away to the hall, which was full of\nher knights and men-at-arms. And my lord Yvain was so handsome that they\nall marvelled to look at him, and all, rising to their feet, salute and\nbow to my lord Yvain, guessing well as they did so: \"This is he whom\nmy lady will select. Cursed be he who opposes him! For he seems a\nwonderfully fine man. Surely, the empress of Rome would be well married\nwith such a man. Would now that he had given his word to her, and she to\nhim, with clasped hand, and that the wedding might take place to-day\nor tomorrow.\" Thus they spoke among themselves. At the end of the hall\nthere was a seat, and there in the sight of all the lady took her place.\nAnd my lord Yvain made as if he intended to seat himself at her feet;\nbut she raised him up, and ordered the seneschal to speak aloud, so\nthat his speech might be heard by all. Then the seneschal began, being\nneither stubborn nor slow of speech: \"My lords,\" he said, \"we are\nconfronted by war. Every day the King is preparing with all the haste he\ncan command to come to ravage our lands. Before a fortnight shall have\npassed, all will have been laid waste, unless some valiant defender\nshall appear. When my lady married first, not quite seven years ago, she\ndid it on your advice. Now her husband is dead, and she is grieved. Six\nfeet of earth is all he has, who formerly owned all this land, and who\nwas indeed its ornament. [314] It is a pity he lived so short a while.\nA woman cannot bear a shield, nor does she know how to fight with lance.\nIt would exalt and dignify her again if she should marry some worthy\nlord. Never was there greater need than now; do all of you recommend\nthat she take a spouse, before the custom shall lapse which has been\nobserved in this town for more than the past sixty years.\" At this, all\nat once proclaim that it seems to them the right thing to do, and they\nall throw themselves at her feet. They strengthen her desire by their\nconsent; yet she hesitates to assert her wishes until, as if against\nher will, she finally speaks to the same intent as she would have done,\nindeed, if every one had opposed her wish: \"My lords, since it is your\nwish, this knight who is seated beside me has wooed me and ardently\nsought my hand. He wishes to engage himself in the defence of my rights\nand in my service, for which I thank him heartily, as you do also. It is\ntrue I have never known him in person, but I have often heard his name.\nKnow that he is no less a man than the son of King Urien. Beside his\nillustrious lineage, he is so brave, courteous, and wise that no one\nhas cause to disparage him. You have all already heard, I suppose, of\nmy lord Yvain, and it is he who seeks my hand. When the marriage is\nconsummated, I shall have a more noble lord than I deserve.\" They all\nsay: \"If you are prudent, this very day shall not go by without the\nmarriage being solemnised. For it is folly to postpone for a single hour\nan advantageous act.\" They beseech her so insistently that she consents\nto what she would have done in any case. For Love bids her do that for\nwhich she asks counsel and advice; but there is more honour for him in\nbeing accepted with the approval of her men. To her their prayers are\nnot unwelcome; rather do they stir and incite her heart to have its way.\nThe horse, already under speed, goes faster yet when it is spurred. In\nthe presence of all her lords, the lady gives herself to my lord Yvain.\nFrom the hand of her chaplain he received the lady, Laudine de Landuc,\ndaughter of Duke Laudunet, of whom they sing a lay. That very day\nwithout delay he married her, and the wedding was celebrated. There\nwere plenty of mitres and croziers there, for the lady had summoned her\nbishops and abbots. Great was the joy and rejoicing, there were many\npeople, and much wealth was displayed--more than I could tell you of,\nwere I to devote much thought to it. It is better to keep silent than to\nbe inadequate. So my lord Yvain is master now, and the dead man is quite\nforgot. He who killed him is now married to his wife, and they enjoy the\nmarriage rights. The people love and esteem their living lord more than\nthey ever did the dead. They served him well at his marriage-feast,\nuntil the eve before the day when the King came to visit the marvellous\nspring and its stone, bringing with him upon this expedition his\ncompanions and all those of his household; not one was left behind. And\nmy lord Kay remarked: \"Ah, what now has become of Yvain, who after his\ndinner made the boast that he would avenge his cousin's shame? Evidently\nhe spoke in his cups. I believe that he has run away. He would not\ndare to come back for anything. He was very presumptuous to make such a\nboast. He is a bold man who dares to boast of what no one would praise\nhim for, and who has no proof of his great feats except the words of\nsome false flatterer. There is a great difference between a coward and a\nhero; for the coward seated beside the fire talks loudly about himself,\nholding all the rest as fools, and thinking that no one knows his real\ncharacter. A hero would be distressed at hearing his prowess related by\nsome one else. And yet I maintain that the coward is not wrong to praise\nand vaunt himself, for he will find no one else to lie for him. If he\ndoes not boast of his deeds, who will? All pass over him in silence,\neven the heralds, who proclaim the brave, but discard the cowards.\" When\nmy lord Kay had spoken thus, my lord Gawain made this reply: \"My lord\nKay, have some mercy now! Since my lord Yvain is not here, you do not\nknow what business occupies him. Indeed, he never so debased himself as\nto speak any ill of you compared with the gracious things he has said.\"\n\"Sire,\" says Kay, \"I'll hold my peace. I'll not say another word to-day,\nsince I see you are offended by my speech.\" Then the King, in order to\nsee the rain, poured a whole basin full of water upon the stone beneath\nthe pine, and at once the rain began to pour. It was not long before my\nlord Yvain without delay entered the forest fully armed, tiding faster\nthan a gallop on a large, sleek steed, strong, intrepid, and fleet of\nfoot. And it was my lord Kay's desire to request the first encounter.\nFor, whatever the outcome might be, he always wished to begin the fight\nand joust the first, or else he would be much incensed. Before all the\nrest, he requested the King to allow him to do battle first. The King\nsays: \"Kay, since it is your wish, and since you are the first to make\nthe request, the favour ought not to be denied.\" Kay thanks him first,\nthen mounts his steed. If now my lord Yvain can inflict a mild disgrace\nupon him, he will be very glad to do so; for he recognises him by his\narms. [315] Each grasping his shield by the straps, they rush together.\nSpurring their steeds, they lower the lances, which they hold tightly\ngripped. Then they thrust them forward a little, so that they grasped\nthem by the leather-wrapped handles, and so that when they came together\nthey were able to deal such cruel blows that both lances broke in\nsplinters clear to the handle of the shaft. My lord Yvain gave him such\na mighty blow that Kay took a summersault from out of his saddle and\nstruck with his helmet on the ground. My lord Yvain has no desire to\ninflict upon him further harm, but simply dismounts and takes his horse.\nThis pleased them all, and many said: \"Ah, ah, see how you prostrate\nlie, who but now held others up to scorn! And yet it is only right to\npardon you this time; for it never happened to you before.\" Thereupon\nmy lord Yvain approached the King, leading the horse in his hand by the\nbridle, and wishing to make it over to him. \"Sire,\" says he, \"now take\nthis steed, for I should do wrong to keep back anything of yours.\" \"And\nwho are you?\" the King replies; \"I should never know you, unless I heard\nyour name, or saw you without your arms.\" Then my lord told him who\nhe was, and Kay was overcome with shame, mortified, humbled, and\ndiscomfited, for having said that he had run away. But the others were\ngreatly pleased, and made much of the honour he had won. Even the King\nwas greatly gratified, and my lord Gawain a hundred times more than any\none else. For he loved his company more than that of any other knight\nhe knew. And the King requested him urgently to tell him, if it be his\nwill, how he had fared; for he was very curious to learn all about his\nadventure; so the King begs him to tell the truth. And he soon told him\nall about the service and kindness of the damsel, not passing over\na single word, not forgetting to mention anything. And after this he\ninvited the King and all his knights to come to lodge with him, saying\nthey would be doing him great honour in accepting his hospitality. And\nthe King said that for an entire week he would gladly do him the honour\nand pleasure, and would bear him company. And when my lord Yvain had\nthanked him, they tarry no longer there, but mount and take the most\ndirect road to the town. My lord Yvain sends in advance of the company\na squire beating a crane-falcon, in order that they might not take the\nlady by surprise, and that her people might decorate the streets against\nthe arrival of the King. When the lady heard the news of the King's\nvisit she was greatly pleased; nor was there any one who, upon hearing\nthe news, was not happy and elated. And the lady summons them all and\nrequests them to go to meet him, to which they make no objection or\nremonstrance, all being anxious to do her will.\n\n(Vv. 2329-2414.) [316] Mounted on great Spanish steeds, they all go to\nmeet the King of Britain, saluting King Arthur first with great courtesy\nand then all his company. \"Welcome,\" they say, \"to this company, so full\nof honourable men! Blessed be he who brings them hither and presents us\nwith such fair guests!\" At the King's arrival the town resounds with\nthe joyous welcome which they give. Silken stuffs are taken out and hung\naloft as decorations, and they spread tapestries to walk upon and drape\nthe streets with them, while they wait for the King's approach. And they\nmake still another preparation, in covering the streets with awnings\nagainst the hot rays of the sun. Bells, horns, and trumpets cause\nthe town to ring so that God's thunder could not have been heard. The\nmaidens dance before him, flutes and pipes are played, kettle-drums,\ndrums, and cymbals are beaten. On their part the nimble youths leap, and\nall strive to show their delight. With such evidence of their joy, they\nwelcome the King fittingly. And the Lady came forth, dressed in imperial\ngarb a robe of fresh ermine--and upon her head she wore a diadem all\nornamented with rubies. No cloud was there upon her face, but it was\nso gay and full of joy that she was more beautiful, I think, than any\ngoddess. Around her the crowd pressed close, as they cried with one\naccord: \"Welcome to the King of kings and lord of lords!\" The King could\nnot reply to all before he saw the lady coming toward him to hold his\nstirrup. However, he would not wait for this, but hastened to dismount\nhimself as soon as he caught sight of her. Then she salutes him with\nthese words: \"Welcome a hundred thousand times to the King, my lord, and\nblessed be his nephew, my lord Gawain!\" The King replies: \"I wish\nall happiness and good luck to your fair body and your face, lovely\ncreature!\" Then clasping her around the waist, the King embraced her\ngaily and heartily as she did him, throwing her arms about him. I will\nsay no more of how gladly she welcomed them, but no one ever heard of\nany people who were so honourably received and served. I might tell you\nmuch of the joy should I not be wasting words, but I wish to make brief\nmention of an acquaintance which was made in private between the moon\nand the sun. Do you know of whom I mean to speak? He who was lord of the\nknights, and who was renowned above them all, ought surely to be called\nthe sun. I refer, of course, to my lord Gawain, for chivalry is enhanced\nby him just as when the morning sun sheds its rays abroad and lights all\nplaces where it shines. And I call her the moon, who cannot be otherwise\nbecause of her sense and courtesy. However, I call her so not only\nbecause of her good repute, but because her name is, in fact, Lunete.\n\n(Vv. 2415-2538.) The damsel's name was Lunete, and she was a charming\nbrunette, prudent, clever, and polite. As her acquaintance grows with\nmy lord Gawain, he values her highly and gives her his love as to his\nsweetheart, because she had saved from death his companion and friend;\nhe places himself freely at her service. On her part she describes and\nrelates to him with what difficulty she persuaded her mistress to take\nmy lord Yvain as her husband, and how she protected him from the hands\nof those who were seeking him; how he was in their midst but they did\nnot see him. My lord Gawain laughed aloud at this story of hers, and\nthen he said: \"Mademoiselle, when you need me and when you don't, such\nas I am, I place myself at your disposal. Never throw me off for some\none else when you think you can improve your lot. I am yours, and do\nyou be from now on my demoiselle!\" \"I thank you kindly, sire,\" she said.\nWhile the acquaintance of these two was ripening thus, the others, too,\nwere engaged in flirting. For there were perhaps ninety ladies there,\neach of whom was fair and charming, noble and polite, virtuous and\nprudent, and a lady of exalted birth, so the men could agreeably employ\nthemselves in caressing and kissing them, and in talking to them and\nin gazing at them while they were seated by their side; that much\nsatisfaction they had at least. My lord Yvain is in high feather because\nthe King is lodged with him. And the lady bestows such attention upon\nthem all, as individuals and collectively, that some foolish person\nmight suppose that the charming attentions which she showed them were\ndictated by love. But such persons may properly be rated as fools for\nthinking that a lady is in love with them just because she is courteous\nand speaks to some unfortunate fellow, and makes him happy and caresses\nhim. A fool is made happy by fair words, and is very easily taken in.\nThat entire week they spent in gaiety; forest and stream offered plenty\nof sport for any one who desired it. And whoever wished to see the land\nwhich had come into the hands of my lord Yvain with the lady whom he\nhad married, could go to enjoy himself at one of the castles which stood\nwithin a radius of two, three, or four leagues. When the King had stayed\nas long as he chose, he made ready to depart. But during the week they\nhad all begged urgently, and with all the insistence at their command,\nthat they might take away my lord Yvain with them. \"What? Will you\nbe one of those.\" said my lord Gawain to him, \"who degenerate after\nmarriage? [317] Cursed be he by Saint Mary who marries and then\ndegenerates! Whoever has a fair lady as his mistress or his wife should\nbe the better for it, and it is not right that her affection should be\nbestowed on him after his worth and reputation are gone. Surely you,\ntoo, would have cause to regret her love if you grew soft, for a\nwoman quickly withdraws her love, and rightly so, and despises him who\ndegenerates in any way when he has become lord of the realm. Now ought\nyour fame to be increased! Slip off the bridle and halter and come to\nthe tournament with me, that no one may say that you are jealous. Now\nyou must no longer hesitate to frequent the lists, to share in the\nonslaught, and to contend with force, whatever effort it may cost!\nInaction produces indifference. But, really, you must come, for I shall\nbe in your company. Have a care that our comradeship shall not fail\nthrough any fault of yours, fair companion; for my part, you may count\non me. It is strange how a man sets store by the life of ease which\nhas no end. Pleasures grow sweeter through postponement; and a little\npleasure, when delayed, is much sweeter to the taste than great pleasure\nenjoyed at once. The sweets of a love which develops late are like\na fire in a green bush; for the longer one delays in lighting it the\ngreater will be the heat it yields, and the longer will its force\nendure. One may easily fall into habits which it is very difficult\nto shake off, for when one desires to do so, he finds he has lost the\npower. Don't misunderstand my words, my friend: if I had such a fair\nmistress as you have, I call God and His saints to witness, I should\nleave her most reluctantly; indeed, I should doubtless be infatuated.\nBut a man may give another counsel, which he would not take himself,\njust as the preachers, who are deceitful rascals, and preach and\nproclaim the right but who do not follow it themselves.\"\n\n(Vv. 2539-2578.) My lord Gawain spoke at such length and so urgently\nthat he promised him that he would go; but he said that he must consult\nhis lady and ask for her consent. Whether it be a foolish or a prudent\nthing to do, he will not fail to ask her leave to return to Britain.\nThen he took counsel with his wife, who had no inkling of the permission\nhe desired, as he addressed her with these words: \"My beloved lady, my\nheart and soul, my treasure, joy, and happiness, grant me now a favour\nwhich will redound to your honour and to mine.\" The lady at once gives\nher consent, not knowing what his desire is, and says: \"Fair lord, you\nmay command me your pleasure, whatever it be.\" Then my lord Yvain\nat once asks her for permission to escort the King and to attend at\ntournaments, that no one may reproach his indolence. And she replies:\n\"I grant you leave until a certain date; but be sure that my love will\nchange to hate if you stay beyond the term that I shall fix. Remember\nthat I shall keep my word; if you break your word I will keep mine. If\nyou wish to possess my love, and if you have any regard for me, remember\nto come back again at the latest a year from the present date a week\nafter St. John's day; for to-day is the eighth day since that feast.\nYou will be checkmated of my love if you are not restored to me on that\nday.\"\n\n(Vv. 2579-2635.) My lord Yvain weeps and sighs so bitterly that he can\nhardly find words to say: \"My lady, this date is indeed a long way off.\nIf I could be a dove, whenever the fancy came to me, I should often\nrejoin you here. And I pray God that in His pleasure He may not detain\nme so long away. But sometimes a man intends speedily to return who\nknows not what the future has in store for him. And I know not what will\nbe my fate--perhaps some urgency of sickness or imprisonment may keep\nme back: you are unjust in not making an exception at least of actual\nhindrance.\" \"My lord,\" says she, \"I will make that exception. And yet\nI dare to promise you that, if God deliver you from death, no hindrance\nwill stand in your way so long as you remember me. So put on your finger\nnow this ring of mine, which I lend to you. And I will tell you all\nabout the stone: no true and loyal lover can be imprisoned or lose any\nblood, nor can any harm befall him, provided he carry it and hold it\ndear, and keep his sweetheart in mind. You will become as hard as iron,\nand it will serve you as shield and hauberk. I have never before been\nwilling to lend or entrust it to any knight, but to you I give it\nbecause of my affection for you.\" Now my lord Yvain is free to go, but\nhe weeps bitterly on taking leave. The King, however, would not tarry\nlonger for anything that might be said: rather was he anxious to have\nthe palfreys brought all equipped and bridled. They acceded at once to\nhis desire, bringing the palfreys forth, so that it remained only to\nmount. I do not know whether I ought to tell you how my lord Yvain took\nhis leave, and of the kisses bestowed on him, mingled with tears and\nsteeped in sweetness. And what shall I tell you about the King how the\nlady escorts him, accompanied by her damsels and seneschal? All this\nwould require too much time. When he sees the lady's tears, the King\nimplores her to come no farther, but to return to her abode. He begged\nher with such urgency that, heavy at heart, she turned about followed by\nher company.\n\n(Vv. 2639-2773.) My lord Yvain is so distressed to leave his lady that\nhis heart remains behind. The King may take his body off, but he cannot\nlead his heart away. She who stays behind clings so tightly to his heart\nthat the King has not the power to take it away with him. When the body\nis left without the heart it cannot possibly live on. For such a marvel\nwas never seen as the body alive without the heart. Yet this marvel now\ncame about: for he kept his body without the heart, which was wont to be\nenclosed in it, but which would not follow the body now. The heart has\na good abiding-place, while the body, hoping for a safe return to its\nheart, in strange fashion takes a new heart of hope, which is so often\ndeceitful and treacherous. He will never know in advance, I think, the\nhour when this hope will play him false, for if he overstays by single\nday the term which he has agreed upon, it will be hard for him to gain\nagain his lady's pardon and goodwill. Yet I think he will overstay\nthe term, for my lord Gawain will not allow him to part from him, as\ntogether they go to joust wherever tournaments are held. And as the year\npasses by my lord Yvain had such success that my lord Gawain strove\nto honour him, and caused him to delay so long that all the first year\nslipped by, and it came to the middle of August of the ensuing year,\nwhen the King held court at Chester, whither they had returned the day\nbefore from a tournament where my lord Yvain had been and where he had\nwon the glory and the story tells how the two companions were unwilling\nto lodge in the town, but had their tents set up outside the city, and\nheld court there. For they never went to the royal court, but the King\ncame rather to join in theirs, for they had the best knights, and the\ngreatest number, in their company. Now King Arthur was seated in their\nmidst, when Yvain suddenly had a thought which surprised him more than\nany that had occurred to him since he had taken leave of his lady, for\nhe realised that he had broken his word, and that the limit of his\nleave was already exceeded. He could hardly keep back his tears, but he\nsucceeded in doing so from shame. He was still deep in thought when\nhe saw a damsel approaching rapidly upon a black palfrey with white\nforefeet. As she got down before the tent no one helped her to dismount,\nand no one went to take her horse. As soon as she made out the King, she\nlet her mantle fall, and thus displayed she entered the tent and came\nbefore the King, announcing that her mistress sent greetings to the\nKing, and to my lord Gawain and all the other knights, except\nYvain, that disloyal traitor, liar, hypocrite, who had deserted her\ndeceitfully. \"She has seen clearly the treachery of him who pretended\nhe was a faithful lover while he was a false and treacherous thief. This\nthief has traduced my lady, who was all unprepared for any evil, and\nto whom it never occurred that he would steal her heart away. Those who\nlove truly do not steal hearts away; there are, however, some men,\nby whom these former are called thieves, who themselves go about\ndeceitfully making love, but in whom there is no real knowledge of the\nmatter. The lover takes his lady's heart, of course, but he does not run\naway with it; rather does he treasure it against those thieves who,\nin the guise of honourable men, would steal it from him. But those are\ndeceitful and treacherous thieves who vie with one another in stealing\nhearts for which they care nothing. The true lover, wherever he may go,\nholds the heart dear and brings it back again. But Yvain has caused my\nlady's death, for she supposed that he would guard her heart for her,\nand would bring it back again before the year elapsed. Yvain, thou wast\nof short memory when thou couldst not remember to return to thy mistress\nwithin a year. She gave thee thy liberty until St. John's day, and thou\nsettest so little store by her that never since has a thought of her\ncrossed thy mind. My lady had marked every day in her chamber, as the\nseasons passed: for when one is in love, one is ill at ease and cannot\nget any restful sleep, but all night long must needs count and reckon\nup the days as they come and go. Dost thou know how lovers spend their\ntime? They keep count of the time and the season. Her complaint is not\npresented prematurely or without cause, and I am not accusing him in any\nway, but I simply say that we have been betrayed by him who married\nmy lady. Yvain, my mistress has no further care for thee, but sends thee\nword by me never to come back to her, and no longer to keep her ring.\nShe bids thee send it back to her by me, whom thou seest present here.\nSurrender it now, as thou art bound to do.\"\n\n(Vv. 2774-3230.) Senseless and deprived of speech, Yvain is unable to\nreply. And the damsel steps forth and takes the ring from his finger,\ncommending to God the King and all the others except him, whom she\nleaves in deep distress. And his sorrow grows on him: he feels oppressed\nby what he hears, and is tormented by what he sees. He would rather be\nbanished alone in some wild land, where no one would know where to seek\nfor him, and where no man or woman would know of his whereabouts any\nmore than if he were in some deep abyss. He hates nothing so much as he\nhates himself, nor does he know to whom to go for comfort in the death\nhe has brought upon himself. But he would rather go insane than not\ntake vengeance upon himself, deprived, as he is, of joy through his own\nfault. He rises from his place among the knights, fearing he will lose\nhis mind if he stays longer in their midst. On their part, they pay no\nheed to him, but let him take his departure alone. They know well enough\nthat he cares nothing for their talk or their society. And he goes away\nuntil he is far from the tents and pavilions. Then such a storm broke\nloose in his brain that he loses his senses; he tears his flesh and,\nstripping off his clothes, he flees across the meadows and fields,\nleaving his men quite at a loss, and wondering what has become of him.\n[318] They go in search of him through all the country around--in the\nlodgings of the knights, by the hedgerows, and in the gardens--but they\nseek him where he is not to be found. Still fleeing, he rapidly pursued\nhis way until he met close by a park a lad who had in his hand a bow and\nfive barbed arrows, which were very sharp and broad. He had sense enough\nto go and take the bow and arrows which he held. However, he had no\nrecollection of anything that he had done. He lies in wait for the\nbeasts in the woods, killing them, and then eating the venison raw. Thus\nhe dwelt in the forest like a madman or a savage, until he came upon a\nlittle, low-lying house belonging to a hermit, who was at work clearing\nhis ground. When he saw him coming with nothing on, he could easily\nperceive that he was not in his right mind; and such was the case, as\nthe hermit very well knew. So, in fear, he shut himself up in his little\nhouse, and taking some bread and fresh water, he charitably set it\noutside the house on a narrow window-ledge. And thither the other comes,\nhungry for the bread which he takes and eats. I do not believe that he\never before had tasted such hard and bitter bread. The measure of barley\nkneaded with the straw, of which the bread, sourer than yeast, was made,\nhad not cost more than five sous; and the bread was musty and as dry\nas bark. But hunger torments and whets his appetite, so that the\nbread tasted to him like sauce. For hunger is itself a well mixed and\nconcocted sauce for any food. My lord Yvain soon ate the hermit's bread,\nwhich tasted good to him, and drank the cool water from the jar. When he\nhad eaten, he betook himself again to the woods in search of stags and\ndoes. And when he sees him going away, the good man beneath his roof\nprays God to defend him and guard him lest he ever pass that way again.\nBut there is no creature, with howsoever little sense, that will not\ngladly return to a place where he is kindly treated. So, not a day\npassed while he was in this mad fit that he did not bring to his door\nsome wild game. Such was the life he led; and the good man took it upon\nhimself to remove the skin and set a good quantity of the venison to\ncook; and the bread and the water in the jug was always standing on the\nwindow-ledge for the madman to make a meal. Thus he had something to eat\nand drink: venison without salt or pepper, and good cool water from the\nspring. And the good man exerted himself to sell the hide and buy bread\nmade of barley, or oats, or of some other grain; so, after that, Yvain\nhad a plentiful supply of bread and venison, which sufficed him for\na long time, until one day he was found asleep in the forest by two\ndamsels and their mistress, in whose service they were. When they saw\nthe naked man, one of the three ran and dismounted and examined him\nclosely, before she saw anything about him which would serve to identify\nhim. If he had only been richly attired, as he had been many a time, and\nif she could have seen him then she would have known him quickly enough.\nBut she was slow to recognise him, and continued to look at him until\nat last she noticed a scar which he had on his face, and she recollected\nthat my lord Yvain's face was scarred in this same way; she was sure of\nit, for she had often seen it. Because of the scar she saw that it was\nhe beyond any doubt; but she marvelled greatly how it came about that\nshe found him thus poor and stripped. Often she crosses herself in\namazement, but she does not touch him or wake him up; rather does\nshe mount her horse again, and going back to the others, tells them\ntearfully of her adventure. I do not know if I ought to delay to tell\nyou of the grief she showed; but thus she spoke weeping to her mistress:\n\"My lady, I have found Yvain, who has proved himself to be the best\nknight in the world, and the most virtuous. I cannot imagine what sin\nhas reduced the gentleman to such a plight. I think he must have had\nsome misfortune, which causes him thus to demean himself, for one may\nlose his wits through grief. And any one can see that he is not in his\nright mind, for it would surely never be like him to conduct himself\nthus indecently unless he had lost his mind. Would that God had restored\nto him the best sense he ever had, and would that he might then consent\nto render assistance to your cause! For Count Alier, who is at war with\nyou, has made upon you a fierce attack. I should see the strife between\nyou two quickly settled in your favour if God favoured your fortunes\nso that he should return to his senses and undertake to aid you in this\nstress.\" To this the lady made reply: \"Take care now! For surely, if he\ndoes not escape, with God's help I think we can clear his head of all\nthe madness and insanity. But we must be on our way at once! For I\nrecall a certain ointment with which Morgan the Wise presented me,\nsaying there was no delirium of the head which it would not cure.\"\nThereupon, they go off at once toward the town, which was hard by, for\nit was not any more than half a league of the kind they have in that\ncountry; and, as compared with ours, two of their leagues make one and\nfour make two. And he remains sleeping all alone, while the lady goes\nto fetch the ointment. The lady opens a case of hers, and, taking out a\nbox, gives it to the damsel, and charges her not to be too prodigal in\nits use: she should rub only his temples with it, for there is no use of\napplying it elsewhere; she should anoint only his temples with it, and\nthe remainder she should carefully keep, for there is nothing the matter\nwith him except in his brain. She sends him also a robe of spotted fur,\na coat, and a mantle of scarlet silk. The damsel takes them, and leads\nin her right hand an excellent palfrey. And she added to these, of her\nown store, a shirt, some soft hose, and some new drawers of proper cut.\nWith all these things she quickly set out, and found him still asleep\nwhere she had left him. After putting her horse in an enclosure where\nshe tied him fast, she came with the clothes and the ointment to the\nplace where he was asleep. Then she made so bold as to approach the\nmadman, so that she could touch and handle him: then taking the\nointment she rubbed him with it until none remained in the box, being\nso solicitous for his recovery that she proceeded to anoint him all over\nwith it; and she used it so freely that she heeded not the warning of\nher mistress, nor indeed did she remember it. She put more on than was\nneeded, but in her opinion it was well employed. She rubbed his temples\nand forehead, and his whole body down to the ankles. She rubbed his\ntemples and his whole body so much there in the hot sunshine that the\nmadness and the depressing gloom passed completely out of his brain. But\nshe was foolish to anoint his body, for of that there was no need. If\nshe had had five measures of it she would doubtless have done the same\nthing. She carries off the box, and takes hidden refuge by her horse.\nBut she leaves the robe behind, wishing that, if God calls him back to\nlife, he may see it all laid out, and may take it and put it on. She\nposts herself behind an oak tree until he had slept enough, and was\ncured and quite restored, having regained his wits and memory. Then he\nsees that he is as naked as ivory, and feels much ashamed; but he would\nhave been yet more ashamed had he known what had happened. As it is, he\nknows nothing but that he is naked. He sees the new robe lying before\nhim, and marvels greatly how and by what adventure it had come there.\nBut he is ashamed and concerned, because of his nakedness, and says that\nhe is dead and utterly undone if any one has come upon him there and\nrecognised him. Meanwhile, he clothes himself and looks out into the\nforest to see if any one was approaching. He tries to stand up and\nsupport himself, but cannot summon the strength to walk away, for his\nsickness has so affected him that he can scarcely stand upon his feet.\nThereupon, the damsel resolves to wait no longer, but, mounting, she\npassed close by him, as if unaware of his presence. Quite indifferent as\nto whence might come the help, which he needed so much to lead him away\nto some lodging-place, where he might recruit his strength, he calls out\nto her with all his might. And the damsel, for her part, looks about\nher as if not knowing what the trouble is. Confused, she goes hither and\nthither, not wishing to go straight up to him. Then he begins to call\nagain: \"Damsel, come this way, here!\" And the damsel guided toward him\nher soft-stepping palfrey. By this ruse she made him think that she knew\nnothing of him and had never seen him before; in so doing she was wise\nand courteous. When she had come before him, she said: \"Sir knight, what\ndo you desire that you call me so insistently?\" \"Ah,\" said he, \"prudent\ndamsel, I have found myself in this wood by some mishap--I know not\nwhat. For God's sake and your belief in Him, I pray you to lend me,\ntaking my word as pledge, or else to give me outright, that palfrey\nyou are leading in your hand.\" \"Gladly, sire: but you must accompany me\nwhither I am going.\" \"Which way?\" says he. \"To a town that stands near\nby, beyond the forest.\" \"Tell me, damsel, if you stand in need of me.\"\n\"Yes,\" she says, \"I do; but I think you are not very well. For the next\ntwo weeks at least you ought to rest. Take this horse, which I hold in\nmy right hand, and we shall go to our lodging-place.\" And he, who had no\nother desire, takes it and mounts, and they proceed until they come to a\nbridge over a swift and turbulent stream. And the damsel throws into the\nwater the empty box she is carrying, thinking to excuse herself to her\nmistress for her ointment by saying that she was so unlucky as to let\nthe box fall into the water for, when her palfrey stumbled under her,\nthe box slipped from her gasp, and she came near falling in too, which\nwould have been still worse luck. It is her intention to invent this\nstory when she comes into her mistress' presence. Together they held\ntheir way until they came to the town, where the lady detained my lord\nYvain and asked her damsel in private for her box and ointment: and the\ndamsel repeated to her the lie as she had invented it, not daring to\ntell her the truth. Then the lady was greatly enraged, and said: \"This\nis certainly a very serious loss, and I am sure and certain that the\nbox will never be found again. But since it has happened so, there is\nnothing more to be done about it. One often desires a blessing which\nturns out to be a curse; thus I, who looked for a blessing and joy from\nthis knight, have lost the dearest and most precious of my possessions.\nHowever, I beg you to serve him in all respects.\" \"Ah, lady, how wisely\nnow you speak! For it would be too bad to convert one misfortune into\ntwo.\"\n\n(Vv. 3131-3254.) Then they say no more about the box, but minister in\nevery way they can to the comfort of my lord Yvain, bathing him and\nwashing his hair, having him shaved and clipped, for one could have\ntaken up a fist full of hair upon his face. His every want is satisfied:\nif he asks for arms, they are furnished him: if he wants a horse, they\nprovide him with one that is large and handsome, strong and spirited.\nHe stayed there until, upon a Tuesday, Count Alier came to the town with\nhis men and knights, who started fires and took plunder. Those in the\ntown at once rose up and equipped themselves with arms. Some armed and\nsome unarmed, they issued forth to meet the plunderers, who did not\ndeign to retreat before them, but awaited them in a narrow pass. My lord\nYvain struck at the crowd; he had had so long a rest that his strength\nwas quite restored, and he struck a knight upon his shield with such\nforce that he sent down in a heap, I think, the knight together with his\nhorse. The knight never rose again, for his backbone was broken and\nhis heart burst within his breast. My lord Yvain drew back a little to\nrecover. Then protecting himself completely with his shield, he spurred\nforward to clear the pass. One could not have counted up to four before\none would have seen him cast down speedily four knights. Whereupon,\nthose who were with him waxed more brave, for many a man of poor and\ntimid heart, at the sight of some brave man who attacks a dangerous task\nbefore his eyes, will be overwhelmed by confusion and shame, which will\ndrive out the poor heart in his body and give him another like to a\nhero's for courage. So these men grew brave and each stood his ground in\nthe fight and attack. And the lady was up in the tower, whence she saw\nthe fighting and the rush to win and gain possession of the pass, and\nshe saw lying upon the ground many who were wounded and many killed,\nboth of her own party and of the enemy, but more of the enemy than of\nher own. For my courteous, bold, and excellent lord Yvain made them\nyield just as a falcon does the teal. And the men and women who had\nremained within the town declared as they watched the strife: \"Ah, what\na valiant knight! How he makes his enemies yield, and how fierce is his\nattack! He was about him as a lion among the fallow deer, when he is\nimpelled by need and hunger. Then, too, all our other knights are more\nbrave and daring because of him, for, were it not for him alone, not a\nlance would have been splintered nor a sword drawn to strike. When such\nan excellent man is found he ought to be loved and dearly prized. See\nnow how he proves himself, see how he maintains his place, see how he\nstains with blood his lance and bare sword, see how he presses the enemy\nand follows them up, how he comes boldly to attack them, then gives\naway and turns about; but he spends little time in giving away, and soon\nreturns to the attack. See him in the fray again, how lightly he esteems\nhis shield, which he allows to be cut in pieces mercilessly. Just see\nhow keen he is to avenge the blows which are dealt at him. For, if some\none should use all the forest of Argone [319] to make lances for him,\nI guess he would have none left by night. For he breaks all the lances\nthat they place in his socket, and calls for more. And see how he\nwields the sword when he draws it! Roland never wrought such havoc with\nDurendal against the Turks at Ronceval or in Spain! [320] If he had in\nhis company some good companions like himself, the traitor, whose attack\nwe are suffering, would retreat today discomfited, or would stand his\nground only to find defeat.\" Then they say that the woman would be\nblessed who should be loved by one who is so powerful in arms, and who\nabove all others may be recognised as a taper among candles, as a moon\namong the stars, and as the sun above the moon. He so won the hearts of\nall that the prowess which they see in him made them wish that he had\ntaken their lady to wife, and that he were master of the land.\n\n(Vv. 3255-3340.) Thus men and women alike praised him, and in doing so\nthey but told the truth. For his attack on his adversaries was such\nthat they vie with one another in flight. But he presses hard upon their\nheels, and all his companions follow him, for by his side they feel\nas safe as if they were enclosed in a high and thick stone wall.\nThe pursuit continues until those who flee become exhausted, and the\npursuers slash at them and disembowel their steeds. The living roll\nover upon the dead as they wound and kill each other. They work dreadful\ndestruction upon each other; and meanwhile the Count flees with my\nlord Yvain after him, until he comes up with him at the foot of a steep\nascent, near the entrance of a strong place which belonged to the Count.\nThere the Count was stopped, with no one near to lend him aid; and\nwithout any excessive parley my lord Yvain received his surrender. For\nas soon as he held him in his hands, and they were left just man to\nman, there was no further possibility of escape, or of yielding, or of\nself-defence; so the Count pledged his word to go to surrender to the\nlady of Noroison as her prisoner, and to make such peace as she might\ndictate. And when he had accepted his word he made him disarm his head\nand remove the shield from about his neck, and the Count surrendered to\nhim his sword. Thus he won the honour of leading off the Count as his\nprisoner, and of giving him over to his enemies, who make no secret of\ntheir joy. But the news was carried to the town before they themselves\narrived. While all come forth to meet them, the lady herself leads the\nway. My lord Yvain holds his prisoner by the hand, and presents him to\nher. The Count gladly acceded to her wishes and demands, and secured\nher by his word, oath, and pledges. Giving her pledges, he swears to her\nthat he will always live on peaceful terms with her, and will make good\nto her all the loss which she can prove, and will build up again the\nhouses which he had destroyed. When these things were agreed upon in\naccordance with the lady's wish, my lord Yvain asked leave to depart.\nBut she would not have granted him this permission had he been willing\nto take her as his mistress, or to marry her. But he would not allow\nhimself to be followed or escorted a single step, but rather departed\nhastily: in this case entreaty was of no avail. So he started out to\nretrace his path, leaving the lady much chagrined, whose joy he had\ncaused a while before. When he will not tarry longer she is the more\ndistressed and ill at ease in proportion to the happiness he had brought\nto her, for she would have wished to honour him, and would have made\nhim, with his consent, lord of all her possessions, or else she would\nhave paid him for his services whatever sum he might have named. But he\nwould not heed any word of man or woman. Despite their grief he left the\nknights and the lady who vainly tried to detain him longer.\n\n(Vv. 3341-3484.) Pensively my lord Yvain proceeded through a deep wood,\nuntil he heard among the trees a very loud and dismal cry, and he turned\nin the direction whence it seemed to come. And when he had arrived upon\nthe spot he saw in a cleared space a lion, and a serpent which held\nhim by the tail, burning his hind-quarters with flames of fire. My lord\nYvain did not gape at this strange spectacle, but took counsel with\nhimself as to which of the two he should aid. Then he says that he will\nsuccour the lion, for a treacherous and venomous creature deserves to\nbe harmed. Now the serpent is poisonous, and fire bursts forth from its\nmouth--so full of wickedness is the creature. So my lord Yvain decides\nthat he will kill the serpent first. Drawing his sword he steps forward,\nholding the shield before his face in order not to be harmed by the\nflame emerging from the creature's throat, which was larger than a pot.\nIf the lion attacks him next, he too shall have all the fight he wishes;\nbut whatever may happen afterwards he makes up his mind to help him now.\nFor pity urges him and makes request that he should bear succour and aid\nto the gentle and noble beast. With his sword, which cuts so clean, he\nattacks the wicked serpent, first cleaving him through to the earth and\ncutting him in two, then continuing his blows until he reduces him to\ntiny bits. But he had to cut off a piece of the lion's tail to get at\nthe serpent's head, which held the lion by the tail. He cut off only so\nmuch as was necessary and unavoidable. When he had set the lion free, he\nsupposed that he would have to fight with him, and that the lion would\ncome at him; but the lion was not minded so. Just hear now what the\nlion did! He acted nobly and as one well-bred; for he began to make\nit evident that he yielded himself to him, by standing upon his two\nhind-feet and bowing his face to the earth, with his fore-feet joined\nand stretched out toward him. Then he fell on his knees again, and all\nhis face was wet with the tears of humility. My lord Yvain knows for a\ntruth that the lion is thanking him and doing him homage because of the\nserpent which he had killed, thereby delivering him from death. He was\ngreatly pleased by this episode. He cleaned his sword of the serpent's\npoison and filth; then he replaced it in its scabbard, and resumed his\nway. And the lion walks close by his side, unwilling henceforth to part\nfrom him: he will always in future accompany him, eager to serve and\nprotect him. [321] He goes ahead until he scents in the wind upon his\nway some wild beasts feeding; then hunger and his nature prompt him to\nseek his prey and to secure his sustenance. It is his nature so to do.\nHe started ahead a little on the trail, thus showing his master that he\nhad come upon and detected the odour and scent of some wild game.\nThen he looks at him and halts, wishing to serve his every wish, and\nunwilling to proceed against his will. Yvain understands by his attitude\nthat he is showing that he awaits his pleasure. He perceives this and\nunderstands that if he holds back he will hold back too, and that if he\nfollows him he will seize the game which he has scented. Then he incites\nand cries to him, as he would do to hunting-dogs. At once the lion\ndirected his nose to the scent which he had detected, and by which he\nwas not deceived, for he had not gone a bow-shot when he saw in a valley\na deer grazing all alone. This deer he will seize, if he has his way.\nAnd so he did, at the first spring, and then drank its blood still warm.\nWhen he had killed it he laid it upon his back and carried it back to\nhis master, who thereupon conceived a greater affection for him, and\nchose him as a companion for all his life, because of the great devotion\nhe found in him. It was near nightfall now, and it seemed good to him\nto spend the night there, and strip from the deer as much as he cared to\neat. Beginning to carve it he splits the skin along the rib, and taking\na steak from the loin he strikes from a flint a spark, which he catches\nin some dry brush-wood; then he quickly puts his steak upon a roasting\nspit to cook before the fire, and roasts it until it is quite cooked\nthrough. But there was no pleasure in the meal, for there was no bread,\nor wine, or salt, or cloth, or knife, or anything else. While he was\neating, the lion lay at his feet; nor a movement did he make, but\nwatched him steadily until he had eaten all that he could eat of the\nsteak. What remained of the deer the lion devoured, even to the bones.\nAnd while all night his master laid his head upon his shield to gain\nsuch rest as that afforded, the lion showed such intelligence that he\nkept awake, and was careful to guard the horse as it fed upon the grass,\nwhich yielded some slight nourishment.\n\n(Vv. 3485-3562.) In the morning they go off together, and the same sort\nof existence, it seems, as they had led that night, they two continued\nto lead all the ensuing week, until chance brought them to the spring\nbeneath the pine-tree. There my lord Yvain almost lost his wits a second\ntime, as he approached the spring, with its stone and the chapel that\nstood close by. So great was his distress that a thousand times he\nsighed \"alas!\" and grieving fell in a swoon; and the point of his sharp\nsword, falling from its scabbard, pierced the meshes of his hauberk\nright in the neck beside the cheek. There is not a mesh that does not\nspread, and the sword cuts the flesh of his neck beneath the shining\nmail, so that it causes the blood to start. Then the lion thinks that\nhe sees his master and companion dead. You never heard greater grief\nnarrated or told about anything than he now began to show. He casts\nhimself about, and scratches and cries, and has the wish to kill himself\nwith the sword with which he thinks his master has killed himself.\nTaking the sword from him with his teeth he lays it on a fallen tree,\nand steadies it on a trunk behind, so that it will not slip or give\nway, when he hurls his breast against it, His intention was nearly\naccomplished when his master recovered from his swoon, and the lion\nrestrained himself as he was blindly rushing upon death, like a wild\nboar heedless of where he wounds himself. Thus my lord Yvain lies in\na swoon beside the stone, but, on recovering, he violently reproached\nhimself for the year during which he had overstayed his leave, and\nfor which he had incurred his lady's hate, and he said: \"Why does this\nwretch not kill himself who has thus deprived himself of joy? Alas! why\ndo I not take my life? How can I stay here and look upon what belongs\nto my lady? Why does the soul still tarry in my body? What is the soul\ndoing in so miserable a frame? If it had already escaped away it would\nnot be in such torment. It is fitting to hate and blame and despise\nmyself, even as in fact I do. Whoever loses his bliss and contentment\nthrough fault or error of his own ought to hate himself mortally. He\nought to hate and kill himself. And now, when no one is looking on, why\ndo I thus spare myself? Why do I not take my life? Have I not seen this\nlion a prey to such grief on my behalf that he was on the point just now\nof thrusting my sword through his breast? And ought I to fear death who\nhave changed happiness into grief? Joy is now a stranger to me. Joy?\nWhat joy is that? I shall say no more of that, for no one could speak of\nsuch a thing; and I have asked a foolish question. That was the greatest\njoy of all which was assured as my possession, but it endured for but\na little while. Whoever loses such joy through his own misdeed is\nundeserving of happiness.\"\n\n(Vv. 3563-3898.) While he thus bemoaned his fate, a lorn damsel in sorry\nplight, who was in the chapel, saw him and heard his words through\na crack in the wall. As soon as he was recovered from his swoon, she\ncalled to him: \"God,\" said she, \"who is that I hear? Who is it that thus\ncomplains?\" And he replied: \"And who are you?