Four Arthurian Romances
with the King. He went to ask him for leave to go and visit his own
land; but first he thanked him like a frank, wise, and courteous man for
the honour which he had done him; for very deep was his gratitude.
Then he asked his permission to leave, for he wished to visit his own
country, and he wished to take his wife with him. This request the King
could not deny, and yet he would have had him stay. He gives him leave
and begs him to return as soon as possible: for in the whole court there
was no better or more gallant knight, save only his dear nephew Gawain;
[125] with him no one could be compared. But next after him, he prized
Erec most, and held him more dear than any other knight.
(Vv. 2293-2764.) Erec wished to delay no longer. As soon as he had the
King's leave, he bid his wife make her preparations, and he retained as
his escort sixty knights of merit with horses and with dappled and grey
furs. As soon as he was ready for his journey, he tarried little further
at court, but took leave of the Queen and commended the knights to God.
The Queen grants him leave to depart. At the hour of prime he set out
from the royal palace. In the presence of them all he mounted his steed,
and his wife mounted the dappled horse which she had brought from her
own country; then all his escort mounted. Counting knights and squires,
there were full seven score in the train. After four long days' journey
over hills and slopes, through forests, plains, and streams, they
came on the fifth day to Camant, where King Lac was residing in a very
charming town. No one ever saw one better situated; for the town was
provided with forests and meadow-land, with vineyards and farms, with
streams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths,
and polite, well-mannered clerks who spent their incomes freely, with
fair and charming maidens, and with prosperous burghers. Before Erec
reached the town, he sent two knights ahead to announce his arrival
to the King. When he heard the news, the King had clerks, knights, and
damsels quickly mount, and ordered the bells to be rung, and the streets
to be hung with tapestries and silken stuffs, that his son might be
received with joy; then he himself got on his horse. Of clerks there
were present fourscore, gentle and honourable men, clad in grey cloaks
bordered with sable. Of knights there were full five hundred, mounted
on bay, sorrel, or white-spotted steeds. There were so many burghers and
dames that no one could tell the number of them. The King and his son
galloped and rode on till they saw and recognised each other. They both
jump down from their horses and embrace and greet each other for a long
time, without stirring from the place where they first met. Each party
wished the other joy: the King makes much of Erec, but all at once
breaks off to turn to Enide. On all sides he is in clover: he embraces
and kisses them both, and knows not which of the two pleases him the
more. As they gaily enter the castle, the bells all ring their peals to
honour Erec's arrival. The streets are all strewn with reeds, mint, and
iris, and are hung overhead with curtains and tapestries of fancy silk
and satin stuffs. There was great rejoicing; for all the people came
together to see their new lord, and no one ever saw greater happiness
than was shown alike by young and old. First they came to the church,
where very devoutly they were received in a procession. Erec kneeled
before the altar of the Crucifix, and two knights led his wife to the
image of Our Lady. When she had finished her prayer, she stepped back
a little and crossed herself with her right hand, as a well-bred dame
should do. Then they came out from the church and entered the royal
palace, when the festivity began. That day Erec received many presents
from the knights and burghers: from one a palfrey of northern stock, and
from another a golden cup. One presents him with a golden pigeon-hawk,
another with a setter-dog, this one a greyhound, this other a
sparrowhawk, and another a swift Arab steed, this one a shield, this one
an ensign, this one a sword, and this a helmet. Never was a king more
gladly seen in his kingdom, nor received with greater joy, as all strove
to serve him well. Yet greater joy they made of Enide than of him, for
the great beauty which they saw in her, and still more for her open
charm. She was seated in a chamber upon a cushion of brocade which had
been brought from Thessaly. Round about her was many a fair lady; yet as
the lustrous gem outshines the brown flint, and as the rose excels the
poppy, so was Enide fairer than any other lady or damsel to be found in
the world, wherever one might search. She was so gentle and honourable,
of wise speech and affable, of pleasing character and kindly mien. No
one could ever be so watchful as to detect in her any folly, or sign of
evil or villainy. She had been so schooled in good manners that she had
learned all virtues which any lady can possess, as well as generosity
and knowledge. All loved her for her open heart, and whoever could do
her any service was glad and esteemed himself the more. No one spoke any
ill of her, for no one could do so. In the realm or empire there was no
lady of such good manners. But Erec loved her with such a tender love
that he cared no more for arms, nor did he go to tournaments, nor have
any desire to joust; but he spent his time in cherishing his wife. He
made of her his mistress and his sweetheart. He devoted all his heart
and mind to fondling and kissing her, and sought no delight in other
pastime. His friends grieved over this, and often regretted among
themselves that he was so deep in love. Often it was past noon before
he left her side; for there he was happy, say what they might. He rarely
left her society, and yet he was as open-handed as ever to his knights
with arms, dress, and money. There was not a tournament anywhere to
which he did not send them well apparelled and equipped. Whatever the
cost might be, he gave them fresh steeds for the tourney and joust. All
the knights said it was a great pity and misfortune that such a valiant
man as he was wont to be should no longer wish to bear arms. He was
blamed so much on all sides by the knights and squires that murmurs
reached Enide's ears how that her lord had turned craven about arms
and deeds of chivalry, and that his manner of life was greatly changed.
