Four Arthurian Romances
upon my word. But he said it because of the lady of the town, of whom he
wished to catch a glimpse. So the damsel placed him at a little window,
and repaid him as well as she could for the honour which he had done
her. From this window my lord Yvain espies the fair lady, as she says:
"Sire, may God have mercy upon your soul! For never, I verily believe,
did any knight ever sit in saddle who was your equal in any respect.
No other knight, my fair sweet lord, ever possessed your honour or
courtesy. Generosity was your friend and boldness your companion. May
your soul rest among the saints, my fair dear lord." Then she strikes
and tears whatever she can lay her hands upon. Whatever the outcome
may be, it is hard for my lord Yvain to restrain himself from running
forward to seize her hands. But the damsel begs and advises him, and
even urgently commands him, though with courtesy and graciousness, not
to commit any rash deed, saying: "You are well off here. Do not stir
for any cause until this grief shall be assuaged; let these people all
depart, as they will do presently. If you act as I advise, in accordance
with my views, great advantage may come to you. It will be best for you
to remain seated here, and watch the people inside and out as they
pass along the way without their seeing you. But take care not to speak
violently, for I hold that man to be rather imprudent than brave who
goes too far and loses his self-restraint and commits some deed of
violence the moment he has the time and chance. So if you cherish some
rash thought be careful not to utter it. The wise man conceals his
imprudent thought and works out righteousness if he can. So wisely take
good care not to risk your head, for which they would accept no ransom.
Be considerate of yourself and remember my advice. Rest assured until
I return, for I dare not stay longer now. I might stay so long, I fear,
that they would suspect me when they did not see me in the crowd, and
then I should suffer for it."
(Vv. 1339-1506.) Then she goes off, and he remains, not knowing how to
comport himself. He is loath to see them bury the corpse without his
securing anything to take back as evidence that he has defeated and
killed him. If he has no proof or evidence he will be held in contempt,
for Kay is so mean and obstinate, so given to mockery, and so annoying,
that he could never succeed in convincing him. He would go about for
ever insulting him, flinging his mockery and taunts as he did the other
day. These taunts are still fresh and rankling in his heart. But with
her sugar and honey a new Love now softened him; he had been to hunt
upon his lands and had gathered in his prey. His enemy carries off
his heart, and he loves the creature who hates him most. The lady, all
unaware, has well avenged her lord's death. She has secured greater
revenge than she could ever have done unless she had been aided by Love,
who attacks him so gently that he wounds his heart through his eyes.
And this wound is more enduring than any inflicted by lance or sword.
A sword-blow is cured and healed at once as soon as a doctor attends to
it, but the wound of love is worst when it is nearest to its physician.
This is the wound of my lord Yvain, from which he will never more
recover, for Love has installed himself with him. He deserts and goes
away from the places he was wont to frequent. He cares for no lodging
or landlord save this one, and he is very wise in leaving a poor
lodging-place in order to betake himself to him. In order to devote
himself completely to him, he will have no other lodging-place, though
often he is wont to seek out lowly hostelries. It is a shame that
Love should ever so basely conduct himself as to select the meanest
lodging-place quite as readily as the best. But now he has come where he
is welcome, and where he will be treated honourably, and where he will
do well to stay. This is the way Love ought to act, being such a noble
creature that it is marvellous how he dares shamefully to descend to
such low estate. He is like him who spreads his balm upon the ashes and
dust, who mingles sugar with gall, and suet with honey. However, he did
not act so this time, but rather lodged in a noble place, for which no
one can reproach him. When the dead man had been buried, all the people
dispersed, leaving no clerks or knights or ladies, excepting only
her who makes no secret of her grief. She alone remains behind, often
clutching at her throat, wringing her hands, and beating her palms, as
she reads her psalms in her gilt lettered psalter. All this while my
lord Yvain is at the window gazing at her, and the more he looks at her
the more he loves her and is enthralled by her. He would have wished
that she should cease her weeping and reading, and that she should
feel inclined to converse with him. Love, who caught him at the window,
filled him with this desire. But he despairs of realising his wish, for
he cannot imagine or believe that his desire can be gratified. So he
says: "I may consider myself a fool to wish for what I cannot have.
Her lord it was whom I wounded mortally, and yet do I think I can be
reconciled with her? Upon my word, such thoughts are folly, for at
present she has good reason to hate me more bitterly than anything. I am
right in saying 'at present', for a woman has more than one mind. That
mind in which she is just now I trust she will soon change; indeed, she
will change it certainly, and I am mad thus to despair. God grant that
she change it soon! For I am doomed to be her slave, since such is the
will of Love. Whoever does not welcome Love gladly, when he comes to
him, commits treason and a felony. I admit (and let whosoever will,
heed what I say) that such an one deserves no happiness or joy. But if I
lose, it will not be for such a reason; rather will I love my enemy.
For I ought not to feel any hate for her unless I wish to betray Love.