\" \"I am a wretched one,\"\nshe said, \"the most miserable thing alive.\" And he replied: \"Be silent,\nfoolish one! Thy grief is joy and thy sorrow is bliss compared with that\nin which I am cast down. In proportion as a man becomes more accustomed\nto happiness and joy, so is he more distracted and stunned than any\nother man by sorrow when it comes. A man of little strength can carry,\nthrough custom and habit, a weight which another man of greater strength\ncould not carry for anything.\" \"Upon my word,\" she said, \"I know\nthe truth of that remark; but that is no reason to believe that your\nmisfortune is worse than mine. Indeed, I do not believe it at all, for\nit seems to me that you can go anywhere you choose to go, whereas I am\nimprisoned here, and such a fate is my portion that to-morrow I shall be\nseized and delivered to mortal judgment.\" \"Ah, God!\" said he, \"and for\nwhat crime?\" \"Sir knight, may God never have mercy upon my soul, if I\nhave merited such a fate! Nevertheless, I shall tell you truly, without\ndeception, why I am here in prison: I am charged with treason, and I\ncannot find any one to defend me from being burned or hanged to-morrow.\"\n\"In the first place,\" he replied, \"I may say that my grief and woe are\ngreater than yours, for you may yet be delivered by some one from the\nperil in which you are. Is that not true:\" \"Yes, but I know not yet by\nwhom. There are only two men in the world who would dare on my behalf\nto face three men in battle.\" \"What? In God's name, are there three\nof them?\" \"Yes, sire, upon my word. There are three who accuse me of\ntreachery.\" \"And who are they who are so devoted to you that either one\nof them would be bold enough to fight against three in your defence?\" \"I\nwill answer your question truthfully: one of them is my lord Gawain, and\nthe other is my lord Yvain, because of whom I shall to-morrow be handed\nover unjustly to the martyrdom of death.\" \"Because of whom?\" he asked,\n\"what did you say?\" \"Sire, so help me God, because of the son of King\nUrien.\" \"Now I understand your words, but you shall not die, without\nhe dies too. I myself am that Yvain, because of whom you are in such\ndistress. And you, I take it, are she who once guarded me safely in the\nhall, and saved my life and my body between the two portcullises, when I\nwas troubled and distressed, and alarmed at being trapped. I should have\nbeen killed or seized, had it not been for your kind aid. Now tell me,\nmy gentle friend, who are those who now accuse you of treachery, and\nhave confined you in this lonely place?\" \"Sire, I shall not conceal it\nfrom you, since you desire me to tell you all. It is a fact that I was\nnot slow in honestly aiding you. Upon my advice my lady received you,\nafter heeding my opinion and my counsel. And by the Holy Paternoster,\nmore for her welfare than for your own I thought I was doing it, and I\nthink so still. So much now I confess to you: it was her honour and\nyour desire that I sought to serve, so help me God! But when it became\nevident that you had overstayed the year when you should return to my\nmistress, then she became enraged at me, and thought that she had been\ndeceived by putting trust in my advice. And when this was discovered by\nthe seneschal--a rascally, underhanded, disloyal wretch, who was jealous\nof me because in many matters my lady trusted me more than she trusted\nhim, he saw that he could now stir up great enmity between me and\nher. In full court and in the presence of all he accused me of having\nbetrayed her in your favour. And I had no counsel or aid except my own;\nbut I knew that I had never done or conceived any treacherous act toward\nmy lady, so I cried out, as one beside herself, and without the advice\nof any one, that I would present in my own defence one knight who should\nfight against three. The fellow was not courteous enough to scorn\nto accept such odds, nor was I at liberty to retreat or withdraw\nfor anything that might happen. So he took me at my word, and I was\ncompelled to furnish bail that I would present within forty days a\nknight to do battle against three knights. Since then I have visited\nmany courts; I was at King Arthur's court, but found no help from any\nthere, nor did I find any one who could tell me any good news of you,\nfor they knew nothing of your affairs.\" \"Pray tell me. Where then was my\ngood and gentle lord Gawain? No damsel in distress ever needed his aid\nwithout its being extended to her.\" \"If I had found him at court, I\ncould not have asked him for anything which would have been refused me;\nbut a certain knight has carried off the Queen, so they told me; surely\nthe King was mad to send her off in his company. [322] I believe it was\nKay who escorted her to meet the knight who has taken her away; and my\nlord Gawain in great distress has gone in search for her. He will never\nhave any rest until he finds her. Now I have told you the whole truth of\nmy adventure. To-morrow I shall be put to a shameful death, and shall\nbe burnt inevitably, a victim of your criminal neglect.\" And he replies:\n\"May God forbid that you should be harmed because of me! So long as\nI live you shall not die! You may expect me tomorrow, prepared to the\nextent of my power to present my body in your cause, as it is proper\nthat I should do. But have no concern to tell the people who I am!\nHowever the battle may turn out, take care that I be not recognised!\"\n\"Surely, sire, no pressure could make me reveal your name. I would\nsooner suffer death, since you will have it so. Yet, after all, I beg\nyou not to return for my sake. I would not have you undertake a battle\nwhich will be so desperate. I thank you for your promised word that you\nwould gladly undertake it, but consider yourself now released, for it is\nbetter that I should die alone than that I should see them rejoice over\nyour death as well as mine; they would not spare my life after they had\nput you to death. So it is better for you to remain alive than that we\nboth should meet death.\" \"That is very ungrateful remark, my dear,\" says\nmy lord Yvain; \"I suppose that either you do not wish to be delivered\nfrom death, or else that you scorn the comfort I bring you with my aid.\nI will not discuss the matter more, for you have surely done so much\nfor me that I cannot fail you in any need. I know that you are in great\ndistress; but, if it be God's will, in whom I trust, they shall all\nthree be discomfited. So no more upon that score: I am going off now to\nfind some shelter in this wood, for there is no dwelling near at hand.\"\n\"Sire,\" she says, \"may God give you both good shelter and good night,\nand protect you as I desire from everything that might do you harm!\"\nThen my lord Yvain departs, and the lion as usual after him. They\njourneyed until they came to a baron's fortified place, which was\ncompletely surrounded by a massive, strong, and high wall. The castle,\nbeing extraordinarily well protected, feared no assault of catapult or\nstorming-machine; but outside the walls the ground was so completely\ncleared that not a single hut or dwelling remained standing. You will\nlearn the cause of this a little later, when the time comes. My lord\nYvain made his way directly toward the fortified place, and seven\nvarlets came out who lowered the bridge and advanced to meet him. But\nthey were terrified at sight of the lion, which they saw with him, and\nasked him kindly to leave the lion at the gate lest he should wound or\nkill them. And he replies: \"Say no more of that! For I shall not enter\nwithout him. Either we shall both find shelter here or else I shall stay\noutside; he is as dear to me as I am myself. Yet you need have no fear\nof him! For I shall keep him so well in hand that you may be quite\nconfident.\" They made answer: \"Very well!\" Then they entered the town,\nand passed on until they met knights and ladies and charming damsels\ncoming down the street, who salute him and wait to remove his armour as\nthey say: \"Welcome to our midst, fair sire! And may God grant that you\ntarry here until you may leave with great honour and satisfaction!\" High\nand low alike extend to him a glad welcome, and do all they can for him,\nas they joyfully escort him into the town. But after they had expressed\ntheir gladness they are overwhelmed by grief, which makes them quickly\nforget their joy, as they begin to lament and weep and beat themselves.\nThus, for a long space of time, they cease not to rejoice or make\nlament: it is to honour their guest that they rejoice, but their heart\nis not in what they do, for they are greatly worried over an event which\nthey expect to take place on the following day, and they feel very sure\nand certain that it will come to pass before midday. My lord Yvain was\nso surprised that they so often changed their mood, and mingled grief\nwith their happiness, that he addressed the lord of the place on the\nsubject. \"For God's sake,\" he said, \"fair gentle sir, will you kindly\ninform me why you have thus honoured me, and shown at once such joy and\nsuch heaviness?\" \"Yes, if you desire to know, but it would be better\nfor you to desire ignorance and silence. I will never tell you willingly\nanything to cause you grief. Allow us to continue to lament, and do you\npay no attention to what we do!\" \"It would be quite impossible for me\nto see you sad and nor take it upon my heart, so I desire to know the\ntruth, whatever chagrin may result to me.\" \"Well, then,\" he said, \"I\nwill tell you all. I have suffered much from a giant, who has insisted\nthat I should give him my daughter, who surpasses in beauty all the\nmaidens in the world. This evil giant, whom may God confound, is named\nHarpin of the Mountain. Not a day passes without his taking all of my\npossessions upon which he can lay his hands. No one has a better right\nthan I to complain, and to be sorrowful, and to make lament. I might\nwell lose my senses from very grief, for I had six sons who were\nknights, fairer than any I knew in the world, and the giant has taken\nall six of them. Before my eyes he killed two of them, and to-morrow he\nwill kill the other four, unless I find some one who will dare to fight\nhim for the deliverance of my sons, or unless I consent to surrender my\ndaughter to him; and he says that when he has her in his possession he\nwill give her over to be the sport of the vilest and lewdest fellows in\nhis house, for he would scorn to take her now for himself. That is the\ndisaster which awaits me to-morrow, unless the Lord God grant me His\naid. So it is no wonder, fair sir, if we are all in tears. But for your\nsake we strive for the moment to assume as cheerful a countenance as we\ncan. For he is a fool who attracts a gentleman to his presence and then\ndoes not honour him; and you seem to be a very perfect gentleman. Now\nI have told you the entire story of our great distress. Neither in town\nnor in fortress has the giant left us anything, except what we have\nhere. If you had noticed, you must have seen this evening that he has\nnot left us so much as an egg, except these walls which are new; for he\nhas razed the entire town. When he had plundered all he wished, he set\nfire to what remained. In this way he has done me many an evil turn.\"\n\n(Vv. 3899-3956.) My lord Yvain listened to all that his host told him,\nand when he had heard it all he was pleased to answer him: \"Sire, I am\nsorry and distressed about this trouble of yours; but I marvel greatly\nthat you have not asked assistance at good King Arthur's court. There is\nno man so mighty that he could not find at his court some who would be\nglad to try their strength with his.\" Then the wealthy man reveals and\nexplains to him that he would have had efficient help if he had known\nwhere to find my lord Gawain. \"He would not have failed me upon this\noccasion, for my wife is his own sister; but a knight from a strange\nland, who went to court to seek the King's wife, has led her away.\nHowever, he could not have gotten possession of her by any means of his\nown invention, had it not been for Kay, who so befooled the King that he\ngave the Queen into his charge and placed her under his protection. He\nwas a fool, and she imprudent to entrust herself to his escort. And I\nam the one who suffers and loses in all this; for it is certain that my\nexcellent lord Gawain would have made haste to come here, had he known\nthe facts, for the sake of his nephews and his niece. But he knows\nnothing of it, wherefore I am so distressed that my heart is almost\nbreaking, for he is gone in pursuit of him, to whom may God bring shame\nand woe for having led the Queen away.\" While listening to this recital\nmy lord Yvain does not cease to sigh. Inspired by the pity which he\nfeels, he makes this reply: \"Fair gentle sire, I would gladly undertake\nthis perilous adventure, if the giant and your sons should arrive\nto-morrow in time to cause me no delay, for tomorrow at noon I shall\nbe somewhere else, in accordance with a promise I have made.\" \"Once\nfor all, fair sire,\" the good man said, \"I thank you a hundred thousand\ntimes for your willingness.\" And all the people of the house likewise\nexpressed their gratitude.\n\n(Vv. 3957-4384.) Just then the damsel came out of a room, with her\ngraceful body and her face so fair and pleasing to look upon. She was\nvery simple and sad and quiet as she came, for there was no end to the\ngrief she felt: she walked with her head bowed to the ground. And her\nmother, too, came in from an adjoining room, for the gentleman had sent\nfor them to meet his guest. They entered with their mantles wrapped\nabout them to conceal their tears; and he bid them throw back their\nmantles, and hold up their heads, saying: \"You ought not to hesitate\nto obey my behests, for God and good fortune have given us here a very\nwell-born gentleman who assures me that he will fight against the giant.\nDelay no longer now to throw yourselves at his feet!\" \"May God never let\nme see that!\" my lord Yvain hastens to exclaim; \"surely it would not be\nproper under any circumstances for the sister and the niece of my lord\nGawain to prostrate themselves at my feet. May God defend me from ever\ngiving place to such pride as to let them fall at my feet! Indeed, I\nshould never forget the shame which I should feel; but I should be\nvery glad if they would take comfort until to-morrow, when they may see\nwhether God will consent to aid them. I have no other request to make,\nexcept that the giant may come in such good time that I be not compelled\nto break my engagement elsewhere; for I would not fail for anything\nto be present to-morrow noon at the greatest business I could ever\nundertake.\" Thus he is unwilling to reassure them completely, for he\nfears that the giant may not come early enough to allow him to reach\nin time the damsel who is imprisoned in the chapel. Nevertheless, he\npromises them enough to arouse good hope in them. They all alike join in\nthanking him, for they place great confidence in his prowess, and they\nthink he must be a very good man, when they see the lion by his side as\nconfident as a lamb would be. They take comfort and rejoice because of\nthe hope they stake on him, and they indulge their grief no more. When\nthe time came they led him off to bed in a brightly lighted room; both\nthe damsel and her mother escorted him, for they prized him dearly, and\nwould have done so a hundred thousand times more had they been informed\nof his prowess and courtesy. He and the lion together lay down there and\ntook their rest. The others dared not sleep in the room; but they closed\nthe door so tight that they could not come out until the next day at\ndawn. When the room was thrown open he got up and heard Mass, and then,\nbecause of the promise he had made, he waited until the hour of prime.\nThen in the hearing of all he summoned the lord of the town and said:\n\"My lord, I have no more time to wait, but must ask your permission\nto leave at once; I cannot tarry longer here. But believe truly that\nI would gladly and willingly stay here yet awhile for the sake of the\nnephews and the niece of my beloved lord Gawain, if I did not have a\ngreat business on hand, and if it were not so far away.\" At this the\ndamsel's blood quivered and boiled with fear, as well as the lady's and\nthe lord's. They were so afraid he would go away that they were on the\npoint of humbling themselves and casting themselves at his feet, when\nthey recalled that he would not approve or permit their action. Then the\nlord makes him an offer of all he will take of his lands or wealth, if\nonly he will wait a little longer. And he replied: \"God forbid that ever\nI should take anything of yours!\" Then the damsel, who is in dismay,\nbegins to weep aloud, and beseeches him to stay. Like one distracted and\nprey to dread, she begs him by the glorious queen of heaven and of the\nangels, and by the Lord, not to go but to wait a little while; and\nthen, too, for her uncle's sake, whom he says he knows, and loves, and\nesteems. Then his heart is touched with deep pity when he hears her\nadjuring him in the name of him whom he loves the most, and by the\nmistress of heaven, and by the Lord, who is the very honey and sweet\nsavour of pity. Filled with anguish he heaved a sigh, for were the\nkingdom of Tarsus at stake he would not see her burned to whom he had\npledged his aid. If he could not reach her in time, he would be unable\nto endure his life, or would live on without his wits on the other hand,\nthe kindness of his friend, my lord Gawain, only increased his distress;\nhis heart almost bursts in half at the thought that he cannot delay.\nNevertheless, he does not stir, but delays and waits so long that the\ngiant came suddenly, bringing with him the knights: and hanging from his\nneck he carried a big square stake with a pointed end, and with this he\nfrequently spurred them on. For their part they had no clothing on that\nwas worth a straw, except some soiled and filthy shirts: and their feet\nand hands were bound with cords, as they came riding upon four limping\njades, which were weak, and thin, and miserable. As they came riding\nalong beside a wood, a dwarf, who was puffed up like a toad, had\ntied the horses' tails together, and walked beside them, beating them\nremorselessly with a four-knotted scourge until they bled, thinking\nthereby to be doing something wonderful. Thus they were brought along in\nshame by the giant and the dwarf. Stopping in the plain in front of the\ncity gate, the giant shouts out to the noble lord that he will kill his\nsons unless he delivers to him his daughter, whom he will surrender to\nhis vile fellows to become their sport. For he no longer loves her nor\nesteems her, that he should deign to abase himself to her. She shall be\nconstantly beset by a thousand lousy and ragged knaves, vacant wretches,\nand scullery boys, who all shall lay hands on her. The worthy man is\nwell-nigh beside himself when he hears how his daughter will be made\na bawd, or else, before his very eyes, his four sons will be put to a\nspeedy death. His agony is like that of one who would rather be dead\nthan alive. Again and again he bemoans his fate, and weeps aloud and\nsighs. Then my frank and gentle lord Yvain thus began to speak to him:\n\"Sire, very vile and impudent is that giant who vaunts himself out\nthere. But may God never grant that he should have your daughter in his\npower! He despises her and insults her openly. It would be too great a\ncalamity if so lovely a creature of such high birth were handed over\nto become the sport of boys. Give me now my arms and horse! Have the\ndrawbridge lowered, and let me pass. One or the other must be cast down,\neither I or he, I know not which. If I could only humiliate the cruel\nwretch who is thus oppressing you, so that he would release your sons\nand should come and make amends for the insulting words he has spoken\nto you, then I would commend you to God and go about my business.\" Then\nthey go to get his horse, and hand over to him his arms, striving so\nexpeditiously that they soon have him quite equipped. They delayed as\nlittle as they could in arming him. When his equipment was complete,\nthere remained nothing but to lower the bridge and let him go. They\nlowered it for him, and he went out. But the lion would by no means\nstay behind. All those who were left behind commended the knight to\nthe Saviour, for they fear exceedingly lest their devilish enemy, who\nalready had slain so many good men on the same field before their eyes,\nwould do the same with him. So they pray God to defend him from death,\nand return him to them safe and sound, and that He may give him strength\nto slay the giant. Each one softly prays to God in accordance with his\nwish. And the giant fiercely came at him, and with threatening words\nthus spake to him: \"By my eyes, the man who sent thee here surely had\nno love for thee! No better way could he have taken to avenge himself on\nthee. He has chosen well his vengeance for whatever wrong thou hast done\nto him.\" But the other, fearing naught, replies: \"Thou treatest of what\nmatters not. Now do thy best, and I'll do mine. Idle parley wearies me.\"\nThereupon my lord Yvain, who was anxious to depart, rides at him. He\ngoes to strike him on the breast, which was protected by a bear's skin,\nand the giant runs at him with his stake raised in air. My lord Yvain\ndeals him such a blow upon the chest that he thrusts through the skin\nand wets the tip of his lance in his body's blood by way of sauce. And\nthe giant belabours him with the stake, and makes him bend beneath the\nblows. My lord Yvain then draws the sword with which he knew how to\ndeal fierce blows. He found the giant unprotected, for he trusted in his\nstrength so much that he disdained to arm himself. And he who had drawn\nhis blade gave him such a slash with the cutting edge, and not with the\nflat side, that he cut from his cheek a slice fit to roast. Then the\nother in turn gave him such a blow with the stake that it made him sing\nin a heap upon his horse's neck. Thereupon the lion bristles up, ready\nto lend his master aid, and leaps up in his anger and strength, and\nstrikes and tears like so much bark the heavy bearskin the giant wore,\nand he tore away beneath the skin a large piece of his thigh, together\nwith the nerves and flesh. The giant escaped his clutches, roaring and\nbellowing like a bull, for the lion had badly wounded him. Then raising\nhis stake in both hands, he thought to strike him, but missed his aim,\nwhen the lion leaded backward so he missed his blow, and fell exhausted\nbeside my lord Yvain, but without either of them touching the other.\nThen my lord Yvain took aim and landed two blows on him. Before he could\nrecover himself he had severed with the edge of his sword the giant's\nshoulder from his body. With the next blow he ran the whole blade of his\nsword through his liver beneath his chest; the giant falls in death's\nembrace. And if a great oak tree should fall, I think it would make no\ngreater noise than the giant made when he tumbled down. All those who\nwere on the wall would fain have witnessed such a blow. Then it became\nevident who was the most fleet of foot, for all ran to see the game,\njust like hounds which have followed the beast until they finally come\nup with him. So men and women in rivalry ran forward without delay to\nwhere the giant lay face downward. The daughter comes running, and\nher mother too. And the four brothers rejoice after the woes they have\nendured. As for my lord Yvain they are very sure that they could not\ndetain him for any reason they might allege, but they beseech him to\nreturn and stay to enjoy himself as soon as he shall have completed the\nbusiness which calls him away. And he replies that he cannot promise\nthem anything, for as yet he cannot guess whether it will fare well or\nill with him. But thus much did he say to his host: that he wished that\nhis four sons and his daughter should take the dwarf and go to my lord\nGawain when they hear of his return, and should tell and relate to him\nhow he has conducted himself. For kind actions are of no use if you are\nnot willing that they be known. And they reply: \"It is not right that\nsuch kindness as this should be kept hid: we shall do whatever you\ndesire. But tell us what we can say when we come before him. Whose\npraises can we speak, when we know not what your name may be?\" And he\nanswers them: \"When you come before him, you may say thus much: that I\ntold you 'The Knight with the Lion' was my name. And at the same time\nI must beg you to tell him from me that, if he does not recognise who I\nam, yet he knows me well and I know him. Now I must be gone from here,\nand the thing which most alarms me is that I may too long have tarried\nhere, for before the hour of noon be passed I shall have plenty to do\nelsewhere, if indeed I can arrive there in time.\" Then, without further\ndelay, he starts. But first his host begged him insistently that he\nwould take with him his four sons: for there was none of them who would\nnot strive to serve him, if he would allow it. But it did not please\nor suit him that any one should accompany him; so he left the place to\nthem, and went away alone. And as soon as he starts, riding as fast as\nhis steed can carry him, he heads toward the chapel. The path was good\nand straight, and he knew well how to keep the road. But before he could\nreach the chapel, the damsel had been dragged out and the pyre prepared\nupon which she was to be placed. Clad only in a shift, she was held\nbound before the fire by those who wrongly attributed to her an\nintention she had never had. My lord Yvain arrived, and, seeing her\nbeside the fire into which she was about to be cast, he was naturally\nincensed. He would be neither courteous nor sensible who had any\ndoubt about that fact. So it is true that he was much incensed; but he\ncherishes within himself the hope that God and the Right will be on his\nside. In such helpers he confides; nor does he scorn his lion's aid.\nRushing quickly toward the crowd, he shouts: \"Let the damsel be, you\nwicked folk! Having committed no crime, it is not right that she should\nbe cast upon a pyre or into a furnace.\" And they draw off on either\nside, leaving a passage-way for him. But he yearns to see with his own\neyes her whom his heart beholds in whatever place she may be. His eyes\nseek her until he finds her, while he subdues and holds in check his\nheart, just as one holds in check with a strong curb a horse that pulls.\nNevertheless, he gladly gazes at her, and sighs the while; but he does\nnot sigh so openly that his action is detected; rather does he stifle\nhis sighs, though with difficulty. And he is seized with pity at\nhearing, seeing, and perceiving the grief of the poor ladies, who cried:\n\"Ah, God, how hast Thou forgotten us! How desolate we shall now remain\nwhen we lose so kind a friend, who gave us such counsel and such aid,\nand interceded for us at court! It was she who prompted madame to clothe\nus with her clothes of vair. Henceforth the situation will change, for\nthere will be no one to speak for us! Cursed be he who is the cause of\nour loss! For we shall fare badly in all this. There will be no one to\nutter such advice as this: 'My lady, give this vair mantle, this cloak,\nand this garment to such and such an honest dame! Truly, such charity\nwill be well employed, for she is in very dire need of them.' No such\nwords as these shall be uttered henceforth, for there is no one else who\nis frank and courteous; but every one solicits for himself rather than\nfor some one else, even though he have no need.\"\n\n(Vv. 4385-4474.) Thus they were bemoaning their fate; and my lord Yvain\nwho was in their midst, heard their complaints, which were neither\ngroundless nor assumed. He saw Lunete on her knees and stripped to her\nshift, having already made confession, and besought God's mercy for her\nsins. Then he who had loved her deeply once came to her and raised her\nup, saying: \"My damsel, where are those who blame and accuse you? Upon\nthe spot, unless they refuse, battle will be offered them.\" And she, who\nhad neither seen nor looked at him before, said: \"Sire, you come from\nGod in this time of my great need! The men who falsely accuse me are all\nready before me here; if you had been a little later I should soon have\nbeen reduced to fuel and ashes. You have come here in my defence,\nand may God give you the power to accomplish it in proportion as I am\nguiltless of the accusation which is made against me!\" The seneschal and\nhis two brothers heard these words. \"Ah!\" they exclaim, \"woman, chary\nof uttering truth but generous with lies! He indeed is mad who for thy\nwords assumes so great a task. The knight must be simple-minded who has\ncome here to die for thee, for he is alone and there are three of us. My\nadvice to him is that he turn back before any harm shall come to him.\"\nThen he replies, as one impatient to begin: \"Whoever is afraid, let him\nrun away! I am not so afraid of your three shields that I should go off\ndefeated without a blow. I should be indeed discourteous, if, while yet\nunscathed and in perfect case, I should leave the place and field to\nyou. Never, so long as I am alive and sound, will I run away before\nsuch threats. But I advise thee to set free the damsel whom thou hast\nunjustly accused; for she tells me, and I believe her word, and she has\nassured me upon the salvation of her soul, that she never committed,\nor spoke, or conceived any treason against her mistress. I believe\nimplicitly what she has told me, and will defend her as best I can, for\nI consider the righteousness of her cause to be in my favour. For, if\nthe truth be known, God always sides with the righteous cause, for God\nand the Right are one; and if they are both upon my side, then I have\nbetter company and better aid than thou.\" [323] Then the other responds\nimprudently that he may make every effort that pleases him and is\nconvenient to do him injury, provided that his lion shall not do him\nharm. And he replies that he never brought the lion to champion his\ncause, nor does he wish any but himself to take a hand: but if the lion\nattacks him, let him defend himself against him as best he can, for\nconcerning him he will give no guarantee. Then the other answers:\n\"Whatever thou mayst say; unless thou now warn thy lion, and make him\nstand quietly to one side, there is no use of thy longer staying here,\nbut begone at once, and so shalt thou be wise; for throughout this\ncountry every one is aware how this girl betrayed her lady, and it is\nright that she receive her due reward in fire and flame.\" \"May the Holy\nSpirit forbid!\" says he who knows the truth; \"may God not let me\nstir from here until I have delivered her!\" Then he tells the lion to\nwithdraw and to lie down quietly, and he does so obediently.\n\n(Vv. 4475-4532.) The lion now withdrew, and the parley and quarrel being\nended between them two, they all took their distance for the charge. The\nthree together spurred toward him, and he went to meet them at a walk.\nHe did not wish to be overturned or hurt at this first encounter. So he\nlet them split their lances, while keeping his entire, making for them a\ntarget of his shield, whereon each one broke his lance. Then he galloped\noff until he was separated from them by the space of an acre; but he\nsoon returned to the business in hand, having no desire to delay. On\nhis coming up the second time, he reached the seneschal before his two\nbrothers, and breaking his lance upon his body, he carried him to earth\nin spite of himself, and he gave him such a powerful blow that for a\nlong while he lay stunned, incapable of doing him any harm. And then the\nother two came at him with their swords bared, and both deal him great\nblows, but they receive still heavier blows from him. For a single one\nof the blows he deals is more than a match for two of theirs; thus he\ndefends himself so well that they have no advantage over him, until the\nseneschal gets up and does his best to injure him, in which attempt the\nothers join, until they begin to press him and get the upper hand. Then\nthe lion, who is looking on, delays no longer to lend him aid; for it\nseems to him that he needs it now. And all the ladies, who are devoted\nto the damsel, beseech God repeatedly and pray to Him earnestly not to\nallow the death or the defeat of him who has entered the fray on her\naccount. The ladies, having no other weapons, thus assist him with their\nprayers. And the lion brings him such effective aid, that at his first\nattack, he strikes so fiercely the seneschal, who was now on his feet,\nthat he makes the meshes fly from the hauberk like straw, and he drags\nhim down with such violence that he tears the soft flesh from his\nshoulder and all down his side. He strips whatever he touches, so that\nthe entrails lie exposed. The other two avenge this blow.\n\n(Vv. 4533-4634.) Now they are all even on the field. The seneschal is\nmarked for death, as he turns and welters in the red stream of warm\nblood pouring from his body. The lion attacks the others; for my\nlord Yvain is quite unable, though he did his best by beating or\nby threatening him, to drive him back; but the lion doubtless feels\nconfident that his master does not dislike his aid, but rather loves him\nthe more for it: so he fiercely attacks them, until they have reason\nto complain of his blows, and they wound him in turn and use him badly.\nWhen my lord Yvain sees his lion wounded, his heart is wroth within his\nbreast, and rightly so; but he makes such efforts to avenge him, and\npresses them so hard, that he completely reduces them; they no longer\nresist him, but surrender to him at discretion, because of the lion's\nhelp, who is now in great distress; for he was wounded everywhere, and\nhad good cause to be in pain. For his part, my lord Yvain was by no\nmeans in a healthy state, for his body bore many a wound. But he is not\nso anxious about himself as about his lion, which is in distress. Now\nhe has delivered the damsel exactly in accordance with his wish, and\nthe lady has very willingly dismissed the grudge that she bore her.\nAnd those men were burned upon the pyre which had been kindled for\nthe damsel's death; for it is right and just that he who has misjudged\nanother, should suffer the same manner of death as that to which he had\ncondemned the other. Now Lunete is joyous and glad at being reconciled\nwith her mistress, and together they were more happy than any one ever\nwas before. Without recognising him, all present offered to him, who was\ntheir lord, their service so long as life should last; even the lady,\nwho possessed unknowingly his heart, begged him insistently to tarry\nthere until his lion and he had quite recovered. And he replied: \"Lady,\nI shall not now tarry here until my lady removes from me her displeasure\nand anger: then the end of all my labours will come.\" \"Indeed,\" she\nsaid, \"that grieves me. I think the lady cannot be very courteous who\ncherishes ill-will against you. She ought not to close her door against\nso valorous a knight as you, unless he had done her some great wrong.\"\n\"Lady,\" he replies, \"however great the hardship be, I am pleased by what\never may be her will. But speak to me no more of that; for I shall say\nnothing of the cause or crime, except to those who are informed of it.\"\n\"Does any one know it, then, beside you two?\" \"Yes, truly, lady.\" \"Well,\ntell us at least your name, fair sir; then you will be free to go.\"\n\"Quite free, my lady? No, I shall not be free. I owe more than I can\npay. Yet, I ought not to conceal from you my name. You will never hear\nof 'The Knight with the Lion' without hearing of me; for I wish to be\nknown by that name.\" \"For God's sake, sir, what does that name mean? For\nwe never saw you before, nor have we ever heard mentioned this name\nof yours.\" \"My lady, you may from that infer that my fame is not\nwidespread.\" Then the lady says: \"Once more, if it did not oppose your\nwill, I would pray you to tarry here.\" \"Really, my lady, I should not\ndare, until I knew certainly that I had regained my lady's good-will.\"\n\"Well, then, go in God's name, fair sir; and, if it be His will, may He\nconvert your grief and sorrow into joy.\" \"Lady,\" says he, \"may God hear\nyour prayer.\" Then he added softly under his breath: \"Lady, it is you\nwho hold the key, and, though you know it not, you hold the casket in\nwhich my happiness is kept under lock.\"\n\n(Vv. 4635-4674.) Then he goes away in great distress, and there is no\none who recognises him save Lunete, who accompanied him a long distance.\nLunete alone keeps him company, and he begs her insistently never to\nreveal the name of her champion. \"Sire,\" says she, \"I will never do so.\"\nThen he further requested her that she should not forget him, and that\nshe should keep a place for him in his mistress' heart, whenever the\nchance arose. She tells him to be at ease on that score; for she will\nnever be forgetful, nor unfaithful, nor idle. Then he thanks her a\nthousand times, and he departs pensive and oppressed, because of his\nlion that he must needs carry, being unable to follow him on foot. He\nmakes for him a litter of moss and ferns in his shield. When he has made\na bed for him there, he lays him in it as gently as he can, and carries\nhim thus stretched out full length on the inner side of his shield.\nThus, in his shield he bears him off, until he arrives before the gate\nof a mansion, strong and fair. Finding it closed, he called, and the\nporter opened it so promptly that he had no need to call but once. He\nreaches out to take his rein, and greets him thus: \"Come in, fair sire.\nI offer you the dwelling of my lord, if it please you to dismount.\" \"I\naccept the offer gladly,\" he replies, \"for I stand in great need of it,\nand it is time to find a lodging.\"\n\n(Vv. 4675-4702.) Thereupon, he passed through the gate, and saw the\nretainers in a mass coming to meet him. They greeted him and helped him\nfrom his horse, and laid down upon the pavement his shield with the lion\non it. And some, taking his horse, put it in a stable: while others very\nproperly relieved him of his arms and took them. Then the lord of the\ncastle heard the news, and at once came down into the courtyard,\nand greeted him. And his lady came down, too, with all her sons and\ndaughters and a great crowd of other people, who all rejoiced to offer\nhim a lodging. They gave him a quiet room, because they deemed that he\nwas sick; but their good nature was put to a test when they allowed the\nlion to go with him. His cure was undertaken by two maidens skilled in\nsurgery, who were daughters of the lord. I do not know how many days\nhe stayed there, until he and his lion, being cured, were compelled to\nproceed upon their way.\n\n(Vv. 4703-4736.) But within this time it came about that my lord of\nNoire Espine had a struggle with Death, and so fierce was Death's attack\nthat he was forced to die. After his death it happened that the elder of\ntwo daughters whom he had, announced that she would possess uncontested\nall the estates for herself during her entire lifetime, and that she\nwould give no share to her sister. And the other one said that she would\ngo to King Arthur's court to seek help for the defence of her claim to\nthe land. When the former saw that her sister would by no means concede\nall the estates to her without contest, she was greatly concerned, and\nthought that, if possible, she would get to court before her. At once\nshe prepared and equipped herself, and without any tarrying or delay,\nshe proceeded to the court. The other followed her, and made all the\nhaste she could; but her journey was all in vain, for her eider sister\nhad already presented her case to my lord Gawain, and he had promised\nto execute her will. But there was an agreement between them that if any\none should learn of the facts from her, he would never again take arms\nfor her, and to this arrangement she gave consent.\n\n(Vv. 4737-4758.) Just then the other sister arrived at court, clad in\na short mantle of scarlet cloth and fresh ermine. It happened to be\nthe third day after the Queen had returned from the captivity in which\nMaleagant had detained her with all the other prisoners; but Lancelot\nhad remained behind, treacherously confined within a tower. And on that\nvery day, when the damsel came to court, news was received of the cruel\nand wicked giant whom the knight with the lion had killed in battle. In\nhis name, my lord Gawain was greeted by his nephews and niece, who told\nhim in detail of all the great service and great deeds of prowess he\nhad done for them for his sake, and how that he was well acquainted with\nhim, though not aware of his identity.\n\n(Vv. 4759-4820.) All this was heard by her, who was plunged thereby\ninto great despair and sorrow and dejection; for, since the best of the\nknights was absent, she thought she would find no aid or counsel at the\ncourt. She had already made several loving and insistent appeals to my\nlord Gawain; but he had said to her: \"My dear, it is useless to appeal\nto me; I cannot do it; I have another affair on hand, which I shall\nin no wise give up.\" Then the damsel at once left him, and presented\nherself before the King. \"O King,\" said she, \"I have come to thee and to\nthy court for aid. But I find none, and I am very much mazed that I can\nget no counsel here. Yet it would not be right for me to go away without\ntaking leave. My sister may know, however, that she might obtain by\nkindness whatever she desired of my property; but I will never surrender\nmy heritage to her by force, if I can help it, and if I can find any\naid or counsel.\" \"You have spoken wisely,\" said the King; \"since she is\npresent here, I advise, recommend, and urge her to surrender to you what\nis your right.\" Then the other, who was confident of the best knight in\nthe world, replied: \"Sire, may God confound me, if ever I bestow on her\nfrom my estates any castle, town, clearing, forest, land, or anything\nelse. But if any knight dares to take arms on her behalf and desires to\ndefend her cause, let him step forth at once.\" \"Your offer to her is not\nfair; she needs more time,\" the King replied; \"if she desires, she may\nhave forty days to secure a champion, according to the practice of all\ncourts.\" To which the elder sister replied: \"Fair King, my lord, you may\nestablish your laws as it pleases you, and as seems good, nor is it\nmy place to gainsay you, so I must consent to the postponement, if she\ndesires it.\" Whereupon, the other says that she does desire it, and she\nmakes formal request for it. Then she commended the King to God, and\nleft the court resolving to devote her life to the search through all\nthe land for the Knight with the Lion, who devotes himself to succouring\nwomen in need of aid.\n\n(Vv. 4821-4928.) Thus she entered upon her quest, and traversed many\na country without hearing any news of him, which caused her such grief\nthat she fell sick. But it was well for her that it happened so; for she\ncame to the dwelling of a friend of hers, by whom she was dearly loved.\nBy this time her face showed clearly that she was not in good health.\nThey insisted upon detaining her until she told them of her plight;\nwhereupon, another damsel took up the quest wherein she had been\nengaged, and continued the search on her behalf. So while the one\nremained in this retreat, the other rode rapidly all day long, until the\ndarkness of night came on, and caused her great anxiety. [324] And her\ntrouble was doubled when the rain came on with terrible violence, as\nif God Himself were doing His worst, while she was in the depths of the\nforest. The night and the woods cause her great distress, but she is\nmore tormented by the rain than by either the woods or the night. And\nthe road was so bad that her horse was often up to the girth in mud; any\ndamsel might well be terrified to be in the woods, without escort, in\nsuch bad weather and in such darkness that she could not see the horse\nshe was riding. So she called on God first, and His mother next, and\nthen on all the saints in turn, and offered up many a prayer that\nGod would lead her out from this forest and conduct her to some\nlodging-place. She continued in prayer until she heard a horn, at which\nshe greatly rejoiced; for she thought now she would find shelter, if she\ncould only reach the place. So she turned in the direction of the sound,\nand came upon a paved road which led straight toward the horn whose\nsound she heard; for the horn had given three long, loud blasts. And she\nmade her way straight toward the sound, until she came to a cross which\nstood on the right side of the road, and there she thought that she\nmight find the horn and the person who had sounded it. So she spurred\nher horse in that direction, until she drew near a bridge, and descried\nthe white walls and the barbican of a circular castle. Thus, by chance\nshe came upon the castle, setting her course by the sound which had led\nher thither. She had been attracted by the sound of the horn blown by a\nwatchman upon the walls. As soon as the watchman caught sight of her, he\ncalled to her, then came down, and taking the key of the gate, opened\nit for her and said: \"Welcome, damsel, whoe'er you be. You shall be\nwell lodged this night.\" \"I have no other desire than that,\" the damsel\nreplied, as he let her in. After the toil and anxiety she had endured\nthat day, she was fortunate to find such a lodging-place; for she was\nvery comfortable there. After the meal the host addressed her, and\ninquired where she was going and what was her quest. Whereupon, she thus\nreplied: \"I am seeking one whom I never saw, so far as I am aware, and\nnever knew; but he has a lion with him, and I am told that, if I find\nhim, I can place great confidence in him.\" \"I can testify to that,\" the\nother said: \"for the day before yesterday God sent him here to me in\nmy dire need. Blessed be the paths which led him to my dwelling. For he\nmade me glad by avenging me of a mortal enemy and killing him before\nmy eyes. Outside yonder gate you may see to-morrow the body of a mighty\ngiant, whom he slew with such ease that he hardly had to sweat.\" \"For\nGod's sake, sire,\" the damsel said, \"tell me now the truth, if you know\nwhither he went, and where he is.\" \"I don't know,\" he said, \"as God sees\nme here; but to-morrow I will start you on the road by which he went\naway from here.\" \"And may God,\" said she, \"lead me where I may hear true\nnews of him. For if I find him, I shall be very glad.\"\n\n(Vv. 4929-4964.) Thus they continued in long converse until at last they\nwent to bed. When the day dawned, the maid arose, being in great concern\nto find the object of her quest. And the master of the house arose with\nall his companions, and set her upon the road which led straight to the\nspring beneath the pine. And she, hastening on her way toward the town,\ncame and asked the first men whom she met, if they could tell her where\nshe would find the lion and the knight who travelled in company. And\nthey told her that they had seen him defeat three knights in that very\nplace. Whereupon, she said at once: \"For God's sake, since you have said\nso much, do not keep back from me anything that you can add.\" \"No,\" they\nreplied; \"we know nothing more than we have said, nor do we know what\nbecame of him. If she for whose sake he came here, cannot give you\nfurther news, there will be no one here to enlighten you. You will not\nhave far to go, if you wish to speak with her; for she has gone to make\nprayer to God and to hear Mass in yonder church, and judging by the time\nshe has been inside, her orisons have been prolonged.\"\n\n(Vv. 4965-5106.) While they were talking thus, Lunete came out from the\nchurch, and they said: \"There she is.\" Then she went to meet her, and\nthey greeted each other. She asked Lunete at once for the information\nshe desired; and Lunete said that she would have a palfrey saddled; for\nshe wished to accompany her, and would take her to an enclosure where\nshe had left him. The other maiden thanked her heartily. Lunete mounts\nthe palfrey which is brought without delay, and, as they ride, she tells\nher how she had been accused and charged with treason, and how the pyre\nwas already kindled upon which she was to be laid, and how he had come\nto help her in just the moment of her need. While speaking thus, she\nescorted her to the road which led directly to the spot where my lord\nYvain had parted from her. When she had accompanied her thus far, she\nsaid: \"Follow this road until you come to a place where, if it please\nGod and the Holy Spirit, you will hear more reliable news of him than\nI can tell. I very well remember that I left him either near here, or\nexactly here, where we are now; we have not seen each other since then,\nand I do not know what he has done. When he left me, he was in sore need\nof a plaster for his wounds. So I will send you along after him, and if\nit be God's will, may He grant that you find him to-night or to-morrow\nin good health. Now go: I commend you to God. I must not follow you any\nfarther, lest my mistress be displeased with me.\" Then Lunete leaves her\nand turns back; while the other pushed on until she found a house,\nwhere my lord Yvain had tarried until he was restored to health. She saw\npeople gathered before the gate, knights, ladies and men-at-arms, and\nthe master of the house; she saluted them, and asked them to tell her,\nif possible, news of a knight for whom she sought. \"Who is he?\" they\nask. \"I have heard it said that he is never without a lion.\" \"Upon my\nword, damsel,\" the master says, \"he has just now left us. You can come\nup with him to-night, if you are able to keep his tracks in sight, and\nare careful not to lose any time.\" \"Sire,\" she answers, \"God forbid.\nBut tell me now in what direction I must follow him.\" And they tell\nher: \"This way, straight ahead,\" and they beg her to greet him on their\nbehalf. But their courtesy was not of much avail; for, without giving\nany heed, she galloped off at once. The pace seemed much too slow to\nher, though her palfrey made good time. So she galloped through the mud\njust the same as where the road was good and smooth, until she caught\nsight of him with the lion as his companion. Then in her gladness she\nexclaims: \"God, help me now. At last I see him whom I have so long\npursued, and whose trace I have long followed. But if I pursue and\nnothing gain, what will it profit me to come up with him? Little or\nnothing, upon my word. If he does not join in my enterprise, I have\nwasted all my pains.\" Thus saying, she pressed on so fast that her\npalfrey was all in a sweat; but she caught up with him and saluted him.\nHe thus at once replied to her: \"God save you, fair one, and deliver you\nfrom grief and woe.\" \"The same to you, sire, who, I hope, will soon be\nable to deliver me.\" Then she draws nearer to him, and says: \"Sire, I\nhave long searched for you. The great fame of your merit has made me\ntraverse many a county in my weary search for you. But I continued my\nquest so long, thank God, that at last I have found you here. And if I\nbrought any anxiety with me, I am no longer concerned about it, nor do I\ncomplain or remember it now. I am entirely relieved; my worry has taken\nflight the moment I met with you. Moreover, the affair is none of mine:\nI come to you from one that is better than I, a woman who is more noble\nand excellent. But if she be disappointed in her hopes of you, then she\nhas been betrayed by your fair renown, for she has no expectation of\nother aid. My damsel, who is deprived of her inheritance by a sister,\nexpects with your help to win her suit; she will have none but you\ndefend her cause. No one can make her believe that any one else could\nbear her aid. By securing her share of the heritage, you will have won\nand acquired the love of her who is now disinherited, and you will also\nincrease your own renown. She herself was going in search for you to\nsecure the boon for which she hoped; no one else would have taken her\nplace, had she not been detained by an illness which compels her to keep\nher bed. Now tell me, please, whether you will dare to come, or whether\nyou will decline.