[126] She grieved sorely over this, but she did not dare to show her
grief; for her lord at once would take affront, if she should speak to
him. So the matter remained a secret, until one morning they lay in bed
where they had had sport together. There they lay in close embrace, like
the true lovers they were. He was asleep, but she was awake, thinking
of what many a man in the country was saying of her lord. And when she
began to think it all over, she could not keep back the tears. Such
was her grief and her chagrin that by mischance she let fall a word for
which she later felt remorse, though in her heart there was no guile.
She began to survey her lord from head to foot, his well-shaped body and
his clear countenance, until her tears fell fast upon the bosom of her
lord, and she said: "Alas, woe is me that I ever left my country! What
did I come here to seek? The earth ought by right to swallow me up when
the best knight, the most hardy, brave, fair, and courteous that ever
was a count or king, has completely abjured all his deeds of chivalry
because of me. And thus, in truth, it is I who have brought shame upon
his head, though I would fain not have done so at any price." Then she
said to him: "Unhappy thou!" And then kept silence and spoke no more.
Erec was not sound asleep and, though dozing, heard plainly what she
said. He aroused at her words, and much surprised to see her weeping, he
asked her: "Tell me, my precious beauty, why do you weep thus? What has
caused you woe or sorrow? Surely it is my wish to know. Tell me now,
my gentle sweetheart; and raise care to keep nothing back, why you said
that woe was me? For you said it of me and of no one else. I heard your
words plainly enough." Then was Enide in a great plight, afraid and
dismayed. "Sire," says she, "I know nothing of what you say." "Lady, why
do you conceal it? Concealment is of no avail. You hare been crying; I
can see that, and you do not cry for nothing. And in my sleep I heard
what you said." "Ah! fair sire, you never heard it, and I dare say it
was a dream." "Now you are coming to me with lies. I hear you calmly
lying to me. But if you do not tell me the truth now, you will come to
repent of it later." "Sire, since you torment me thus, I will tell you
the whole truth, and keep nothing back. But I am afraid that you will
not like it. In this land they all say--the dark, the fair, and the
ruddy--that it is a great pity that you should renounce your arms; your
reputation has suffered from it. Every one used to say not long ago that
in all the world there was known no better or more gallant knight.
Now they all go about making game of you--old and young, little and
great--calling you a recreant. Do you suppose it does not give me pain
to hear you thus spoken of with scorn? It grieves me when I hear it
said, and yet it grieves me more that they put the blame for it on me.
Yes, I am blamed for it, I regret to say, and they all assert it is
because I have so ensnared and caught you that you are losing all your
merit, and do not care for aught but me. You must choose another course,
so that you may silence this reproach and regain your former fame; for I
have heard too much of this reproach, and yet I did not dare to disclose
it to you. Many a time, when I think of it, I have to weep for very
grief. Such chagrin I felt just now that I could not keep myself from
saying that you were ill-starred." "Lady," said he, "you were in the
right, and those who blame me do so with reason. And now at once prepare
yourself to take the road. Rise up from here, and dress yourself in your
richest robe, and order your saddle to be put on your best palfrey." Now
Enide is in great distress: very sad and pensive, she gets up, blaming
and upbraiding herself for the foolish words she spoke: she had now
made her bed, and must lie in it. "Ah!" said she, "poor fool! I was too
happy, for there lacked me nothing. God! why was I so forward as to dare
to utter such folly? God! did not my lord love me to excess? In faith,
alas, he was too fond of me. And now I must go away into exile. But I
have yet a greater grief, that I shall no longer see my lord, who loved
me with such tenderness that there was nothing he held so dear. The best
man that was ever born had become so wrapped up in me that he cared for
nothing else. I lacked for nothing then. I was very happy. But pride
it is that stirred me up: because of my pride, I must suffer woe for
telling him such insulting words, and it is right that I should suffer
woe. One does not know what good fortune is until he has made trial of
evil." Thus the lady bemoaned her fate, while she dressed herself fitly
in her richest robe. Yet nothing gave her any pleasure, but rather cause
for deep chagrin. Then she had a maid call one of her squires, and bids
him saddle her precious palfrey of northern stock, than which no count
or king ever had a better. As soon as she had given him the command, the
fellow asked for no delay, but straightway went and saddled the dappled
palfrey. And Erec summoned another squire and bade him bring his arms to
arm his body withal. Then he went up into a bower, and had a Limoges rug
laid out before him on the floor. Meanwhile, the squire ran to fetch the
arms and came back and laid them on the rug. Erec took a seat opposite,
on the figure of a leopard which was portrayed on the rug. He prepares