I must love in accordance with Love's desire. And ought she to regard me
as a friend? Yes, surely, since it is she whom I love. And I call her
my enemy, for she hates me, though with good reason, for I killed the
object of her love. So, then, am I her enemy? Surely no, but her true
friend, for I never so loved any one before. I grieve for her fair
tresses, surpassing gold in their radiance; I feel the pangs of anguish
and torment when I see her tear and cut them, nor can her tears e'er
be dried which I see falling from her eyes; by all these things I am
distressed. Although they are full of ceaseless, ever-flowing tears, yet
never were there such lovely eves. The sight of her weeping causes me
agony, but nothing pains me so much as the sight of her face, which she
lacerates without its having merited such treatment. I never saw such a
face so perfectly formed, nor so fresh and delicately coloured. And then
it has pierced my heart to see her clutch her throat. Surely, it is all
too true that she is doing the worst she can. And yet no crystal nor any
mirror is so bright and smooth. God! why is she thus possessed, and why
does she not spare herself? Why does she wring her lovely hands and beat
and tear her breast? Would she not be marvellously fair to look upon
when in happy mood, seeing that she is so fair in her displeasure?
Surely yes, I can take my oath on that. Never before in a work of beauty
was Nature thus able to outdo herself, for I am sure she has gone beyond
the limits of any previous attempt. How could it ever have happened
then? Whence came beauty so marvellous? God must have made her with His
naked hand that Nature might rest from further toil. If she should try
to make a replica, she might spend her time in vain without succeeding
in her task. Even God Himself, were He to try, could not succeed, I
guess, in ever making such another, whatever effort He might put forth."
(Vv. 1507-1588.) Thus my lord Yvain considers her who is broken with her
grief, and I suppose it would never happen again that any man in prison,
like my lord Yvain in fear for his life, would ever be so madly in love
as to make no request on his own behalf, when perhaps no one else will
speak for him. He stayed at the window until he saw the lady go away,
and both the portcullises were lowered again. Another might have grieved
at this, who would prefer a free escape to tarrying longer where he was.
But to him it is quite indifferent whether they be shut or opened. If
they were open he surely would not go away, no, even were the lady to
give him leave and pardon him freely for the death of her lord. For he
is detained by Love and Shame which rise up before him on either hand:
he is ashamed to go away, for no one would believe in the success of his
exploit; on the other hand, he has such a strong desire to see the lady
at least, if he cannot obtain any other favour, that he feels little
concern about his imprisonment. He would rather die than go away. And
now the damsel returns, wishing to bear him company with her solace
and gaiety, and to go and fetch for him whatever he may desire. But she
found him pensive and quite worn out with the love which had laid hold
of him; whereupon she addressed him thus: "My lord Yvain, what sort of
a time have you had to-day?" "I have been pleasantly occupied," was his
reply. "Pleasantly? In God's name, is that the truth? What? How can one
enjoy himself seeing that he is hunted to death, unless he courts and
wishes it?" "Of a truth," he says, "my gentle friend, I should by no
means wish to die; and yet, as God beholds me, I was pleased, am pleased
now, and always shall be pleased by what I saw." "Well, let us say no
more of that," she makes reply, "for I can understand well enough what
is the meaning of such words. I am not so foolish or inexperienced that
I cannot understand such words as those; but come now after me, for I
shall find some speedy means to release you from your confinement. I
shall surely set you free to-night or to-morrow, if you please. Come
now, I will lead you away." And he thus makes reply: "You may be sure
that I will never escape secretly and like a thief. When the people are
all gathered out there in the streets, I can go forth more honourably
than if I did so surreptitiously." Then he followed her into the little
room. The damsel, who was kind, secured and bestowed upon him all that
he desired. And when the opportunity arose, she remembered what he
had said to her how he had been pleased by what he saw when they were
seeking him in the room with intent to kill him.
(Vv. 1589-1652.) The damsel stood in such favour with her lady that she
had no fear of telling her anything, regardless of the consequences, for
she was her confidante and companion. Then, why should she be backward
in comforting her lady and in giving her advice which should redound to
her honour? The first time she said to her privily: "My lady, I greatly
marvel to see you act so extravagantly. Do you think you can recover
your lord by giving away thus to your grief?" "Nay, rather, if I had my
wish," says she, "I would now be dead of grief." "And why?" "In order to
follow after him." "After him? God forbid, and give you again as good a
lord, as is consistent with His might." "Thou didst never speak such a
lie as that, for He could never give me so good a lord again." "He will
give you a better one, if you will accept him, and I can prove it."
"Begone! Peace! I shall never find such a one." "Indeed you shall, my
lady, if you will consent. Just tell me, if you will, who is going to
defend your land when King Arthur comes next week to the margin of the
spring? You have already been apprised of this by letters sent you by
the Dameisele Sauvage. Alas, what a kind service she did for you! you
ought to be considering how you will defend your spring, and yet you