\" \"No,\" he says; \"no man can win praise in a life of\nease; and I will not hold back, but will follow you gladly, my sweet\nfriend, whithersoever it may please you. And if she for whose sake you\nhave sought me out stands in some great need of me, have no fear that I\nshall not do all I can for her. Now may God grant me the happiness and\ngrace to settle in her favour her rightful claim.\"\n\n(Vv. 5107-5184.) [325] Thus conversing, they two rode away until they\napproached the town of Pesme Avanture. They had no desire to pass it\nby, for the day was already drawing to a close. They came riding to the\ncastle, when all the people, seeing them approach, called out to the\nknight: \"Ill come, sire, ill come. This lodging-place was pointed out to\nyou in order that you might suffer harm and shame. An abbot might take\nhis oath to that.\" \"Ah,\" he replied, \"foolish and vulgar folk, full\nof all mischief, and devoid of honour, why have you thus assailed me?\"\n\"Why? you will find out soon enough, if you will go a little farther.\nBut you shall learn nothing more until you have ascended to the\nfortress.\" At once my lord Yvain turns toward the tower, and the crowd\ncries out, all shouting aloud at him: \"Eh, eh, wretch, whither goest\nthou? If ever in thy life thou hast encountered one who worked thee\nshame and woe, such will be done thee there, whither thou art going,\nas will never be told again by thee.\" My lord Yvain, who is listening,\nsays: \"Base and pitiless people, miserable and impudent, why do you\nassail me thus, why do you attack me so? What do you wish of me, what\ndo you want, that you growl this way after me?\" A lady, who was somewhat\nadvanced in years, who was courteous and sensible, said: \"Thou hast no\ncause to be enraged: they mean no harm in what they say; but, if thou\nunderstoodest them aright, they are warning thee not to spend the night\nup there; they dare not tell thee the reason for this, but they are\nwarning and blaming thee because they wish to arouse thy fears. This\nthey are accustomed to do in the case of all who come, so that they may\nnot go inside. And the custom is such that we dare not receive in our\nown houses, for any reason whatsoever, any gentleman who comes here from\na distance. The responsibility now is thine alone; no one will stand in\nthy way. If thou wishest, thou mayst go up now; but my advice is to turn\nback again.\" \"Lady,\" he says, \"doubtless it would be to my honour and\nadvantage to follow your advice; but I do not know where I should find\na lodging-place to-night.\" \"Upon my word,\" says she, \"I'll say no more,\nfor the concern is none of mine. Go wherever you please. Nevertheless,\nI should be very glad to see you return from inside without too great\nshame; but that could hardly be.\" \"Lady,\" he says, \"may God reward you\nfor the wish. However, my wayward heart leads me on inside, and I\nshall do what my heart desires.\" Thereupon, he approaches the gate,\naccompanied by his lion and his damsel. Then the porter calls to him,\nand says: \"Come quickly, come. You are on your way to a place where you\nwill be securely detained, and may your visit be accursed.\"\n\n(Vv. 5185-5346.) The porter, after addressing him with this very\nungracious welcome, hurried upstairs. But my lord Yvain, without making\nreply, passed straight on, and found a new and lofty hall; in front\nof it there was a yard enclosed with large, round, pointed stakes,\nand seated inside the stakes he saw as many as three hundred maidens,\nworking at different kinds of embroidery. Each one was sewing with\ngolden thread and silk, as best she could. But such was their poverty,\nthat many of them wore no girdle, and looked slovenly, because so poor;\nand their garments were torn about their breasts and at the elbows, and\ntheir shifts were soiled about their necks. Their necks were thin, and\ntheir faces pale with hunger and privation. They see him, as he looks at\nthem, and they weep, and are unable for some time to do anything or to\nraise their eyes from the ground, so bowed down they are with woe. When\nhe had contemplated them for a while, my lord Yvain turned about and\nmoved toward the door; but the porter barred the way, and cried: \"It\nis no use, fair master; you shall not get out now. You would like to be\noutside: but, by my head, it is of no use. Before you escape you will\nhave suffered such great shame that you could not easily suffer more;\nso you were not wise to enter here, for there is no question of escaping\nnow.\" \"Nor do I wish to do so, fair brother,\" said he; \"but tell me,\nby thy father's soul, whence came the damsels whom I saw in the yard,\nweaving cloths of silk and gold. I enjoy seeing the work they do, but I\nam much distressed to see their bodies so thin, and their faces so pale\nand sad. I imagine they would be fair and charming, if they had what\nthey desire.\" \"I will tell you nothing,\" was the reply; \"seek some one\nelse to tell you.\" \"That will I do, since there is no better way.\" Then\nhe searches until he finds the entrance of the yard where the damsels\nwere at work: and coming before them, he greets them all, and sees tears\nflowing from their eyes, as they weep. Then he says to them: \"May it\nplease God to remove from your hearts, and turn to joy, this grief, the\ncause of which I do not know.\" One of them answers: \"May you be heard by\nGod, to whom you have addressed your prayer. It shall not be concealed\nfrom you who we are, and from what land: I suppose that is what you wish\nto know.\" \"For no other purpose came I here,\" says he. [326] \"Sire,\nit happened a long while ago that the king of the Isle of Damsels went\nseeking news through divers courts and countries, and he kept on his\ntravels like a dunce until he encountered this perilous place. It was an\nunlucky hour when he first came here, for we wretched captives who are\nhere receive all the shame and misery which we have in no wise deserved.\nAnd rest assured that you yourself may expect great shame, unless a\nransom for you be accepted. But, at any rate, so it came about that my\nlord came to this town, where there are two sons of the devil (do not\ntake it as a jest) who were born of a woman and an imp. These two were\nabout to fight with the king, whose terror was great, for he was not yet\neighteen years old, and they would have been able to cleave him through\nlike a tender lamb. So the king, in his terror, escaped his fate as best\nhe could, by swearing that he would send hither each year, as required,\nthirty of his damsels, and with this rent he freed himself. And when\nhe swore, it was agreed that this arrangement should remain in force\nas long as the two devils lived. But upon the day when they should\nbe conquered and defeated in battle, he would be relieved from this\ntribute, and we should be delivered who are now shamefully given over to\ndistress and misery. Never again shall we know what pleasure is. But I\nspoke folly just now in referring to our deliverance, for we shall never\nmore leave this place. We shall spend our days weaving cloths of silk,\nwithout ever being better clad. We shall always be poor and naked, and\nshall always suffer from hunger and thirst, for we shall never be able\nto earn enough to procure for ourselves any better food. Our bread\nsupply is very scarce--a little in the morning and less at night, for\nnone of us can gain by her handiwork more than fourpence a day for her\ndaily bread. And with this we cannot provide ourselves with sufficient\nfood and clothes. For though there is not one of us who does not earn as\nmuch as twenty sous [327] a week, yet we cannot live without hardship.\nNow you must know that there is not a single one of us who does not do\ntwenty sous worth of work or more, and with such a sum even a duke would\nbe considered rich. So while we are reduced to such poverty, he, for\nwhom we work, is rich with the product of our toil. We sit up many\nnights, as well as every day, to earn the more, for they threaten to do\nus injury, when we seek some rest, so we do not dare to rest ourselves.\nBut why should I tell you more? We are so shamefully treated and\ninsulted that I cannot tell you the fifth part of it all. But what makes\nus almost wild with rage is that we very often see rich and excellent\nknights, who fight with the two devils, lose their lives on our account.\nThey pay dearly for the lodging they receive, as you will do to-morrow.\nFor, whether you wish to do so or not, you will have to fight\nsinglehanded and lose your fair renown with these two devils.\" \"May God,\nthe true and spiritual, protect me,\" said my lord Yvain, \"and give you\nback your honour and happiness, if it be His will. I must go now and see\nthe people inside there, and find out what sort of entertainment they\nwill offer me.\" \"Go now, sire, and may He protect you who gives and\ndistributes all good things.\"\n\n(Vv. 5347-5456.) Then he went until he came to the hall where he found\nno one, good or bad, to address him. Then he and his companion passed\nthrough the house until they came to a garden. They never spoke of, or\nmentioned, stabling their horses. But what matters it? For those who\nconsidered them already as their own had stabled them carefully. I do\nnot know whether their expectation was wise, for the horses' owners are\nstill perfectly hale. The horses, however, have oats and hay, and stand\nin litter up to their belly. My lord Yvain and his company enter the\ngarden. There he sees, reclining upon his elbow upon a silken rug, a\ngentleman, to whom a maiden was reading from a romance about I know\nnot whom. There had come to recline there with them and listen to the\nromance a lady, who was the mother of the damsel, as the gentleman was\nher father; they had good reason to enjoy seeing and hearing her, for\nthey had no other children. She was not yet sixteen years old, and\nwas so fair and full of grace that the god of Love would have devoted\nhimself entirely to her service, if he had seen her, and would never\nhave made her fall in love with anybody except himself. For her sake he\nwould have become a man, and would lay aside his deity, and would smite\nhis own body with that dart whose wound never heals unless some base\nphysician attends to it. It is not fitting that any one should recover\nuntil he meets with faithlessness. Any one who is cured by other means\nis not honestly in love. I could tell you so much about this wound, if\nyou were pleased to listen to it, that I would not get through my tale\nto-day. But there would be some one who would promptly say that I was\ntelling you but an idle tale; for people don't fall in love nowadays,\nnor do they love as they used to do, so they do not care to hear of it.\n[328] But hear now in what fashion and with what manner of hospitality\nmy lord Yvain was received. All those who were in the garden leaped to\ntheir feet when they saw him come, and cried out: \"This way, fair sire.\nMay you and all you love be blessed with all that God can do or say.\" I\nknow not if they were deceiving him, but they receive him joyfully and\nact as if they are pleased that he should be comfortably lodged. Even\nthe lord's daughter serves him very honourably, as one should treat a\nworthy guest. She relieves him of all his arms, nor was it the least\nattention she bestowed on him when she herself washed his neck and face.\nThe lord wishes that all honour should be shown him, as indeed they do.\nShe gets out from her wardrobe a folded shirt, white drawers, needle and\nthread for his sleeves, which she sews on, thus clothing him. [329] May\nGod want now that this attention and service may not prove too costly to\nhim! She gave him a handsome jacket to put on over his shirt, and about\nhis neck she placed a brand new spotted mantle of scarlet stuff.\nShe takes such pains to serve him well that he feels ashamed and\nembarrassed. But the damsel is so courteous and open-hearted and polite\nthat she feels she is doing very little. And she knows well that it is\nher mother's will that she shall leave nothing undone for him which she\nthinks may win his gratitude. That night at table he was so well served\nwith so many dishes that there were too many. The servants who brought\nin the dishes might well have been wearied by serving them. That night\nthey did him all manner of honour, putting him comfortably to bed, and\nnot once going near him again after he had retired. His lion lay at\nhis feet, as his custom was. In the morning, when God lighted His great\nlight for the world, as early as was consistent in one who was always\nconsiderate, my lord Yvain quickly arose, as did his damsel too. They\nheard Mass in a chapel, where it was promptly said for them in honour of\nthe Holy Spirit.\n\n(Vv. 5457-5770.) After the Mass my lord Yvain heard bad news, when he\nthought the time had come for him to leave and that nothing would stand\nin his way; but it could not be in accordance with his wish. When he\nsaid: \"Sire, if it be your will, and with your permission, I am going\nnow,\" the master of the house replied: \"Friend, I will not grant you\npermission yet. There is a reason why I cannot do so, for there is\nestablished in this castle a very terrible practice which I am bound\nto observe. I shall now cause to approach two great, strong fellows of\nmine, against whom, whether right or wrong, you must take arms. If you\ncan defend yourself against them, and conquer and slay them both, my\ndaughter desires you as her lord, and the suzerainty of this town and\nall its dependencies awaits you.\" \"Sire,\" said he, \"for all this I have\nno desire. So may God never bestow your daughter upon me, but may she\nremain with you; for she is so fair and so elegant that the Emperor\nof Germany would be fortunate to win her as his wife.\" \"No more, fair\nguest,\" the lord replied: \"there is no need of my listening to your\nrefusal, for you cannot escape. He who can defeat the two, who are about\nto attack you, must by right receive my castle, and all my land, and\nmy daughter as his wife. There is no way of avoiding or renouncing\nthe battle. But I feel sure that your refusal of my daughter is due to\ncowardice, for you think that in this manner you can completely avoid\nthe battle. Know, however, without fail that you must surely fight. No\nknight who lodges here can possibly escape. This is a settled custom\nand statute, which will endure yet for many a year, for my daughter will\nnever be married until I see them dead or defeated.\" \"Then I must fight\nthem in spite of myself. But I assure you that I should very gladly give\nit up. In spite of my reluctance, however, I shall accept the battle,\nsince it is inevitable.\" Thereupon, the two hideous, black sons of\nthe devil come in, both armed with a crooked club of a cornelian\ncherry-tree, which they had covered with copper and wound with brass.\nThey were armed from the shoulders to the knees, but their head and\nface were bare, as well as their brawny legs. Thus armed, they advanced,\nbearing in their hands round shields, stout and light for fighting. The\nlion begins to quiver as soon as he sees them, for he sees the arms they\nhave, and perceives that they come to fight his master. He is aroused,\nand bristles up at once, and, trembling with rage and bold impulse, he\nthrashes the earth with his tail, desiring to rescue his master before\nthey kill him. And when they see him they say: \"Vassal, remove the lion\nfrom here that he may not do us harm. Either surrender to us at once, or\nelse, we adjure you, that lion must be put where he can take no part in\naiding you or in harming us. You must come alone to enjoy our sport, for\nthe lion would gladly help you, if he could.\" My lord Yvain then replies\nto them: \"Take him away yourselves if you are afraid of him. For I shall\nbe well pleased and satisfied if he can contrive to injure you, and I\nshall be grateful for his aid.\" They answer: \"Upon my word that will\nnot do; you shall never receive any help from him. Do the best you can\nalone, without the help of any one. You must fight single-handed against\nus two. If you were not alone, it would be two against two; so you must\nfollow our orders, and remove your lion from here at once, however much\nyou may dislike to do so.\" \"Where do you wish him to be?\" he asks, \"or\nwhere do you wish me to put him?\" Then they show him a small room, and\nsay: \"Shut him up in there.\" \"It shall be done, since it is your will.\"\nThen he takes him and shuts him up. And now they bring him arms for his\nbody, and lead out his horse, which they give to him, and he mounts. The\ntwo champions, being now assured about the lion, which is shut up in\nthe room, come at him to injure him and do him harm. They give him such\nblows with the maces that his shield and helmet are of little use, for\nwhen they hit him on the helmet they batter it in and break it; and the\nshield is broken and dissolved like ice, for they make such holes in\nit that one could thrust his fists through it: their onslaught is truly\nterrible. And he--what does he do against these two devils? Urged on\nby shame and fear, he defends himself with all his strength. He strains\nevery nerve, and exerts himself to deal heavy, and telling blows; they\nlost nothing by his gifts, for he returned their attentions with\ndouble measure. In his room, the lion's heart is heavy and sad, for he\nremembers the kind deed done for him by this noble man, who now must\nstand in great need of his service and aid. If now he could escape\nfrom there, he would return him the kindness with full measure and\nfull bushel, without any discount whatsoever. He looks about in all\ndirections, but sees no way of escape. He hears the blows of the\ndangerous and desperate fight, and in his grief he rages and is beside\nhimself. He investigates, until he comes to the threshold, which was\nbeginning to grow rotten; and he scratches at it until he can squeeze\nhimself in as far as his haunches, when he sticks fast. Meanwhile, my\nlord Yvain was hard pressed and sweating freely, for he found that the\ntwo fellows were very strong, fierce, and persistent. He had received\nmany a blow, and repaid it as best he could, but without doing them any\nharm, for they were well skilled in fencing, and their shields were not\nof a kind to be hacked by any sword, however sharp and well tempered\nit might be. So my lord Yvain had good reason to fear his death, yet he\nmanaged to hold his own until the lion extricated himself by continued\nscratching beneath the threshold. If the rascals are not killed now,\nsurely they will never be. For so long as the lion knows them to be\nalive, they can never obtain truce or peace with him. He seizes one of\nthem, and pulls him down to earth like a tree-trunk. The wretches are\nterrified, and there is not a man present who does not rejoice. For he\nwhom the lion has dragged down will never be able to rise again, unless\nthe other succours him. He runs up to bring him aid, and at the same\ntime to protect himself, lest the lion should attack him as soon as he\nhad despatched the one whom he had thrown down; he was more afraid of\nthe lion than of his master. But my lord Yvain will be foolish now if\nhe allows him longer life, when he sees him turn his back, and sees his\nneck bare and exposed; this chance turned out well for him. When the\nrascal exposed to him his bare head and neck, he dealt him such a blow\nthat he smote his head from his shoulders so quietly that the fellow\nnever knew a word about it. Then he dismounts, wishing to help and save\nthe other one from the lion, who holds him fast. But it is of no use,\nfor already he is in such straits that a physician can never arrive in\ntime; for the lion, coming at him furiously, so wounded him at the first\nattack, that he was in a dreadful state. Nevertheless, he drags the lion\nback, and sees that he had torn his shoulder from its place. He is in\nno fear of the fellow now, for his club has fallen from his hand, and\nhe lies like a dead man without action or movement; still he has enough\nstrength to speak, and he said as clearly as he could: \"Please take your\nlion away, fair sire, that he may not do me further harm. Henceforth you\nmay do with me whatever may be your desire. Whoever begs and prays\nfor mercy, ought not to have his prayer refused, unless he addresses a\nheartless man. I will no longer defend myself, nor will I ever get up\nfrom here with my own strength; so I put myself in your hands.\" \"Speak\nout then,\" he says, \"if thou dost admit that thou art conquered and\ndefeated.\" \"Sire,\" he says, \"it is evident. I am defeated in spite of\nmyself, and I surrender, I promise you.\" \"Then thou needest have no\nfurther fear of me, and my lion will leave thee alone.\" Then he is\nsurrounded by all the crowd, who arrive on the scene in haste. And both\nthe lord and his lady rejoice over him, and embrace him, and speak to\nhim of their daughter, saying: \"Now you will be the lord and master of\nus all, and our daughter will be your wife, for we bestow her upon you\nas your spouse.\" \"And for my part,\" he says. \"I restore her to you. Let\nhim who has her keep her. I have no concern with her, though I say it\nnot in disparagement. Take it not amiss if I do not accept her, for\nI cannot and must not do so. But deliver to me now, if you will, the\nwretched maidens in your possession. The agreement, as you well know,\nis that they shall all go free.\" \"What you say is true,\" he says: \"and I\nresign and deliver them freely to you: there will be no dispute on that\nscore. But you will be wise to take my daughter with all my wealth, for\nshe is fair, and charming, and sensible. You will never find again such\na rich marriage as this.\" \"Sire,\" he replies, \"you do not know of my\nengagements and my affairs, and I do not dare to explain them to you.\nBut, you may be sure, when I refuse what would never be refused by any\none who was free to devote his heart and intentions to such a fair and\ncharming girl, that I too would willingly accept her hand if I could, or\nif I were free to accept her or any other maid. But I assure you that I\ncannot do it: so let me depart in peace. For the damsel, who escorted\nme hither, is awaiting me. She has kept me company, and I would not\nwillingly desert her whatever the future may have in store.\" \"You wish\nto go, fair sire? But how? My gate will never be opened for you unless\nmy judgment bids me give the command; rather shall you remain here as my\nprisoner. You are acting haughtily and making a mistake when you disdain\nto take my daughter at my request.\" \"Disdain, my lord? Upon my soul, I\ndo not disdain her. Whatever the penalty may be, I cannot marry a wife\nor tarry here. I shall follow the damsel who is my guide: for otherwise\nit cannot be. But, with your consent, I will pledge you my right hand,\nand you may take my word, that, just as you see me now, I will return\nif possible, and then will accept your daughter's hand, whenever it may\nseem good ro you.\" \"Confound any one,\" he says, \"who asks you for your\nword or promise or pledge. If my daughter pleases you, you will return\nquickly enough. You will not return any sooner. I think, for having\ngiven your word or sworn an oath. Begone now. I release you from all\noaths and promises. If you are detained by rain or wind, or by nothing\nat all, it is of no consequence to me. I do not hold my daughter so\ncheap as to bestow her upon you forcibly. Now go about your business.\nFor it is quite the same to me whether you go or whether you stay.\"\n\n(Vv. 5771-5871.) Thereupon my lord Yvain turns away and delays no longer\nin the castle. He escorted the poor and ill-clad wretches, who were now\nreleased from captivity, and whom the lord committed to his care. These\nmaidens feel that now they are rich, as they file out in pairs before\nhim from the castle. I do not believe that they would rejoice so much as\nthey do now were He who created the whole world to descend to earth from\nHeaven. Now all those people who had insulted him in every possible way\ncome to beseech him for mercy and peace, and escort him on his way. He\nreplies that he knows nothing of what they mean. \"I do not understand\nwhat you mean,\" he says; \"but I have nothing against you. I do not\nremember that you ever said anything that harmed me.\" They are very glad\nfor what they hear, and loudly praise his courtesy, and after escorting\nhim a long distance, they all commend him to God. Then the damsels,\nafter asking his permission, separated from him. When they left him,\nthey all bowed to him, and prayed and expressed the wish that God might\ngrant him joy and health, and the accomplishment of his desire, wherever\nin the future he should go. Then he, who is anxious to be gone, says\nthat he hopes God will save them all. \"Go,\" he says, \"and may God\nconduct you into your countries safe and happy.\" Then they continue\ntheir way joyfully; and my lord Yvain departs in the other direction.\nAll the days of that week he never ceases to hurry on under the escort\nof the maid, who was well acquainted with the road, and with the retired\nplace where she had left the unhappy and disconsolate damsel who had\nbeen deprived of her inheritance. But when she heard news of the arrival\nof the maiden and of the Knight with the Lion. There never was such joy\nas she felt within her heart. For now she thinks that, if she insists,\nher sister will cede her a part of her inheritance. The damsel had long\nlain sick, and had just recovered from her malady. It had seriously\naffected her, as was apparent from her face. Straightway she went forth\nto meet them, greeting them and honouring them in every way she could.\nThere is no need to speak of the happiness that prevailed that night\nin the house. No mention will be made of it, for the story would be too\nlong to tell. I pass over all that, until they mounted next morning and\nwent away. They rode until they saw the town where King Arthur had been\nstaying for a fortnight or more. And there, too, was the damsel who\nhad deprived her sister of her heritage, for she had kept close to the\ncourt, waiting for the arrival of her sister, who now draws near. But\nshe does not worry much, for she does not think that her sister can find\nany knight who can withstand my lord Gawain's attack, and only one day\nof the forty yet remains. If this single day had passed, she would have\nhad the reasonable and legal right to claim the heritage for herself\nalone. But more stands in the way than she thinks or believes. That\nnight they spent outside the town in a small and humble house, where,\nin accordance with their desire, they were not recognised. At the first\nsign of dawn the next morning they necessarily issue forth, but ensconce\nthemselves in hiding until broad daylight.\n\n(Vv. 5872-5924.) I know not how many days had passed since my lord\nGawain had so completely disappeared that no one at court knew anything\nabout him, except only the damsel in whose cause he was to fight. He\nhad concealed himself three or four leagues from the court, and when he\nreturned he was so equipped that even those who knew him perfectly\ncould not recognise him by the arms he bore. The damsel, whose injustice\ntoward her sister was evident, presented him at court in the sight of\nall, for she intended with his help to triumph in the dispute where she\nhad no rights. So she said to the King: \"My lord, time passes. The\nnoon hour will soon be gone, and this is the last day. As you see, I am\nprepared to defend my claim. If my sister were going to return, there\nwould be nothing to do but await her arrival. But I may praise God that\nshe is not coming back again. It is evident that she cannot better her\naffairs, and that her trouble has been for naught. For my part, I have\nbeen ready all the time up to this last day, to prove my claim to what\nis mine. I have proved my point entirely without a fight, and now I\nmay rightfully go to accept my heritage in peace; for I shall render no\naccounting for it to my sister as long as I live, and she will lead a\nwretched and miserable existence.\" Then the King, who well knew that the\ndamsel was disloyally unjust toward her sister, said to her: \"My dear,\nupon my word, in a royal court one must wait as long as the king's\njustice sits and deliberates upon the verdict. It is not yet time to\npack up, for it is my belief that your sister will yet arrive in time.\"\nBefore the King had finished, he saw the Knight with the Lion and the\ndamsel with him. They two were advancing alone, having slipped away from\nthe lion, who had stayed where they spent the night.\n\n(Vv. 5925-5990.) The King saw the damsel whom he did not fail to\nrecognise, and he was greatly pleased and delighted to see her, for\nhe was on her side of the quarrel, because he had regard for what was\nright. Joyfully he cried out to her as soon as he could: \"Come forward,\nfair one: may God save you!\" When the other sister hears these words,\nshe turns trembling, and sees her with the knight whom she had brought\nto defend in her claim: then she turned blacker than the earth. The\ndamsel, after being kindly welcomed by all, went to where the King was\nsitting. When she had come before him, she spoke to him thus: \"God save\nthe King and his household. If my rights in this dispute can be settled\nby a champion, then it will be done by this knight who has followed\nme hither. This frank and courteous knight had many other things to do\nelsewhere; but he felt such pity for me that he cast aside all his other\naffairs for the sake of mine. Now, madame, my very dear sister, whom I\nlove as much as my own heart, would do the right and courteous thing if\nshe would let me have so much of what is mine by right that there might\nbe peace between me and her; for I ask for nothing that is hers.\" \"Nor\ndo I ask for anything that is thine,\" the other replied; \"for thou hast\nnothing, and nothing shalt thou have. Thou canst never talk so much as\nto gain anything by thy words. Thou mayest dry up with grief.\" Then the\nother, who was very polite and sensible and courteous, replied with the\nwords: \"Certainly I am sorry that two such gentlemen as these should\nfight on our behalf over so small a disagreement. But I cannot disregard\nmy claim, for I am in too great need of it. So I should be much obliged\nto you if you would give me what is rightly mine.\" \"Surely,\" the other\nsaid, \"any one would be a fool to consider thy demands. May I burn in\nevil fire and flame if I give thee anything to ease thy life! The banks\nof the Seine will meet, and the hour of prime will be called noon,\nbefore I refuse to carry out the fight.\" \"May God and the right, which\nI have in this cause, and in which I trust and have trusted till the\npresent time, aid him, who in charity and courtesy has offered himself\nin my service, though he knows not who I am, and though we are ignorant\nof each other's identity.\"\n\n(Vv. 5991-6148.) So they talked until their conversation ceased, and\nthen produced the knights in the middle of the court. Then all the\npeople crowd about, as people are wont to do when they wish to witness\nblows in battle or in joust. But those who were about to fight did\nnot recognise each other, though their relations were wont to be very\naffectionate. Then do they not love each other now? I would answer you\nboth \"yes\" and \"no.\" And I shall prove that each answer is correct. In\ntruth, my lord Gawain loves Yvain and regards him as his companion, and\nso does Yvain regard him, wherever he may be. Even here, if he knew who\nhe was, he would make much of him, and either one of them would lay down\nhis head for the other before he would allow any harm to come to him. Is\nnot that a perfect and lofty love? Yes, surely. But, on the other hand,\nis not their hate equally manifest? Yes; for it is a certain thing that\ndoubtless each would be glad to have broken the other's head, and so\nto have injured him as to cause his humiliation. Upon my word, it is a\nwondrous thing, that Love and mortal Hate should dwell together. God!\nHow can two things so opposed find lodging in the same dwelling-place?\nIt seems to me they cannot live together; for one could not dwell with\nthe other, without giving rise to noise and contention, as soon as each\nknew of the other's presence. But upon the ground-floor there may be\nseveral apartments: for there are halls and sleeping-rooms. It may be\nthe same in this case: I think Love had ensconced himself in some hidden\nroom, while Hate had betaken herself to the balconies looking on the\nhigh-road, because she wishes to be seen. Just now Hate is in the\nsaddle, and spurs and pricks forward as she can, to get ahead of Love\nwho is indisposed to move. Ah! Love, what has become of thee? Come out\nnow, and thou shalt see what a host has been brought up and opposed to\nthee by the enemies of thy friends. The enemies are these very men who\nlove each other with such a holy love for love, which is neither false\nnor feigned, is a precious and a holy thing. In this case Love is\ncompletely blind, and Hate, too, is deprived of sight. For if Love had\nrecognised these two men, he must have forbidden each to attack the\nother, or to do any thing to cause him harm. In this respect, then,\nLove is blind and discomfited and beguiled; for, though he sees them, he\nfails to recognise those who rightly belong to him. And though Hate is\nunable to tell why one of them should hate the other, yet she tries to\nengage them wrongfully, so that each hates the other mortally. You know,\nof course, that he cannot be said to love a man who would wish to harm\nhim and see him dead. How then? Does Yvain wish to kill his friend, my\nlord Gawain? Yes, and the desire is mutual. Would, then, my lord Gawain\ndesire to kill Yvain with his own hands, or do even worse than I have\nsaid? Nay, not really, I swear and protest. One would not wish to injure\nor harm the other, in return for all that God has done for man, or for\nall the empire of Rome. But this, in turn, is a lie of mine, for it is\nplainly to be seen that, with lance raised high in rest, each is ready\nto attack the other, and there will be no restraint of the desire of\neach to wound the other with intent to injure him and work him woe. Now\ntell me! When one will have defeated the other, of whom can he complain\nwho has the worst of it? For if they go so far as to come to blows, I am\nvery much afraid that they will continue the battle and the strife\nuntil victory be definitely decided. If he is defeated, will Yvain be\njustified in saying that he has been harmed and wronged by a man who\ncounts him among his friends, and who has never mentioned him but by the\nname of friend or companion? Or, if it comes about perchance that Yvain\nshould hurt him in turn, or defeat him in any way, will Gawain have\nthe right to complain? Nay, for he will not know whose fault it is. In\nignorance of each other's identity, they both drew off and took their\ndistance. At this first shock, their lances break, though they were\nstout, and made of ash. Not a word do they exchange, for if they had\nstopped to converse their meeting would have been different. In that\ncase, no blow would have been dealt with lance or sword; they would have\nkissed and embraced each other rather than sought each other's harm. For\nnow they attack each other with injurious intent. The condition of the\nswords is not improved, nor that of the helmets and shields, which are\ndented and split; and the edges of the swords are nicked and dulled. For\nthey strike each other violently, not with the fiat of the swords,\nbut with the edge, and they deal such blows with the pommels upon the\nnose-guards and upon the neck, forehead and cheeks, that they are all\nmarked black and blue where the blood collects beneath the skin. And\ntheir hauberks are so torn, and their shields so broken in pieces, that\nneither one escaped without wounds. Their breath is almost exhausted\nwith the labour of the strife; they hammer away at each other so lustily\nthat every hyacinth and emerald set in their helmets is crushed and\nsmashed. For they give each other such a battering with their pommels\nupon the helmets that they are quite stunned, as they almost beat out\neach other's brains. The eyes in their heads gleam like sparks, as, with\nstout square fists, and strong nerves, and hard bones, they strike each\nother upon the mouth as long as they can grip their swords, which are of\ngreat service to them in dealing their heavy blows.\n\n(Vv. 6149-6228.) When they had for a long time strained themselves,\nuntil the helmets were crushed, and the hauberks' meshes were torn\napart with the hammering of the swords, and the shields were split and\ncracked, they drew apart a little to give their pulse a rest and to\ncatch their breath again. However, they do not long delay, but run at\neach other again more fiercely than before. And all declare that they\nnever saw two more courageous knights. \"This fight between them is no\njest, but they are in grim earnest. They will never be repaid for their\nmerits and deserts.\" The two friends, in their bitter struggle, heard\nthese words, and heard how the people were talking of reconciling the\ntwo sisters; but they had no success in placating the elder one. And the\nyounger one said she would leave it to the King, and would not gainsay\nhim in anything. But the elder one was so obstinate that even the\nQueen Guinevere and the knights and the King and the ladies and the\ntownspeople side with the younger sister, and all join in beseeching the\nKing to give her a third or a fourth part of the land in spite of the\nelder sister, and to separate the two knights who had displayed such\nbravery, for it would be too bad if one should injure the other or\ndeprive him of any honour. And the King replied that he would take no\nhand in making peace, for the elder sister is so cruel that she has no\ndesire for it. All these words were heard by the two, who were attacking\neach other so bitterly that all were astonished thereat; for the battle\nis waged so evenly that it is impossible to judge which has the better\nand which the worse. Even the two men themselves, who fight, and who\nare purchasing honour with agony, are filled with amazement and stand\naghast, for they are so well matched in their attack, that each wonders\nwho it can be that withstands him with such bravery. They fight so long\nthat the day draws on to night, while their arms grow weary and their\nbodies sore, and the hot, boiling blood flows from many a spot and\ntrickles down beneath their hauberks: they are in such distress that\nit is no wonder if they wish to rest. Then both withdraw to rest\nthemselves, each thinking within himself that, however long he has had\nto wait, he now at last has met his match. For some time they thus seek\nrepose, without daring to resume the fight. They feel no further desire\nto fight, because of the night which is growing dark, and because of the\nrespect they feel for each other's might. These two considerations keep\nthem apart, and urge them to keep the peace. But before they leave the\nfield they will discover each other's identity, and joy and mercy will\nbe established between them.\n\n(Vv. 6229-6526.) My brave and courteous lord Yvain was the first to\nspeak. But his good friend was unable to recognise him by his utterance;\nfor he was prevented by his low tone and by his voice which was hoarse,\nweak, and broken; for his blood was all stirred up by the blows he had\nreceived. \"My lord,\" he says, \"the night comes on! I think no blame\nor reproach will attach to us if the night comes between us. But I\nam willing to admit, for my own part, that I feel great respect and\nadmiration for you, and never in my life have I engaged in a battle\nwhich has made me smart so much, nor did I ever expect to see a knight\nwhose acquaintance I should so yearn to make. You know well how to land\nyour blows and how to make good use of them: I have never known a knight\nwho was so skilled in dealing blows. It was against my will that I\nreceived all the blows you have bestowed on me to-day; I am stunned\nby the blows you have I struck upon my head.\" \"Upon my word,\" my lord\nGawain replies, \"you are not so stunned and faint but that I am as much\nso, or more. And if I should tell you the simple truth, I think you\nwould not be loath to hear it, for if I have lent you anything of mine,\nyou have fully paid me back, principal and interest; for you were more\nready to pay back than I was to accept the payment. But however that\nmay be, since you wish me to inform you of my name, it shall not be kept\nfrom you: my name is Gawain the son of King Lot.\" As soon as my\nlord Yvain heard that, he was amazed and sorely troubled; angry and\ngrief-stricken, he cast upon the ground his bloody sword and broken\nshield, then dismounted from his horse, and cried: \"Alas, what mischance\nis this! Through what unhappy ignorance in not recognising each other\nhave we waged this battle! For if I had known who you were, I should\nnever have fought with you; but, upon my word, I should have surrendered\nwithout a blow.\" \"How is that?\" my lord Gawain inquires, \"who are you,\nthen?\" \"I am Yvain, who love you more than any man in the whole wide\nworld, for you have always been fond of me and shown me honour in every\ncourt. But I wish to make you such amends and do you such honour in this\naffair that I will confess myself to have been defeated.\" \"Will you do\nso much for my sake?\" my gentle lord Gawain asks him; \"surely I should\nbe presumptuous to accept any such amends from you. This honour shall\nnever be claimed as mine, but it shall be yours, to whom I resign\nit.\" \"Ah, fair sire, do not speak so. For that could never be. I am so\nwounded and exhausted that I cannot endure more.\" \"Surely, you have no\ncause to be concerned.\" his friend and companion replies; \"but for my\npart, I am defeated and overcome; I say it not as a compliment; for\nthere is no stranger in the world, to whom I would not say as much,\nrather than receive any more blows.\" Thus saying, he got down from his\nhorse, and they threw their arms about each other's neck, kissing each\nother, and each continuing to assert that it is he who has met defeat.\nThe argument is still in progress when the King and the knights come\nrunning up from every side, at the sight of their reconciliation; and\ngreat is their desire to hear how this can be, and who these men are who\nmanifest such happiness. The King says: \"Gentlemen, tell us now who\nit is that has so suddenly brought about this friendship and harmony\nbetween you two, after the hatred and strife there has been this day?\"\nThen his nephew, my lord Gawain, thus answers him: \"My lord, you shall\nbe informed of the misfortune and mischance which have been the cause of\nour strife. Since you have tarried in order to hear and learn the cause\nof it, it is right to let you know the truth. I, Gawain, who am your\nnephew, did not recognise this companion of mine, my lord Yvain, until\nhe fortunately, by the will of God, asked me my name. After each had\ninformed the other of his name, we recognised each other, but not until\nwe had fought it out. Our struggle already has been long; and if we had\nfought yet a little longer, it would have fared ill with me, for, by my\nhead, he would have killed me, what with his prowess and the evil cause\nof her who chose me as her champion. But I would rather be defeated than\nkilled by a friend in battle.\" Then my lord Yvain's blood was stirred,\nas he said to him in reply: \"Fair dear sire, so help me God, you have no\nright to say so much. Let my lord, The King, well know in this battle\nI am surely the one who has been defeated and overcome!\" \"I am the one\"\n\"No, I am.\" Thus each cries out, and both are so honest and courteous\nthat each allows the victory and crown to be the other's prize, while\nneither one of them will accept it. Thus each strives to convince the\nKing and all the people that he has been defeated and overthrown.\nBut when he had listened to them for a while, the King terminated the\ndispute. He was well pleased with what he heard and with the sight of\nthem in each other's arms, though they had wounded and injured each\nother in several places. \"My lords,\" he says, \"there is deep affection\nbetween you two. You give clear evidence of that, when each insists that\nit is he who has been defeated. Now leave it all to me! For I think I\ncan arrange it in such a way that it will redound to your honour, and\nevery one will give consent.\" Then they both promised him that they\nwould do his will in every particular. And the King says that he will\ndecide the quarrel fairly and faithfully. \"Where is the damsel,\" he\ninquires, \"who has ejected her sister from her land, and has forcibly\nand cruelly disinherited her?\" \"My lord,\" she answers, \"here I am.\" \"Are\nyou there? Then draw near to me! I saw plainly some time ago that you\nwere disinheriting her. But her right shall no longer be denied; for you\nyourself have avowed the truth to me. You must now resign her share to\nher.\" \"Sire,\" she says, \"if I uttered a foolish and thoughtless word,\nyou ought not to take me up in it. For God's sake, sire, do not be hard\non me! You are a king, and you ought to guard against wrong and error.\"\nThe King replies: \"That is precisely why I wish to give your sister her\nrights; for I have never defended what is wrong. And you have surely\nheard how your knight and hers have left the matter in my hands. I shall\nnot say what is altogether pleasing to you; for your injustice is well\nknown. In his desire to honour the other, each one says that he has been\ndefeated. But there is no need to delay further: since the matter has\nbeen left to me, either you will do in all respects what I say, without\nresistance, or I shall announce that my nephew has been defeated in the\nfight. That would be the worst thing that could happen to your cause,\nand I shall be sorry to make such a declaration.\" In reality, he would\nnot have said it for anything; but he spoke thus in order to see if he\ncould frighten her into restoring the heritage to her sister; for he\nclearly saw that she never would surrender anything to her for any\nwords of his unless she was influenced by force or fear. In fear and\napprehension, she replied to him: \"Fair lord, I must now respect your\ndesire, though my heart is very loath to yield. Yet, however hard it may\ngo with me, I shall do it, and my sister shall have what belongs to her.\nI give her your own person as a pledge of her share in my inheritance,\nin order that she may be more assured of it.\" \"Endow her with it, then,\nat once,\" the King replies; \"let her receive it from your hands, and\nlet her vow fidelity to you! Do you love her as your vassal, and let\nher love you as her sovereign lady and as her sister.\" Thus the King\nconducts the affair until the damsel takes possession of her land, and\noffers her thanks to him for it. Then the King asked the valiant and\nbrave knight who was his nephew to allow himself to be disarmed; and\nhe requested my lord Yvain to lay aside his arms also; for now they may\nwell dispense with them. Then the two vassals lay aside their arms and\nseparate on equal terms. And while they are taking off their armour,\nthey see the lion running up in search of his master. As soon as he\ncatches sight of him, he begins to show his joy. Then you would have\nseen people draw aside, and the boldest among them takes to flight.\nMy lord Yvain cries out: \"Stand still, all! Why do you flee? No one is\nchasing you. Have no fear that yonder lion will do you harm. Believe\nme, please, when I say that he is mine, and I am his, and we are both\ncompanions.\" Then it was known of a truth by all those who had heard\ntell of the adventures of the lion and of his companion that this must\nbe the very man who had killed the wicked giant. And my lord Gawain said\nto him: \"Sir companion, so help me God, you have overwhelmed me with\nshame this day. I did not deserve the service that you did me in killing\nthe giant to save my nephews and my niece. I have been thinking about\nyou for some time, and I was troubled because it was said that we\nwere acquainted as loving friends. I have surely thought much upon the\nsubject: but I could not hit upon the truth, and had never heard of any\nknight that I had known in any land where I had been, who was called\n'The Knight with the Lion.'\" While they chatted thus they took their\narmour off, and the lion came with no slow step to the place where his\nmaster sat, and showed such joy as a dumb beast could. Then the two\nknights had to be removed to a sick-room and infirmary, for they needed\na doctor and piaster to cure their wounds. King Arthur, who loved them\nwell, had them both brought before him, and summoned a surgeon whose\nknowledge of surgery was supreme. He exercised his art in curing them,\nuntil he had healed their wounds as well and as quickly as possible.\nWhen he had cured them both, my lord Yvain, who had his heart set fast\non love, saw clearly that he could not live, but that he finally would\ndie unless his lady took pity upon him; for he was dying for love of\nher; so he thought he would go away from the court alone, and would go\nto fight at the spring that belonged to her, where he would cause such\na storm of wind and rain that she would be compelled perforce to make\npeace with him; otherwise, there would be no end to the disturbance of\nthe spring, and to the rain and wind.\n\n(Vv. 6527-6658.) As soon as my lord Yvain felt that he was cured and\nsound again, he departed without the knowledge of any one. But he had\nwith him his lion, who never in his life wished to desert him. They\ntravelled until they saw the spring and made the rain descend. Think not\nthat this is a lie of mine, when I tell you that the disturbance was so\nviolent that no one could tell the tenth part of it: for it seemed as if\nthe whole forest must surely be engulfed. The lady fears for her town,\nlest it, too, will crumble away; the walls totter, and the tower rocks\nso that it is on the verge of falling down. The bravest Turk would\nrather be a captive in Persia than be shut up within those walls. The\npeople are so stricken with terror that they curse all their ancestors,\nsaying: \"Confounded be the man who first constructed a house in this\nneighbourhood, and all those who built this town! For in the wide world\nthey could not have found so detestable a spot, for a single man is able\nhere to invade and worry and harry us.\" \"You must take counsel in this\nmatter, my lady,\" says Lunete; \"you will find no one who will undertake\nto aid you in this time of need unless you seek for him afar. In the\nfuture we shall never be secure in this town, nor dare to pass beyond\nthe walls and gate. You know full well that, were some one to summon\ntogether all your knights for this cause, the best of them would not\ndare to step forward. If it is true that you have no one to defend\nyour spring, you will appear ridiculous and humiliated. It will redound\ngreatly to your honour, forsooth, if he who has attacked you shall\nretire without a fight! Surely you are in a bad predicament if you do\nnot devise some other plan to benefit yourself.\" The lady replies: \"Do\nthou, who art so wise, tell me what plan I can devise, and I will follow\nthy advice.\" \"Indeed, lady, if I had any plan, I should gladly propose\nit to you. But you have great need of a wiser counsellor. So I shall\ncertainly not dare to intrude, and in common with the others I shall\nendure the rain and wind until, if it please God, I shall see some\nworthy man appear here in your court who will assume the responsibility\nand burden of the battle; but I do not believe that that will happen\nto-day, and we have not yet seen the worst of your urgent need.\" Then\nthe lady replies at once: \"Damsel, speak now of something else! Say no\nmore of the people of my household; for I cherish no further expectation\nthat the spring and its marble brim will ever be defended by any of\nthem. But, if it please God, let us hear now what is your opinion\nand plan; for people always say that in time of need one can test his\nfriend.\" [330] \"My lady, if there is any one who thinks he could find\nhim who slew the giant and defeated the three knights, he would do\nwell to go to search for him. But so long as he shall incur the enmity,\nwrath, and displeasure of his lady, I fancy there is not under heaven\nany man or woman whom he would follow, until he had been assured upon\noath that everything possible would be done to appease the hostility\nwhich his lady feels for him, and which is so bitter that he is dying\nof the grief and anxiety it causes him.\" And the lady said: \"Before you\nenter upon the quest, I am prepared to promise you upon my word and to\nswear that, if he will return to me, I will openly and frankly do all\nI can to bring about his peace of mind.\" Then Lunete replies to her:\n\"Lady, have no fear that you cannot easily effect his reconciliation,\nwhen once it is your desire to do so; but, if you do not object, I will\ntake your oath before I start.\" \"I have no objection,\" the lady says.\nWith delicate courtesy, Lunete procured at once for her a very precious\nrelic, and the lady fell upon her knees. Thus Lunete very courteously\naccepted her upon her oath. In administering the oath, she forgot\nnothing which it might be an advantage to insert. \"Lady,\" she says, \"now\nraise your hand! I do not wish that the day after to-morrow you should\nlay any charge upon me; for you are not doing anything for me, but you\nare acting for your own good. If you please now, you shall swear that\nyou will exert yourself in the interests of the Knight with the Lion\nuntil he recover his lady's love as completely as he ever possessed it.\"\nThe lady then raised her right hand and said: \"I swear to all that thou\nhast said, so help me God and His holy saint, that my heart may never\nfail to do all within my power. If I have the strength and ability,\nI will restore to him the love and favour which with his lady he once\nenjoyed.\"\n\n(Vv. 6659-6716.) Lunete has now done well her work; there was nothing\nwhich she had desired so much as the object which she had now attained.\nThey had already got out for her a palfrey with an easy pace. Gladly and\nin a happy frame of mind Lunete mounts and rides away, until she finds\nbeneath the pine-tree him whom she did not expect to find so near at\nhand. Indeed, she had thought that she would have to seek afar before\ndiscovering him. As soon as she saw him, she recognised him by the lion,\nand coming toward him rapidly, she dismounted upon the solid earth. And\nmy lord Yvain recognised her as soon as he saw her, and greeted her, as\nshe saluted him with the words: \"Sire, I am very happy to have found you\nso near at hand.\" And my lord Yvain said in reply: \"How is that? Were\nyou looking for me, then?\" \"Yes, sire, and in all my life I have never\nfelt so glad, for I have made my mistress promise, if she does not go\nback upon her word, that she will be again your lady as was once the\ncase, and that you shall be her lord; this truth I make bold to tell.\"\nMy lord Yvain was greatly elated at the news he hears, and which he\nhad never expected to hear again. He could not sufficiently show his\ngratitude to her who had accomplished this for him. He kisses her eyes,\nand then her face, saying: \"Surely, my sweet friend, I can never repay\nyou for this service. I fear that ability and time will fail me to do\nyou the honour and service which is your due.\" \"Sire,\" she replies, \"have\nno concern, and let not that thought worry you! For you will have an\nabundance of strength and time to show me and others your good will. If\nI have paid this debt I owed, I am entitled to only so much gratitude as\nthe man who borrows another's goods and then discharges the obligation.\nEven now I do not consider that I have paid you the debt I owed.\"\n\"Indeed you have, as God sees me, more than five hundred thousand times.\nNow, when you are ready, let us go. But have you told her who I am?\"\n\"No, I have not, upon my word. She knows you only by the name of 'The\nKnight with the Lion.'\"\n\n(Vv. 6717-6758.) Thus conversing they went along, with the lion\nfollowing after them, until they all three came to the town. They said\nnot a word to any man or woman there, until they arrived where the lady\nwas. And the lady was greatly pleased as soon as she heard that the\ndamsel was approaching, and that she was bringing with her the lion and\nthe knight, whom she was very anxious to meet and know and see. All\nclad in his arms, my lord Yvain fell at her feet upon his knees, while\nLunete, who was standing by, said to her: \"Raise him up, lady, and apply\nall your efforts and strength and skill in procuring that peace and\npardon which no one in the world, except you, can secure for him.\" Then\nthe lady bade him rise, and said: \"He may dispose of all my power!\nI shall be very happy, if possible, to accomplish his wish and his\ndesire.\" \"Surely, my lady,\" Lunete replied, \"I would not say it if it\nwere not true. But all this is even more possible for you than I have\nsaid: but now I will tell you the whole truth, and you shall see: you\nnever had and you never will have such a good friend as this gentleman.\nGod, whose will it is that there should be unending peace and love\nbetween you and him, has caused me to find him this day so near at hand.\nIn order to test the truth of this, I have only one thing to say: lady,\ndismiss the grudge you bear him! For he has no other mistress than you.\nThis is your husband, my lord Yvain.\"\n\n(Vv. 6759-6776.) The lady, trembling at these words, replied: \"God save\nme! You have caught me neatly in a trap! You will make me love, in spite\nof myself, a man who neither loves nor esteems me. This is a fine piece\nof work, and a charming way of serving me! I would rather endure the\nwinds and the tempests all my life: And if it were not a mean and\nugly thing to break one's word, he would never make his peace or be\nreconciled with me. This purpose would have always lurked within me, as\na fire smoulders in the ashes; but I do not wish to renew it now, nor do\nI care to refer to it, since I must be reconciled with him.\"\n\n(Vv. 6777-6798.) My lord Yvain hears and understands that his cause is\ngoing well, and that he will be peacefully reconciled with her. So he\nsays: \"Lady, one ought to have mercy on a sinner. I have had to pay, and\ndearly to pay, for my mad act. It was madness that made me stay away,\nand I now admit my guilt and sin. I have been bold, indeed, in daring\nto present myself to you; but if you will deign to keep me now, I never\nagain shall do you any wrong.\" She replied: \"I will surely consent to\nthat; for if I did not do all I could to establish peace between you\nand me, I should be guilty of perjury. So, if you please, I grant your\nrequest.\" \"Lady,\" says he, \"so truly as God in this mortal life could\nnot otherwise restore me to happiness, so may the Holy Spirit bless me\nfive hundred times!\"\n\n(Vv. 6799-6813.) Now my lord Yvain is reconciled, and you may believe\nthat, in spite of the trouble he has endured, he was never so happy\nfor anything. All has turned out well at last; for he is beloved and\ntreasured by his lady, and she by him. His troubles no longer are in\nhis mind; for he forgets them all in the joy he feels with his precious\nwife. And Lunete, for her part, is happy too: all her desires are\nsatisfied when once she had made an enduring peace between my polite\nlord Yvain and his sweetheart so dear and so elegant.\n\n(Vv. 6814-6818.) Thus Chr\u00e9tien concludes his romance of the Knight with\nthe Lion; for I never heard any more told of it, nor will you ever hear\nany further particulars, unless some one wishes to add some lies.\n\n\n\n----Endnotes: Yvain\n\nEndnotes supplied by Prof. Foerster are indicated by \"(F.)\"; all other\nendnotes are supplied by W.W. Comfort.\n\n\n[Footnote 31:\n\n           \"cele feste, qui tant coste,\n          Qu'an doit clamer la pantecoste.\"\n\n     This rhyme is frequently met in mediaeval narrative poems.\n     (F.)]]\n\n[Footnote 32: The contemporary degeneracy of lovers and of the art of\nlove is a favourite theme of mediaeval poets.]\n\n[Footnote 33: Cf. \"Roman de la Rose\", 9661, for the stinking manure pit.\n(F.)]\n\n[Footnote 34: The forest of Broceliande is in Brittany, and in it\nChr\u00e9tien places the marvellous spring of Barenton, of which we read\nin the sequel.  In his version the poet forgets that the sea separates\nthe court at Carduel from the forest of Broceliande.  His readers,\nhowever, probably passed over this \"lapsus\".  The most famous passage\nrelating to this forest and its spring is found in Wace, \"Le Roman de\nRou et des dues de Normandie\", vv. 6395-6420, 2 vols. (Heilbronn,\n1877-79).  Cf. further the informing note by W.L. Holland, \"Chr\u00e9tien von\nTroies\", p. 152 f. (Tubingen, 1854).]\n\n[Footnote 35: This grotesque portrait of the \"vilain\" is perfectly\nconventional in aristocratic poetry, and is also applied to some\nSaracens in the epic poems.  Cf. W.W. Comfort in \"Pub. of the Modern\nLanguage Association of America\", xxi. 494 f., and in \"The Dublin\nReview\", July 1911.]\n\n[Footnote 36: For the description of the magic fountain, cf. W.A. Nitze,\n\"The Fountain Defended\" in \"Modern Philology\", vii. 145-164; G.L.\nHamilton, \"Storm-making Springs\", etc., in \"Romantic Review\", ii.\n355-375; A.F. Grimme in \"Germania\", xxxiii. 38; O.M. Johnston in\n\"Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association\",\nxxxiii., p. lxxxiii. f.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Eugen Kolbing, \"Christian von Troyes Yvain und die\nBrandanuslegende\" in \"Ztsch. fur vergleichende Literaturgeschichte\"\n(Neue Folge, xi. Brand, 1897), pp. 442-448, has pointed out other\nstriking allusions in the Latin \"Navigatio S. Brandans\" (ed. Wahlund,\nUpsala, 1900) and elsewhere in Celtic legend to trees teeming with\nsinging birds, in which the souls of the blessed are incorporated. A\nmore general reference to trees, animated by the souls of the dead, is\nfound in J.G. Frazer, \"The Golden Bough\" (2nd ed. 1900), vol. I., p. 178\nf.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Cf. A. Tobler in \"Ztsch. fur romanische Philologie\", iv.\n80-85, who gives many other instances of boasting after meals. See\nnext note.]\n\n[Footnote 39: Noradin is the Sultan Nureddin Mahmud (reigned 1146-1173),\na contemporary of the poet; Forre is a legendary Saracen king of\nNaples, mentioned in the epic poems (cf. E. Langlois, \"Table des noms\npropres de toute nature compris dans les chansons de geste\", Paris,\n1904; Albert Counson, \"Noms epiques entres dans le vocabulaire commun\"\nin \"Romanische Forschungen\", xxiii. 401-413).  These names are mentioned\nhere in connection with the brave exploits which Christian knights,\nwhile in their cups, may boast that they will accomplish (F.).  This\npractice of boasting was called indulging in \"gabs\" (=Eng. \"gab\"), a\ngood instance of which will be found in \"Le Voyage de Charlemagne a\nJeruslaem\" (ed. Koschwitz), v. 447 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 310: It is evident in this passage that Chr\u00e9tien's version is\nnot clear; the reader cannot be sure in what sort of an apartment\nYvain is secreted.  The passage is perfectly clear, however, in the\nWelsh \"Owein\", as shown by A.C.L. Brown in \"Romanic Review\", iii.\n143-172, \"On the Independent Character of the Welsh 'Owain'\", where he\nargues convincingly for an original older than either the extant French\nof Welsh versions.]\n\n[Footnote 311: The damsel's surprise and fright at the sight of Yvain,\nwhich puzzled Professor Foerster, is satisfactorily explained by J.\nAcher in \"Ztsch. fur franzosische Sprache und Literatur\", xxxv. 150.]\n\n[Footnote 312: For magic rings, cf. A. Hertel, \"Verzauberte\nOertlichkeiten\", etc. (Hanover, 1908); D.B. Easter, \"The Magic Elements\nin the romans d'aventure and the romans bretons\" (Baltimore, 1906).]\n\n[Footnote 313: Much has been written on the widespread belief that a\ndead person's wounds would bleed afresh in the presence of his\nmurderer.  The passage in our text is interesting as being the earliest\nliterary reference to the belief.  Other instances will be found in\nShakespear (\"King Richard III., Act. I., Sc. 2), Cervantes (\"Don\nQuixote\"), Scott (\"Ballads\"), and Schiller (\"Braut von Messina\").  In\nthe 15th and 16th centuries especially, the bleeding of the dead became\nin Italy, Germany, France, and Spain an absolute or contributory proof\nof guilt in the eyes of the law.  The suspected culprit might be\nsubjected to this ordeal as part of the inquisitional method to\ndetermine guilt.  For theories of the origin of this belief and of its\nuse in legal trials, as well as for more extended bibliography, cf. Karl\nLehmann in \"Germanistische Abhandlungen fur Konrad von Maurer\"\n(Gottingen, 1893), pp. 21-45; C.V. Christensen, \"Baareproven\"\n(Copenhagen, 1900).]\n\n[Footnote 314: W.L. Holland in his note for this passage recalls\nSchiller's \"Jungfrau von Orleans\", Act III. Sc. 7, and Shakespeare,\nfirst part of \"King Henry IV.\", Act V. Sc. 4:\n\n          \"When that this body did contain a spirit,\n          A kingdom for it was too small a bound;\n          But now two paces of the vilest earth\n          Is room enough.\"]\n\n[Footnote 315: Foerster regards this excuse for Kay's defeat as\nironical.]\n\n[Footnote 316: It is hoped that the following passage may have retained\nin the translation some of the gay animation which clothes this\ndescription of a royal entry into a mediaeval town.]\n\n[Footnote 317: This idea forms the dominating motive, it will be\nrecalled, in \"Erec et Enide\" (cf. note to \"Erec\", v. 2576).]\n\n[Footnote 318: The parallel between Yvain's and Roland's madness will\noccur to readers of Ariosto's \"Orlando Furioso\", though in the\nformer case Yvain's madness seems to be rather a retribution for his\nfailure to keep his promise, while Roland's madness arises from excess\nof love.]\n\n[Footnote 319: Argonne is the name of a hilly and well-wooded district\nin the north-east of France, lying between the Meuse and the Aisne.]\n\n[Footnote 320: An allusion to the well-known epic tradition embodied in\nthe \"Chanson de Roland\".  It was common for mediaeval poets to give\nnames to both the horses and the swords of their heroes.]\n\n[Footnote 321: For the faithful lion in the Latin bestiaries and\nmediaeval romances, see the long note of W.L. Holland, \"Chr\u00e9tien von\nTroies\" (Tubingen, 1854), p. 161 f., and G. Baist in Zeitschrift fur\nromanische Philologie, xxi. 402-405.  To the examples there cited may be\nadded the episodes in \"Octavian\" (15th century), published in the\n\"Romanische Bibliothek\" (Heilbronn, 1883).]\n\n[Footnote 322: This is the first of three references in this poem to the\nabduction of Guinevere as fully narrated in the poem of \"Lancelot\".  The\nother references are in v. 3918 and v.4740 f.]\n\n[Footnote 323: Yvain here states the theory of the judicial trial by\ncombat.  For another instance see \"Lancelot\", v. 4963 f. Cf. M. Pfeffer\nin \"Ztsch. fur romanische Philogie\", ix. 1-74, and L. Jordan, id. Xxix.\n385-401.]\n\n[Footnote 324: A similar description of a distressed damsel wandering at\nnight in a forest is found in \"Berte aus grans pies\", by Adenet le Roi\n(13th century).]\n\n[Footnote 325: The lion is forgotten for the moment, but will appear\nagain v. 5446. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 326: This entire passage belongs in the catagory of widespread\nmyths which tell of a tribute of youths or maidens paid to some cruel\nmonster, from which some hero finally obtains deliverance.  Instances\nare presented in the adventures of Theseus and Tristan.]\n\n[Footnote 327: The old French monetary table was as follows:\n\n10 as = 1 denier; 12 deniers = 1 sol; 20 sous = 1 livre]\n\n[Footnote 328: It appears to be the poet's prerogative in all epochs of\nsocial history to bemoan the degeneracy of true love in his own\ngeneration.]\n\n[Footnote 329: The sleeves of shirts were detachable, and were sewed on\nafresh when a clean garment was put on. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 330: This was an axiom of feudal society, and occurs more\nfrequently in feudal literature than any other statement of mediaeval\nsocial relations.]\n\n\n\n\n\nLANCELOT\n\nor, The Knight of the Cart\n\n(Vv. 1-30.) Since my lady of Champagne wishes me to undertake to write a\nromance, [41] I shall very gladly do so, being so devoted to her\nservice as to do anything in the world for her, without any intention\nof flattery. But if one were to introduce any flattery upon such an\noccasion, he might say, and I would subscribe to it, that this lady\nsurpasses all others who are alive, just as the south wind which blows\nin May or April is more lovely than any other wind. But upon my word, I\nam not one to wish to flatter my lady. I will simply say: \"The Countess\nis worth as many queens as a gem is worth of pearls and sards.\" Nay I\nshall make no comparison, and yet it is true in spite of me; I will say,\nhowever, that her command has more to do with this work than any thought\nor pains that I may expend upon it. Here Chr\u00e9tien begins his book about\nthe Knight of the Cart. The material and the treatment of it are given\nand furnished to him by the Countess, and he is simply trying to carry\nout her concern and intention. Here he begins the story.\n\n(Vv. 31-172.) Upon a certain Ascension Day King Arthur had come from\nCaerleon, and had held a very magnificent court at Camelot as was\nfitting on such a day. [42] After the feast the King did not quit his\nnoble companions, of whom there were many in the hall. The Queen was\npresent, too, and with her many a courteous lady able to converse in\nFrench. And Kay, who had furnished the meal, was eating with the others\nwho had served the food. While Kay was sitting there at meat, behold\nthere came to court a knight, well equipped and fully armed, and thus\nthe knight appeared before the King as he sat among his lords. He gave\nhim no greeting, but spoke out thus: \"King Arthur, I hold in captivity\nknights, ladies, and damsels who belong to thy dominion and household;\nbut it is not because of any intention to restore them to thee that I\nmake reference to them here; rather do I wish to proclaim and serve thee\nnotice that thou hast not the strength or the resources to enable thee\nto secure them again. And be assured that thou shalt die before thou\ncanst ever succour them.\" The King replies that he must needs endure\nwhat he has not the power to change; nevertheless, he is filled with\ngrief. Then the knight makes as if to go away, and turns about, without\ntarrying longer before the King; but after reaching the door of the\nhall, he does not go down the stairs, but stops and speaks from there\nthese words: \"King, if in thy court there is a single knight in whom\nthou hast such confidence that thou wouldst dare to entrust to him the\nQueen that he might escort her after me out into the woods whither I am\ngoing, I will promise to await him there, and will surrender to thee all\nthe prisoners whom I hold in exile in my country if he is able to defend\nthe Queen and if he succeeds in bringing her back again.\" Many who\nwere in the palace heard this challenge, and the whole court was in\nan uproar. Kay, too, heard the news as he sat at meat with those who\nserved. Leaving the table, he came straight to the King, and as if\ngreatly enraged, he began to say: \"O King, I have served thee long,\nfaithfully, and loyally; now I take my leave, and shall go away, having\nno desire to serve thee more.\" The King was grieved at what he heard,\nand as soon as he could, he thus replied to him: \"Is this serious, or\na joke?\" And Kay replied: \"O King, fair sire, I have no desire to jest,\nand I take my leave quite seriously. No other reward or wages do I wish\nin return for the service I have given you. My mind is quite made up to\ngo away immediately.\" \"Is it in anger or in spite that you wish to\ngo?\" the King inquired; \"seneschal, remain at court, as you have done\nhitherto, and be assured that I have nothing in the world which I would\nnot give you at once in return for your consent to stay.\" \"Sire,\" says\nKay, \"no need of that. I would not accept for each day's pay a measure\nof fine pure gold.\" Thereupon, the King in great dismay went off to\nseek the Queen. \"My lady,\" he says, \"you do not know the demand that the\nseneschal makes of me. He asks me for leave to go away, and says he will\nno longer stay at court; the reason of this I do not know. But he will\ndo at your request what he will not do for me. Go to him now, my lady\ndear. Since he will not consent to stay for my sake, pray him to remain\non your account, and if need be, fall at his feet, for I should never\nagain be happy if I should lose his company.\" [43] The King sends the\nQueen to the seneschal, and she goes to him. Finding him with the rest,\nshe went up to him, and said: \"Kay, you may be very sure that I am\ngreatly troubled by the news I have heard of you. I am grieved to say\nthat I have been told it is your intention to leave the King. How does\nthis come about? What motive have you in your mind? I cannot think that\nyou are so sensible or courteous as usual. I want to ask you to remain:\nstay with us here, and grant my prayer.\" \"Lady,\" he says, \"I give you\nthanks; nevertheless, I shall not remain.\" The Queen again makes her\nrequest, and is joined by all the other knights. And Kay informs her\nthat he is growing tired of a service which is unprofitable. Then the\nQueen prostrates herself at full length before his feet. Kay beseeches\nher to rise, but she says that she will never do so until he grants her\nrequest. Then Kay promises her to remain, provided the King and she will\ngrant in advance a favour he is about to ask. \"Kay,\" she says, \"he will\ngrant it, whatever it may be. Come now, and we shall tell him that upon\nthis condition you will remain.\" So Kay goes away with the Queen to the\nKing's presence. The Queen says: \"I have had hard work to detain Kay;\nbut I have brought him here to you with the understanding that you will\ndo what he is going to ask.\" The King sighed with satisfaction, and said\nthat he would perform whatever request he might make.\n\n(Vv. 173-246.) \"Sire,\" says Kay, \"hear now what I desire, and what is\nthe gift you have promised me. I esteem myself very fortunate to gain\nsuch a boon with your consent. Sire, you have pledged your word that you\nwould entrust to me my lady here, and that we should go after the knight\nwho awaits us in the forest.\" Though the King is grieved, he trusts him\nwith the charge, for he never went back upon his word. But it made\nhim so ill-humoured and displeased that it plainly showed in his\ncountenance. The Queen, for her part, was sorry too, and all those\nof the household say that Kay had made a proud, outrageous, and mad\nrequest. Then the King took the Queen by the hand, and said: \"My lady,\nyou must accompany Kay without making objection.\" And Kay said: \"Hand\nher over to me now, and have no fear, for I shall bring her back\nperfectly happy and safe.\" The King gives her into his charge, and he\ntakes her off. After them all the rest go out, and there is not one who\nis not sad. You must know that the seneschal was fully armed, and his\nhorse was led into the middle of the courtyard, together with a palfrey,\nas is fitting, for the Queen. The Queen walked up to the palfrey, which\nwas neither restive nor hard-mouthed. Grieving and sad, with a sigh the\nQueen mounts, saying to herself in a low voice, so that no one could\nhear: \"Alas, alas, if you only knew it, I am sure you would never allow\nme without interference to be led away a step.\" [44] She thought she\nhad spoken in a very low tone; but Count Guinable heard her, who was\nstanding by when she mounted. When they started away, as great a lament\nwas made by all the men and women present as if she already lay dead\nupon a bier. They do not believe that she will ever in her life come\nback. The seneschal in his impudence takes her where that other knight\nis awaiting her. But no one was so much concerned as to undertake to\nfollow him; until at last my lord Gawain thus addressed the King his\nuncle: \"Sire,\" he says, \"you have done a very foolish thing, which\ncauses me great surprise; but if you will take my advice, while they are\nstill near by, I and you will ride after them, and all those who wish\nto accompany us. For my part, I cannot restrain myself from going in\npursuit of them at once. It would not be proper for us not to go after\nthem, at least far enough to learn what is to become of the Queen,\nand how Kay is going to comport himself.\" \"Ah, fair nephew,\" the King\nreplied, \"you have spoken courteously. And since you have undertaken the\naffair, order our horses to be led out bridled and saddled that there\nmay be no delay in setting out.\"\n\n(Vv. 247-398.) The horses are at once brought out, all ready and with\nthe saddles on. First the King mounts, then my lord Gawain, and all the\nothers rapidly. Each one, wishing to be of the party, follows his own\nwill and starts away. Some were armed, but there were not a few without\ntheir arms. My lord Gawain was armed, and he bade two squires lead by\nthe bridle two extra steeds. And as they thus approached the forest,\nthey saw Kay's horse running out; and they recognised him, and saw that\nboth reins of the bridle were broken. The horse was running wild, the\nstirrup-straps all stained with blood, and the saddle-bow was broken and\ndamaged. Every one was chagrined at this, and they nudged each other and\nshook their heads. My lord Gawain was riding far in advance of the rest\nof the party, and it was not long before he saw coming slowly a knight\non a horse that was sore, painfully tired, and covered with sweat. The\nknight first saluted my lord Gawain, and his greeting my lord Gawain\nreturned. Then the knight, recognising my lord Gawain, stopped and thus\nspoke to him: \"You see, sir, my horse is in a sweat and in such case as\nto be no longer serviceable. I suppose that those two horses belong to\nyou now, with the understanding that I shall return the service and the\nfavour, I beg you to let me have one or the other of them, either as a\nloan or outright as a gift.\" And he answers him: \"Choose whichever you\nprefer.\" Then he who was in dire distress did not try to select the\nbetter or the fairer or the larger of the horses, but leaped quickly\nupon the one which was nearer to him, and rode him off. Then the one he\nhad just left fell dead, for he had ridden him hard that day, so that\nhe was used up and overworked. The knight without delay goes pricking\nthrough the forest, and my lord Gawain follows in pursuit of him with\nall speed, until he reaches the bottom of a hill. And when he had gone\nsome distance, he found the horse dead which he had given to the knight,\nand noticed that the ground had been trampled by horses, and that broken\nshields and lances lay strewn about, so that it seemed that there had\nbeen a great combat between several knights, and he was very sorry and\ngrieved not to have been there. However, he did not stay there long, but\nrapidly passed on until he saw again by chance the knight all alone on\nfoot, completely armed, with helmet laced, shield hanging from his neck,\nand with his sword girt on. He had overtaken a cart. In those days such\na cart served the same purpose as does a pillory now; and in each good\ntown where there are more than three thousand such carts nowadays, in\nthose times there was only one, and this, like our pillories, had to do\nservice for all those who commit murder or treason, and those who are\nguilty of any delinquency, and for thieves who have stolen others'\nproperty or have forcibly seized it on the roads. Whoever was convicted\nof any crime was placed upon a cart and dragged through all the streets,\nand he lost henceforth all his legal rights, and was never afterward\nheard, honoured, or welcomed in any court. The carts were so dreadful in\nthose days that the saying was then first used: \"When thou dost see and\nmeet a cart, cross thyself and call upon God, that no evil may befall\nthee.\" The knight on foot, and without a lance, walked behind the cart,\nand saw a dwarf sitting on the shafts, who held, as a driver does, a\nlong goad in his hand. Then he cries out: \"Dwarf, for God's sake,\ntell me now if thou hast seen my lady, the Queen, pass by here.\" The\nmiserable, low-born dwarf would not give him any news of her, but\nreplied: \"If thou wilt get up into the cart I am driving thou shalt\nhear to-morrow what has happened to the Queen.\" Then he kept on his way\nwithout giving further heed. The knight hesitated only for a couple of\nsteps before getting in. Yet, it was unlucky for him that he shrank from\nthe disgrace, and did not jump in at once; for he will later rue his\ndelay. But common sense, which is inconsistent with love's dictates,\nbids him refrain from getting in, warning him and counselling him to do\nand undertake nothing for which he may reap shame and disgrace. Reason,\nwhich dares thus speak to him, reaches only his lips, but not his heart;\nbut love is enclosed within his heart, bidding him and urging him to\nmount at once upon the cart. So he jumps in, since love will have it\nso, feeling no concern about the shame, since he is prompted by love's\ncommands. And my lord Gawain presses on in haste after the cart, and\nwhen he finds the knight sitting in it, his surprise is great. \"Tell\nme,\" he shouted to the dwarf, \"if thou knowest anything of the Queen.\"\nAnd he replied: \"If thou art so much thy own enemy as is this knight\nwho is sitting here, get in with him, if it be thy pleasure, and I\nwill drive thee along with him.\" When my lord Gawain heard that, he\nconsidered it great foolishness, and said that he would not get in, for\nit would be dishonourable to exchange a horse for a cart: \"Go on, and\nwherever thy journey lies, I will follow after thee.\"\n\n(Vv. 399-462.) Thereupon they start ahead, one mounted on his horse, the\nother two riding in the cart, and thus they proceed in company. Late in\nthe afternoon they arrive at a town, which, you must know, was very\nrich and beautiful. All three entered through the gate; the people are\ngreatly amazed to see the knight borne upon the cart, and they take no\npains to conceal their feelings, but small and great and old and young\nshout taunts at him in the streets, so that the knight hears many vile\nand scornful words at his expense. [45] They all inquire: \"To what\npunishment is this knight to be consigned? Is he to be rayed, or hanged,\nor drowned, or burned upon a fire of thorns? Tell us, thou dwarf,\nwho art driving him, in what crime was he caught? Is he convicted of\nrobbery? Is he a murderer, or a criminal?\" And to all this the dwarf\nmade no response, vouchsafing to them no reply. He conducts the knight\nto a lodging-place; and Gawain follows the dwarf closely to a tower,\nwhich stood on the same level over against the town. Beyond there\nstretched a meadow, and the tower was built close by, up on a lofty\neminence of rock, whose face formed a sharp precipice. Following the\nhorse and cart, Gawain entered the tower. In the hall they met a damsel\nelegantly attired, than whom there was none fairer in the land, and with\nher they saw coming two fair and charming maidens. As soon as they saw\nmy lord Gawain, they received him joyously and saluted him, and then\nasked news about the other knight: \"Dwarf, of what crime is this knight\nguilty, whom thou dost drive like a lame man?\" He would not answer\nher question, but he made the knight get out of the cart, and then he\nwithdrew, without their knowing whither he went. Then my lord Gawain\ndismounts, and valets come forward to relieve the two knights of their\narmour. The damsel ordered two green mantles to be brought, which they\nput on. When the hour for supper came, a sumptuous repast was set. The\ndamsel sat at table beside my lord Gawain. They would not have changed\ntheir lodging-place to seek any other, for all that evening the damsel\nshowed them gear honour, and provided them with fair and pleasant\ncompany.\n\n(Vv. 463-538.) When they had sat up long enough, two long, high beds\nwere prepared in the middle of the hall; and there was another bed\nalongside, fairer and more splendid than the rest; for, as the story\ntestifies, it possessed all the excellence that one could think of in\na bed. When the time came to retire, the damsel took both the guests to\nwhom she had offered her hospitality; she shows them the two fine,\nlong, wide beds, and says: \"These two beds are set up here for the\naccommodation of your bodies; but in that one yonder no one ever lay who\ndid not merit it: it was not set up to be used by you.\" The knight who\ncame riding on the cart replies at once: \"Tell me,\" he says, \"for what\ncause this bed is inaccessible.\" Being thoroughly informed of this, she\nanswers unhesitatingly: \"It is not your place to ask or make such an\ninquiry. Any knight is disgraced in the land after being in a cart, and\nit is not fitting that he should concern himself with the matter upon\nwhich you have questioned me; and most of all it is not right that he\nshould lie upon the bed, for he would soon pay dearly for his act. So\nrich a couch has not been prepared for you, and you would pay dearly for\never harbouring such a thought.\" He replies: \"You will see about\nthat presently.\".... \"Am I to see it?\".... \"Yes.\".... \"It will soon\nappear.\".... \"By my head,\" the knight replies, \"I know not who is to pay\nthe penalty. But whoever may object or disapprove, I intend to lie upon\nthis bed and repose there at my ease.\" Then he at once disrobed in the\nbed, which was long and raised half an ell above the other two, and was\ncovered with a yellow cloth of silk and a coverlet with gilded stars.\nThe furs were not of skinned vair but of sable; the covering he had on\nhim would have been fitting for a king. The mattress was not made of\nstraw or rushes or of old mats. At midnight there descended from the\nrafters suddenly a lance, as with the intention of pinning the knight\nthrough the flanks to the coverlet and the white sheets where he lay.\n[46] To the lance there was attached a pennon all ablaze. The coverlet,\nthe bedclothes, and the bed itself all caught fire at once. And the tip\nof the lance passed so close to the knight's side that it cut the skin a\nlittle, without seriously wounding him. Then the knight got up, put out\nthe fire and, taking the lance, swung it in the middle of the hall, all\nthis without leaving his bed; rather did he lie down again and slept as\nsecurely as at first.\n\n(Vv. 539-982.) In the morning, at daybreak, the damsel of the tower had\nMass celebrated on their account, and had them rise and dress. When Mass\nhad been celebrated for them, the knight who had ridden in the cart sat\ndown pensively at a window, which looked out upon the meadow, and he\ngazed upon the fields below. The damsel came to another window close by,\nand there my lord Gawain conversed with her privately for a while about\nsomething, I know not what. I do not know what words were uttered, but\nwhile they were leaning on the window-sill they saw carried along the\nriver through the fields a bier, upon which there lay a knight, [47] and\nalongside three damsels walked, mourning bitterly. Behind the bier they\nsaw a crowd approaching, with a tall knight in front, leading a fair\nlady by the horse's rein. The knight at the window knew that it was the\nQueen. He continued to gaze at her attentively and with delight as long\nas she was visible. And when he could no longer see her, he was minded\nto throw himself out and break his body down below. And he would have\nlet himself fall out had not my lord Gawain seen him, and drawn him\nback, saying: \"I beg you, sire, be quiet now. For God's sake, never\nthink again of committing such a mad deed. It is wrong for you to\ndespise your life.\" \"He is perfectly right,\" the damsel says; \"for will\nnot the news of his disgrace be known everywhere? Since he has been upon\nthe cart, he has good reason to wish to die, for he would be better dead\nthan alive. His life henceforth is sure to be one of shame, vexation,\nand unhappiness.\" Then the knights asked for their armour, and armed\nthemselves, the damsel treating them courteously, with distinction and\ngenerosity; for when she had joked with the knight and ridiculed him\nenough, she presented him with a horse and lance as a token of her\ngoodwill. The knights then courteously and politely took leave of the\ndamsel, first saluting her, and then going off in the direction taken\nby the crowd they had seen. Thus they rode out from the town without\naddressing them. They proceeded quickly in the direction they had seen\ntaken by the Queen, but they did not overtake the procession, which\nhad advanced rapidly. After leaving the fields, the knights enter an\nenclosed place, and find a beaten road. They advanced through the woods\nuntil it might be six o'clock, [48] and then at a crossroads they met a\ndamsel, whom they both saluted, each asking and requesting her to\ntell them, if she knows, whither the Queen has been taken. Replying\nintelligently, she said to them: \"If you would pledge me your word, I\ncould set you on the right road and path, and I would tell you the name\nof the country and of the knight who is conducting her; but whoever\nwould essay to enter that country must endure sore trials, for before\nhe could reach there he must suffer much.\" Then my lord Gawain replies:\n\"Damsel, so help me God, I promise to place all my strength at your\ndisposal and service, whenever you please, if you will tell me now the\ntruth.\" And he who had been on the cart did not say that he would pledge\nher all his strength; but he proclaims, like one whom love makes\nrich, powerful and bold for any enterprise, that at once and without\nhesitation he will promise her anything she desires, and he puts himself\naltogether at her disposal. \"Then I will tell you the truth,\" says\nshe. Then the damsel relates to them the following story: \"In truth, my\nlords, Meleagant, a tall and powerful knight, son of the King of Gorre,\nhas taken her off into the kingdom whence no foreigner returns, but\nwhere he must perforce remain in servitude and banishment.\" Then they\nask her: \"Damsel, where is this country? Where can we find the way\nthither?\" She replies: \"That you shall quickly learn; but you may be\nsure that you will meet with many obstacles and difficult passages, for\nit is not easy to enter there except with the permission of the king,\nwhose name is Bademagu; however, it is possible to enter by two very\nperilous paths and by two very difficult passage-ways. One is called the\nwater-bridge, because the bridge is under water, and there is the same\namount of water beneath it as above it, so that the bridge is exactly in\nthe middle; and it is only a foot and a half in width and in thickness.\nThis choice is certainly to be avoided, and yet it is the less dangerous\nof the two. In addition there are a number of other obstacles of which I\nwill say nothing. The other bridge is still more impracticable and much\nmore perilous, never having been crossed by man. It is just like a sharp\nsword, and therefore all the people call it 'the sword-bridge'. Now I\nhave told you all the truth I know.\" But they ask of her once again:\n\"Damsel, deign to show us these two passages.\" To which the damsel makes\nreply: \"This road here is the most direct to the water-bridge, and that\none yonder leads straight to the sword-bridge.\" Then the knight, who\nhad been on the cart, says: \"Sire, I am ready to share with you without\nprejudice: take one of these two routes, and leave the other one to me;\ntake whichever you prefer.\" \"In truth,\" my lord Gawain replies, \"both of\nthem are hard and dangerous: I am not skilled in making such a choice,\nand hardly know which of them to take; but it is not right for me\nto hesitate when you have left the choice to me: I will choose the\nwater-bridge.\" The other answers: \"Then I must go uncomplainingly to the\nsword-bridge, which I agree to do.\" Thereupon, they all three part, each\none commending the others very courteously to God. And when she sees\nthem departing, she says: \"Each one of you owes me a favour of my\nchoosing, whenever I may choose to ask it. Take care not to forget\nthat.\" \"We shall surely not forget it, sweet friend,\" both the knights\ncall out. Then each one goes his own way, and he of the cart is occupied\nwith deep reflections, like one who has no strength or defence against\nlove which holds him in its sway. His thoughts are such that he\ntotally forgets himself, and he knows not whether he is alive or dead,\nforgetting even his own name, not knowing whether he is armed or not, or\nwhither he is going or whence he came. Only one creature he has in mind,\nand for her his thought is so occupied that he neither sees nor hears\naught else. [49] And his horse bears him along rapidly, following no\ncrooked road, but the best and the most direct; and thus proceeding\nunguided, he brings him into an open plain. In this plain there was a\nford, on the other side of which a knight stood armed, who guarded it,\nand in his company there was a damsel who had come on a palfrey. By this\ntime the afternoon was well advanced, and yet the knight, unchanged and\nunwearied, pursued his thoughts. The horse, being very thirsty, sees\nclearly the ford, and as soon as he sees it, hastens toward it. Then he\non the other side cries out: \"Knight, I am guarding the ford, and forbid\nyou to cross.\" He neither gives him heed, nor hears his words, being\nstill deep in thought. In the meantime, his horse advanced rapidly\ntoward the water. The knight calls out to him that he will do wisely to\nkeep at a distance from the ford, for there is no passage that way; and\nhe swears by the heart within his breast that he will smite him if he\nenters the water. But his threats are not heard, and he calls out to\nhim a third time: \"Knight, do not enter the ford against my will and\nprohibition; for, by my head, I shall strike you as soon as I see you in\nthe ford.\" But he is so deep in thought that he does not hear him. And\nthe horse, quickly leaving the bank, leaps into the ford and greedily\nbegins to drink. And the knight says he shall pay for this, that his\nshield and the hauberk he wears upon his back shall afford him no\nprotection. First, he puts his horse at a gallop, and from a gallop he\nurges him to a run, and he strikes the knight so hard that he knocks\nhim down flat in the ford which he had forbidden him to cross. His\nlance flew from his hand and the shield from his neck. When he feels the\nwater, he shivers, and though stunned, he jumps to his feet, like one\naroused from sleep, listening and looking about him with astonishment,\nto see who it can be who has struck him. Then face to face with the\nother knight, he said: \"Vassal, tell me why you have struck me, when I\nwas not aware of your presence, and when I had done you no harm.\" \"Upon\nmy word, you had wronged me,\" the other says: \"did you not treat me\ndisdainfully when I forbade you three times to cross the ford, shouting\nat you as loudly as I could? You surely heard me challenge you at least\ntwo or three times, and you entered in spite of me, though I told you\nI should strike you as soon as I saw you in the ford.\" Then the knight\nreplies to him: \"Whoever heard you or saw you, let him be damned, so far\nas I am concerned. I was probably deep in thought when you forbade me\nto cross the ford. But be assured that I would make you reset it, if I\ncould just lay one of my hands on your bridle.\" And the other replies:\n\"Why, what of that? If you dare, you may seize my bridle here and now. I\ndo not esteem your proud threats so much as a handful of ashes.\" And he\nreplies: \"That suits me perfectly. However the affair may turn out, I\nshould like to lay my hands on you.\" Then the other knight advances\nto the middle of the ford, where the other lays his left hand upon his\nbridle, and his right hand upon his leg, pulling, dragging, and pressing\nhim so roughly that he remonstrates, thinking that he would pull his\nleg out of his body. Then he begs him to let go, saying: \"Knight, if\nit please thee to fight me on even terms, take thy shield and horse\nand lance, and joust with me.\" He answers: \"That will I not do, upon my\nword; for I suppose thou wouldst run away as soon as thou hadst escaped\nmy grip.\" Hearing this, he was much ashamed, and said: \"Knight, mount\nthy horse, in confidence for I will pledge thee loyally my word that I\nshall not flinch or run away.\" Then once again he answers him: \"First,\nthou wilt have to swear to that, and I insist upon receiving thy oath\nthat thou wilt neither run away nor flinch, nor touch me, nor come near\nme until thou shalt see me on my horse; I shall be treating thee very\ngenerously, if, when thou art in my hands, I let thee go.\" He can\ndo nothing but give his oath; and when the other hears him swear, he\ngathers up his shield and lance which were floating in the ford and by\nthis time had drifted well down-stream; then he returns and takes his\nhorse. After catching and mounting him, he seizes the shield by the\nshoulder-straps and lays his lance in rest. Then each spurs toward the\nother as fast as their horses can carry them. And he who had to defend\nthe ford first attacks the other, striking him so hard that his lance is\ncompletely splintered. The other strikes him in return so that he throws\nhim prostrate into the ford, and the water closes over him. Having\naccomplished that, he draws back and dismounts, thinking he could drive\nand chase away a hundred such. While he draws from the scabbard his\nsword of steel, the other jumps up and draws his excellent flashing\nblade. Then they clash again, advancing and covering themselves with the\nshields which gleam with gold. Ceaselessly and without repose they\nwield their swords; they have the courage to deal so many blows that the\nbattle finally is so protracted that the Knight of the Cart is greatly\nashamed in his heart, thinking that he is making a sorry start in the\nway he has undertaken, when he has spent so much time in defeating a\nsingle knight. If he had met yesterday a hundred such, he does not think\nor believe that they could have withstood him; so now he is much grieved\nand wroth to be in such an exhausted state that he is missing his\nstrokes and losing time. Then he runs at him and presses him so hard\nthat the other knight gives way and flees. However reluctant he may\nbe, he leaves the ford and crossing free. But the other follows him in\npursuit until he falls forward upon his hands; then he of the cart runs\nup to him, swearing by all he sees that he shall rue the day when he\nupset him in the ford and disturbed his revery. The damsel, whom the\nknight had with him, upon hearing the threats, is in great fear, and\nbegs him for her sake to forbear from killing him; but he tells her that\nhe must do so, and can show him no mercy for her sake, in view of\nthe shameful wrong that he has done him. Then, with sword drawn, he\napproaches the knight who cries in sore dismay: \"For God's sake and for\nmy own, show me the mercy I ask of you.\" And he replies: \"As God may\nsave me, no one ever sinned so against me that I would not show him\nmercy once, for God's sake as is right, if he asked it of me in God's\nname. And so on thee I will have mercy; for I ought not to refuse thee\nwhen thou hast besought me. But first, thou shalt give me thy word to\nconstitute thyself my prisoner whenever I may wish to summon thee.\"\nThough it was hard to do so, he promised him. At once the damsel said:\n\"O knight, since thou hast granted the mercy he asked of thee, if ever\nthou hast broken any bonds, for my sake now be merciful and release this\nprisoner from his parole. Set him free at my request, upon condition\nthat when the time comes, I shall do my utmost to repay thee in any way\nthat thou shalt choose.\" Then he declares himself satisfied with the\npromise she has made, and sets the knight at liberty. Then she is\nashamed and anxious, thinking that he will recognise her, which she did\nnot wish. But he goes away at once, the knight and the damsel commending\nhim to God, and taking leave of him. He grants them leave to go, while\nhe himself pursues his way, until late in the afternoon he met a damsel\ncoming, who was very fair and charming, well attired and richly dressed.\nThe damsel greets him prudently and courteously, and he replies:\n\"Damsel, God grant you health and happiness.\" Then the damsel said\nto him: \"Sire, my house is prepared for you, if you will accept my\nhospitality, but you shall find shelter there only on condition that you\nwill lie with me; upon these terms I propose and make the offer.\" Not a\nfew there are who would have thanked her five hundred times for such\na gift; but he is much displeased, and made a very different answer:\n\"Damsel, I thank you for the offer of your house, and esteem it highly,\nbut, if you please, I should be very sorry to lie with you.\" \"By my\neyes,\" the damsel says, \"then I retract my offer.\" And he, since it is\nunavoidable, lets her have her way, though his heart grieves to give\nconsent. He feels only reluctance now; but greater distress will be his\nwhen it is time to go to bed. The damsel, too, who leads him away, will\npass through sorrow and heaviness. For it is possible that she will\nlove him so that she will not wish to part with him. As soon as he had\ngranted her wish and desire, she escorts him to a fortified place, than\nwhich there was none fairer in Thessaly; for it was entirely enclosed by\na high wall and a deep moat, and there was no man within except him whom\nshe brought with her.\n\n(Vv. 983-1042.) Here she had constructed for her residence a quantity of\nhandsome rooms, and a large and roomy hall. Riding along a river bank,\nthey approached their lodging-place, and a drawbridge was lowered to\nallow them to pass. Crossing the bridge, they entered in, and found the\nhall open with its roof of tiles. Through the open door they pass, and\nsee a table laid with a broad white cloth, upon which the dishes were\nset, and the candles burning in their stands, and the gilded silver\ndrinking-cups, and two pots of wine, one red and one white. Standing\nbeside the table, at the end of a bench, they found two basins of warm\nwater in which to wash their hands, with a richly embroidered towel, all\nwhite and clean, with which to dry their hands. No valets, servants, or\nsquires were to be found or seen. The knight, removing his shield from\nabout his neck, hangs it upon a hook, and, taking his lance, lays it\nabove upon a rack. Then he dismounts from his horse, as does the damsel\nfrom hers. The knight, for his part, was pleased that she did not care\nto wait for him to help her to dismount. Having dismounted, she runs\ndirectly to a room and brings him a short mantle of scarlet cloth which\nshe puts on him. The hall was by no means dark; for beside the light\nfrom the stars, there were many large twisted candles lighted there, so\nthat the illumination was very bright. When she had thrown the mantle\nabout his shoulders, she said to him: \"Friend, here is the water and the\ntowel; there is no one to present or offer it to you except me whom you\nsee. Wash your hands, and then sit down, when you feel like doing so.\nThe hour and the meal, as you can see, demand that you should do so.\"\nHe washes, and then gladly and readily takes his seat, and she sits down\nbeside him, and they eat and drink together, until the time comes to\nleave the table.\n\n(Vv. 1043-1206.) When they had risen from the table, the damsel said to\nthe knight: \"Sire, if you do not object, go outside and amuse yourself;\nbut, if you please, do not stay after you think I must be in bed. Feel\nno concern or embarrassment; for then you may come to me at once, if you\nwill keep the promise you have made.\" And he replies: \"I will keep my\nword, and will return when I think the time has come.\" Then he went out,\nand stayed in the courtyard until he thought it was time to return and\nkeep the promise he had made. Going back into the hall, he sees nothing\nof her who would be his mistress; for she was not there. Not finding or\nseeing her, he said: \"Wherever she may be, I shall look for her until I\nfind her.\" He makes no delay in his search, being bound by the promise\nhe had made her. Entering one of the rooms, he hears a damsel cry aloud,\nand it was the very one with whom he was about to lie. At the same time,\nhe sees the door of another room standing open, and stepping toward it,\nhe sees right before his eyes a knight who had thrown her down, and was\nholding her naked and prostrate upon the bed. She, thinking that he had\ncome of course to help her, cried aloud: \"Help, help, thou knight, who\nart my guest. If thou dost not take this man away from me, I shall find\nno one to do so; if thou dost not succour me speedily, he will wrong me\nbefore thy eyes. Thou art the one to lie with me, in accordance with\nthy promise; and shall this man by force accomplish his wish before thy\neyes? Gentle knight, exert thyself, and make haste to bear me aid.\" He\nsees that the other man held the damsel brutally uncovered to the waist,\nand he is ashamed and angered to see him assault her so; yet it is not\njealousy he feels, nor will he be made a cuckold by him. At the door\nthere stood as guards two knights completely armed and with swords\ndrawn. Behind them there stood four men-at-arms, each armed with an axe\nthe sort with which you could split a cow down the back as easily as a\nroot of juniper or broom. The knight hesitated at the door, and thought:\n\"God, what can I do? I am engaged in no less an affair than the quest of\nQueen Guinevere. I ought not to have the heart of a hare, when for her\nsake I have engaged in such a quest. If cowardice puts its heart in me,\nand if I follow its dictates, I shall never attain what I seek. I am\ndisgraced, if I stand here; indeed, I am ashamed even to have thought\nof holding back. My heart is very sad and oppressed: now I am so ashamed\nand distressed that I would gladly die for having hesitated here so\nlong. I say it not in pride: but may God have mercy on me if I do not\nprefer to die honourably rather than live a life of shame! If my path\nwere unobstructed, and if these men gave me leave to pass through\nwithout restraint, what honour would I gain? Truly, in that case the\ngreatest coward alive would pass through; and all the while I hear\nthis poor creature calling for help constantly, and reminding me of my\npromise, and reproaching me with bitter taunts.\" Then he steps to the\ndoor, thrusting in his head and shoulders; glancing up, he sees two\nswords descending. He draws back, and the knights could not check their\nstrokes: they had wielded them with such force that the swords struck\nthe floor, and both were broken in pieces. When he sees that the swords\nare broken, he pays less attention to the axes, fearing and dreading\nthem much less. Rushing in among them, he strikes first one guard in\nthe side and then another. The two who are nearest him he jostles and\nthrusts aside, throwing them both down flat; the third missed his stroke\nat him, but the fourth, who attacked him, strikes him so that he cuts\nhis mantle and shirt, and slices the white flesh on his shoulder so\nthat the blood trickles down from the wound. But he, without delay,\nand without complaining of his wound, presses on more rapidly, until he\nstrikes between the temples him who was assaulting his hostess. Before\nhe departs, he will try to keep his pledge to her. He makes him stand up\nreluctantly. Meanwhile, he who had missed striking him comes at him as\nfast as he can and, raising his arm again, expects to split his head to\nthe teeth with the axe. But the other, alert to defend himself, thrusts\nthe knight toward him in such a way that he receives the axe just where\nthe shoulder joins the neck, so that they are cleaved apart. Then the\nknight seizes the axe, wresting it quickly from him who holds it; then\nhe lets go the knight whom he still held, and looks to his own defence;\nfor the knights from the door, and the three men with axes are all\nattacking him fiercely. So he leaped quickly between the bed and the\nwall, and called to them: \"Come on now, all of you. If there were\nthirty-seven of you, you would have all the fight you wish, with me so\nfavourably placed; I shall never be overcome by you.\" And the damsel\nwatching him, exclaimed: \"By my eyes, you need have no thought of that\nhenceforth where I am.\" Then at once she dismisses the knights and the\nmen-at-arms, who retire from there at once, without delay or objection.\nAnd the damsel continues: \"Sire you have well defended me against the\nmen of my household. Come now, and I'll lead you on.\" Hand in hand they\nenter the hall, but he was not at all pleased, and would have willingly\ndispensed with her.\n\n(Vv. 1207-1292.) In the midst of the hall a bed had been set up, the\nsheets of which were by no means soiled, but were white and wide and\nwell spread out. The bed was not of shredded straw or of coarse spreads.\nBut a covering of two silk cloths had been laid upon the couch. The\ndamsel lay down first, but without removing her chemise. He had great\ntrouble in removing his hose and in untying the knots. He sweated with\nthe trouble of it all; yet, in the midst of all the trouble, his promise\nimpels and drives him on. Is this then an actual force? Yes, virtually\nso; for he feels that he is in duty bound to take his place by the\ndamsel's side. It is his promise that urges him and dictates his act.\nSo he lies down at once, but like her, he does not remove his shirt. He\ntakes good care not to touch her; and when he is in bed, he turns away\nfrom her as far as possible, and speaks not a word to her, like a monk\nto whom speech is forbidden. Not once does he look at her, nor show her\nany courtesy. Why not? Because his heart does not go out to her. She\nwas certainly very fair and winsome, but not every one is pleased and\ntouched by what is fair and winsome. The knight has only one heart, and\nthis one is really no longer his, but has been entrusted to some one\nelse, so that he cannot bestow it elsewhere. Love, which holds all\nhearts beneath its sway, requires it to be lodged in a single place.\nAll hearts? No, only those which it esteems. And he whom love deigns to\ncontrol ought to prize himself the more. Love prized his heart so highly\nthat it constrained it in a special manner, and made him so proud of\nthis distinction that I am not inclined to find fault with him, if he\nlets alone what love forbids, and remains fixed where it desires. The\nmaiden clearly sees and knows that he dislikes her company and would\ngladly dispense with it, and that, having no desire to win her love,\nhe would not attempt to woo her. So she said: \"My lord, if you will not\nfeel hurt, I will leave and return to bed in my own room, and you will\nbe more comfortable. I do not believe that you are pleased with my\ncompany and society. Do not esteem me less if I tell you what I think.\nNow take your rest all night, for you have so well kept your promise\nthat I have no right to make further request of you. So I commend you\nto God; and shall go away.\" Thereupon she arises: the knight does not\nobject, but rather gladly lets her go, like one who is the devoted lover\nof some one else; the damsel clearly perceived this, and went to her\nroom, where she undressed completely and retired, saying to herself: \"Of\nall the knights I have ever known, I never knew a single knight whom I\nwould value the third part of an angevin in comparison with this one. As\nI understand the case, he has on hand a more perilous and grave affair\nthan any ever undertaken by a knight; and may God grant that he succeed\nin it.\" Then she fell asleep, and remained in bed until the next day's\ndawn appeared.\n\n(Vv. 1293-1368.) At daybreak she awakes and gets up. The knight awakes\ntoo, dressing, and putting on his arms, without waiting for any help.\nThen the damsel comes and sees that he is already dressed. Upon seeing\nhim, she says: \"May this day be a happy one for you.\" \"And may it be\nthe same to you, damsel,\" the knight replies, adding that he is waiting\nanxiously for some one to bring out his horse. The maiden has some one\nfetch the horse, and says: \"Sire, I should like to accompany you for\nsome distance along the road, if you would agree to escort and conduct\nme according to the customs and practices which were observed before we\nwere made captive in the kingdom of Logres.\" In those days the customs\nand privileges were such that, if a knight found a damsel or lorn maid\nalone, and if he cared for his fair name, he would no more treat her\nwith dishonour than he would cut his own throat. And if he assaulted\nher, he would be disgraced for ever in every court. But if, while she\nwas under his escort, she should be won at arms by another who engaged\nhim in battle, then this other knight might do with her what he pleased\nwithout receiving shame or blame. This is why the damsel said she would\ngo with him, if he had the courage and willingness to safe guard her in\nhis company, so that no one should do her any harm. And he says to her:\n\"No one shall harm you, I promise you, unless he harm me first.\" \"Then,\"\nshe says, \"I will go with you.\" She orders her palfrey to be saddled,\nand her command is obeyed at once. Her palfrey was brought together with\nthe knight's horse. Without the aid of any squire, they both mount, and\nrapidly ride away. She talks to him, but not caring for her words, he\npays no attention to what she says. He likes to think, but dislikes to\ntalk. Love very often inflicts afresh the wound it has given him. Yet,\nhe applied no poultice to the wound to cure it and make it comfortable,\nhaving no intention or desire to secure a poultice or to seek a\nphysician, unless the wound becomes more painful. Yet, there is one\nwhose remedy he would gladly seek .... [410] They follow the roads and\npaths in the right direction until they come to a spring, situated\nin the middle of a field, and bordered by a stone basin. Some one had\nforgotten upon the stone a comb of gilded ivory. Never since ancient\ntimes has wise man or fool seen such a comb. In its teeth there was\nalmost a handful of hair belonging to her who had used the comb.\n\n(Vv. 1369-1552.) When the damsel notices the spring, and sees the stone,\nshe does not wish her companion to see it; so she turns off in another\ndirection. And he, agreeably occupied with his own thoughts, does not at\nonce remark that she is leading him aside; but when at last he notices\nit, he is afraid of being beguiled, thinking that she is yielding and is\ngoing out of the way in order to avoid some danger. \"See here, damsel,\"\nhe cries, \"you are not going right; come this way! No one, I think, ever\nwent straight who left this road.\" \"Sire, this is a better way for us,\"\nthe damsel says, \"I am sure of it.\" Then he replies to her: \"I don't\nknow, damsel, what you think; but you can plainly see that the beaten\npath lies this way; and since I have started to follow it, I shall not\nturn aside. So come now, if you will, for I shall continue along this\nway.\" Then they go forward until they come near the stone basin and\nsee the comb. The knight says: \"I surely never remember to have seen\nso beautiful a comb as this.\" \"Let me have it,\" the damsel says.\n\"Willingly, damsel,\" he replies. Then he stoops over and picks it up.\nWhile holding it, he looks at it steadfastly, gazing at the hair until\nthe damsel begins to laugh. When he sees her doing so, he begs her to\ntell him why she laughs. And she says: \"Never mind, for I will never\ntell you.\" \"Why not?\" he asks. \"Because I don't wish to do so.\" And when\nhe hears that, he implores her like one who holds that lovers ought to\nkeep faith mutually: \"Damsel, if you love anything passionately, by that\nI implore and conjure and beg you not to conceal from me the reason why\nyou laugh.\" \"Your appeal is so strong,\" she says, \"that I will tell you\nand keep nothing back. I am sure, as I am of anything, that this comb\nbelonged to the Queen. And you may take my word that those are strands\nof the Queen's hair which you see to be so fair and light and radiant,\nand which are clinging in the teeth of the comb; they surely never grew\nanywhere else.\" Then the knight replied: \"Upon my word, there are plenty\nof queens and kings; what queen do you mean?\" And she answered: \"In\ntruth, fair sire, it is of King Arthur's wife I speak.\" When he\nhears that, he has not strength to keep from bowing his head over\nhis saddle-bow. And when the damsel sees him thus, she is amazed and\nterrified, thinking he is about to fall. Do not blame her for her fear,\nfor she thought him in a faint. He might as well have swooned, so near\nwas he to doing so; for in his heart he felt such grief that for a long\ntime he lost his colour and power of speech. And the damsel dismounts,\nand runs as quickly as possible to support and succour him; for she\nwould not have wished for anything to see him fall. When he saw her, he\nfelt ashamed, and said: \"Why do you need to bear me aid?\" You must not\nsuppose that the damsel told him why; for he would have been ashamed\nand distressed, and it would have annoyed and troubled him, if she had\nconfessed to him the truth. So she took good care not to tell the truth,\nbut tactfully answered him: \"Sire, I dismounted to get the comb; for\nI was so anxious to hold it in my hand that I could not longer wait.\"\nWilling that she should have the comb, he gives it to her, first pulling\nout the hair so carefully that he tears none of it. Never will the eye\nof man see anything receive such honour as when he begins to adore these\ntresses. A hundred thousand times he raises them to his eyes and mouth,\nto his forehead and face: he manifests his joy in every way, considering\nhimself rich and happy now. He lays them in his bosom near his heart,\nbetween the shirt and the flesh. He would not exchange them for a\ncartload of emeralds and carbuncles, nor does he think that any sore\nor illness can afflict him now; he holds in contempt essence of pearl,\ntreacle, and the cure for pleurisy; [411] even for St. Martin and St.\nJames he has no need; for he has such confidence in this hair that he\nrequires no other aid. But what was this hair like? If I tell the truth\nabout it, you will think I am a mad teller of lies. When the mart is\nfull at the yearly fair of St. Denis, [412] and when the goods are\nmost abundantly displayed, even then the knight would not take all this\nwealth, unless he had found these tresses too. And if you wish to know\nthe truth, gold a hundred thousand times refined, and melted down as\nmany times, would be darker than is night compared with the brightest\nsummer day we have had this year, if one were to see the gold and set it\nbeside this hair. But why should I make a long story of it? The damsel\nmounts again with the comb in her possession; while he revels and\ndelights in the tresses in his bosom. Leaving the plain, they come to\na forest and take a short cut through it until they come to a narrow\nplace, where they have to go in single file; for it would have been\nimpossible to ride two horses abreast. Just where the way was narrowest,\nthey see a knight approach. As soon as she saw him, the damsel\nrecognised him, and said: \"Sir knight, do you see him who yonder comes\nagainst us all armed and ready for a battle? I know what his intention\nis: he thinks now that he cannot fail to take me off defenceless with\nhim. He loves me, but he is very foolish to do so. In person, and by\nmessenger, he has been long wooing me. But my love is not within his\nreach, for I would not love him under any consideration, so help me God!\nI would kill myself rather than bestow my love on him. I do not doubt\nthat he is delighted now, and is as satisfied as if he had me already\nin his power. But now I shall see what you can do, and I shall see\nhow brave you are, and it will become apparent whether your escort can\nprotect me. If you can protect me now, I shall not fail to proclaim that\nyou are brave and very worthy.\" And he answered her: \"Go on, go on!\"\nwhich was as much as to say: \"I am not concerned; there is no need of\nyour being worried about what you have said.\"\n\n(Vv. 1553-1660.) While they were proceeding, talking thus, the knight,\nwho was alone, rode rapidly toward them on the run. He was the more\neager to make haste, because he felt more sure of success; he felt that\nhe was lucky now to see her whom he most dearly loves. As soon as he\napproaches her, he greets her with words that come from his heart:\n\"Welcome to her, whence-soever she comes, whom I most desire, but who\nhas hitherto caused me least joy and most distress!\" It is not fitting\nthat she should be so stingy of her speech as not to return his\ngreeting, at least by word of mouth. The knight is greatly elated when\nthe damsel greets him; though she does not take the words seriously, and\nthe effort costs her nothing. Yet, if he had at this moment been victor\nin a tournament, he would not have so highly esteemed himself, nor\nthought he had won such honour and renown. Being now more confident of\nhis worth, he grasped the bridle rein, and said: \"Now I shall lead you\naway: I have to-day sailed well on my course to have arrived at last\nat so good a port. Now my troubles are at an end: after dangers, I have\nreached a haven; after sorrow, I have attained happiness; after pain, I\nhave perfect health; now I have accomplished my desire, when I find\nyou in such case that I can without resistance lead you away with me\nat once.\" Then she says: \"You have no advantage; for I am under this\nknight's escort.\" \"Surely, the escort is not worth much,\" he says, \"and\nI am going to lead you off at once. This knight would have time to eat a\nbushel of salt before he could defend you from me; I think I could never\nmeet a knight from whom I should not win you. And since I find you here\nso opportunely, though he too may do his best to prevent it, yet I will\ntake you before his very eyes, however disgruntled he may be.\" The other\nis not angered by all the pride he hears expressed, but without any\nimpudence or boasting, he begins thus to challenge him for her: \"Sire,\ndon't be in a hurry, and don't waste your words, but speak a little\nreasonably. You shall not be deprived of as much of her as rightly\nbelongs to you. You must know, however, that the damsel has come hither\nunder my protection. Let her alone now, for you have detained her long\nenough!\" The other gives them leave to burn him, if he does not take her\naway in spite of him. Then the other says: \"It would not be right for\nme to let you take her away; I would sooner fight with you. But if we\nshould wish to fight, we could not possibly do it in this narrow road.\nLet us go to some level place--a meadow or an open field.\" And he\nreplies that that will suit him perfectly: \"Certainly, I agree to\nthat: you are quite right, this road is too narrow. My horse is so much\nhampered here that I am afraid he will crush his flank before I can turn\nhim around.\" Then with great difficulty he turns, and his horse\nescapes without any wound or harm. Then he says: \"To be sure, I am much\nchagrined that we have not met in a favourable spot and in the presence\nof other men, for I should have been glad to have them see which is the\nbetter of us two. Come on now, let us begin our search: we shall find in\nthe vicinity some large, broad, and open space.\" Then they proceed to a\nmeadow, where there were maids, knights, and damsels playing at divers\ngames in this pleasant place. They were not all engaged in idle sport,\nbut were playing backgammon and chess or dice, and were evidently\nagreeably employed. Most were engaged in such games as these; but\nthe others there were engaged in sports, dancing, singing, tumbling,\nleaping, and wrestling with each other.\n\n(Vv. 1661-1840.) A knight somewhat advanced in years was on the other\nside of the meadow, seared upon a sorrel Spanish steed. His bridle and\nsaddle were of gold, and his hair was turning grey. One hand hung at\nhis side with easy grace. The weather being fine, he was in his shirt\nsleeves, with a short mantle of scarlet cloth and fur slung over his\nshoulders, and thus he watched the games and dances. On the other side\nof the field, close by a path, there were twenty-three knights mounted\non good Irish steeds. As soon as the three new arrivals come into view,\nthey all cease their play and shout across the fields: \"See, yonder\ncomes the knight who was driven in the cart! Let no one continue his\nsport while he is in our midst. A curse upon him who cares or deigns\nto play so long as he is here!\" Meanwhile he who loved the damsel and\nclaimed her as his own, approached the old knight, and said: \"Sire, I\nhave attained great happiness; let all who will now hear me say that God\nhas granted me the thing that I have always most desired; His gift would\nnot have been so great had He crowned me as king, nor would I have been\nso indebted to Him, nor would I have so profited; for what I have gained\nis fair and good.\" \"I know not yet if it be thine,\" the knight replies\nto his son. But the latter answers him: \"Don't you know? Can't you see\nit, then? For God's sake, sire, have no further doubt, when you see that\nI have her in my possession. In this forest, whence I come, I met her as\nshe was on her way. I think God had fetched her there for me, and I have\ntaken her for my own.\" \"I do not know whether this will be allowed by\nhim whom I see coming after thee; he looks as if he is coming to demand\nher of thee.\" During this conversation the dancing had ceased because of\nthe knight whom they saw, nor were they gaily playing any more because\nof the disgust and scorn they felt for him. But the knight without\ndelay came up quickly after the damsel, and said: \"Let the damsel alone,\nknight, for you have no right to her! If you dare, I am willing at once\nto fight with you in her defence.\" Then the old knight remarked: \"Did I\nnot know it? Fair son, detain the damsel no longer, but let her go.\" He\ndoes not relish this advice, and swears that he will not give her up:\n\"May God never grant me joy if I give her up to him! I have her, and I\nshall hold on to her as something that is mine own. The shoulder-strap\nand all the armlets of my shield shall first be broken, and I shall have\nlost all confidence in my strength and arms, my sword and lance, before\nI will surrender my mistress to him.\" And his father says: \"I shall not\nlet thee fight for any reason thou mayest urge. Thou art too confident\nof thy bravery. So obey my command.\" But he in his pride replies: \"What?\nAm I a child to be terrified? Rather will I make my boast that there is\nnot within the sea-girt land any knight, wheresoever he may dwell, so\nexcellent that I would let him have her, and whom I should not expect\nspeedily to defeat.\" The father answers: \"Fair son, I do not doubt that\nthou dost really think so, for thou art so confident of thy strength.\nBut I do not wish to see thee enter a contest with this knight.\" Then\nhe replies: \"I shall be disgraced if I follow your advice. Curse me if\nI heed your counsel and turn recreant because of you, and do not do\nmy utmost in the fight. It is true that a man fares ill among his\nrelatives: I could drive a better bargain somewhere else, for you are\ntrying to take me in. I am sure that where I am not known, I could act\nwith better grace. No one, who did not know me, would try to thwart my\nwill; whereas you are annoying and tormenting me. I am vexed by your\nfinding fault with me. You know well enough that when any one is blamed,\nhe breaks out still more passionately. But may God never give me joy if\nI renounce my purpose because of you; rather will I fight in spite of\nyou!\" \"By the faith I bear the Apostle St. Peter,\" his father says, \"now\nI see that my request is of no avail. I waste my time in rebuking thee;\nbut I shall soon devise such means as shall compel thee against thy will\nto obey my commands and submit to them.\" Straightway summoning all the\nknights to approach, he bids them lay hands upon his son whom he cannot\ncorrect, saying: \"I will have him bound rather than let him fight. You\nhere are all my men, and you owe me your devotion and service: by all\nthe fiefs you hold from me, I hold you responsible, and I add my prayer.\nIt seems to me that he must be mad, and that he shows excessive pride,\nwhen he refuses to respect my will.\" Then they promise to take care of\nhim, and say that never, while he is in their charge, shall he wish to\nfight, but that he must renounce the damsel in spite of himself. Then\nthey all join and seize him by the arms and neck. \"Dost thou not think\nthyself foolish now?\" his father asks; \"confess the truth: thou hast not\nthe strength or power to fight or joust, however distasteful and hard it\nmay be for thee to admit it. Thou wilt be wise to consent to my will\nand pleasure. Dost thou know what my intention is? In order somewhat to\nmitigate thy disappointment, I am willing to join thee, if thou wilt, in\nfollowing the knight to-day and to-morrow, through wood and plain, each\none mounted on his horse. Perhaps we shall soon find him to be of such a\ncharacter and bearing that I might let thee have thy way and fight with\nhim.\" To this proposal the other must perforce consent. Like the man\nwho has no alternative, he says that he will give in, provided they\nboth shall follow him. And when the people in the field see how this\nadventure has turned out, they all exclaim: \"Did you see? He who was\nmounted on the cart has gained such honour here that he is leading away\nthe mistress of the son of my lord, and he himself is allowing it. We\nmay well suppose that he finds in him some merit, when he lets him take\nher off. Now cursed a hundred times be he who ceases longer his sport on\nhis account! Come, let us go back to our games again.\" Then they resume\ntheir games and dances.\n\n(Vv. 1841-1966.) Thereupon the knight turns away, without longer\nremaining in the field, and the damsel accompanies him. They leave in\nhaste, while the father and his son ride after them through the mown\nfields until toward three o'clock, when in a very pleasant spot they\ncome upon a church; beside the chancel there was a cemetery enclosed by\na wall. The knight was both courteous and wise to enter the church on\nfoot and make his prayer to God, while the damsel held his horse for him\nuntil he returned. When he had made his prayer, and while he was coming\nback, a very old monk suddenly presented himself; whereupon the knight\npolitely requests him to tell him what this place is; for he does not\nknow. And he tells him it is a cemetery. And the other says: \"Take me\nin, so help you God!\" \"Gladly, sire,\" and he takes him in. Following the\nmonk's lead, the knight beholds the most beautiful tombs that one could\nfind as far as Dombes [413] or Pampelune; and on each tomb there were\nletters cut, telling the names of those who were destined to be buried\nthere. And he began in order to read the names, and came upon some which\nsaid: \"Here Gawain is to lie, here Louis, and here Yvain.\" After\nthese three, he read the names of many others among the most famed and\ncherished knights of this or any other land. Among the others, he finds\none of marble, which appears to be new, and is more rich and handsome\nthan all the rest. Calling the monk, the knight inquired: \"Of what use\nare these tombs here?\" And the monk replied: \"You have already read the\ninscriptions; if you have understood, you must know what they say, and\nwhat is the meaning of the tombs.\" \"Now tell me, what is this large one\nfor?\" And the hermit answered: \"I will tell you. That is a very large\nsarcophagus, larger than any that ever was made; one so rich and\nwell-carved was never seen. It is magnificent without, and still more so\nwithin. But you need not be concerned with that, for it can never do you\nany good; you will never see inside of it; for it would require seven\nstrong men to raise the lid of stone, if any one wished to open it. And\nyou may be sure that to raise it would require seven men stronger than\nyou and I. There is an inscription on it which says that any one who can\nlift this stone of his own unaided strength will set free all the men\nand women who are captives in the land, whence no slave or noble can\nissue forth, unless he is a native of that land. No one has ever come\nback from there, but they are detained in foreign prisons; whereas\nthey of the country go and come in and out as they please.\" At once\nthe knight goes to grasp the stone, and raises it without the slightest\ntrouble, more easily than ten men would do who exerted all their\nstrength. And the monk was amazed, and nearly fell down at the sight of\nthis marvellous thing; for he thought he would never see the like again,\nand said: \"Sire, I am very anxious to know your name. Will you tell me\nwhat it is?\" \"Not I,\" says the knight, \"upon my word.\" \"I am certainly\nsorry, for that,\" he says; \"but if you would tell me, you would do me a\ngreat favour, and might benefit yourself. Who are you, and where do\nyou come from?\" \"I am a knight, as you may see, and I was born in the\nkingdom of Logre. After so much information, I should prefer to be\nexcused. Now please tell me, for your part, who is to lie within this\ntomb.\" \"Sire, he who shall deliver all those who are held captive in\nthe kingdom whence none escapes.\" And when he had told him all this, the\nknight commended him to God and all His saints. And then, for the first\ntime, he felt free to return to the damsel. The old white-haired monk\nescorts him out of the church, and they resume their way. While the\ndamsel is mounting, however, the hermit relates to her all that the\nknight had done inside, and then he begged her to tell him, if she knew,\nwhat his name was; but she assured him that she did not know, but that\nthere was one sure thing she could say, namely, that there was not such\na knight alive where the four winds of heaven blow.\n\n(Vv. 1967-2022.) Then the damsel takes leave of him, and rides swiftly\nafter the knight. Then those who were following them come up and see\nthe hermit standing alone before the church. The old knight in his shirt\nsleeves said: \"Sire, tell us, have you seen a knight with a damsel in\nhis company?\" And he replies: \"I shall not be loath to tell you all\nI know, for they have just passed on from here. The knight was inside\nyonder, and did a very marvellous thing in raising the stone from the\nhuge marble tomb, quite unaided and without the least effort. He is bent\nupon the rescue of the Queen, and doubtless he will rescue her, as well\nas all the other people. You know well that this must be so, for you\nhave often read the inscription upon the stone. No knight was ever born\nof man and woman, and no knight ever sat in a saddle, who was the equal\nof this man.\" Then the father turns to his son, and says: \"Son, what\ndost thou think about him now? Is he not a man to be respected who has\nperformed such a feat? Now thou knowest who was wrong, and whether it\nwas thou or I. I would not have thee fight with him for all the town of\nAmiens; and yet thou didst struggle hard, before any one could dissuade\nthee from thy purpose. Now we may as well go back, for we should be very\nfoolish to follow him any farther.\" And he replies: \"I agree to that.\nIt would be useless to follow him. Since it is your pleasure, let us\nreturn.\" They were very wise to retrace their steps. And all the time\nthe damsel rides close beside the knight, wishing to compel him to\ngive heed to her. She is anxious to learn his name, and she begs and\nbeseeches him again and again to tell her, until in his annoyance he\nanswers her: \"Have I not already told you that I belong in King Arthur's\nrealm? I swear by God and His goodness that you shall not learn my\nname.\" Then she bids him give her leave to go, and she will turn back,\nwhich request he gladly grants.\n\n(Vv. 2023-2198.) Thereupon the damsel departs, and he rides on alone\nuntil it grew very late. After vespers, about compline, as he pursued\nhis way, he saw a knight returning from the wood where he had been\nhunting. With helmet unlaced, he rode along upon his big grey hunter,\nto which he had tied the game which God had permitted him to take. This\ngentleman came quickly to meet the knight, offering him hospitality.\n\"Sire,\" he says, \"night will soon be here. It is time for you to be\nreasonable and seek a place to spend the night. I have a house of mine\nnear at hand, whither I shall take you. No one ever lodged you better\nthan I shall do, to the extent of my resources: I shall be very glad, if\nyou consent.\" \"For my part, I gladly accept,\" he says. The gentleman\nat once sends his son ahead, to prepare the house and start the\npreparations for supper. The lad willingly executes his command\nforthwith, and goes off at a rapid pace, while the others, who are in\nno haste, follow the road leisurely until they arrive at the house. The\ngentleman's wife was a very accomplished lady; and he had five sons,\nwhom he dearly loved, three of them mere lads, and two already knights;\nand he had two fair and charming daughters, who were still unmarried.\nThey were not natives of the land, but were there in durance, having\nbeen long kept there as prisoners away from their native land of Logres.\nWhen the gentleman led the knight into his yard, the lady with her sons\nand daughters jumped up and ran to meet them, vying in their efforts to\ndo him honour, as they greeted him and helped him to dismount. Neither\nthe sisters nor the five brothers paid much attention to their father,\nfor they knew well enough that he would have it so. They honoured the\nknight and welcomed him; and when they had relieved him of his armour,\none of his host's two daughters threw her own mantle about him, taking\nit from her own shoulders and throwing it about his neck. I do not\nneed to tell how well he was served at supper; but when the meal\nwas finished, they felt no further hesitation in speaking of various\nmatters. First, the host began to ask him who he was, and from what\nland, but he did not inquire about his name. The knight promptly\nanswered him: \"I am from the kingdom of Logres, and have never been in\nthis land before.\" And when the gentleman heard that, he was greatly\namazed, as were his wife and children too, and each one of them was sore\ndistressed. Then they began to say to him: \"Woe that you have come here,\nfair sire, for only trouble will come of it! For, like us, you will\nbe reduced to servitude and exile.\" \"Where do you come from, then?\" he\nasked. \"Sire, we belong in your country. Many men from your country\nare held in servitude in this land. Cursed be the custom, together with\nthose who keep it up! No stranger comes here who is not compelled to\nstay here in the land where he is detained. For whoever wishes may come\nin, but once in, he has to stay. About your own fate, you may be at\nrest, you will doubtless never escape from here.\" He replies: \"Indeed,\nI shall do so, if possible.\" To this the gentleman replies: \"How? Do you\nthink you can escape?\" \"Yes, indeed, if it be God's will; and I shall do\nall within my power.\" \"In that case, doubtless all the rest would be set\nfree; for, as soon as one succeeds in fairly escaping from this durance,\nthen all the rest may go forth unchallenged.\" Then the gentleman\nrecalled that he had been told and informed that a knight of great\nexcellence was making his way into the country to seek for the Queen,\nwho was held by the king's son, Meleagant; and he said to himself: \"Upon\nmy word, I believe it is he, and I'll tell him so.\" So he said to him:\n\"Sire, do not conceal from me your business, if I promise to give\nyou the best advice I know. I too shall profit by any success you may\nattain. Reveal to me the truth about your errand, that it may be to your\nadvantage as well as mine. I am persuaded that you have come in search\nof the Queen into this land and among these heathen people, who are\nworse than the Saracens.\" And the knight replies: \"For no other purpose\nhave I come. I know not where my lady is confined, but I am striving\nhard to rescue her, and am in dire need of advice. Give me any counsel\nyou can.\" And he says: \"Sire, you have undertaken a very grievous task.\nThe road you are travelling will lead you straight to the sword-bridge.\n[414] You surely need advice. If you would heed my counsel, you would\nproceed to the sword-bridge by a surer way, and I would have you\nescorted thither.\" Then he, whose mind is fixed upon the most direct\nway, asks him: \"Is the road of which you speak as direct as the other\nway?\" \"No, it is not,\" he says; \"it is longer, but more sure.\" Then he\nsays: \"I have no use for it; tell me about this road I am following!\" \"I\nam ready to do so,\" he replies; \"but I am sure you will not fare well if\nyou take any other than the road I recommend. To-morrow you will reach\na place where you will have trouble: it is called 'the stony passage'.\nShall I tell you how bad a place it is to pass? Only one horse can go\nthrough at a time; even two men could not pass abreast, and the passage\nis well guarded and defended. You will meet with resistance as soon as\nyou arrive. You will sustain many a blow of sword and lance, and will\nhave to return full measure before you succeed in passing through.\" And\nwhen he had completed the account, one of the gentleman's sons, who was\na knight, stepped forward, saying: \"Sire, if you do not object, I will\ngo with this gentleman.\" Then one of the lads jumps up, and says: \"I too\nwill go.\" And the father gladly gives them both consent. Now the knight\nwill not have to go alone, and he expresses his gratitude, being much\npleased with the company.\n\n(Vv. 2199-2266.) Then the conversation ceases, and they take the knight\nto bed, where he was glad to fall asleep. As soon as daylight was\nvisible he got up, and those who were to accompany him got up too. The\ntwo knights donned their armour and took their leave, while the young\nfellow started on ahead. Together they pursued their way until they came\nat the hour of prime to \"the stony passage.\" In the middle of it they\nfound a wooden tower, where there was always a man on guard. Before they\ndrew near, he who was on the tower saw them and cried twice aloud: \"Woe\nto this man who comes!\" And then behold! A knight issued from the tower,\nmounted and armed with fresh armour, and escorted on either side by\nservants carrying sharp axes. Then, when the other draws near the\npassage, he who defends it begins to heap him with abuse about the cart,\nsaying: \"Vassal, thou art bold and foolish, indeed, to have entered this\ncountry. No man ought ever to come here who had ridden upon a cart,\nand may God withhold from him His blessing!\" Then they spur toward each\nother at the top of their horses' speed. And he who was to guard the\npassage-way at once breaks his lance and lets the two pieces fall; the\nother strikes him in the neck, reaching him beneath the shield, and\nthrows him over prostrate upon the stones. Then the servants come\nforward with the axes, but they intentionally fail to strike him, having\nno desire to harm or damage him; so he does not deign to draw his sword,\nand quickly passes on with his companions. One of them remarks to the\nother: \"No one has ever seen so good a knight, nor has he any equal. Is\nnot this a marvellous thing, that he has forced a passage here?\" And the\nknight says to his brother: \"Fair brother, for God's sake, make haste\nto go and tell our father of this adventure.\" But the lad asserts and\nswears that he will not go with the message, and will never leave the\nknight until he has dubbed and knighted him; let his brother go with the\nmessage, if he is so much concerned.\n\n(Vv. 2267-2450.) Then they go on together until about three o'clock,\nwhen they come upon a man, who asks them who they are. And they answer:\n\"We are knights, busy about our own affairs.\" Then the man says to the\nknight: \"Sire, I should be glad to offer hospitality to you and your\ncompanions here.\" This invitation he delivers to him whom he takes to be\nthe lord and master of the others. And this one replies to him: \"I could\nnot seek shelter for the night at such an hour as this; for it is not\nwell to tarry and seek one's ease when one has undertaken some great\ntask. And I have such business on hand that I shall not stop for the\nnight for some time yet.\" Then the man continues: \"My house is not near\nhere, but is some distance ahead. It will be late when you reach there,\nso you may proceed, assured that you will find a place to lodge just\nwhen it suits you.\" \"In that case,\" he says, \"I will go thither.\"\nThereupon the man starts ahead as guide, and the knight follows along\nthe path. And when they had proceeded some distance, they met a squire\nwho was coming along at a gallop, mounted upon a nag that was as fat\nand round as an apple. And the squire calls our to the man: \"Sire,\nsire, make haste! For the people of Logres have attacked in force the\ninhabitants of this land, and war and strife have already broken out;\nand they say that this country has been invaded by a knight who has\nbeen in many battles, and that wherever he wishes to go, no one, however\nreluctantly, is able to deny him passage. And they further say that he\nwill deliver those who are in this country, and will subdue our people.\nNow take my advice and make haste!\" Then the man starts at a gallop, and\nthe others are greatly delighted at the words they have heard, for they\nare eager to help their side. And the vavasor's son says: \"Hear what\nthis squire says! Come and let us aid our people who are fighting their\nenemies!\" Meanwhile the man rides off, without waiting for them, and\nmakes his way rapidly toward a fortress which stood upon a fortified\nhill; thither he hastens, till he comes to the gate, while the others\nspur after him. The castle was surrounded by a high wall and moat. As\nsoon as they had got inside, a gate was lowered upon their heels, so\nthat they could not get out again. Then they say: \"Come on, come on!\nLet us not stop here!\" and they rapidly pursue the man until they reach\nanother gate which was not closed against them. But as soon as the man\nhad passed through, a portcullis dropped behind him. Then the others\nwere much dismayed to see themselves shut in, and they think they must\nbe bewitched. But he, of whom I have more to tell, wore upon his finger\na ring, whose stone was of such virtue that any one who gazed at it was\nfreed from the power of enchantment. [415] Holding the ring before his\neyes, he gazed at it, and said: \"Lady, lady, so help me God, now I have\ngreat need of your succour!\" [416] This lady was a fairy, who had given\nit to him, and who had cared for him in his infancy. And he had great\nconfidence that, wherever he might be, she would aid and succour him.\nBut after appealing to her and gazing upon the ring, he realises that\nthere is no enchantment here, but that they are actually shut in and\nconfined. Then they come to the barred door of a low and narrow postern\ngate. Drawing their swords, they all strike it with such violence that\nthey cut the bar. As soon as they were outside the tower, they see that\na fierce strife was already begun down in the meadows, and that there\nare at least a thousand knights engaged, beside the low-bred infantry.\nWhile they were descending to the plain, the wise and moderate son of\nthe vavasor remarked: \"Sire, before we arrive upon the field, it would\nbe wise for us, it seems to me, to find out and learn on which side our\npeople are. I do not know where they are placed, but I will go and\nfind out, if you wish it so.\" \"I wish you would do so,\" he replies,\n\"go quickly, and do not fail to come back again at once.\" He goes and\nreturns at once, saying: \"It has turned out well for us, for I have\nplainly seen that these are our troops on this side of the field.\" Then\nthe knight at once rode into the fight and jousted with a knight who\nwas approaching him, striking him in the eye with such violence that he\nknocked him lifeless to the ground. Then the lad dismounts, and taking\nthe dead knight's horse and arms, he arms himself with skill and\ncleverness. When he was armed, he straightway mounts, taking the shield\nand the lance, which was heavy, stiff, and decorated, and about his\nwaist he girt a sharp, bright, and flashing sword. Then he followed his\nbrother and lord into the fight. The latter demeaned himself bravely\nin the melee for some time, breaking, splitting, and crushing shields,\nhelmets and hauberks. No wood or steel protected the man whom he\nstruck; he either wounded him or knocked him lifeless from the horse.\nUnassisted, he did so well that he discomfited all whom he met, while\nhis companions did their part as well. The people of Logres, not knowing\nhim, are amazed at what they see, and ask the vavasor's sons about the\nstranger knight. This reply is made to them: \"Gentlemen, this is he who\nis to deliver us all from durance and misery, in which we have so long\nbeen confined, and we ought to do him great honour when, to set us free,\nhe has passed through so many perils and is ready to face many more. He\nhas done much, and will do yet more.\" Every one is overjoyed at hearing\nthis welcome news. The news travelled fast, and was noised about, until\nit was known by all. Their strength and courage rise, so that they slay\nmany of those still alive, and apparently because of the example of\na single knight they work greater havoc than because of all the rest\ncombined. And if it had not been so near evening, all would have gone\naway defeated; but night came on so dark that they had to separate.\n\n(Vv. 2451-2614.) When the battle was over, all the captives pressed\nabout the knight, grasping his rein on either side, and thus addressing\nhim: \"Welcome, fair sire,\" and each one adds: \"Sire, for the name of\nGod, do not fail to lodge with me!\" What one says they all repeat, for\nyoung and old alike insist that he must lodge with them, saying: \"You\nwill be more comfortably lodged with me than with any one else.\" Thus\neach one addresses him to his face, and in the desire to capture him,\neach one drags him from the rest, until they almost come to blows.\nThen he tells them that they are very foolish and silly to struggle so.\n\"Cease this wrangling among yourselves, for it does no good to me or\nyou. Instead of quarrelling among ourselves, we ought rather to lend one\nanother aid. You must not dispute about the privilege of lodging me, but\nrather consider how to lodge me in such a place that it may be to your\ngeneral advantage, and that I may be advanced upon my way.\" Then each\none exclaims at once: \"That is my house, or, No, it is mine,\" until the\nknight replies: \"Follow my advice and say nothing more; the wisest of\nyou is foolish to contend this way. You ought to be concerned to further\nmy affairs, and instead you are seeking to turn me aside. If you had\neach individually done me all the honour and service it is possible to\ndo, and I had accepted your kindness, by all the saints of Rome I\nswear that I could not be more obliged to you than I am now for your\ngood-will. So may God give me joy and health, your good intentions\nplease me as much as if each one of you had already shown me great\nhonour and kindness: so let the will stand for the deed!\" Thus he\npersuades and appeases them all. Then they take him quickly along the\nroad to a knight's residence, where they seek to serve him: all rejoice\nto honour and serve him throughout the evening until bedtime, for they\nhold him very dear. Next morning, when the time came to separate, each\none offers and presents himself, with the desire to accompany him; but\nit is not his will or pleasure that any one shall go with him except the\ntwo whom he had brought with him. Accompanied by them alone, he\nresumed his journey. That day they rode from morn till evening without\nencountering any adventure. When it was now very late, and while they\nwere riding rapidly out of a forest, they saw a house belonging to a\nknight, and seated at the door they saw his wife, who had the bearing of\na gentle lady. As soon as she espied them coming, she rose to her feet\nto meet them, and greeted them joyfully with a smile: \"Welcome! I wish\nyou to accept my house; this is your lodging; pray dismount\" \"Lady,\nsince it is your will, we thank you, and will dismount; we accept your\nhospitality for the night.\" When they had dismounted, the lady had the\nhorses taken by members of her well-ordered household. She calls\nher sons and daughters who come at once: the youths were courteous,\nhandsome, and well-behaved, and the daughters were fair. She bids the\nlads remove the saddles and curry the horses well; no one refused to do\nthis, but each carried out her instructions willingly. When she ordered\nthe knights to be disarmed, her daughters step forward to perform this\nservice. They remove their armour, and hand them three short mantles\nto put on. Then at once they take them into the house which was very\nhandsome. The master was not at home, being out in the woods with two\nof his sons. But he presently returned, and his household, which was\nwell-ordered, ran to meet him outside the door. Quickly they untie and\nunpack the game he brings, and tell him the news: \"Sire, sire, you do\nnot know that you have three knights for guests.\" \"God be praised for\nthat,\" he says. Then the knight and his two sons extend a glad welcome\nto their guests. The rest of the household were not backward, for even\nthe least among them prepared to perform his special task. While some\nrun to prepare the meal, others light the candles in profusion; still\nothers get a towel and basins, and offer water for the hands: they are\nnot niggardly in all this. When all had washed, they take their seats.\nNothing that was done there seemed to be any trouble or burdensome.\nBut at the first course there came a surprise in the form of a knight\noutside the door. As he sat on his charger, all armed from head to feet,\nhe looked prouder than a bull, and a bull is a yew proud beast. One leg\nwas fixed in the stirrup, but the other he had thrown over the mane of\nhis horse's neck, to give himself a careless and jaunty air. Behold him\nadvancing thus, though no one noticed him until he came forward with the\nwords: \"I wish to know which is the man who is so foolish and proud\na numskull that he has come to this country and intends to cross the\nsword-bridge. All his pains will come to naught, and his expedition\nis in vain.\" Then he, who felt no fear at all, thus replies with\nconfidence: \"I am he who intends to cross the bridge.\" \"Thou? Thou?\nHow didst thou dare to think of such a thing? Before undertaking such\na course, thou oughtest to have thought of the end that is in store for\nthee, and thou oughtest to have in mind the memory of the cart on which\nthou didst ride. I know not whether thou feelest shame for the ride\nthou hadst on it, but no sensible man would have embarked on such an\nenterprise as this if he had felt the reproach of his action.\"\n\n(Vv. 2615-2690.) Not a word does he deign to reply to what he hears the\nother say; but the master of the house and all the others express their\nsurprise openly: \"Ah, God, what a misfortune this is,\" each one of them\nsays to himself; \"cursed be the hour when first a cart was conceived or\nmade! For it is a very vile and hateful thing. Ah, God, of what was he\naccused? Why was he carried in a cart? For what sin, or for what crime?\nHe will always suffer the reproach. If he were only clear of this\ndisgrace, no knight could be found in all the world, however his valour\nmight be proved, who would equal the merit of this knight. If all good\nknights could be compared, and if the truth were to be known, you\ncould find none so handsome or so expert.\" Thus they expressed their\nsentiments. Then he began his speech of impudence: \"Listen, thou knight,\nwho art bound for the sword-bridge! If thou wishest, thou shalt cross\nthe water very easily and comfortably. I will quickly have thee ferried\nover in a skiff. But once on the other side, I will make thee pay me\ntoll, and I will take thy head, if I please to do so, or if not, thou\nshalt be held at my discretion.\" And he replies that he is not seeking\ntrouble, and that he will never risk his head in such an adventure for\nany consideration. To which the other answers at once: \"Since thou\nwilt not do this, whosesoever the shame and loss may be, thou must come\noutside with me and there engage me hand to hand.\" Then, to beguile him.\nthe other says: \"If I could refuse, I would very gladly excuse myself;\nbut in truth I would rather fight than be compelled to do what is\nwrong.\" Before he arose from the table where they were sitting, he told\nthe youths who were serving him, to saddle his horse at once, and fetch\nhis arms and give them to him. This order they promptly execute: some\ndevote themselves to arming him, while others go to fetch his horse. As\nhe slowly rode along completely armed, holding his shield tight by the\nstraps, you must know that he was evidently to be included in the list\nof the brave and fair. His horse became him so well that it is evident\nhe must be his own, and as for the shield he held by the straps and the\nhelmet laced upon his head, which fitted him so well, you would never\nfor a moment have thought that he had borrowed it or received it as a\nloan; rather, you would be so pleased with him that you would maintain\nthat he had been thus born and raised: for all this I should like you to\ntake my word.\n\n(Vv. 2691-2792.) Outside the gate, where the battle was to be fought,\nthere was a stretch of level ground well adapted for the encounter. When\nthey catch sight of each other, they spur hotly to the attack and come\ntogether with such a shock, dealing such blows with their lances, that\nthey first bend, then buckle up, and finally fly into splinters. With\ntheir swords they then hew away at their shields, helmets, and hauberks.\nThe wood is cut and the steel gives way, so that they wound each other\nin several places. They pay each other such angry blows that it seems\nas if they had made a bargain. The swords often descend upon the horses'\ncroups, where they drink and feast upon their blood; their riders strike\nthem upon the flanks until at last they kill them both. And when both\nhave fallen to earth, they attack each other afoot; and if they had\ncherished a mortal hatred, they could not have assailed each other more\nfiercely with their swords. They deal their blows with greater frequency\nthan the man who stakes his money at dice and never fails to double the\nstakes every time he loses; yet, this game of theirs was very different;\nfor there were no losses here, but only fierce blows and cruel strife.\nAll the people came out from the house: the master, his lady, his sons\nand daughters; no man or woman, friend or stranger, stayed behind,\nbut all stood in line to see the fight in progress in the broad,\nlevel field. The Knight of the Cart blames and reproaches himself for\nfaintheartedness when he sees his host watching him and notices all the\nothers looking on. His heart is stirred with anger, for it seems to him\nthat he ought long since to have beaten his adversary. Then he strikes\nhim, rushing in like a storm and bringing his sword down close by his\nhead; he pushes and presses him so hard that he drives him from his\nground and reduces him to such a state of exhaustion that he has little\nstrength to defend himself. Then the knight recalls how the other had\nbasely reproached him about the cart; so he assails him and drubs him so\nsoundly that not a string or strap remains unbroken about the neck-band\nof his hauberk, and he knocks the helmet and ventail from his head. His\nwounds and distress are so great that he has to cry for mercy. Just\nas the lark cannot withstand or protect itself against the hawk which\noutflies it and attacks it from above, so he in his helplessness and\nshame, must invoke him and sue for mercy. And when he hears him beg for\nmercy, he ceases his attack and says: \"Dost thou wish for mercy?\" He\nreplies: \"You have asked a very clever question; any fool could ask\nthat. I never wished for anything so much as I now wish for mercy.\"\nThen he says to him: \"Thou must mount, then, upon a cart. Nothing thou\ncouldst say would have any influence with me, unless thou mountest the\ncart, to atone for the vile reproaches thou didst address to me with thy\nsilly mouth.\" And the knight thus answers him: \"May it never please God\nthat I mount a cart!\" \"No?\" he asks; \"then you shall die.\" \"Sire, you\ncan easily put me to death; but I beg and beseech you for God's sake\nto show me mercy and not compel me to mount a cart. I will agree to\nanything, however grievous, excepting that. I would rather die a hundred\ntimes than undergo such a disgrace. In your goodness and mercy you can\ntell me nothing so distasteful that I will not do it.\"\n\n(Vv. 2793-2978.) While he is thus beseeching him, behold across the\nfield a maiden riding on a tawny mule, her head uncovered and her dress\ndisarranged. In her hand she held a whip with which she belaboured the\nmule; and in truth no horse could have galloped so fast as was the pace\nof the mule. The damsel called out to the Knight of the Cart: \"May God\nbless thy heart, Sir Knight, with whatever delights thee most!\" And he,\nwho heard her gladly, says: \"May God bless you, damsel, and give you joy\nand health!\" Then she tells him of her desire. \"Knight,\" she says, \"in\nurgent need I have come from afar to thee to ask a favour, for which\nthou wilt deserve the best guerdon I can make to thee; and I believe\nthat thou wilt yet have need of my assistance.\" And he replies: \"Tell\nme what it is you wish; and if I have it, you shall have it at once,\nprovided it be not something extravagant.\" Then she says: \"It is the\nhead of the knight whom thou hast just defeated; in truth, thou\nhast never dealt with such a wicked and faithless man. Thou wilt be\ncommitting no sin or wrong, but rather doing a deed of charity, for he\nis the basest creature that ever was or ever shall be.\" And when he who\nhad been vanquished hears that she wishes him to be killed, he says to\nhim: \"Don't believe her, for she hates me; but by that God who was\nat once Father and Son, and who chose for His mother her who was His\ndaughter and handmaiden, I beg you to have mercy upon me!\" \"Ah, knight!\"\nthe maid exclaims, \"pay no attention to what this traitor says! May God\ngive thee all the joy and honour to which thou dost aspire, and may\nHe give thee good success in thy undertaking.\" Then the knight is in\na predicament, as he thinks and ponders over the question: whether to\npresent to her the head she asks him to cut off, or whether he shall\nallow himself to be touched by pity for him. [417] He wishes to respect\nthe wishes of both her and him. Generosity and pity each command him to\ndo their will; for he was both generous and tender-hearted. But if\nshe carries off the head, then will pity be defeated and put to\ndeath; whereas, if she does not carry off the head, generosity will\nbe discomfited. Thus, pity and generosity hold him so confined and so\ndistressed that he is tormented and spurred on by each of them in turn.\nThe damsel asks him to give her the head, and on the other hand the\nknight makes his request, appealing to his pity and kindness. And,\nsince he has implored him, shall he not receive mercy? Yes, for it never\nhappened that, when he had put down an enemy and compelled him to sue\nfor mercy, he would refuse such an one his mercy or longer bear him any\ngrudge. Since this is his custom, he will not refuse his mercy to him\nwho now begs and sues for it. And shall she have the head she covets?\nYes, if it be possible. \"Knight,\" he says, \"it is necessary for thee to\nfight me again, and if thou dost care to defend thy head again, I will\nshow thee such mercy as to allow thee to resume the helmet; and I will\ngive thee time to arm thy body and thy head as well as possible. But, if\nI conquer thee again, know that thou shalt surely die.\" And he replies:\n\"I desire nothing better than that, and ask for no further favour.\"\n\"And I will give thee this advantage,\" he adds: \"I will fight thee as\nI stand, without changing my present position.\" Then the other knight\nmakes ready, and they begin the fight again eagerly. But this time the\nknight triumphed more quickly than he had done at first. And the damsel\nat once cries out: \"Do not spare him, knight, for anything he may say to\nthee. Surely he would not have spared thee, had he once defeated thee.\nIf thou heedest what he says, be sure that he will again beguile thee.\nFair knight, cut off the head of the most faithless man in the empire\nand kingdom, and give it to me! Thou shouldst present it to me, in view\nof the guerdon I intend for thee. For another day may well come when, if\nhe can, he will beguile thee again with his words.\" He, thinking his end\nis near, cries aloud to him for mercy; but his cry is of no avail, nor\nanything that he can say. The other drags him by the helmet, tearing all\nthe fastening, and he strikes from his head the ventail and the gleaming\ncoif. Then he cries out more loudly still: \"Mercy, for God's sake!\nMercy, sir!\" But the other answers: \"So help me, I shall never again\nshow thee pity, after having once let thee off.\" \"Ah,\" he says, \"thou\nwouldst do wrong to heed my enemy and kill me thus.\" While she, intent\nupon his death, admonishes him to cut off his head, and not to believe\na word he says. He strikes: the head flies across the sward and the body\nfails. Then the damsel is pleased and satisfied. Grasping the head by\nthe hair, the knight presents it to the damsel, who takes it joyfully\nwith the words: \"May thy heart receive such delight from whatever it\nmost desires as my heart now receives from what I most coveted. I had\nonly one grief in life, and that was that this man was still alive. I\nhave a reward laid up for thee which thou shalt receive at the proper\ntime. I promise thee that thou shalt have a worthy reward for the\nservice thou hast rendered me. Now I will go away, with the prayer\nthat God may guard thee from harm.\" Then the damsel leaves him, as each\ncommends the other to God. But all those who had seen the battle in the\nplain are overjoyed, and in their joy they at once relieve the knight of\nhis armour, and honour him in every way they can. Then they wash their\nhands again and take their places at the meal, which they eat with\nbetter cheer than is their wont. When they had been eating for some\ntime, the gentleman turned to his guest at his side, and said: \"Sire, a\nlong while ago we came hither from the kingdom of Logres. We were born\nyour countrymen, and we should like to see you win honour and fortune\nand joy in this country; for we should profit by it as well as you, and\nit would be to the advantage of many others, if you should gain honour\nand fortune in the enterprise you have undertaken in this land.\" And he\nmakes answer: \"May God hear your desire.\"\n\n(Vv. 2979-3020.) When the host had dropped his voice and ceased\nspeaking, one of his sons followed him and said: \"Sire, we ought to\nplace all our resources at your service, and give them outright rather\nthan promise them; if you have any need of our assistance, we ought not\nto wait until you ask for it. Sire, be not concerned over your horse\nwhich is dead. We have good strong horses here. I want you to take\nanything of ours which you need, and you shall choose the best of\nour horses in place of yours.\" And he replies: \"I willingly accept.\"\nThereupon, they have the beds prepared and retire for the night. The\nnext morning they rise early, and dress, after which they prepare to\nstart. Upon leaving, they fail in no act of courtesy, but take leave of\nthe lady, her lord, and all the rest. But in order to omit nothing, I\nmust remark that the knight was unwilling to mount the borrowed steed\nwhich was standing ready at the door; rather, he caused him to be ridden\nby one of the two knights who had come with him, while he took the\nlatter's horse instead, for thus it pleased him best to do. When each\nwas seated on his horse, they all asked for leave to depart from their\nhost who had served them so honourably. Then they ride along the road\nuntil the day draws to a close, and late in the afternoon they reach the\nsword-bridge.\n\n(Vv. 3021-3194.) At the end of this very difficult bridge they dismount\nfrom their steeds and gaze at the wicked-looking stream, which is as\nswift and raging, as black and turgid, as fierce and terrible as if\nit were the devil's stream; and it is so dangerous and bottomless that\nanything failing into it would be as completely lost as if it fell into\nthe salt sea. And the bridge, which spans it, is different from any\nother bridge; for there never was such a one as this. If any one asks of\nme the truth, there never was such a bad bridge, nor one whose flooring\nwas so bad. The bridge across the cold stream consisted of a polished,\ngleaming sword; but the sword was stout and stiff, and was as long as\ntwo lances. At each end there was a tree-trunk in which the sword\nwas firmly fixed. No one need fear to fall because of its breaking\nor bending, for its excellence was such that it could support a\ngreat weight. But the two knights who were with the third were much\ndiscouraged; for they surmised that two lions or two leopards would be\nfound tied to a great rock at the other end of the bridge. The water\nand the bridge and the lions combine so to terrify them that they both\ntremble with fear, and say: \"Fair sire, consider well what confronts\nyou; for it is necessary and needful to do so. This bridge is badly made\nand built, and the construction of it is bad. If you do not change your\nmind in time, it will be too late to repent. You must consider which of\nseveral alternatives you will choose. Suppose that you once get across\n(but that cannot possibly come to pass, any more than one could hold in\nthe winds and forbid them to blow, or keep the birds from singing,\nor re-enter one's mother's womb and be born again--all of which is as\nimpossible as to empty the sea of its water); but even supposing that\nyou got across, can you think and suppose that those two fierce lions\nthat are chained on the other side will not kill you, and suck the blood\nfrom your veins, and eat your flesh and then gnaw your bones? For my\npart, I am bold enough, when I even dare to look and gaze at them. If\nyou do not take care, they will certainly devour you. Your body will\nsoon be torn and rent apart, for they will show you no mercy. So take\npity on us now, and stay here in our company! It would be wrong for\nyou to expose yourself intentionally to such mortal peril.\" And he,\nlaughing, replies to them: \"Gentlemen, receive my thanks and gratitude\nfor the concern you feel for me: it comes from your love and kind\nhearts. I know full well that you would not like to see any mishap come\nto me; but I have faith and confidence in God, that He will protect me\nto the end. I fear the bridge and stream no more than I fear this dry\nland; so I intend to prepare and make the dangerous attempt to cross.\nI would rather die than turn back now.\" The others have nothing more to\nsay; but each weeps with pity and heaves a sigh. Meanwhile he prepares,\nas best he may, to cross the stream, and he does a very marvellous thing\nin removing the armour from his feet and hands. He will be in a sorry\nstate when he reaches the other side. He is going to support himself\nwith his bare hands and feet upon the sword, which was sharper than a\nscythe, for he had not kept on his feet either sole or upper or hose.\nBut he felt no fear of wounds upon his hands or feet; he preferred to\nmaim himself rather than to fall from the bridge and be plunged in\nthe water from which he could never escape. In accordance with this\ndetermination, he passes over with great pain and agony, being wounded\nin the hands, knees, and feet. But even this suffering is sweet to him:\nfor Love, who conducts and leads him on, assuages and relieves the pain.\nCreeping on his hands, feet, and knees, he proceeds until he reaches\nthe other side. Then he recalls and recollects the two lions which he\nthought he had seen from the other side; but, on looking about, he does\nnot see so much as a lizard or anything else to do him harm. He raises\nhis hand before his face and looks at his ring, and by this test he\nproves that neither of the lions is there which he thought he had seen,\nand that he had been enchanted and deceived; for there was not a living\ncreature there. When those who had remained behind upon the bank saw\nthat he had safely crossed, their joy was natural; but they do not know\nof his injuries. He, however, considers himself fortunate not to have\nsuffered anything worse. The blood from his wounds drips on his shirt\non all sides. Then he sees before him a tower, which was so strong that\nnever had he seen such a strong one before: indeed, it could not have\nbeen a better tower. At the window there sat King Bademagu, who was very\nscrupulous and precise about matters of honour and what was right, and\nwho was careful to observe and practise loyalty above all else; and\nbeside him stood his son, who always did precisely the opposite so far\nas possible, for he found his pleasure in disloyalty, and never wearied\nof villainy, treason, and felony. From their point of vantage they had\nseen the knight cross the bridge with trouble and pain. Meleagant's\ncolour changed with the rage and displeasure he felt; for he knows now\nthat he will be challenged for the Queen; but his character was such\nthat he feared no man, however strong or formidable. If he were not base\nand disloyal, there could no better knight be found; but he had a heart\nof wood, without gentleness and pity. What enraged his son and roused\nhis ire, made the king happy and glad. The king knew of a truth that he\nwho had crossed the bridge was much better than any one else. For no one\nwould dare to pass over it in whom there dwelt any of that evil nature\nwhich brings more shame upon those who possess it than prowess brings\nof honour to the virtuous. For prowess cannot accomplish so much as\nwickedness and sloth can do: it is true beyond a doubt that it is\npossible to do more evil than good.\n\n(Vv. 3195-3318.) I could say more on these two heads, if it did not\ncause me to delay. But I must turn to something else and resume my\nsubject, and you shall hear how the king speaks profitably to his son:\n\"Son,\" he says, \"it was fortunate that thou and I came to look out\nthis window; our reward has been to witness the boldest deed that ever\nentered the mind of man. Tell me now if thou art not well disposed\ntoward him who has performed such a marvellous feat. Make peace and be\nreconciled with him, and deliver the Queen into his hands. Thou shalt\ngain no glory in battle with him, but rather mayst thou incur great\nloss. Show thyself to be courteous and sensible, and send the Queen to\nmeet him before he sees thee. Show him honour in this land of thine, and\nbefore he asks it, present to him what he has come to seek. Thou knowest\nwell enough that he has come for the Queen Guinevere. Do not act so that\npeople will take thee to be obstinate, foolish, or proud. If this man\nhas entered thy land alone, thou shouldst bear him company, for one\ngentleman ought not to avoid another, but rather attract him and honour\nhim with courtesy. One receives honour by himself showing it; be sure\nthat the honour will be thine, if thou doest honour and service to him\nwho is plainly the best knight in the world.\" And he replies: \"May God\nconfound me, if there is not as good a knight, or even a better one\nthan he!\" It was too bad that he did not mention himself, of whom he\nentertains no mean opinion. And he adds: \"I suppose you wish me to clasp\nmy hands and kneel before him as his liegeman, and to hold my lands from\nhim? So help me God, I would rather become his man than surrender to\nhim the Queen! God forbid that in such a fashion I should deliver her\nto him! She shall never be given up by me, but rather contested and\ndefended against all who are so foolish as to dare to come in quest\nof her.\" Then again the king says to him: \"Son, thou wouldst act very\ncourteously to renounce this pretension. I advise thee and beg thee to\nkeep the peace. Thou knowest well that the honour will belong to the\nknight, if he wins the Queen from thee in battle. He would doubtless\nrather win her in battle than as a gift, for it will thus enhance\nhis fame. It is my opinion that he is seeking her, not to receive her\npeaceably, but because he wishes to win her by force of arms. So it\nwould be wise on thy part to deprive him of the satisfaction of fighting\nthee. I am sorry to see thee so foolish; but if thou dost not heed my\nadvice, evil will come of it, and the ensuing misfortune will be worse\nfor thee. For the knight need fear no hostility from any one here save\nthee. On behalf of myself and all my men, I will grant him a truce and\nsecurity. I have never yet done a disloyal deed or practised treason and\nfelony, and I shall not begin to do so now on thy account any more than\nI would for any stranger. I do not wish to flatter thee, for I promise\nthat the knight shall not lack any arms, or horse or anything else he\nneeds, in view of the boldness he has displayed in coming thus far.\nHe shall be securely guarded and well defended against all men here\nexcepting thee. I wish him clearly to understand that, if he can\nmaintain himself against thee, he need have no fear of any one else.\" \"I\nhave listened to you in silence long enough,\" says Meleagant, \"and you\nmay say what you please. But little do I care for all you say. I am not\na hermit, nor so compassionate and charitable, and I have no desire to\nbe so honourable as to give him what I most love. His task will not be\nperformed so quickly or so lightly; rather will it turn out otherwise\nthan as you and he expect. You and I need not quarrel because you aid\nhim against me. Even if he enjoys peace and a truce with you and all\nyour men, what matters that to me? My heart does not quail on that\naccount; rather, so help me God, I am glad that he need not feel concern\nfor any one here but me; I do not wish you to do on my account anything\nwhich might be construed as disloyalty or treachery. Be as compassionate\nas you please, but let me be cruel.\" \"What? Wilt thou not change thy\nmind?\" \"No,\" he says. \"Then I will say nothing more. I will leave thee\nalone to do thy best and will go now to speak with the knight. I wish\nto offer and present to him my aid and counsel in all respects; for I am\naltogether on his side.\"\n\n(Vv. 3319-3490.) Then the king goes down and orders them to bring his\nhorse. A large steed is brought to him, upon which he springs by the\nstirrup, and he rides off with some of his men: three knights and two\nsquires he bade to go with him. They did not stop their ride downhill\nuntil they came to the bridge, where they see him stanching his wounds\nand wiping the blood from them. The king expects to keep him as his\nguest for a long time while his wounds are healing; but he might as well\nexpect to drain the sea. The king hastens to dismount, and he who was\ngrievously wounded, stood up at once to meet him, though he did not know\nhim, and he gave no more evidence of the pain he felt in his feet and\nhands than if he had been actually sound. The king sees that he is\nexerting himself, and quickly runs to greet him with the words: \"Sire,\nI am greatly amazed that you have fallen upon us in this land. But be\nwelcome, for no one will ever repeat the attempt: it never happened in\nthe past, and it will never happen in the future that any one should\nperform such a hardy feat or expose himself to such peril. And know that\nI admire you greatly for having executed what no one before ever dared\nto conceive. You will find me very kindly disposed, and loyal and\ncourteous toward you. I am the king of this land, and offer you freely\nall my counsel and service; and I think I know pretty well what you have\ncome here to seek. You come, I am sure, to seek the Queen.\" \"Sire,\"\nhe replies, \"your surmise is correct; no other cause brings me here.\"\n\"Friend, you must suffer hardship to obtain her,\" he replies; \"and you\nare sorely wounded, as I see by the wounds and the flowing blood. You\nwill not find him who brought her hither so generous as to give her up\nwithout a struggle; but you must tarry, and have your wounds cared for\nuntil they are completely healed. I will give you some of 'the three\nMarys' ointment, [418] and something still better, if it can be found,\nfor I am very solicitous about your comfort and your recovery. And the\nQueen is so confined that no mortal man has access to her--not even my\nson, who brought her here with him and who resents such treatment, for\nnever was a man so beside himself and so desperate as he. But I am well\ndisposed toward you, and will gladly give you, so help me God, all of\nwhich you stand in need. My son himself will not have such good arms but\nthat I will give you some that are just as good, and a horse, too,\nsuch as you will need, though my son will be angry with me. Despite the\nfeelings of any one, I will protect you against all men. You will have\nno cause to fear any one excepting him who brought the Queen here. No\nman ever menaced another as I have menaced him, and I came near driving\nhim from my land, in my displeasure because he will not surrender her\nto you. To be sure, he is my son; but feel no concern, for unless he\ndefeats you in battle, he can never do you the slightest harm against my\nwill.\" \"Sire,\" he says, \"I thank you. But I am losing time here which\nI do not wish to waste. I have no cause to complain, and have no wound\nwhich is paining me. Take me where I can find him; for with such arms\nas I have, I am ready to divert myself by giving and receiving blows.\"\n\"Friend, you had better wait two or three weeks until your wounds are\nhealed, for it would be well for you to tarry here at least two weeks,\nand not on any account could I allow it, or look on, while you fought\nin my presence with such arms and with such an outfit.\" And he replies:\n\"With your permission, no other arms would be used than these, for I\nshould prefer to fight with them, and I should not ask for the slightest\npostponement, adjournment or delay. However, in deference to you, I\nwill consent to wait until to-morrow; but despite what any one may say,\nlonger I will not wait.\" Then the king assured him that all would\nbe done as he wished; then he has the lodging-place prepared, and\ninsistently requests his men, who are in the company, to serve him,\nwhich they do devotedly. And the king, who would gladly have made peace,\nhad it been possible, went at once to his son and spoke to him like one\nwho desires peace and harmony, saying: \"Fair son, be reconciled now with\nthis knight without a fight! He has not come here to disport himself or\nto hunt or chase, but he comes in search of honour and to increase his\nfame and renown, and I have seen that he stands in great need of rest.\nIf he had taken my advice, he would not have rashly undertaken, either\nthis month or the next, the battle which he so greatly desires. If thou\nmakest over the Queen to him, dost thou fear any dishonour in the deed?\nHave no fear of that, for no blame can attach to thee; rather is it\nwrong to keep that to which one has no rightful claim. He would gladly\nhave entered the battle at once, though his hands and feet are not\nsound, but cut and wounded.\" Meleagant answers his father thus: \"You are\nfoolish to be concerned. By the faith I owe St. Peter, I will not take\nyour advice in this matter. I should deserve to be drawn apart with\nhorses, if I heeded your advice. If he is seeking his honour, so do I\nseek mine; if he is in search of glory, so am I; if he is anxious for\nthe battle, so am I a hundred times more so than he.\" \"I see plainly,\"\nsays the king, \"that thou art intent upon thy mad enterprise, and thou\nshalt have thy fill of it. Since such is thy pleasure, to-morrow thou\nshalt try thy strength with the knight.\" \"May no greater hardship ever\nvisit me than that!\" Meleagant replies; \"I would much rather it were\nto-day than to-morrow. Just see how much more downcast I am than is\nusual! My eyes are wild, and my face is pale! I shall have no joy or\nsatisfaction or any cause for happiness until I am actually engaged with\nhim.\"\n\n(Vv. 3491-3684.) The king understands that further advice and prayers\nare of no avail, so reluctantly he leaves his son and, taking a good,\nstrong horse and handsome arms, he sends them to him who well deserves\nthem, together with a surgeon who was a loyal and Christian man. There\nwas in the world no more trusty man, and he was more skilled in the\ncure of wounds than all the doctors of Montpeilier. [419] That night\nhe treated the knight as best he could, in accordance with the king's\ncommand. Already the news was known by the knights and damsels, the\nladies and barons of all the country-side, and all through the night\nuntil daybreak strangers and friends were making long journeys from all\nthe country round. When morning came, there was such a press before the\ncastle that there was not room to move one's foot. And the king, rising\nearly in his distress about the battle, goes directly to his son, who\nhad already laced upon his head the helmet which was of Poitiers make.\nNo delay or peace is possible, for though the king did his best, his\nefforts are of no effect. In the middle of the castle-square, where all\nthe people are assembled, the battle will be fought in compliance with\nthe king's wish and command. The king sends at once for the stranger\nknight, and he is conducted to the grounds which were filled with people\nfrom the kingdom of Logres. For just as people are accustomed to go\nto church to hear the organ on the annual feast-days of Pentecost or\nChristmas, so they had all assembled now. All the foreign maidens from\nKing Arthur's realm had fasted three days and gone barefoot in their\nshifts, in order that God might endow with strength and courage the\nknight who was to fight his adversary on behalf of the captives. Very\nearly, before prime had yet been sounded, both of the knights fully\narmed were led to the place, mounted upon two horses equally protected.\nMeleagant was very graceful, alert, and shapely; the hauberk with its\nfine meshes, the helmet, and the shield hanging from his neck--all these\nbecame him well. All the spectators, however, favoured the other knight,\neven those who wished him ill, and they say that Meleagant is worth\nnothing compared with him. As soon as they were both on the ground, the\nking comes and detains them as long as possible in an effort to make\npeace between them, but he is unable to persuade his son. Then he says\nto them: \"Hold in your horses until I reach the top of the tower. It\nwill be only a slight favour, if you will wait so long for me.\" Then in\nsorrowful mood he leaves them and goes directly to the place where he\nknew he would find the Queen. She had begged him the evening before to\nplace her where she might have an unobstructed view of the battle; he\nhad granted her the boon, and went now to seek and fetch her, for he\nwas very anxious to show her honour and courtesy. He placed her at one\nwindow, and took his place at another window on her right. Beside them,\nthere were gathered there many knights and prudent dames and damsels,\nwho were natives of that land; and there were many others, who were\ncaptives, and who were intent upon their orisons and prayers. Those who\nwere prisoners were praying for their lord, for to God and to him they\nentrusted their succour and deliverance. Then the combatants without\ndelay make all the people stand aside; then they clash the shields with\ntheir elbows, and thrust their arms into the straps, and spur at each\nother so violently that each sends his lance two arms' length through\nhis opponent's shield, causing the lance to split and splinter like a\nflying spark. And the horses meet head on, clashing breast to breast,\nand the shields and helmets crash with such a noise that it seems like\na mighty thunder-clap; not a breast-strap, girth, rein or surcingle\nremains unbroken, and the saddle-bows, though strong, are broken to\npieces. The combatants felt no shame in falling to earth, in view of\ntheir mishaps, but they quickly spring to their feet, and without waste\nof threatening words rush at each other more fiercely than two wild\nboars, and deal great blows with their swords of steel like men whose\nhate is violent. Repeatedly they trim the helmets and shining hauberks\nso fiercely that after the sword the blood spurts out. They furnished\nan excellent battle, indeed, as they stunned and wounded each other with\ntheir heavy, wicked blows. Many fierce, hard, long bouts they sustained\nwith equal honour, so that the onlookers could discern no advantage on\neither side. But it was inevitable that he who had crossed the bridge\nshould be much weakened by his wounded hands. The people who sided with\nhim were much dismayed, for they notice that his strokes are growing\nweaker, and they fear he will get the worst of it; it seemed to them\nthat he was weakening, while Meleagant was triumphing, and they began\nto murmur all around. But up at the window of the tower there was a wise\nmaiden who thought within herself that the knight had not undertaken the\nbattle either on her account or for the sake of the common herd who had\ngathered about the list, but that his only incentive had been the Queen;\nand she thought that, if he knew that she was at the window seeing and\nwatching him, his strength and courage would increase. And if she had\nknown his name, she would gladly have called to him to look about him.\nThen she came to the Queen and said: \"Lady, for God's sake and your\nown as well as ours, I beseech you to tell me, if you know, the name of\nyonder knight, to the end that it may be of some help to him.\" \"Damsel,\"\nthe Queen replies, \"you have asked me a question in which I see no hate\nor evil, but rather good intent; the name of the knight, I know, is\nLancelot of the Lake.\" [420] \"God, how happy and glad at heart I am!\"\nthe damsel says. Then she leans forward and calls to him by name so\nloudly that all the people hear: \"Lancelot, turn about and see who is\nhere taking note of thee!\"\n\n(Vv. 3685-3954.) When Lancelot heard his name, he was not slow to turn\naround: he turns and sees seated up there at the window of the tower\nher whom he desired most in the world to see. From the moment he caught\nsight of her, he did not turn or take his eyes and face from her,\ndefending himself with backhand blows. And Meleagant meanwhile attacked\nhim as fiercely as he could, delighted to think that the other cannot\nwithstand him now; and they of the country are well pleased too,\nwhile the foreigners are so distressed that they can no longer support\nthemselves, and many of them fall to earth either upon their knees or\nstretched out prone; thus some are glad, and some distressed. Then the\ndamsel cried again from the window: \"Ah, Lancelot, how is it that thou\ndost now conduct thyself so foolishly? Once thou wert the embodiment\nof prowess and of all that is good, and I do not think God ever made a\nknight who could equal thee in valour and in worth. But now we see\nthee so distressed that thou dealest back-hand blows and fightest thy\nadversary, behind thy back. Turn, so as to be on the other side, and so\nthat thou canst face toward this tower, for it will help thee to keep\nit in view.\" Then Lancelot is so ashamed and mortified that he hates\nhimself, for he knows full well that all have seen how, for some time\npast, he has had the worst of the fight. Thereupon he leaps backward and\nso manoeuvres as to force Meleagant into a position between him and the\ntower. Meleagant makes every effort to regain his former position. But\nLancelot rushes upon him, and strikes him so violently upon his body and\nshield whenever he tries to get around him, that he compels him to whirl\nabout two or three times in spite of himself. Lancelot's strength and\ncourage grow, partly because he has love's aid, and partly because he\nnever hated any one so much as him with whom he is engaged. Love and\nmortal hate, so fierce that never before was such hate seen, make him so\nfiery and bold that Meleagant ceases to treat it as a jest and begins to\nstand in awe of him, for he had never met or known so doughty a knight,\nnor had any knight ever wounded or injured him as this one does. He\nis glad to get away from him, and he winces and sidesteps, fearing his\nblows and avoiding them. And Lancelot does not idly threaten him, but\ndrives him rapidly toward the tower where the Queen was stationed on the\nwatch. There upon the tower he did her the homage of his blows until he\ncame so close that, if he advanced another step, he would lose sight\nof her. Thus Lancelot drove him back and forth repeatedly in whatever\ndirection he pleased, always stopping before the Queen, his lady, who\nhad kindled the flame which compels him to fix his gaze upon her. And\nthis same flame so stirred him against Meleagant that he was enabled to\nlead and drive him wherever he pleased. In spite of himself he drives\nhim on like a blind man or a man with a wooden leg. The king sees his\nson so hard pressed that he is sorry for him and he pities him, and he\nwill not deny him aid and assistance if possible; but if he wishes to\nproceed courteously, he must first beg the Queen's permission. So he\nbegan to say to her: \"Lady, since I have had you in my power, I have\nloved you and faithfully served and honoured you. I never consciously\nleft anything undone in which I saw your honour involved; now repay\nme for what I have done. For I am about to ask you a favour which you\nshould not grant unless you do so willingly. I plainly see that my son\nis getting the worst of this battle; I do not speak so because of the\nchagrin I feel, but in order that Lancelot, who has him in his power,\nmay not kill him. Nor ought you to wish to see him killed; not because\nhe has not wronged both you and him, but because I make the request of\nyou: so tell him, please, to stop beating him. If you will, you can thus\nrepay me for what I have done for you.\" \"Fair sire, I am willing to do\nso at your request,\" the Queen replies; \"had I mortal hatred for your\nson, whom it is true I do not love, yet you have served me so well that,\nto please you, I am quite willing that he should desist.\" These words\nwere not spoken privately, but Lancelot and Meleagrant heard what was\nsaid. The man who is a perfect lover is always obedient and quickly and\ngladly does his mistress' pleasure. So Lancelot was constrained to do\nhis Lady's will, for he loved more than Pyramus, [421] if that were\npossible for any man to do. Lancelot heard what was said, and as soon as\nthe last word had issued from her mouth, \"since you wish him to desist,\nI am willing that he should do so,\" Lancelot would not have touched him\nor made a movement for anything, even if the other had killed him. He\ndoes not touch him or raise his hand. But Meleagant, beside himself with\nrage and shame when he hears that it has been necessary to intercede\nin his behalf, strikes him with all the strength he can muster. And the\nking went down from the tower to upbraid his son, and entering the list\nhe addressed him thus: \"How now? Is this becoming, to strike him when he\nis not touching thee? Thou art too cruel and savage, and thy prowess\nis now out of place! For we all know beyond a doubt that he is thy\nsuperior.\" Then Meleagant, choking with shame, says to the king: \"I\nthink you must be blind! I do not believe you see a thing. Any one must\nindeed be blind to think I am not better than he.\" \"Seek some one to\nbelieve thy words!\" the king replies, \"for all the people know whether\nthou speakest the truth or a lie. All of us know full well the truth.\"\nThen the king bids his barons lead his son away, which they do at once\nin execution of his command: they led away Meleagant. But it was not\nnecessary to use force to induce Lancelot to withdraw, for Meleagant\nmight have harmed him grievously, before he would have sought to defend\nhimself. Then the king says to his son: \"So help me God, now thou must\nmake peace and surrender the Queen. Thou must cease this quarrel once\nfor all and withdraw thy claim.\" \"That is great nonsense you have\nuttered! I hear you speak foolishly. Stand aside! Let us fight, and do\nnot mix in our affairs!\" But the king says he will take a hand, for he\nknows well that, were the fight to continue, Lancelot would kill his\nson. \"He kill me! Rather would I soon defeat and kill him, if you would\nleave us alone and let us fight.\" Then the king says: \"So help me God,\nall that thou sayest is of no avail.\" \"Why is that?\" he asks. \"Because I\nwill not consent. I will not so trust in thy folly and pride as to allow\nthee to be killed. A man is a fool to court death, as thou dost in thy\nignorance. I know well that thou hatest me because I wish to save thy\nlife. God will not let me see and witness thy death, if I can help it,\nfor it would cause me too much grief.\" He talks to him and reproves him\nuntil finally peace and good-will are restored. The terms of the peace\nare these: he will surrender the Queen to Lancelot, provided that the\nlatter without reluctance will fight them again within a year of such\ntime as he shall choose to summon him: this is no trial to Lancelot.\nWhen peace is made, all the people press about, and it is decided\nthat the battle shall be fought at the court of King Arthur, who holds\nBritain and Cornwall in his sway: there they decide that it shall be.\nAnd the Queen has to consent, and Lancelot has to promise, that if\nMeleagant can prove him recreant, she shall come back with him again\nwithout the interference of any one. When the Queen and Lancelot had\nboth agreed to this, the arrangement was concluded, and they both\nretired and removed their arms. Now the custom in the country was that\nwhen one issued forth, all the others might do so too. All called down\nblessings upon Lancelot: and you may know that he must have felt great\njoy, as in truth he did. All the strangers assemble and rejoice over\nLancelot, speaking so as to be heard by him: \"Sire, in truth we were\njoyful as soon as we heard your name, for we felt sure at once that we\nshould all be set free.\" There was a great crowd present at this glad\nscene, as each one strives and presses forward to touch him if possible.\nAny one who succeeded in touching him was more delighted than he could\ntell. There was plenty of joy, and of sorrow too; those who were now set\nfree rejoiced unrestrainedly; but Meleagant and his followers have not\nanything they want, but are pensive, gloomy, and downcast. The king\nturns away from the list, taking with him Lancelot, who begs him to take\nhim to the Queen. \"I shall not fail to do so,\" the king replies; \"for it\nseems to me the proper thing to do. And if you like, I will show you Kay\nthe seneschal.\" At this Lancelot is so glad that he almost falls at his\nfeet. Then the king took him at once into the hall, where the Queen had\ncome to wait for him.\n\n(Vv. 3955-4030.) When the Queen saw the king holding Lancelot by the\nhand, she rose before the king, but she looked displeased with clouded\nbrow, and she spoke not a word. \"Lady, here is Lancelot come to see\nyou,\" says the king; \"you ought to be pleased and satisfied.\" \"I, sire?\nHe cannot please me. I care nothing about seeing him.\" \"Come now, lady,\"\nsays the king who was very frank and courteous, \"what induces you to\nact like this? You are too scornful toward a man who has served you so\nfaithfully that he has repeatedly exposed his life to mortal danger on\nthis journey for your sake, and who has defended and rescued you from my\nson Meleagant who had deeply wronged you.\" \"Sire, truly he has made\npoor use of his time. I shall never deny that I feel no gratitude toward\nhim.\" Now Lancelot is dumbfounded; but he replies very humbly like a\npolished lover: \"Lady, certainly I am grieved at this, but I dare\nnot ask your reason.\" The Queen listened as Lancelot voiced his\ndisappointment, but in order to grieve and confound him, she would not\nanswer a single word, but returned to her room. And Lancelot followed\nher with his eyes and heart until she reached the door; but she was not\nlong in sight, for the room was close by. His eyes would gladly have\nfollowed her, had that been possible; but the heart, which is more\nlordly and masterful in its strength, went through the door after her,\nwhile the eyes remained behind weeping with the body. And the king said\nprivily to him: \"Lancelot, I am amazed at what this means: and how it\ncomes about that the Queen cannot endure the sight of you, and that she\nis so unwilling to speak with you. If she is ever accustomed to speak\nwith you, she ought not to be niggardly now or avoid conversation with\nyou, after what you have done for her. Now tell me, if you know, why and\nfor what misdeed she has shown you such a countenance.\" \"Sire, I did not\nnotice that just now; but she will not look at me or hear my words, and\nthat distresses and grieves me much.\" \"Surely,\" says the king, \"she is\nin the wrong, for you have risked your life for her. Come away now, fair\nsweet friend, and we shall go to speak with the seneschal.\" \"I shall be\nglad to do so,\" he replies. Then they both go to the seneschal. As soon\nas Lancelot came where he was, the seneschal's first exclamation was:\n\"How thou hast shamed me!\" \"I? How so?\" Lancelot inquires; \"tell me what\ndisgrace have I brought upon you?\" \"A very great disgrace, for thou hast\ncarried out what I could not accomplish, and thou hast done what I could\nnot do.\"\n\n(Vv. 4031-4124.) Then the king left them together in the room, and went\nout alone. And Lancelot inquires of the seneschal if he has been badly\noff. \"Yes,\" he answers, \"and I still am so. I was never more wretched\nthan I am now. And I should have died a long time ago, had it not been\nfor the king, who in his compassion has shown me so much gentleness and\nkindness that he willingly let me lack nothing of which I stood in need;\nbut I was furnished at once with everything that I desired. But opposed\nto the kindness which he showed me, was Meleagant his son, who is full\nof wickedness, and who summoned the physicians to him and bade them\napply such ointments as would kill me. Such a father and stepfather have\nI had! For when the king had a good plaster applied to my wounds in his\ndesire that I should soon be cured, his treacherous son, wishing to put\nme to death, had it promptly taken off and some harmful salve applied.\nBut I am very sure that the king was ignorant of this; he would not\ntolerate such base and murderous tricks. But you do not know how\ncourteous he has been to my lady: no frontier tower since the time that\nNoah built the ark was ever so carefully guarded, for he has guarded her\nso vigilantly that, though his son chafed under the restraint, he would\nnor let him see her except in the presence of the king himself. Up to\nthe present time the king in his mercy has shown her all the marks of\nconsideration which she herself proposed. She alone had the disposition\nof her affairs. And the king esteemed her all the more for the loyalty\nshe showed. But is it true, as I am told, that she is so angry with you\nthat she has publicly refused to speak with you?\" \"You have been told\nthe exact truth,\" Lancelot replies, \"but for God's sake, can you tell me\nwhy she is so displeased with me?\" He replies that he does not know, and\nthat he is greatly surprised at it. \"Well, let it be as she pleases,\"\nsays Lancelot, feeling his helplessness; \"I must now take my leave, and\nI shall go to seek my lord Gawain who has entered this land, and who\narranged with me that he would proceed directly to the waterbridge.\"\nThen, leaving the room, he appeared before the king and asked for leave\nto proceed in that direction. And the king willingly grants him leave to\ngo. Then those whom Lancelot had set free and delivered from prison ask\nhim what they are to do. And he replies: \"All those who desire may come\nwith me, and those who wish to stay with the Queen may do so: there is\nno reason why they should accompany me.\" Then all those, who so desire,\naccompany him, more glad and joyous than is their wont. With the Queen\nremain her damsels who are light of heart, and many knights and ladies\ntoo. But there is not one of those who stay behind, who would not have\npreferred to return to his own country to staying there. But on my\nlord Gawain's account, whose arrival is expected, the Queen keeps them,\nsaying that she will never stir until she has news of him.\n\n(Vv. 4125-4262.) The news spreads everywhere that the Queen is free to\ngo, and that all the other prisoners have been set at liberty and are\nfree to go whenever it suits and pleases them. Wherever the people of\nthe land gather together, they ask each other about the truth of this\nreport, and never talk of anything else. They are very much enraged that\nall the dangerous passes have been overcome, and that any one may come\nand go as he pleases. But when the natives of the country, who had not\nbeen present at the battle, learned how Lancelot had been the victor,\nthey all betook themselves to the place where they knew he must pass\nby, thinking that the king would be well pleased if they should seize\nLancelot and hale him back to him. All of his own men were without\ntheir arms, and therefore they were at a disadvantage when they saw the\nnatives of the country coming under arms. It was not strange that they\nseized Lancelot, who was without his arms. They lead him back prisoner,\nhis feet lashed together beneath his horse. Then his own men say:\n\"Gentlemen, this is an evil deed; for the king has given us his\nsafe-conduct, and we are under his protection.\" But the others reply:\n\"We do not know how that may be; but as we have taken you, you must\nreturn with us to court.\" The rumour, which swiftly flies and runs,\nreaches the king, that his men have seized Lancelot and put him to\ndeath. When the king hears it, he is sorely grieved and swears angrily\nby his head that they who have killed him shall surely die for the deed;\nand that, if he can seize or catch them, it shall be their fate to be\nhanged, burned, or drowned. And if they attempt to deny their deed, he\nwill not believe what they say, for they have brought him such grief and\nshame that he would be disgraced were vengeance not to be exacted from\nthem; but he will be avenged without a doubt. The news of this spread\nuntil it reached the Queen, who was sitting at meat. She almost killed\nherself on hearing the false report about Lancelot, but she supposes it\nto be true, and therefore she is in such dismay that she almost loses\nthe power to speak; but, because of those present, she forces herself\nto say: \"In truth, I am sorry for his death, and it is no wonder that\nI grieve, for he came into this country for my sake, and therefore I\nshould mourn for him.\" Then she says to herself, so that the others\nshould not hear, that no one need ask her to drink or eat, if it is\ntrue that he is dead, in whose life she found her own. Then grieving she\nrises from the table, and makes her lament, but so that no one hears\nor notices her. She is so beside herself that she repeatedly grasps\nher throat with the desire to kill herself; but first she confesses to\nherself, and repents with self-reproach, blaming and censuring herself\nfor the wrong she had done him, who, as she knew, had always been hers,\nand would still be hers, if he were alive. She is so distressed at\nthe thought of her cruelty, that her beauty is seriously impaired. Her\ncruelty and meanness affected her and marred her beauty more than all\nthe vigils and fastings with which she afflicted herself. When all her\nsins rise up before her, she gathers them together, and as she reviews\nthem, she repeatedly exclaims: \"Alas! of what was I thinking when my\nlover stood before me and I should have welcomed him, that I would not\nlisten to his words? Was I not a fool, when I refused to look at or\nspeak to him? Foolish indeed? Rather was I base and cruel, so help me\nGod. I intended it as a jest, but he did not take it so, and has not\npardoned me. I am sure it was no one but me who gave him his death-blow.\nWhen he came before me smiling and expecting that I would be glad to\nsee him and would welcome him, and when I would not look at him, was not\nthat a mortal blow? When I refused to speak with him, then doubtless at\none blow I deprived him of his heart and life. These two strokes have\nkilled him, I am sure; no other bandits have caused his death. God! can\nI ever make amends for this murder and this crime? No, indeed; sooner\nwill the rivers and the sea dry up. Alas! how much better I should feel,\nand how much comfort I should take, if only once before he died I had\nheld him in my arms! What? Yes, certainly, quite unclad, in order the\nbetter to enjoy him. If he is dead, I am very wicked not to destroy\nmyself. Why? Can it harm my lover for me to live on after he is dead, if\nI take no pleasure in anything but in the woe I bear for him? In giving\nmyself up to grief after his death, the very woes I court would be sweet\nto me, if he were only still alive. It is wrong for a woman to wish to\ndie rather than to suffer for her lover's sake. It is certainly sweet\nfor me to mourn him long. I would rather be beaten alive than die and be\nat rest.\"\n\n(Vv. 4263-4414.) For two days the Queen thus mourned for him without\neating or drinking, until they thought she too would die. There are\nplenty of people ready to carry bad news rather than good. The news\nreaches Lancelot that his lady and sweetheart is dead. You need have\nno doubt of the grief he felt; every one may feel sure that he was\nafflicted and overcome with grief. Indeed, if you would know the truth,\nhe was so downcast that he held his life in slight esteem. He wished to\nkill himself at once, but first he uttered a brief lament. He makes\na running noose at one end of the belt he wore, and then tearfully\ncommunes thus with himself: \"Ah, death, how hast thou spied me out and\nundone me, when in the bloom of health! I am undone, and yet I feel no\npain except the grief within my heart. This is a terrible mortal grief.\nI am willing that it should be so, and if God will, I shall die of it.\nThen can I not die some other way, without God's consent? Yes, if he\nwill let me tie this noose around my neck. I think I can compel death,\neven against her will, to take my life. Death, who covets only those\nwho fear her, will not come to me; but my belt will bring her within my\npower, and as soon as she is mine, she will execute my desire. But, in\ntruth, she will come too tardily for me, for I yearn to have her now!\"\nThen he delays and hesitates no longer, but adjusts his head within the\nnoose until it rests about his neck; and in order that he may not\nfail to harm himself, he fastens the end of the belt tightly about the\nsaddle-bow, without attracting the attention of any one. Then he let\nhimself slide to earth, intending his horse to drag him until he was\nlifeless, for he disdains to live another hour. When those who ride with\nhim see him fallen to earth, they suppose him to be in a faint, for no\none sees the noose which he had attached about his neck. At once they\ncaught him in their arms and, on raising him, they found the noose which\nhe had put around his neck and with which he sought to kill himself.\nThey quickly cut the noose; but the noose had so hurt his throat that\nfor some time he could not speak; the veins of his neck and throat are\nalmost broken. Now he could not harm himself, even had he wished to\ndo so; however, he is grieved that they have laid hands on him, and he\nalmost burns up with rage, for willingly would he have killed himself\nhad no one chanced to notice him. And now when he cannot harm himself,\nhe cries: \"Ah, vile and shameless death! For God's sake, why hadst thou\nnot the power and might to kill me before my lady died? I suppose it\nwas because thou wouldst not deign to do what might be a kindly deed. If\nthou didst spare me, it must be attributed to thy wickedness. Ah, what\nkind of service and kindness is that! How well hast thou employed them\nhere! A curse upon him who thanks thee or feels gratitude for such a\nservice! I know not which is more my enemy: life, which detains me, or\ndeath, which will not slay me. Each one torments me mortally; and it\nserves me right, so help me God, that in spite of myself I should still\nlive on. For I ought to have killed myself as soon as my lady the Queen\nshowed her hate for me; she did not do it without cause, but she had\nsome good reason, though I know not what it is. And if I had known what\nit was before her soul went to God, I should have made her such rich\namends as would have pleased her and gained her mercy. God! what could\nmy crime have been? I think she must have known that I mounted upon the\ncart. I do not know what other cause she can have to blame me. This has\nbeen my undoing. If this is the reason of her hate, God! what harm could\nthis crime do? Any one who would reproach me for such an act never knew\nwhat love is, for no one could mention anything which, if prompted by\nlove, ought to be turned into a reproach. Rather, everything that one\ncan do for his lady-love is to be regarded as a token of his love and\ncourtesy. Yet, I did not do it for my 'lady-love'. I know not by what\nname to call her, whether 'lady-love', or not. I do not dare to call her\nby this name. But I think I know this much of love: that if she loved\nme, she ought not to esteem me less for this crime, but rather call me\nher true lover, inasmuch as I regarded it as an honour to do all love\nbade me do, even to mount upon a cart. She ought to ascribe this to\nlove; and this is a certain proof that love thus tries his devotees and\nthus learns who is really his. But this service did not please my lady,\nas I discovered by her countenance. And yet her lover did for her that\nfor which many have shamefully reproached and blamed him, though she was\nthe cause of it; and many blame me for the part I have played, and have\nturned my sweetness into bitterness. In truth, such is the custom of\nthose who know so little of love, that even honour they wash in shame.\nBut whoever dips honour into shame, does not wash it, but rather sullies\nit. But they, who maltreat him so, are quite ignorant of love; and he,\nwho fears not his commands, boasts himself very superior to him.\nFor unquestionably he fares well who obeys the commands of love, and\nwhatever he does is pardonable, but he is the coward who does not dare.\"\n\n(Vv. 4415-4440.) Thus Lancelot makes his lament, and his men stand\ngrieving by his side, keeping hold of him and guarding him. Then the\nnews comes that the Queen is not dead. Thereupon Lancelot at once takes\ncomfort, and if his grief for her death had before been intense and\ndeep, now his joy for her life was a hundred thousand times as great.\nAnd when they arrived within six or seven leagues of the castle where\nKing Bademagu was, grateful news of Lancelot was told him, how he was\nalive and was coming hale and hearty, and this news the king was glad\nto hear. He did a very courteous thing in going at once to appraise the\nQueen. And she replies: \"Fair sire, since you say so, I believe it is\ntrue, but I assure you that, if he were dead, I should never be happy\nagain. All my joy would be cut off, if a knight had been killed in my\nservice.\"\n\n(Vv. 4441-4530.) Then the king leaves her, and the Queen yearns ardently\nfor the arrival of her lover and her joy. She has no desire this time\nto bear him any grudge. But rumour, which never rests but runs always\nunceasingly, again reaches the Queen to the effect that Lancelot would\nhave killed himself for her sake, if he had had the chance. She is happy\nat the thought that this is true, but she would not have had it happen\nso for anything, for her sorrow would have been too great. Thereupon\nLancelot arrived in haste. [422] As soon as the king sees him, he runs\nto kiss and embrace him. He feels as if he ought to fly, borne along by\nthe buoyancy of his joy. But his satisfaction is cut short by those who\nhad taken and bound his guest, and the king tells them they have come\nin an evil hour, for they shall all be killed and confounded. Then they\nmade answer that they thought he would have it so. \"It is I whom you\nhave insulted in doing your pleasure. He has no reason to complain,\"\nthe king replies; \"you have not shamed him at all, but only me who was\nprotecting him. However you look at it, the shame is mine. But if you\nescape me now, you will see no joke in this.\" When Lancelot hears his\nwrath, he puts forth every effort to make peace and adjust matters; when\nhis efforts have met with success, the king takes him away to see the\nQueen. This time the Queen did not lower her eyes to the ground, but she\nwent to meet him cheerfully, honouring him all she could, and making him\nsit down by her side. Then they talked together at length of all that\nwas upon their hearts, and love furnished them with so much to say that\ntopics did not lack. And when Lancelot sees how well he stands, and that\nall he says finds favour with the Queen, he says to her in confidence:\n\"Lady, I marvel greatly why you received me with such a countenance when\nyou saw me the day before yesterday, and why you would not speak a word\nto me: I almost died of the blow you gave me, and I had not the courage\nto dare to question you about it, as I now venture to do. I am ready\nnow, lady, to make amends, when you have told me what has been the crime\nwhich has caused me such distress.\" Then the Queen replies: \"What? Did\nyou not hesitate for shame to mount the cart? You showed you were loath\nto get in, when you hesitated for two whole steps. That is the reason\nwhy I would neither address nor look at you.\" \"May God save me from such\na crime again,\" Lancelot replies, \"and may God show me no mercy, if you\nwere not quite right! For God's sake, lady, receive my amends at once,\nand tell me, for God's sake, if you can ever pardon me.\" \"Friend, you\nare quite forgiven,\" the Queen replies; \"I pardon you willingly.\" \"Thank\nyou for that, lady,\" he then says; \"but I cannot tell you here all that\nI should like to say; I should like to talk with you more at leisure, if\npossible.\" Then the Queen indicates a window by her glance rather than\nwith her finger, and says: \"Come through the garden to-night and speak\nwith me at yonder window, when every one inside has gone to sleep. You\nwill not be able to get in: I shall be inside and you outside: to gain\nentrance will be impossible. I shall be able to touch you only with my\nlips or hand, but, if you please, I will stay there until morning for\nlove of you. Our bodies cannot be joined, for close beside me in my room\nlies Kay the seneschal, who is still suffering from his wounds. And the\ndoor is not open, but is tightly closed and guarded well. When you come,\ntake care to let no spy catch sight of you.\" \"Lady,\" says he, \"if I can\nhelp it, no spy shall see me who might think or speak evil of us.\" Then,\nhaving agreed upon this plan, they separate very joyfully.\n\n(Vv. 4551-4650.) Lancelot leaves the room in such a happy frame that all\nhis past troubles are forgotten. But he was so impatient for the night\nto come that his restlessness made the day seem longer than a hundred\nordinary days or than an entire year. If night had only come, he would\ngladly have gone to the trysting place. Dark and sombre night at last\nwon its struggle with the day, and wrapped it up in its covering, and\nlaid it away beneath its cloak. When he saw the light of day obscured,\nhe pretended to be tired and worn, and said that, in view of his\nprotracted vigils, he needed rest. You, who have ever done the same, may\nwell understand and guess that he pretends to be tired and goes to bed\nin order to deceive the people of the house; but he cared nothing about\nhis bed, nor would he have sought rest there for anything, for he could\nnot have done so and would not have dared, and furthermore he would not\nhave cared to possess the courage or the power to do so. Soon he softly\nrose, and was pleased to find that no moon or star was shining, and that\nin the house there was no candle, lamp, or lantern burning. Thus he went\nout and looked about, but there was no one on the watch for him, for\nall thought that he would sleep in his bed all night. Without escort or\ncompany he quickly went out into the garden, meeting no one on the way,\nand he was so fortunate as to find that a part of the garden-wall had\nrecently fallen down. Through this break he passes quickly and proceeds\nto the window, where he stands, taking good care not to cough or sneeze,\nuntil the Queen arrives clad in a very white chemise. She wore no cloak\nor coat, but had thrown over her a short cape of scarlet cloth and\nshrew-mouse fur. As soon as Lancelot saw the Queen leaning on the\nwindow-sill behind the great iron bars, he honoured her with a gentle\nsalute. She promptly returned his greeting, for he was desirous of her,\nand she of him. Their talk and conversation are not of vulgar, tiresome\naffairs. They draw close to one another, until each holds the other's\nhand. But they are so distressed at not being able to come together more\ncompletely, that they curse the iron bars. Then Lancelot asserts that,\nwith the Queen's consent, he will come inside to be with her, and that\nthe bars cannot keep him out. And the Queen replies: \"Do you not see how\nthe bars are stiff to bend and hard to break? You could never so twist,\npull or drag at them as to dislodge one of them.\" \"Lady,\" says he, \"have\nno fear of that. It would take more than these bars to keep me out.\nNothing but your command could thwart my power to come to you. If you\nwill but grant me your permission, the way will open before me. But if\nit is not your pleasure, then the way is so obstructed that I could not\npossibly pass through.\" \"Certainly,\" she says, \"I consent. My will need\nnot stand in your way; but you must wait until I retire to my bed again,\nso that no harm may come to you, for it would be no joke or jest if the\nseneschal, who is sleeping here, should wake up on hearing you. So it is\nbest for me to withdraw, for no good could come of it, if he should see\nme standing here.\" \"Go then, lady,\" he replies; \"but have no fear that I\nshall make any noise. I think I can draw out the bars so softly and with\nso little effort that no one shall be aroused.\"\n\n(Vv. 4651-4754.) Then the Queen retires, and he prepares to loosen the\nwindow. Seizing the bars, he pulls and wrenches them until he makes them\nbend and drags them from their places. But the iron was so sharp that\nthe end of his little finger was cut to the nerve, and the first joint\nof the next finger was torn; but he who is intent upon something else\npaid no heed to any of his wounds or to the blood which trickled down.\nThough the window is not low, Lancelot gets through it quickly and\neasily. First he finds Kay asleep in his bed, then he comes to the bed\nof the Queen, whom he adores and before whom he kneels, holding her more\ndear than the relic of any saint. And the Queen extends her arms to him\nand, embracing him, presses him tightly against her bosom, drawing him\ninto the bed beside her and showing him every possible satisfaction; her\nlove and her heart go out to him. It is love that prompts her to treat\nhim so; and if she feels great love for him, he feels a hundred thousand\ntimes as much for her. For there is no love at all in other hearts\ncompared with what there is in his; in his heart love was so completely\nembodied that it was niggardly toward all other hearts. Now Lancelot\npossesses all he wants, when the Queen voluntarily seeks his company\nand love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she holds him in hers.\nTheir sport is so agreeable and sweet, as they kiss and fondle each\nother, that in truth such a marvellous joy comes over them as was never\nheard or known. But their joy will not be revealed by me, for in a\nstory, it has no place. Yet, the most choice and delightful satisfaction\nwas precisely that of which our story must not speak. That night\nLancelot's joy and pleasure were very great. But, to his sorrow, day\ncomes when he must leave his mistress' side. It cost him such pain to\nleave her that he suffered a real martyr's agony. His heart now stays\nwhere the Queen remains; he has not the power to lead it away, for it\nfinds such pleasure in the Queen that it has no desire to leave her:\nso his body goes, and his heart remains. But enough of his body stays\nbehind to spot and stain the sheets with the blood which has fallen from\nhis fingers. Full of sighs and tears, Lancelot leaves in great distress.\nHe grieves that no time is fixed for another meeting, but it cannot\nbe. Regretfully he leaves by the window through which he had entered so\nhappily. He was so badly wounded in the fingers that they were in sorry,\nstate; yet he straightened the bars and set them in their place again,\nso that from neither side, either before or behind, was it evident that\nany one had drawn out or bent any of the bars. When he leaves the room,\nhe bows and acts precisely as if he were before a shrine; then he goes\nwith a heavy heart, and reaches his lodgings without being recognised by\nany one. He throws himself naked upon his bed without awaking any one,\nand then for the first time he is surprised to notice the cuts in his\nfingers; but he is not at all concerned, for he is very sure that the\nwound was caused by dragging the window bars from the wall. Therefore he\nwas not at all worried, for he would rather have had both arms dragged\nfrom his body than not enter through the window. But he would have been\nvery angry and distressed, if he had thus injured and wounded himself\nunder any other circumstances.\n\n(Vv. 4755-5006.) In the morning, within her curtained room, the Queen\nhad fallen into a gentle sleep; she had not noticed that her sheets\nwere spotted with blood, but she supposed them to be perfectly white\nand clean and presentable. Now Meleagant, as soon as he was dressed and\nready, went to the room where the Queen lay. He finds her awake, and he\nsees the sheets spotted with fresh drops of blood, whereupon he nudges\nhis companions and, suspicious of some mischief, looks at the bed of Kay\nthe seneschal, and sees that his sheets are blood-stained too, for you\nmust know that in the night his wounds had begun to bleed afresh. Then\nhe said: \"Lady, now I have found the evidence that I desired. It is very\ntrue that any man is a fool to try to confine a woman: he wastes his\nefforts and his pains. He who tries to keep her under guard loses her\nsooner than the man who takes no thought of her. A fine watch, indeed,\nhas been kept by my father, who is guarding you on my behalf! He\nhas succeeded in keeping you from me, but, in spite of him, Kay the\nseneschal has looked upon you last night, and has done what he pleased\nwith you, as can readily be proved.\" \"What is that?\" she asks. \"Since I\nmust speak, I find blood on your sheets, which proves the fact. I know\nit and can prove it, because I find on both your sheets and his the\nblood which issued from his wounds: the evidence is very strong.\"\nThen the Queen saw on both beds the bloody sheets, and marvelling, she\nblushed with shame and said: \"So help me God, this blood which I see\nupon my sheets was never brought here by Kay, but my nose bled during\nthe night, and I suppose it must be from my nose.\" In saying so, she\nthinks she tells the truth. \"By my head,\" says Meleagant, \"there is\nnothing in what you say. Swearing is of no avail, for you are taken\nin your guilt, and the truth will soon be proved.\" Then he said to the\nguards who were present: \"Gentlemen, do not move, and see to it that the\nsheets are not taken from the bed until I return. I wish the king to do\nme justice, as soon as he has seen the truth.\" Then he searched until he\nfound him, and failing at his feet, he said: \"Sire, come to see what\nyou have failed to guard. Come to see the Queen, and you shall see the\ncertain marvels which I have already seen and tested. But, before you\ngo, I beg you not to fail to be just and upright toward me. You know\nwell to what danger I have exposed myself for the Queen; yet, you are no\nfriend of mine and keep her from me under guard. This morning I went to\nsee her in her bed, and I remarked that Kay lies with her every night.\nSire, for God's sake, be not angry, if I am disgruntled and if I\ncomplain. For it is very humiliating for me to be hated and despised by\none with whom Kay is allowed to lie.\" \"Silence!\" says the king; \"I don't\nbelieve it.\" \"Then come, my lord, and see the sheets and the state in\nwhich Kay has left them. Since you will not believe my words, and since\nyou think I am lying, I will show you the sheets and the quilt covered\nwith blood from Kay's wounds.\" \"Come now,\" says the king, \"I wish to\nsee for myself, and my eyes will judge of the truth.\" Then the king goes\ndirectly to the room, where the Queen got up at his approach. He sees\nthat the sheets are blood-stained on her bed and on Kay's alike and he\nsays: \"Lady, it is going badly now, if what my son has said is true.\"\nThen she replies: \"So help me God, never even in a dream was uttered\nsuch a monstrous lie. I think Kay the seneschal is courteous and loyal\nenough not to commit such a deed, and besides, I do not expose my body\nin the market-place, nor offer it of my own free will. Surely, Kay\nis not the man to make an insulting proposal to me, and I have never\ndesired and shall never desire to do such a thing myself.\" \"Sire, I\nshall be much obliged to you,\" says Meleagant to his father, \"if Kay\nshall be made to atone for this outrage, and the Queen's shame thus\nbe exposed. It devolves upon you to see that justice is done, and this\njustice I now request and claim. Kay has betrayed King Arthur, his lord,\nwho had such confidence in him that he entrusted to him what he loved\nmost in the world.\" \"Let me answer, sire,\" says Kay, \"and I shall\nexonerate myself. May God have no mercy upon my soul when I leave this\nworld, if I ever lay with my lady! Indeed, I should rather be dead than\never do my lord such an ugly wrong, and may God never grant me better\nhealth than I have now but rather kill me on the spot, if such a thought\never entered my mind! But I know that my wounds bled profusely last\nnight, and that is the reason why my sheets are stained with blood. That\nis why your son suspects me, but surely he has no right to do so.\"\nAnd Meleagant answers him: \"So help me God, the devils and demons have\nbetrayed you. You grew too heated last night and, as a result of your\nexertions, your wounds have doubtless bled afresh. There is no use in\nyour denying it; we can see it, and it is perfectly evident. It is\nright that he should atone for his crime, who is so plainly taken in his\nguilt. Never did a knight with so fair a name commit such iniquities\nas this, and yours is the shame for it.\" \"Sire, sire,\" says Kay to the\nking, \"I will defend the Queen and myself against the accusation of your\nson. He harasses and distresses me, though he has no ground to treat me\nso.\" \"You cannot fight,\" the king replies, \"you are too ill.\" \"Sire, if\nyou will allow it, I will fight with him, ill as I am, and will show\nhim that I am not guilty of the crime which he imputes to me.\" But the\nQueen, having secretly sent word to Lancelot, tells the king that she\nwill present a knight who will defend the seneschal, if Meleagant dares\nto urge this charge. Then Meleagant said at once: \"There is no knight\nwithout exception, even were he a giant, whom I will not fight until one\nof us is defeated.\" Then Lancelot came in, and with him such a rout\nof knights that the whole hall was filled with them. As soon as he had\nentered, in the hearing of all, both young and old, the Queen told\nwhat had happened, and said: \"Lancelot, this insult has been done me\nby Meleagant. In the presence of all who hear his words he says I have\nlied, if you do not make him take it back. Last night, he asserted,\nKay lay with me, because he found my sheets, like his, all stained with\nblood; and he says that he stands convicted, unless he will undertake\nhis own defence, or unless some one else will fight the battle on his\nbehalf.\" Lancelot says: \"You need never use arguments with me. May it\nnot please God that either you or he should be thus discredited! I am\nready to fight and to prove to the extent of my power that he never\nwas guilty of such a thought. I am ready to employ my strength in his\nbehalf, and to defend him against this charge.\" Then Meleagant jumped up\nand said: \"So help me God, I am pleased and well satisfied with that:\nno one need think that I object.\" And Lancelot said: \"My lord king, I\nam well acquainted with suits and laws, with trials and verdicts: in\na question of veracity an oath should be taken before the fight.\"\nMeleagant at once replies: \"I agree to take an oath; so let the relics\nbe brought at once, for I know well that I am right.\" And Lancelot\nanswers him: \"So help me God, no one who ever knew Kay the seneschal\nwould doubt his word on such a point.\" Then they call for their horses,\nand ask that their arms be brought. This is promptly done, and when\nthe valets had armed them, they were ready for the fight. Then the holy\nrelics are brought forth: Meleagant steps forward, with Lancelot by his\nside, and both fall on their knees. Then Meleagant, laying his hands\nupon the relics, swears unreservedly: \"So help me God and this holy\nrelic, Kay the seneschal lay with the Queen in her bed last night\nand, had his pleasure with her.\" \"And I swear that thou liest,\" says\nLancelot, \"and furthermore I swear that he neither lay with her nor\ntouched her. And may it please God to take vengeance upon him who has\nlied, and may He bring the truth to light! Moreover, I will take another\noath and swear, whoever may dislike it or be displeased, that if I am\npermitted to vanquish Meleagant to-day, I will show him no mercy, so\nhelp me God and these relics here!\" The king felt no joy when he heard\nthis oath.\n\n(Vv. 5007-5198.) When the oaths had been taken, their horses were\nbrought forward, which were fair and good in every way. Each man mounts\nhis own home, and they ride at once at each other as fast as the steeds\ncan carry them; and when the horses are in mid-career, the knights\nstrike each other so fiercely that there is nothing left of the lances\nin their hands. Each brings the other to earth; however, they are not\ndismayed, but they rise at once and attack each other with their sharp\ndrawn swords. The burning sparks fly in the air from their helmets. They\nassail each other so bitterly with the drawn swords in their hands that,\nas they thrust and draw, they encounter each other with their blows and\nwill not pause even to catch their breath. The king in his grief and\nanxiety called the Queen, who had gone up in the tower to look out from\nthe balcony: he begged her for God's sake, the Creator, to let them be\nseparated. \"Whatever is your pleasure is agreeable to me,\" the Queen\nsays honestly: \"I shall not object to anything you do.\" Lancelot plainly\nheard what reply the Queen made to the king's request, and from\nthat time he ceased to fight and renounced the struggle at once. But\nMeleagant does not wish to stop, and continues to strike and hew at him.\nBut the king rushes between them and stops his son, who declares with an\noath that he has no desire for peace. He wants to fight, and cares not\nfor peace. Then the king says to him: \"Be quiet, and take my advice, and\nbe sensible. No shame or harm shall come to thee, if thou wilt do what\nis right and heed my words. Dost thou not remember that thou hast agreed\nto fight him at King Arthur's court? And dost thou not suppose that\nit would be a much greater honour for thee to defeat him there than\nanywhere else?\" The king says this to see if he can so influence him as\nto appease him and separate them. And Lancelot, who was impatient to\ngo in search of my lord Gawain, requests leave of the king and Queen to\ndepart. With their permission he goes away toward the water-bridge, and\nafter him there followed a great company of knights. But it would have\nsuited him very well, if many of those who went had stayed behind. They\nmake long days' journeys until they approach the water-bridge, but are\nstill about a league from it. Before they came in sight of the bridge, a\ndwarf came to meet them on a mighty hunter, holding a scourge with which\nto urge on and incite his steed. In accordance with his instructions, he\nat once inquired: \"Which of you is Lancelot? Don't conceal him from me;\nI am of your party; tell me confidently, for I ask the question for your\ngood.\" Lancelot replies in his own behalf, and says: \"I am he whom thou\nseekest and askest for.\" \"Ah,\" says the dwarf, \"frank knight, leave\nthese people, and trust in me. Come along with me alone, for I will take\nthee to a goodly place. Let no one follow thee for anything, but let\nthem wait here; for we shall return presently.\" He, suspecting no harm\nin this, bids all his men stay there, and follows the dwarf who has\nbetrayed him. Meanwhile his men who wait for him may continue to expect\nhim long in vain, for they, who have taken and seized him, have no\ndesire to give him up. And his men are in such a state of grief at his\nfailure to return that they do not know what steps to take. They all\nsay sorrowfully that the dwarf has betrayed them. It would be useless to\ninquire for him: with heavy hearts they begin to search, but they know\nnot where to look for him with any hope of finding him. So they all take\ncounsel, and the most reasonable and sensible agree on this, it seems:\nto go to the passage of the water-bridge, which is close by, to see if\nthey can find my lord Gawain in wood or plain, and then with his advice\nsearch for Lancelot. Upon this plan they all agree without dissension.\nToward the water-bridge they go, and as soon as they reach the bridge,\nthey see my lord Gawain overturned and fallen from the bridge into the\nstream which is very deep. One moment he rises, and the next he sinks;\none moment they see him, and the next they lose him from sight. They\nmake such efforts that they succeed in raising him with branches, poles\nand hooks. He had nothing but his hauberk on his back, and on his head\nwas fixed his helmet, which was worth ten of the common sort, and he\nwore his iron greaves, which were all rusty with his sweat, for he had\nendured great trials, and had passed victoriously through many perils\nand assaults. His lance, his shield, and horse were all behind on the\nother bank. Those who have rescued him do not believe he is alive. For\nhis body was full of water, and until he got rid of it, they did not\nhear him speak a word. But when his speech and voice and the passageway\nto his heart are free, and as soon, as what he said could be heard and\nunderstood, he tried to speak he inquired at once for the Queen, whether\nthose present had any news of her. And they replied that she is still\nwith King Bademagu, who serves her well and honourably. \"Has no one come\nto seek her in this land?\" my lord Gawain then inquires of them. And\nthey answer him: \"Yes, indeed.\" \"Who?\" \"Lancelot of the Lake,\" they say,\n\"who crossed the sword-bridge, and rescued and delivered her as well\nas all the rest of us. But we have been betrayed by a pot-bellied,\nhumpbacked, and crabbed dwarf. He has deceived us shamefully in seducing\nLancelot from us, and we do not know what he has done with him.\" \"When\nwas that?\" my lord Gawain inquires. \"Sire, near here this very day this\ntrick was played on us, while he was coming with us to meet you.\" \"And\nhow has Lancelot been occupied since he entered this land?\" Then they\nbegin to tell him all about him in detail, and then they tell him about\nthe Queen, how she is waiting for him and asserting that nothing could\ninduce her to leave the country, until she sees him or hears some\ncredible news of him. To them my lord Gawain replies: \"When we leave\nthis bridge, we shall go to search for Lancelot.\" There is not one who\ndoes not advise rather that they go to the Queen at once, and have the\nking seek Lancelot, for it is their opinion that his son Meleagant has\nshown his enmity by having him cast into prison. But if the king can\nlearn where he is, he will certainly make him surrender him: they can\nrely upon this with confidence.\n\n(Vv. 5199-5256.) They all agreed upon this plan, and started at once\nupon their way until they drew near the court where the Queen and king\nwere. There, too, was Kay the seneschal, and that disloyal man, full\nto overflowing of treachery, who has aroused the greatest anxiety for\nLancelot on the part of the party which now arrives. They feel they\nhave been discomfited and betrayed, and they make great lament in their\nmisery. It is not a gracious message which reports this mourning to\nthe Queen. Nevertheless, she deports herself with as good a grace as\npossible. She resolves to endure it, as she must, for the sake of my\nlord Gawain. However, she does not so conceal her grief that it does not\nsomewhat appear. She has to show both joy and grief at once: her heart\nis empty for Lancelot, and to my lord Gawain she shows excessive joy.\nEvery one who hears of the loss of Lancelot is grief-stricken and\ndistracted. The king would have rejoiced at the coming of my lord\nGawain and would have been delighted with his acquaintance; but he is\nso sorrowful and distressed over the betrayal of Lancelot that he is\nprostrated and full of grief. And the Queen beseeches him insistently\nto have him searched for, up and down throughout the land, without\npostponement or delay. My lord Gawain and Kay and all the others join\nin this prayer and request. \"Leave this care to me, and speak no more\nof it,\" the king replies, \"for I have been ready to do so for some\ntime. Without need of request or prayer this search shall be made with\nthoroughness.\" Everyone bows in sign of gratitude, and the king at once\nsends messengers through his realm, sagacious and prudent men-at-arms,\nwho inquired for him throughout the land. They made inquiry for him\neverywhere, but gained no certain news of him. Not finding any, they\ncome back to the place where the knights remain; then Gawain and Kay and\nall the others say that they will go in search of him, fully armed and\nlance in rest; they will not trust to sending some one else.\n\n(Vv. 5257-5378.) One day after dinner they were all in the hall putting\non their arms, and the point had been reached where there was nothing to\ndo but start, when a valet entered and passed by them all until he came\nbefore the Queen, whose cheeks were by no means rosy! For she was in\nsuch mourning for Lancelot, of whom she had no news, that she had lost\nall her colour. The valet greeted her as well as the king, who was by\nher side, and then all the others and Kay and my lord Gawain. He held a\nletter in his hand which he gave to the king, who took it. The king had\nit read in the hearing of all by one who made no mistake in reading it.\nThe reader knew full well how to communicate to them what was written in\nthe parchment: he says that Lancelot sends greetings to the king as his\nkind lord, and thanks him for the honour and kindness he has shown him,\nand that he now places himself at the king's orders. And know that he\nis now hale and hearty at King Arthur's court, and he bids him tell\nthe Queen to come thither, if she will consent, in company with my lord\nGawain and Kay. In proof of which, he affixed his signature which they\nshould recognise, as indeed they did. At this they were very happy and\nglad; the whole court resounds with their jubilation, and they say they\nwill start next day as soon as it is light. So, when the day broke, they\nmake ready and prepare: they rise and mount and start. With great joy\nand jubilee the king escorts them for a long distance on their way. When\nhe has conducted them to the frontier and has seen them safely across\nthe border, he takes leave of the Queen, and likewise of all the rest.\nAnd when he comes to take his leave, the Queen is careful to express\nher gratitude for all the kindness he has shown to her, and throwing\nher arms about his neck, she offers and promises him her own service and\nthat of her lord: no greater promise can she make. And my lord Gawain\npromises his service to him, as to his lord and friend, and then Kay\ndoes likewise, and all the rest. Then the king commends them to God as\nthey start upon their way. After these three, he bids the rest farewell,\nand then turns his face toward home. The Queen and her company do not\ntarry a single day until news of them reaches the court. King Arthur\nwas delighted at the news of the Queen's approach, and he is happy and\npleased at the thought that his nephew had brought about the Queen's\nreturn, as well as that of Kay and of the lesser folk. But the truth is\nquite different from what he thinks. All the town is cleared as they go\nto meet them, and knights and vassals join in shouting as they approach:\n\"Welcome to my lord Gawain, who has brought back the Queen and many\nanother captive lady, and has freed for us many prisoners!\" Then Gawain\nanswered them: \"Gentlemen, I do not deserve your praise. Do not trouble\never to say this again, for the compliment does not apply to me. This\nhonour causes me only shame, for I did not reach the Queen in time; my\ndetention made me late. But Lancelot reached there in time, and won such\nhonour as was never won by any other knight.\" \"Where is he, then, fair\ndear sire, for we do not see him here?\" \"Where?\" echoes my lord Gawain;\n\"at the court of my lord the King, to be sure. Is he not?\" \"No, he is\nnot here, or anywhere else in this country. Since my lady was taken\naway, we have had no news of him.\" Then for the first time my lord\nGawain realised that the letter had been forged, and that they had been\nbetrayed and deceived: by the letter they had been misled. Then they all\nbegin to lament, and they come thus weeping to the court, where the King\nat once asks for information about the affair. There were plenty who\ncould tell him how much Lancelot had done, how the Queen and all the\ncaptives were delivered from durance by him, and by what treachery the\ndwarf had stolen him and drawn him away from them. This news is not\npleasing to the King, and he is very sorry and full of grief; but his\nheart is so lightened by the pleasure he takes in the Queen's return,\nthat his grief concludes in joy. When he has what he most desires, he\ncares little for the rest.\n\n(Vv. 5379-5514.) While the Queen was out of the country, I believe, the\nladies and the damsels who were disconsolate, decided among themselves\nthat they would marry, soon, and they organised a contest and a\ntournament. The lady of Noauz was patroness of it, with the lady of\nPomelegloi. They will have nothing to do with those who fare ill, but\nthey assert that they will accept those who comport themselves well in\nthe tournament. And they had the date of the contest proclaimed s long\nwhile in advance in all the countries near and far, in order that there\nmight be more participants. Now the Queen arrived before the date they\nhad set, and as soon as the ladies heard of the Queen's return, most of\nthem came at once to the King and besought him to grant them a favour\nand boon, which he did. He promised to do whatever they wished, before\nhe knew what their desire might be. Then they told him that they wished\nhim to let the Queen come to be present at their contest. And he who was\nnot accustomed to forbid, said he was willing, if she wished ir so. In\nhappy mood they go to the Queen and say to her: \"Lady, do not deprive us\nof the boon which the King has granted us.\" Then she asks them: \"What\nis that? Don't fail to tell!\" Then they say to her: \"If you will come to\nour tournament, he will not gainsay you nor stand in the way.\" Then she\nsaid that she would come, since he was willing that she should. Promptly\nthe dames send word throughout the realm that they are going to bring\nthe Queen on the day set for the tournament. The news spread far and\nnear, here and there, until it reached the kingdom whence no one used\nto return--but now whoever wished might enter or pass out unopposed.\nThe news travelled in this kingdom until it came to a seneschal of\nthe faithless Meleagant may an evil fire burn him! This seneschal had\nLancelot in his keeping, for to him he had been entrusted by his enemy\nMeleagant, who hated him with deadly hate. Lancelot learned the hour and\ndate of the tournament, and as soon as he heard of it, his eyes were not\ntearless nor was his heart glad. The lady of the house, seeing Lancelot\nsad and pensive, thus spoke to him: \"Sire, for God's sake and for your\nown soul's good, tell me truly,\" the lady said, \"why you are so changed.\nYou won't eat or drink anything, and I see that you do not make merry or\nlaugh. You can tell me with confidence why you are so sad and troubled.\"\n\"Ah, lady, for God's sake, do not be surprised that I am sad! Truly, I\nam very much downcast, since I cannot be present where all that is good\nin the world will be assembled: that is, at the tournament where\nthere will be a gathering of the people who make the earth tremble.\nNevertheless, if it pleased you, and if God should incline your heart\nto let me go thither, you might rest assured that I should be careful to\nreturn to my captivity here.\" \"I would gladly do it,\" she replied, \"if I\ndid not see that my death and destruction would result. But I am in such\nterror of my lord, the despicable Meleagant, that I would not dare to\ndo it, for he would kill my husband at once. It is not strange that I\nam afraid of him, for, as you know, he is very bad.\" \"Lady, if you are\nafraid that I may not return to you at once after the tournament, I will\ntake an oath which I will never break, that nothing will detain me from\nreturning at once to my prison here immediately after the tournament.\"\n\"Upon my word,\" said she, \"I will allow it upon one condition.\" \"Lady,\nwhat condition is that?\" Then she replies: \"Sire, upon condition that\nyou wilt swear to return to me, and promise that I shall have your\nlove.\" \"Lady, I give you all the love I have, and swear to come back.\"\nThen the lady laughs and says: \"I have no cause to boast of such a gift,\nfor I know you have bestowed upon some one else the love for which I\nhave just made request. However, I do not disdain to take so much of it\nas I can get. I shall be satisfied with what I can have, and will accept\nyour oath that you will be so considerate of me as to return hither a\nprisoner.\"\n\n(Vv. 5515-5594.) In accordance with her wish, Lancelot swears by Holy\nChurch that he will return without fail. And the lady at once gives him\nthe vermilion arms of her lord, and his horse which was marvellously\ngood and strong and brave. He mounts and leaves, armed with handsome,\nnew arms, and proceeds until he comes to Noauz. He espoused this side in\nthe tournament, and took his lodging outside the town. Never did such\na noble man choose such a small and lowly lodging-place; but he did not\nwish to lodge where he might be recognised. There were many good and\nexcellent knights gathered within the town. But there were many more\noutside, for so many had come on account of the presence of the Queen\nthat the fifth part could not be accommodated inside. For every one who\nwould have been there under ordinary circumstances, there were seven who\nwould not have come excepting on the Queen's account. The barons were\nquartered in tents, lodges, and pavilions for five leagues around.\nMoreover, it was wonderful how many gentle ladies and damsels were\nthere. Lancelot placed his shield outside the door of his lodging-place,\nand then, to make himself more comfortable, he took off his arms and lay\ndown upon a bed which he held in slight esteem; for it was narrow\nand had a thin mattress, and was covered with a coarse hempen cloth.\nLancelot had thrown himself upon the bed all disarmed, and as he\nlay there in such poor estate, behold! a fellow came in in his\nshirt-sleeves; he was a herald-at-arms, and had left his coat and shoes\nin the tavern as a pledge; so he came running barefoot and exposed to\nthe wind. He saw the shield hanging outside the door, and looked at it:\nbut naturally he did not recognise it or know to whom it belonged, or\nwho was the bearer of it. He sees the door of the house standing open,\nand upon entering, he sees Lancelot upon the bed, and as soon as he saw\nhim, he recognised him and crossed himself. And Lancelot made a sign to\nhim, and ordered him not to speak of him wherever he might go, for if\nhe should tell that he knew him, it would be better for him to have his\neyes put out or his neck broken. \"Sire,\" the herald says, \"I have\nalways held you in high esteem, and so long as I live, I shall never\ndo anything to cause you displeasure.\" Then he runs from the house and\ncries aloud: \"Now there has come one who will take the measure! [423]\nNow there has come one who will take the measure!\" The fellow shouts\nthis everywhere, and the people come from every side and ask him what is\nthe meaning of his cry. He is not so rash as to answer them, but goes\non shouting the same words: \"Now there has come one who will take the\nmeasure!\" This herald was the master of us all, when he taught us to use\nthe phrase, for he was the first to make use of it.\n\n(Vv. 5595-5640.) Now the crowd was assembled, including the Queen and\nall the ladies, the knights and the other people, and there were many\nmen-at-arms everywhere, to the right and left. At the place where the\ntournament was to be, there were some large wooden stands for the use of\nthe Queen with her ladies and damsels. Such fine stands were never seen\nbefore they were so long and well constructed. Thither the ladies betook\nthemselves with the Queen, wishing to see who would fare better or worse\nin the combat. Knights arrive by tens, twenties, and thirties, here\neighty and there ninety, here a hundred, there still more, and yonder\ntwice as many yet; so that the press is so great in front of the stands\nand all around that they decide to begin the joust. As they assemble,\narmed and unarmed, their lances suggest the appearance of a wood, for\nthose who have come to the sport brought so many lances that there is\nnothing in sight but lances, banners, and standards. Those who are going\nto take part begin to joust, and they find plenty of their companions\nwho had come with similar intent. Still others prepare to perform other\nfeats of chivalry. The fields, meadows, and fallow lands are so full of\nknights that it is impossible to estimate how many of them are there.\nBut there was no sign of Lancelot at this first gathering of the\nknights; but later, when he entered the middle of the field, the herald\nsaw him and could not refrain from crying out: \"Behold him who will take\nthe measure! Behold him who will take the measure!\" And the people ask\nhim who he is, but he will not tell them anything.\n\n(Vv. 5641-6104.) When Lancelot entered the tournament, he was as good as\ntwenty of the best, and he began to fight so doughtily that no one could\ntake his eyes from him, wherever he was. On the Pomelegloi side there\nwas a brave and valorous knight, and his horse was spirited and swifter\nthan a wild stag. He was the son of the Irish king, and fought well\nand handsomely. But the unknown knight pleased them all more a hundred\ntimes. In wonder they all make haste to ask: \"Who is this knight who\nfights so well?\" And the Queen privily called a clever and wise damsel\nto her and said: \"Damsel, you must carry a message, and do it quickly\nand with few words. Go down from the stand, and approach yonder knight\nwith the vermilion shield, and tell him privately that I bid him do his\n'worst'.\" She goes quickly, and with intelligence executes the Queen's\ncommand. She sought the knight until she came up close to him; then\nshe said to him prudently and in a voice so low that no one standing by\nmight hear: \"Sire, my lady the Queen sends you word by me that you shall\ndo your 'worst'.\" When he heard this, he replied: \"Very willingly,\" like\none who is altogether hers. Then he rides at another knight as hard as\nhis horse can carry him, and misses his thrust which should have struck\nhim. From that time till evening fell he continued to do as badly as\npossible in accordance with the Queen's desire. But the other, who\nfought with him, did not miss his thrust, but struck him with such\nviolence that he was roughly handled. Thereupon he took to flight, and\nafter that he never turned his horse's head toward any knight, and were\nhe to die for it, he would never do anything unless he saw in it his\nshame, disgrace, and dishonour; he even pretends to be afraid of all the\nknights who pass to and fro. And the very knights who formerly esteemed\nhim now hurled jests and jibes at him. And the herald who had been\nsaying: \"He will beat them all in turn!\" is greatly dejected and\ndiscomfited when he hears the scornful jokes of those who shout:\n\"Friend, say no more! This fellow will not take any one's measure again.\nHe has measured so much that his yardstick is broken, of which thou hast\nboasted to us so much.\" Many say: \"What is he going to do? He was so\nbrave just now; but now he is so cowardly that there is not a knight\nwhom he dares to face. The cause of his first success must have been\nthat he never engaged at arms before, and he was so brave at his first\nattack that the most skilled knight dared not withstand him, for he\nfought like a wild man. But now he has learned so much of arms that he\nwill never wish to bear them again his whole life long. His heart cannot\nlonger endure the thought, for there is nothing more cowardly than his\nheart.\" And the Queen, as she watches him, is happy and well-pleased,\nfor she knows full well, though she does not say it, that this is surely\nLancelot. Thus all day long till evening he played his coward's part,\nand late in the afternoon they separated. At parting there was a great\ndiscussion as to who had done the best. The son of the Irish king thinks\nthat without doubt or contradiction he has all the glory and renown. But\nhe is grievously mistaken, for there were plenty of others as good as\nhe. Even the vermilion knight so pleased the fairest and gentlest of\nthe ladies and damsels that they had gazed at him more than at any\nother knight, for they had remarked how well he fought at first, and how\nexcellent and brave he was; then he had become so cowardly that he dared\nnot face a single knight, and even the worst of them could defeat and\ncapture him at will. But knights and ladies all agreed that on the\nmorrow they should return to the list, and the damsels should choose\nas their lords those who should win honour in that day's fight: on this\narrangement they all agree. Then they turn toward their lodgings, and\nwhen they had returned, here and there men began to say: \"What has\nbecome of the worst, the most craven and despised of knights? Whither\ndid he go? Where is he concealed? Where is he to be found? Where shall\nwe search for him? We shall probably never see him again. For he has\nbeen driven off by cowardice, with which he is so filled that there\nis no greater craven in the world than he. And he is not wrong, for a\ncoward is a hundred times more at ease than a valorous fighting man.\nCowardice is easy of entreaty, and that is the reason he has given her\nthe kiss of peace and has taken from her all she has to give. Courage\nnever so debased herself as to lodge in his breast or take quarters near\nhim. But cowardice is altogether lodged with him, and she has found a\nhost who will honour her and serve her so faithfully that he is willing\nto resign his own fair name for hers.\" Thus they wrangle all night,\nvying with each other in slander. But often one man maligns another, and\nyet is much worse himself than the object of his blame and scorn. Thus,\nevery one said what he pleased about him. And when the next day dawned,\nall the people prepared and came again to the jousting place. The Queen\nwas in the stand again, accompanied by her ladies and damsels and many\nknights without their arms, who had been captured or defeated, and these\nexplained to them the armorial bearings of the knights whom they most\nesteem. Thus they talk among themselves: [424] \"Do you see that knight\nyonder with a golden band across the middle of his red shield? That is\nGovernauz of Roberdic. And do you see that other one, who has an eagle\nand a dragon painted side by side upon his shield? That is the son of\nthe King of Aragon, who has come to this land in search of glory and\nrenown. And do you see that one beside him, who thrusts and jousts so\nwell, bearing a shield with a leopard painted on a green ground on\none part, and the other half is azure blue? That is Ignaures the\nwell-beloved, a lover himself and jovial. And he who bears the shield\nwith the pheasants portrayed beak to beak is Coguillanz of Mautirec. Do\nyou see those two side by side, with their dappled steeds, and golden\nshields showing black lions? One is named Semiramis, and the other is\nhis companion; their shields are painted alike. And do you see the one\nwho has a shield with a gate painted on it, through which a stag appears\nto be passing out? That is King Ider, in truth.\" Thus they talk up in\nthe stand. \"That shield was made at Limoges, whence it was brought by\nPilades, who is very ardent and keen to be always in the fight. That\nshield, bridle, and breast-strap were made at Toulouse, and were brought\nhere by Kay of Estraus. The other came from Lyons on the Rhone, and\nthere is no better under heaven; for his great merit it was presented\nto Taulas of the Desert, who bears it well and protects himself with\nit skilfully. Yonder shield is of English workmanship and was made at\nLondon; you see on it two swallows which appear as if about to fly; yet\nthey do not move, but receive many blows from the Poitevin lances of\nsteel; he who has it is poor Thoas.\" Thus they point out and describe\nthe arms of those they know; but they see nothing of him whom they had\nheld in such contempt, and, not remarking him in the fray, they suppose\nthat he has slipped away. When the Queen sees that he is not there, she\nfeels inclined to send some one to search for him in the crowd until he\nbe found. She knows of no one better to send in search of him than she\nwho yesterday performed her errand. So, straightway calling her, she\nsaid to her: \"Damsel, go and mount your palfrey! I send you to the same\nknight as I sent you yesterday, and do you seek him until you find him.\nDo not delay for any cause, and tell him again to do his 'worst'. And\nwhen you have given him this message, mark well what reply he makes.\"\nThe damsel makes no delay, for she had carefully noticed the direction\nhe took the night before, knowing well that she would be sent to him\nagain. She made her way through the ranks until she saw the knight, whom\nshe instructs at once to do his \"worst\" again, if he desires the love\nand favour of the Queen which she sends him. And he makes answer: \"My\nthanks to her, since such is her will.\" Then the damsel went away, and\nthe valets, sergeants, and squires begin to shout: \"See this marvellous\nthing! He of yesterday with the vermilion arms is back again. What\ncan he want? Never in the world was there such a vile, despicable, and\ncraven wretch! He is so in the power of cowardice that resistance is\nuseless on his part.\" And the damsel returns to the Queen, who detained\nher and would not let her go until she heard what his response had been;\nthen she heartily rejoiced, feeling no longer any doubt that this is he\nto whom she altogether belongs, and he is hers in like manner. Then she\nbids the damsel quickly return and tell him that it is her command and\nprayer that he shall do his \"best \"; and she says she will go at once\nwithout delay. She came down from the stand to where her valet with\nthe palfrey was awaiting her. She mounted and rode until she found the\nknight, to whom she said at once: \"Sire, my lady now sends word that you\nshall do the 'best' you can!\" And he replies: \"Tell her now that it\nis never a hardship to do her will, for whatever pleases her is my\ndelight.\" The maiden was not slow in bearing back this message, for she\nthinks it will greatly please and delight the Queen. She made her way as\ndirectly as possible to the stand, where the Queen rose and started to\nmeet her, however, she did not go down, but waited for her at the top\nof the steps. And the damsel came happy in the message she had to bear.\nWhen she had climbed the steps and reached her side, she said: \"Lady, I\nnever saw so courteous g knight, for he is more than ready to obey every\ncommand you send to him, for, if the truth be known, he accepts good and\nevil with the same countenance.\" \"Indeed,\" says the Queen, \"that may\nwell be so.\" Then she returns to the balcony to watch the knights. And\nLancelot without delay seizes his shield by the leather straps, for he\nis kindled and consumed by the desire to show his prowess. Guiding his\nhorse's head, he lets him run between two lines. All those mistaken and\ndeluded men, who have spent a large part of the day and night in heaping\nhim with ridicule, will soon be disconcerted. For a long time they have\nhad their sport and joke and fun. The son of the King of Ireland held\nhis shield closely gripped by the leather straps, as he spurs fiercely\nto meet him from the opposite direction. They come together with such\nviolence that the son of the Irish king having broken and splintered his\nlance, wishes no more of the tournament; for it was not moss he struck,\nbut hard, dry boards. In this encounter Lancelot taught him one of his\nthrusts, when he pinned his shield to his arm, and his arm to his side,\nand brought him down from his horse to earth. Like arrows the knights\nat once fly out, spurring and pricking from either side, some to relieve\nthis knight, others to add to his distress. While some thus try to aid\ntheir lords, many a saddle is left empty in the strife and fray. But\nall that day Gawain took no hand at arms, though he was with the others\nthere, for he took such pleasure in watching the deeds of him with\nthe red painted arms that what the others did seemed to him pale in\ncomparison. And the herald cheered up again, as he shouted aloud so\nthat all could hear: \"Here there has one come who will take the measure!\nTo-day you shall see what he can do. To-day his prowess shall appear.\"\nThen the knight directs his steed and makes a very skilful thrust\nagainst a certain knight, whom he strikes so hard that he carries him a\nhundred feet or more from his horse. His feats with sword and lance are\nso well performed that there is none of the onlookers who does not find\npleasure in watching him. Many even of those who bear arms find pleasure\nand satisfaction in what he does, for it is great sport to see how he\nmakes horses and knights tumble and fall. He encounters hardly a single\nknight who is able to keep his seat, and he gives the horses he wins to\nthose who want them. Then those who had been making game of him said:\n\"Now we are disgraced and mortified. It was a great mistake for us to\nderide and vilify this man, for he is surely worth a thousand such as\nwe are on this field; for he has defeated and outdone all the knights\nin the world, so that there is no one now that opposes him.\" And the\ndamsels, who amazed were watching him, all said that he might take them\nto wife; but they did not dare to trust in their beauty or wealth, or\npower or highness, for not for her beauty or wealth would this peerless\nknight deign to choose any one of them. Yet, most of them are so\nenamoured of him that they say that, unless they marry him, they will\nnot be bestowed upon any man this year. And the Queen, who hears them\nboast, laughs to herself and enjoy the fun, for well she knows that if\nall the gold of Arabia should be set before him, yet he who is beloved\nby them all would not select the best, the fairest, or the most charming\nof the group. One wish is common to them all--each wishes to have him as\nher spouse. One is jealous of another, as if she were already his wife;\nand all this is because they see him so adroit that in their opinion no\nmortal man could perform such deeds as he had done. He did so well that\nwhen the time came to leave the list, they admitted freely on both sides\nthat no one had equalled the knight with the vermilion shield. All said\nthis, and it was true. But when he left, he allowed his shield and lance\nand trappings to fall where he saw the thickest press, then he rode off\nhastily with such secrecy that no one of all the host noticed that he\nhad disappeared. But he went straight back to the place whence he had\ncome, to keep his oath. When the tournament broke up, they all searched\nand asked for him, but without success, for he fled away, having no\ndesire to be recognised. The knights are disappointed and distressed,\nfor they would have rejoiced to have him there. But if the knights were\ngrieved to have been deserted thus, still greater was the damsels' grief\nwhen they learned the truth, and they asserted by St. John that they\nwould not marry at all that year. If they can't have him whom they\ntruly love, then all the others may be dismissed. Thus the tourney was\nadjourned without any of them choosing a husband. Meanwhile Lancelot\nwithout delay repairs to his prison. But the seneschal arrived two or\nthree days before Lancelot, and inquired where he was. And his wife, who\nhad given to Lancelot his fair and well-equipped vermilion arms, as well\nas his harness and his horse, told the truth to the seneschal--how she\nhad sent him where there had been jousting at the tourney of Noauz.\n\"Lady,\" the seneschal replies, \"you could truly have done nothing worse\nthan that. Doubtless, I shall smart for this, for my lord Meleagant\nwill treat me worse than the beach-combers' law would treat me were I a\nmariner in distress. I shall be killed or banished the moment he hears\nthe news, and he will have no pity for me.\" \"Fair sire, be not now\ndismayed,\" the lady said; \"there is no occasion for the fear you feel.\nThere is no possibility of his detention, for he swore to me by the\nsaints that he would return as soon as possible.\"\n\n(Vv. 6105-6166.) [425] Then the seneschal mounts, and coming to his\nlord, tells him the whole story of the episode; but at the same time, he\nemphatically reassures him, telling how his wife had received his oath\nthat he would return to his prison. \"He will not break his word, I\nknow,\" says Meleagant: \"and yet I am very much displeased at what your\nwife has done. Not for any consideration would I have had him present at\nthat tournament. But return now, and see to it that, when he comes back,\nhe be so strictly guarded that he shall not escape from his prison or\nhave any freedom of body: and send me word at once.\" \"Your orders shall\nbe obeyed,\" says the seneschal. Then he goes away and finds Lancelot\nreturned as prisoner in his yard. A messenger, sent by the seneschal,\nruns back at once to Meleagant, appraising him of Lancelot's return.\nWhen he heard this news, he took masons and carpenters who unwillingly\nor of their own free-will executed his commands. He summoned the best\nartisans in the land, and commanded them to build a tower, and exert\nthemselves to build it well. The stone was quarried by the seaside; for\nnear Gorre on this side there runs a big broad arm of the sea, in the\nmidst of which an island stood, as Meleagant well knew. He ordered the\nstone to be carried thither and the material for the construction of\nthe tower. In less than fifty-seven days the tower was completely built,\nhigh and thick and well-founded. When it was completed, he had Lancelot\nbrought thither by night, and after putting him in the tower, he ordered\nthe doors to be walled up, and made all the masons swear that they would\nnever utter a word about this tower. It was his will that it should be\nthus sealed up, and that no door or opening should remain, except one\nsmall window. Here Lancelot was compelled to stay, and they gave him\npoor and meagre fare through this little window at certain hours, as the\ndisloyal wretch had ordered and commanded them.\n\n(Vv. 6167-6220.) Now Meleagant has carried out all his purpose, and he\nbetakes himself to King Arthur's court: behold him now arrived! And when\nhe was before the King, he thus spoke with pride and arrogance: \"King, I\nhave scheduled a battle to take place in thy presence and in thy\ncourt. But I see nothing of Lancelot who agreed to be my antagonist.\nNevertheless, as my duty is, in the hearing of all who are present here,\nI offer myself to fight this battle. And if he is here, let him now step\nforth and agree to meet me in your court a year from now. I know not if\nany one has told you how this battle was agreed upon. But I see knights\nhere who were present at our conference, and who, if they would, could\ntell you the truth. If he should try to deny the truth, I should employ\nno hireling to take my place, but would prove it to him hand to hand.\"\nThe Queen, who was seated beside the King, draws him to her as she says:\n\"Sire, do you know who that knight is? It is Meleagant who carried me\naway while escorted by Kay the seneschal; he caused him plenty of shame\nand mischief too.\" And the King answered her: \"Lady, I understand; I\nknow full well that it is he who held my people in distress.\" The Queen\nsays no more, but the King addresses Meleagant: \"Friend,\" he says, \"so\nhelp me God, we are very sad because we know nothing of Lancelot.\" \"My\nlord King,\" says Meleagant, \"Lancelot told me that I should surely\nfind him here. Nowhere but in your court must I issue the call to this\nbattle, and I desire all your knights here to bear me witness that I\nsummon him to fight a year from to-day, as stipulated when we agreed to\nfight.\"\n\n(Vv. 6221-6458.) At this my lord Gawain gets up, much distressed at what\nhe hears: \"Sire, there is nothing known of Lancelot in all this land,\"\nhe says; \"but we shall send in search of him and, if God will, we shall\nfind him yet, before the end of the year is reached, unless he be dead\nor in prison. And if he does not appear, then grant me the battle, and\nI will fight for him: I will arm myself in place of Lancelot, if he does\nnot return before that day.\" \"Ah,\" says Meleagant, \"for God's sake, my\nfair lord King, grant him the boon. I join my request to his desire, for\nI know no knight in all the world with whom I would more gladly try my\nstrength, excepting only Lancelot. But bear in mind that, if I do not\nfight with one of them, I will accept no exchange or substitution for\neither one.\" And the King says that this is understood, if Lancelot\ndoes not return within the time. Then Meleagant left the royal court and\njourneyed until he found his father, King Bademagu. In order to appear\nbrave and of consideration in his presence, he began by making a great\npretence and by assuming an expression of marvellous cheer. That day the\nking was holding a joyous court at his city of Bade; [426] it was his\nbirthday, which he celebrated with splendour and generosity, and there\nwere many people of divers sorts gathered with him. All the palace\nwas filled with knights and damsels, and among them was the sister of\nMeleagant, of whom I shall tell you, farther on, what is my thought\nand reason for mentioning her here. But it is not fitting that I should\nexplain it here, for I do not wish to confuse or entangle my material,\nbut rather to treat it straight forwardly. Now I must tell you that\nMeleagant in the hearing of all, both great and small, spoke thus to his\nfather boastingly: \"Father,\" he says, \"so help me God, please tell me\ntruly now whether he ought not to be well-content, and whether he is\nnot truly brave, who can cause his arms to be feared at King Arthur's\ncourt?\" To this question his father replies at once: \"Son,\" he says,\n\"all good men ought to honour and serve and seek the company of one\nwhose deserts are such.\" Then he flattered him with the request that\nhe should not conceal why he has alluded to this, what he wishes, and\nwhence he comes. \"Sire, I know not whether you remember,\" Meleagant\nbegins, \"the agreements and stipulations which were recorded when\nLancelot and I made peace. It was then agreed, I believe, and in the\npresence of many we were told, that we should present ourselves at the\nend of a year at Arthur's court. I went thither at the appointed time,\nready equipped for my business there. I did everything that had been\nprescribed: I called and searched for Lancelot, with whom I was to\nfight, but I could not gain a sight of him: he had fled and run away.\nWhen I came away, Gawain pledged his word that, if Lancelot is not alive\nand does not return within the time agreed upon, no further postponement\nwill be asked, but that he himself will fight the battle against me in\nplace of Lancelot. Arthur has no knight, as is well known, whose fame\nequals his, but before the flowers bloom again, I shall see, when we\ncome to blows, whether his fame and his deeds are in accord: I only\nwish it could be settled now!\" \"Son,\" says his father, \"thou art acting\nexactly like a fool. Any one, who knew it not before, may learn of thy\nmadness from thy own lips. A good heart truly humbles itself, but the\nfool and the boastful never lose their folly. Son, to thee I direct my\nwords, for the traits of thy character are so hard and dry, that\nthere is no place for sweetness or friendship. Thy heart is altogether\npitiless: thou art altogether in folly's grasp. This accounts for my\nslight respect for thee, and this is what will cast thee down. If thou\nart brave, there will be plenty of men to say so in time of need. A\nvirtuous man need not praise his heart in order to enhance his deed; the\ndeed itself will speak in its own praise. Thy self-praise does not aid\nthee a whit to increase in any one's esteem; indeed, I hold thee in less\nesteem. Son, I chasten thee; but to what end? It is of little use to\nadvise a fool. He only wastes his strength in vain who tries to cure\nthe madness of a fool, and the wisdom that one teaches and expounds is\nworthless, wasted and unemployed, unless it is expressed in works.\" Then\nMeleagant was sorely enraged and furious. I may truly say that never\ncould you see a mortal man so full of anger as he was; the last bond\nbetween them was broken then, as he spoke to his father these ungracious\nwords: \"Are you in a dream or trance, when you say that I am mad to tell\nyou how my matters stand? I thought I had come to you as to my lord and\nmy father; but that does not seem to be the case, for you insult me more\noutrageously than I think you have any right to do; moreover, you can\ngive no reason for having addressed me thus.\" \"Indeed, I can.\" \"What is\nit, then?\" \"Because I see nothing in thee but folly and wrath. I know\nvery well what thy courage is like, and that it will cause thee great\ntrouble yet. A curse upon him who supposes that the elegant Lancelot,\nwho is esteemed by all but thee, has ever fled from thee through fear.\nI am sure that he is buried or confined in some prison whose door is\nbarred so tight that he cannot escape without leave. I should surely be\nsorely grieved if he were dead or in distress. It would surely be too\nbad, were a creature so splendidly equipped, so fair, so bold, yet so\nserene, to perish thus before his time. But, may it please God, this\nis not true.\" Then Bademagu said no more; but a daughter of his had\nlistened attentively to all his words, and you must know that it was she\nwhom I mentioned earlier in my tale, and who is not happy now to hear\nsuch news of Lancelot. It is quite clear to her that he is shut up,\nsince no one knows any news of him or his wanderings. \"May God never\nlook upon me, if I rest until I have some sure and certain news of\nhim!\" Straightway, without making any noise or disturbance, she runs\nand mounts a fair and easy-stepping mule. But I must say that when she\nleaves the court, she knows not which way to turn. However, she asks no\nadvice in her predicament, but takes the first road she finds, and\nrides along at random rapidly, unaccompanied by knight or squire. In her\neagerness she makes haste to attain the object of her search. Keenly she\npresses forward in her quest, but it will not soon terminate. She may\nnot rest or delay long in any single place, if she wishes to carry out\nher plan, to release Lancelot from his prison, if she can find him and\nif it is possible. But in my opinion, before she finds him she will have\nsearched in many a land, after many a journey and many a quest, before\nshe has any news of him. But what would be the use of my telling you of\nher lodgings and her journeyings? Finally, she travelled so far through\nhill and dale, up and down, that more than a month had passed, and as\nyet she had learned only so much as she knew before--that is, absolutely\nnothing. One day she was crossing a field in a sad and pensive mood,\nwhen she saw a tower in the distance standing by the shore of an arm of\nthe sea. Not within a league around about was there any house, cottage,\nor dwelling-place. Meleagant had had it built, and had confined Lancelot\nwithin. But of all this she still was unaware. As soon as she espied the\ntower, she fixed her attention upon it to the exclusion of all else. And\nher heart gives her assurance that here is the object of her quest; now\nat last she has reached her goal, to which Fortune through many trials\nhas at last directed her.\n\n(Vv. 6459-6656.) The damsel draws so near to the tower that she can\ntouch it with her hands. She walks about, listening attentively, I\nsuppose, if perchance she may hear some welcome sound. She looks down\nand she gazes up, and she sees that the tower is strong and high and\nthick. She is amazed to see no door or window, except one little narrow\nopening. Moreover, there was no ladder or steps about this high, sheer\ntower. For this reason she surmises that it was made so intentionally,\nand that Lancelot is confined inside. But she resolves that before she\ntastes of food, she will learn whether this is so or not. She thinks she\nwill call Lancelot by name, and is about to do so when she is deterred\nby hearing from the tower a voice which was making a marvellously sad\nmoan as it called on death. It implores death to come, and complains of\nmisery unbearable. In contempt of the body and life, it weakly piped in\na low, hoarse tone: \"Ah, fortune, how disastrously thy wheel has turned\nfor me! Thou hast mocked me shamefully: a while ago I was up, but now I\nam down; I was well off of late, but now I am in a sorry state; not long\nsince thou didst smile on me, but now thy eyes are filled with tears.\nAlas, poor wretch, why didst thou trust in her, when so soon she has\ndeserted thee! Behold, in a very little while she has cast thee down\nfrom thy high estate! Fortune, it was wrong of thee to mock me thus; but\nwhat carest thou! Thou carest not how it may turn out. Ah, sacred Cross!\nAll, Holy Ghost! How am I wretched and undone! How completely has my\ncareer been closed! Ah, Gawain, you who possess such worth, and whose\ngoodness is unparalleled, surely I may well be amazed that you do\nnot come to succour me. Surely you delay too long and are not showing\ncourtesy. He ought indeed to receive your aid whom you used to love so\ndevotedly! For my part I may truly say that there is no lodging place or\nretreat on either side of the sea, where I would not have searched for\nyou at least seven or ten years before finding you, if I knew you to be\nin prison. But why do I thus torment myself? You do not care for me even\nenough to take this trouble. The rustic is right when he says that it\nis hard nowadays to find a friend! It is easy to rest the true friend\nin time of need. Alas! more than a year has passed since first I was put\ninside this tower. I feel hurt, Gawain, that you have so long deserted\nme! But doubtless you know nothing of all this, and I have no ground for\nblaming you. Yes, when I think of it, this must be the case, and I was\nvery wrong to imagine such a thing; for I am confident that not for all\nthe world contains would you and your men have failed to come to release\nme from this trouble and distress, if you were aware of it. If for no\nother reason, you would be bound to do this out of love for me, your\ncompanion. But it is idle to talk about it--it cannot be. Ah, may the\ncurse and the damnation of God and St. Sylvester rest upon him who\nhas shut me up so shamefully! He is the vilest man alive, this envious\nMeleagant, to treat me as evilly as possible!\" Then he, who is wearing\nout his life in grief, ceases speaking and holds his peace. But when\nshe, who was lingering at the base of the tower, heard what he said,\nshe did not delay, but acted wisely and called him thus: \"Lancelot,\"\nas loudly as she could; \"friend, up there, speak to one who is your\nfriend!\" But inside he did not hear her words. Then she called out\nlouder yet, until he in his weakness faintly heard her, and wondered\nwho could be calling him. [427] He heard the voice and heard his name\npronounced, but he did not know who was calling him: he thinks it must\nbe a spirit. He looks all about him to see, I suppose, if he could espy\nany one; but there is nothing to be seen but the tower and himself.\n\"God,\" says he, \"what is that I heard? I heard some one speak, but see\nnothing! Indeed, this is passing marvellous, for I am not asleep, but\nwide awake. Of course, if this happened in a dream, I should consider it\nan illusion; but I am awake, and therefore I am distressed.\" Then with\nsome trouble he gets up, and with slow and feeble steps he moves toward\nthe little opening. Once there, he peers through it, up and down and to\neither side. When he had looked out as best he might, he caught sight of\nher who had hailed him. He did not recognise her by sight. But she knew\nhim at once and said: \"Lancelot, I have come from afar in search of you.\nNow, thank God, at last I have found you. I am she who asked of you a\nboon as you were on your way to the sword-bridge, and you very gladly\ngranted it at my request; it was the head I bade you cut from the\nconquered knight whom I hated so. Because of this boon and this service\nyou did me, I have gone to this trouble. As a guerdon I shall deliver\nyou from here.\" \"Damsel, many thanks to you,\" the prisoner then replied;\n\"the service I did you will be well repaid if I am set at liberty. If\nyou can get me out of here, I promise and engage to be henceforth always\nyours, so help me the holy Apostle Paul! And as I may see God face to\nface, I shall never fail to obey your commands in accordance with your\nwill. You may ask for anything I have, and receive it without delay.\"\n\"Friend, have no fear that you will not be released from here. You shall\nbe loosed and set free this very day. Not for a thousand pounds would I\nrenounce the expectation of seeing you free before the datum of another\nday. Then I shall take you to a pleasant place, where you may rest and\ntake your ease. There you shall have everything you desire, whatever\nit be. So have no fear. But first I must see if I can find some tool\nanywhere hereabouts with which you might enlarge this hole, at least\nenough to let you pass.\" \"God grant that you find something,\" he said,\nagreeing to this plan; \"I have plenty of rope in here, which the rascals\ngave me to pull up my food--hard barley bread and dirty water, which\nsicken my stomach and heart.\" Then the daughter of Bademagu sought and\nfound a strong, stout, sharp pick, which she handed to him. He pounded,\nand hammered and struck and dug, notwithstanding the pain it caused him,\nuntil he could get out comfortably. Now he is greatly relieved and glad,\nyou may be sure, to be out Of prison and to get away from the place\nwhere he has been so long confined. Now he is at large in the open air.\nYou may be sure that he would not go back again, were some one to gather\nin a pile and give to him all the gold there is scattered in the world.\n\n(Vv. 6657-6728.) Behold Lancelot now released, but so feeble that he\nstaggered from his weakness and disability. Gently, without hurting him,\nshe sets him before her on her mule, and then they ride off rapidly. But\nthe damsel purposely avoids the beaten track, that they may not be\nseen, and proceeds by a hidden path; for if she had travelled openly,\ndoubtless some one would have recognised them and done them harm, and\nshe would not have wished that to happen. So she avoided the dangerous\nplaces and came to a mansion where she often makes her sojourn because\nof its beauty and charm. The entire estate and the people on it belonged\nto her, and the place was well furnished, safe, and private. There\nLancelot arrived. And as soon as he had come, and had laid aside his\nclothes, the damsel gently laid him on a lofty, handsome couch, then\nbathed and rubbed him so carefully that I could not describe half the\ncare she took. She handled and treated him as gently as if he had been\nher father. Her treatment makes a new man of him, as she revives him\nwith her cares. Now he is no less fair than an angel and is more nimble\nand more spry than anything you ever saw. When he arose, he was no\nlonger mangy and haggard, but strong and handsome. And the damsel sought\nout for him the finest robe she could find, with which she clothed him\nwhen he arose. And he was glad to put it on, quicker than a bird\nin flight. He kissed and embraced the maid, and then said to her\ngraciously: \"My dear, I have only God and you to thank for being\nrestored to health again. Since I owe my liberty to you, you may take\nand command at will my heart and body, my service and estate. I belong\nto you in return for what you have done for me; but it is long since I\nhave been at the court of my lord Arthur, who has shown me great honour;\nand there is plenty there for me to do. Now, my sweet gentle friend,\nI beg you affectionately for leave to go; then, with your consent, I\nshould feel free to go.\" \"Lancelot, fair, sweet dear friend, I am quite\nwilling,\" the damsel says; \"I desire your honour and welfare above\neverything everywhere.\" Then she gives him a wonderful horse she has,\nthe best horse that ever was seen, and he leaps up without so much as\nsaying to the stirrups \"by your leave\": he was up without considering\nthem. Then to God, who never lies, they commend each other with good\nintent.\n\n(Vv. 6729-7004.) Lancelot was so glad to be on the road that, if I\nshould take an oath, I could not possibly describe the joy he felt at\nhaving escaped from his trap. But he said to himself repeatedly that woe\nwas the traitor, the reprobate, whom now he has tricked and ridiculed,\n\"for in spite of him I have escaped.\" Then he swears by the heart and\nbody of Him who made the world that not for all the riches and wealth\nfrom Babylon to Ghent would he let Meleagant escape, if he once got him\nin his power: for he has him to thank for too much harm and shame! But\nevents will soon turn out so as to make this possible; for this very\nMeleagant, whom he threatens and presses hard, had already come to court\nthat day without being summoned by any one; and the first thing he did\nwas to search until he found my lord Gawain. Then the rascally proven\ntraitor asks him about Lancelot, whether he had been seen or found, as\nif he himself did not know the truth. As a matter of fact, he did not\nknow the truth, although he thought he knew it well enough. And Gawain\ntold him, as was true, that he had not been seen, and that he had not\ncome. \"Well, since I don't find him,\" says Meleagant, \"do you come and\nkeep the promise you made me: I shall not longer wait for you.\" Then\nGawain makes answer: \"I will keep presently my word with you, if it\nplease God in whom I place my trust. I expect to discharge my debt to\nyou. But if it comes to throwing dice for points, and I should throw\na higher number than you, so help me God and the holy faith, I'll not\nwithdraw, but will keep on until I pocket all the stakes.\" [428] Then\nwithout delay Gawain orders a rug to be thrown down and spread before\nhim. There was no snivelling or attempt to run away when the squires\nheard this command, but without grumbling or complaint they execute\nwhat he commands. They bring the rug and spread it out in the place\nindicated; then he who had sent for it takes his seat upon it and gives\norders to be armed by the young men who were standing unarmed before\nhim. There were two of them, his cousins or nephews, I know not\nwhich, but they were accomplished and knew what to do. They arm him so\nskilfully and well that no one could find any fault in the world with\nthem for any mistake in what they did. When they finished arming him,\none of them went to fetch a Spanish steed able to cross the fields,\nwoods, hills, and valleys more swiftly than the good Bucephalus. [429]\nUpon a horse such as you have heard Gawain took his seat--the admired\nand most accomplished knight upon whom the sign of the Cross was ever\nmade. Already he was about to seize his shield, when he saw Lancelot\ndismount before him, whom he was not expecting to see. He looked at\nhim in amazement, because he had come so unexpectedly; and, if I am not\nwrong, he was as much surprised as if he had fallen from the clouds.\nHowever, no business of his own can detain him, as soon as he sees\nLancelot, from dismounting and extending his arms to him, as he\nembraces, salutes and kisses him. Now he is happy and at ease, when he\nhas found his companion. Now I will tell you the truth, and you must not\nthink I lie, that Gawain would not wish to be chosen king, unless he had\nLancelot with him. The King and all the rest now learn that, in spite of\nall, Lancelot, for whom they so long have watched, has come back quite\nsafe and sound. Therefore they all rejoice, and the court, which so\nlong has looked for him, comes together to honour him. Their happiness\ndispels and drives away the sorrow which formerly was theirs. Grief\ntakes flight and is replaced by an awakening joy. And how about the\nQueen? Does she not share in the general jubilee? Yes, verily, she\nfirst of all. How so? For God's sake, where, then, could she be keeping\nherself? She was never so glad in her life as she was for his return.\nAnd did she not even go to him? Certainly she did; she is so close to\nhim that her body came near following her heart. Where is her heart,\nthen? It was kissing and welcoming Lancelot. And why did the body\nconceal itself? Why is not her joy complete? Is it mingled with anger or\nhate? No, certainly, not at all; but it may be that the King or some of\nthe others who are there, and who are watching what takes place, would\nhave taken the whole situation in, if, while all were looking on, she\nhad followed the dictates of her heart. If common-sense had not banished\nthis mad impulse and rash desire, her heart would have been revealed and\nher folly would have been complete. Therefore reason closes up and\nbinds her fond heart and her rash intent, and made it more reasonable,\npostponing the greeting until it shall see and espy a suitable and more\nprivate place where they would fare better than here and now. The King\nhighly honoured Lancelot, and after welcoming him, thus spoke: \"I have\nnot heard for a long time news of any man which were so welcome as news\nof you; yet I am much concerned to learn in what region and in what land\nyou have tarried so long a time. I have had search made for you up and\ndown, all the winter and summer through, but no one could find a trace\nof you.\" \"Indeed, fair sire,\" says Lancelot, \"I can inform you in a few\nwords exactly how it has fared with me. The miserable traitor Meleagant\nhas kept me in prison ever since the hour of the deliverance of the\nprisoners in his land, and has condemned me to a life of shame in a\ntower of his beside the sea. There he put me and shut me in, and there I\nshould still be dragging out my weary life, if it were not for a friend\nof mine, a damsel for whom I once performed a slight service. In return\nfor the little favour I did her, she has repaid me liberally: she has\nbestowed upon me great honour and blessing. But I wish to repay without\ndelay him for whom I have no love, who has sought out and devised for\nme this shame and injury. He need not wait, for the sum is all ready,\nprincipal and interest; but God forbid that he find in it cause to\nrejoice!\" Then Gawain said to Lancelot: \"Friend, it will be only a\nslight favour for me, who am in your debt, to make this payment for you.\nMoreover, I am all ready and mounted, as you see. Fair, sweet friend, do\nnot deny me the boon I desire and request.\" But Lancelot replies that\nhe would rather have his eye plucked out, or even both of them, than be\npersuaded to do this: he swears it shall never be so. He owes the debt\nand he will pay it himself: for with his own hand he promised it. Gawain\nplainly sees that nothing he can say is of any avail, so he loosens and\ntakes off his hauberk from his back, and completely disarms himself.\nLancelot at once arms himself without delay; for he is impatient to\nsettle and discharge his debt. Meleagant, who is amazed beyond measure\nat what he sees, has reached the end of his good fortunes, and is about\nto receive what is owing him. He is almost beside himself and comes\nnear fainting. \"Surely I was a fool,\" he says, \"not to go, before coming\nhere, to see if I still held imprisoned in my tower him who now has\nplayed this trick on me. But, God, why should I have gone? What cause\nhad I to think that he could possibly escape? Is not the wall built\nstrong enough, and is not the tower sufficiently strong and high? There\nwas no hole or crevice in it, through which he could pass, unless he was\naided from outside. I am sure his hiding-place was revealed. If the wall\nwere worn away and had fallen into decay, would he not have been caught\nand injured or killed at the same time? Yes, so help me God, if it had\nfallen down, he would certainly have been killed. But I guess, before\nthat wall gives away without being torn down, that all the water in the\nsea will dry up without leaving a drop and the world will come to an\nend. No, that is not it: it happened otherwise: he was helped to escape,\nand could not have got out otherwise: I have been outwitted through some\ntrickery. At any rate, he has escaped; but if I had been on my guard,\nall this would never have happened, and he would never have come to\ncourt. But it's too late now to repent. The rustic, who seldom errs,\npertinently remarks that it is too late to close the stable when\nthe horse is out. I know I shall now be exposed to great shame and\nhumiliation, if indeed I do not suffer and endure something worse. What\nshall I suffer and endure? Rather, so long as I live, I will give him\nfull measure, if it please God, in whom I trust.\" Thus he consoles\nhimself, and has no other desire than to meet his antagonist on the\nfield. And he will not have long to wait, I think, for Lancelot goes\nin search of him, expecting soon to conquer him. But before the assault\nbegins, the King bids them go down into the plain where the tower\nstands, the prettiest place this side of Ireland for a fight. So they\ndid, and soon found themselves on the plain below. The King goes down\ntoo, and all the rest, men and women in crowds. No one stays behind; but\nmany go up to the windows of the tower, among them the Queen, her ladies\nand damsels, of whom she had many with her who were fair.\n\n(Vv. 7005-7119.) In the field there stood a sycamore as fair as any tree\ncould be; it was wide-spread and covered a large area, and around it\ngrew a fine border of thick fresh grass which was green at all seasons\nof the year. Under this fair and stately sycamore, which was planted\nback in Abel's time, there rises a clear spring of water which flows\naway hurriedly. The bed of the spring is beautiful and as bright as\nsilver, and the channel through which the water flows is formed, I\nthink, of refined and tested gold, and it stretches away across the\nfield down into a valley between the woods. There it pleases the King to\ntake his seat where nothing unpleasant is in sight. After the crowd has\ndrawn back at the King's command, Lancelot rushes furiously at Meleagant\nas at one whom he hates cordially, but before striking him, he shouted\nwith a loud and commanding voice: \"Take your stand, I defy you! And take\nmy word, this time you shall not be spared.\" Then he spurs his steed\nand draws back the distance of a bow-shot. Then they drive their horses\ntoward each other at top speed, and strike each other so fiercely\nupon their resisting shields that they pierced and punctured them. But\nneither one is wounded, nor is the flesh touched in this first assault.\nThey pass each other without delay, and come back at the top of their\nhorses: speed to renew their blows on the strong, stout shields. Both of\nthe knights are strong and brave, and both of the horses are stout and\nfast. So mighty are the blows they deal on the shields about their necks\nthat the lances passed clean through, without breaking or splintering,\nuntil the cold steel reached their flesh. Each strikes the other with\nsuch force that both are borne to earth, and no breast-strap, girth,\nor stirrup could save them from falling backward over their saddle-bow,\nleaving the saddle without an occupant. The horses run riderless over\nhill and dale, but they kick and bite each other, thus showing their\nmortal hatred. As for the knights who fell to earth, they leaped up\nas quickly as possible and drew their swords, which were engraved with\nchiselled lettering. Holding their shields before the face, they strive\nto wound each other with their swords of steel. Lancelot stands in no\nfear of him, for he knew half as much again about fencing as did his\nantagonist, having learned it in his youth. Both dealt such blows on the\nshield slung from their necks, and upon their helmets barred with gold,\nthat they crushed and damaged them. But Lancelot presses him hard and\ngives him a mighty blow upon his right arm which, though encased in\nmail, was unprotected by the shield, severing it with one clean stroke.\nAnd when he felt the loss of his right arm, he said that it should be\ndearly sold. If it is at all possible, he will not fail to exact the\nprice; he is in such pain and wrath and rage that he is well-nigh beside\nhimself, and he has a poor opinion of himself, if he cannot score on his\nrival now. He rushes at him with the intent to seize him, but Lancelot\nforestalls his plan, for with his trenchant sword he deals his body\nsuch a cut as he will not recover from until April and May be passed. He\nsmashes his nose-guard against his teeth, breaking three of them in his\nmouth. And Meleagant's rage is such that he cannot speak or say a word;\nnor does he deign to cry for mercy, for his foolish heart holds tight in\nsuch constraint that even now it deludes him still. Lancelot approaches\nand, unlacing his helmet, cuts off his head. Never more will this man\ntrouble him; it is all over with him as he falls dead. Not a soul who\nwas present there felt any pity at the sight. The King and all the\nothers there are jubilant and express their joy. Happier than they\never were before, they relieve Lancelot of his arms, and lead him away\nexultingly.\n\n(Vv. 7120-7134.) My lords, if I should prolong my tale, it would be\nbeside the purpose, and so I will conclude. Godefroi de Leigni, the\nclerk, has written the conclusion of \"the Cart\"; but let no one find\nfault with him for having embroidered on Chr\u00e9tien's theme, for it was\ndone with the consent of Chr\u00e9tien who started it. Godefroi has finished\nit from the point where Lancelot was imprisoned in the tower. So much he\nwrote; but he would fain add nothing more, for fear of disfiguring the\ntale.\n\n\n\n----Endnotes: Lancelot\n\nEndnotes supplied by Prof. Foerster are indicated by \"(F.)\"; all other\nendnotes are supplied by W.W. Comfort.\n\n\n[Footnote 41: Marie, daughter of Louis VII. of France and Eleanor of\nAquitaine, married in 1164, Henri I., Count of Champagne. On the\npoet's own statement below, she furnished him with the subject matter\n(\"maitere\") and the manner of treatment (\"san\") of this romance. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 42: The situation of Camelot has not been certainly\ndetermined. Foerster places it in Somersetshire, while F. Paris\nidentified it with Colchester in Essex. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 43: The high value here set upon Kay by king Arthur is worth\nnoting in view of the unfavourable light in which Chr\u00e9tien usually\nportrays him.]\n\n[Footnote 44: This enigmatic exclamation is addressed to the absent\nLancelot, who is the secret lover of Guinevere, and who, though he long\nremains anonymous as \"the Knight of the Cart\", is really the hero of the\npoem.]\n\n[Footnote 45: It was not uncommon in old French romances and epic poems\nfor knights to be subjected to the mockery and raillery of the vulgar\ntownspeople (cf. \"Aiol\", 911-923; id. 2579-2733; and even Moliere in\n\"Monsieur de Pourceaugnac\", f. 3).]\n\n[Footnote 46: For magic beds with descending swords, see A. Hertel,\n\"Versauberte Oertlichkeiten\", etc., p. 69 f. (Hanover, 1908).]\n\n[Footnote 47: The wounded knight is the defeated seneschal.]\n\n[Footnote 48: Mediaeval knights were such early risers as to cause us\nastonishment!]\n\n[Footnote 49: Lancelot has constantly in mind the Queen, for whose sake\nhe is enduring all this pain and shame.]\n\n[Footnote 410: i.e., the Queen.]\n\n[Footnote 411: Nothing can here be added to the tentative conjectures of\nFoerster regarding the nature of these unknown remedies.]\n\n[Footnote 412: A great annual fair at Paris marked the festival, on June\n11, of St. Denis, the patron saint of the city. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 413: \"Donbes\" (=Dombes) is the reading chosen by Foerster from\na number of variants. None of these variants has any significance, but\na place-name rhyming with \"tonbes\" in the preceding verse is required.\nModern Dombes is the name of a former principality in Burgundy, between\nthe Rhone and the Saone, while Pampelune is, of course, a Spanish city\nnear the French frontier. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 414: The topography of the kingdom of Gorre, the land where\ndwell the captives held by King Bademagu, is much confused. One would\nsuppose at first that the stream traversed by the two perilous bridges\nformed the frontier of the kingdom. But here (v.2102), before reaching\nsuch a frontier, the captives are already met. Foerster suggests that we\nmay be here at a sort of foreground or borderland which is defended by\nthe knight at the ford (v. 735 f.), and which, though not within the\nlimits of the kingdom, is nevertheless beneath the sway of Bademagu. In\nthe sequel the stream with the perilous bridges is placed immediately\nbefore the King's palace (cf. Foerster's note and G. Paris in \"Romania\",\nxxi. 471 note).]\n\n[Footnote 415: For magic rings, see A. Hertel, op. cit., p. 62 f.]\n\n[Footnote 416: This \"dame\" was the fairy Vivian, \"the lady of the lake\".\n(F.)]\n\n[Footnote 417: A good example of the moral dilemmas in which Chr\u00e9tien\ndelights to place his characters. Under the displeasing shell of\nallegory and mediaeval casuistry we have here the germ of psychological\nanalysis of motive.]\n\n[Footnote 418: The legendary origin of this ointment, named after Mary\nMagdelene, Mary the mother of James, and Mary Salome, is mentioned in\nthe epic poem \"Mort Aimeri de Narbonne\" (ed. \"Anciens Textes\", p. 86).\n(F.)]\n\n[Footnote 419: The universities of Montpellier and of Salerno were the\nchief centres of medical study in the Middle Ages. Salerno is referred\nto in \"Clig\u00e9s\", v. 5818.]\n\n[Footnote 420: The hero of the poem is here first mentioned by name.]\n\n[Footnote 421: The classic love-story of Pyramus and Thisbe, told by\nOvid et al., was a favourite in the Middle Ages.]\n\n[Footnote 422: Here he have the explanation of Guinevere's cold\nreception of Lancelot; he had been faithless to the rigid code of\ncourtesy when he had hesitated for even a moment to cover himself with\nshame for her sake.]\n\n[Footnote 423: The expression \"or est venuz qui aunera\", less literally\nmeans \"who will defeat the entire field\". Though Chr\u00e9tien refers to the\nexpression as a current proverb, only two other examples of its use\nhave been found. (Cf. \"Romania\", xvi. 101, and \"Ztsch. fur romanische\nPhilologie\", xi. 430.) From this passage G. Paris surmised that Chr\u00e9tien\nhimself was a herald-at-arms (\"Journal des Savants\", 1902, p. 296), but\nas Foerster says, the text hardly warrants the supposition.]\n\n[Footnote 424: The evident satisfaction with which Chr\u00e9tien describes in\ndetail the bearings of the knights in the following passage lends colour\nto Gaston Paris' conjecture that he was a herald as well as a poet.]\n\n[Footnote 425: According to the statement made at the end of the poem\nby the continuator of Chr\u00e9tien, Godefroi de Leigni, it must have been at\nabout this point that the continuator took up the thread of the story.\nIt is not known why Chr\u00e9tien dropped the poem where he did.]\n\n[Footnote 426: Bade = Bath. (F.)]\n\n[Footnote 427: The situation recalls that in \"Aucassin et Nicolette\",\nwhere Aucassin confined in the tower hears his sweetheart calling to him\nfrom outside.]\n\n[Footnote 428: The figure is, of course, taken from the game of throwing\ndice for high points. For an exhaustive account of dice-playing derived\nfrom old French texts, cf. Franz Semrau, \"Wurfel und Wurfelspiel in\nalten Frankreich\", \"Beiheft\" 23 of \"Ztsch. fur romanische Philologie\n(Halle,\" 1910).]\n\n[Footnote 429: Alexander's horse.]","title":"Four Arthurian Romances","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":191088}