Four Arthurian Romances
and you may take my word, that, just as you see me now, I will return
if possible, and then will accept your daughter's hand, whenever it may
seem good ro you." "Confound any one," he says, "who asks you for your
word or promise or pledge. If my daughter pleases you, you will return
quickly enough. You will not return any sooner. I think, for having
given your word or sworn an oath. Begone now. I release you from all
oaths and promises. If you are detained by rain or wind, or by nothing
at all, it is of no consequence to me. I do not hold my daughter so
cheap as to bestow her upon you forcibly. Now go about your business.
For it is quite the same to me whether you go or whether you stay."
(Vv. 5771-5871.) Thereupon my lord Yvain turns away and delays no longer
in the castle. He escorted the poor and ill-clad wretches, who were now
released from captivity, and whom the lord committed to his care. These
maidens feel that now they are rich, as they file out in pairs before
him from the castle. I do not believe that they would rejoice so much as
they do now were He who created the whole world to descend to earth from
Heaven. Now all those people who had insulted him in every possible way
come to beseech him for mercy and peace, and escort him on his way. He
replies that he knows nothing of what they mean. "I do not understand
what you mean," he says; "but I have nothing against you. I do not
remember that you ever said anything that harmed me." They are very glad
for what they hear, and loudly praise his courtesy, and after escorting
him a long distance, they all commend him to God. Then the damsels,
after asking his permission, separated from him. When they left him,
they all bowed to him, and prayed and expressed the wish that God might
grant him joy and health, and the accomplishment of his desire, wherever
in the future he should go. Then he, who is anxious to be gone, says
that he hopes God will save them all. "Go," he says, "and may God
conduct you into your countries safe and happy." Then they continue
their way joyfully; and my lord Yvain departs in the other direction.
All the days of that week he never ceases to hurry on under the escort
of the maid, who was well acquainted with the road, and with the retired
place where she had left the unhappy and disconsolate damsel who had
been deprived of her inheritance. But when she heard news of the arrival
of the maiden and of the Knight with the Lion. There never was such joy
as she felt within her heart. For now she thinks that, if she insists,
her sister will cede her a part of her inheritance. The damsel had long
lain sick, and had just recovered from her malady. It had seriously
affected her, as was apparent from her face. Straightway she went forth
to meet them, greeting them and honouring them in every way she could.
There is no need to speak of the happiness that prevailed that night
in the house. No mention will be made of it, for the story would be too
long to tell. I pass over all that, until they mounted next morning and
went away. They rode until they saw the town where King Arthur had been
staying for a fortnight or more. And there, too, was the damsel who
had deprived her sister of her heritage, for she had kept close to the
court, waiting for the arrival of her sister, who now draws near. But
she does not worry much, for she does not think that her sister can find
any knight who can withstand my lord Gawain's attack, and only one day
of the forty yet remains. If this single day had passed, she would have
had the reasonable and legal right to claim the heritage for herself
alone. But more stands in the way than she thinks or believes. That
night they spent outside the town in a small and humble house, where,
in accordance with their desire, they were not recognised. At the first
sign of dawn the next morning they necessarily issue forth, but ensconce
themselves in hiding until broad daylight.
(Vv. 5872-5924.) I know not how many days had passed since my lord
Gawain had so completely disappeared that no one at court knew anything
about him, except only the damsel in whose cause he was to fight. He
had concealed himself three or four leagues from the court, and when he
returned he was so equipped that even those who knew him perfectly
could not recognise him by the arms he bore. The damsel, whose injustice
toward her sister was evident, presented him at court in the sight of
all, for she intended with his help to triumph in the dispute where she
had no rights. So she said to the King: "My lord, time passes. The
noon hour will soon be gone, and this is the last day. As you see, I am
prepared to defend my claim. If my sister were going to return, there
would be nothing to do but await her arrival. But I may praise God that
she is not coming back again. It is evident that she cannot better her
affairs, and that her trouble has been for naught. For my part, I have
been ready all the time up to this last day, to prove my claim to what
is mine. I have proved my point entirely without a fight, and now I
may rightfully go to accept my heritage in peace; for I shall render no
accounting for it to my sister as long as I live, and she will lead a
wretched and miserable existence." Then the King, who well knew that the
damsel was disloyally unjust toward her sister, said to her: "My dear,
upon my word, in a royal court one must wait as long as the king's
justice sits and deliberates upon the verdict. It is not yet time to
pack up, for it is my belief that your sister will yet arrive in time."
Before the King had finished, he saw the Knight with the Lion and the
damsel with him. They two were advancing alone, having slipped away from
the lion, who had stayed where they spent the night.
(Vv. 5925-5990.) The King saw the damsel whom he did not fail to
recognise, and he was greatly pleased and delighted to see her, for
he was on her side of the quarrel, because he had regard for what was
right. Joyfully he cried out to her as soon as he could: "Come forward,
fair one: may God save you!" When the other sister hears these words,
she turns trembling, and sees her with the knight whom she had brought
to defend in her claim: then she turned blacker than the earth. The
damsel, after being kindly welcomed by all, went to where the King was
sitting. When she had come before him, she spoke to him thus: "God save
the King and his household. If my rights in this dispute can be settled
by a champion, then it will be done by this knight who has followed
me hither. This frank and courteous knight had many other things to do
elsewhere; but he felt such pity for me that he cast aside all his other
affairs for the sake of mine. Now, madame, my very dear sister, whom I
love as much as my own heart, would do the right and courteous thing if
she would let me have so much of what is mine by right that there might
be peace between me and her; for I ask for nothing that is hers." "Nor
do I ask for anything that is thine," the other replied; "for thou hast
nothing, and nothing shalt thou have. Thou canst never talk so much as
to gain anything by thy words. Thou mayest dry up with grief." Then the
other, who was very polite and sensible and courteous, replied with the
words: "Certainly I am sorry that two such gentlemen as these should
fight on our behalf over so small a disagreement. But I cannot disregard
my claim, for I am in too great need of it. So I should be much obliged
to you if you would give me what is rightly mine." "Surely," the other
said, "any one would be a fool to consider thy demands. May I burn in
evil fire and flame if I give thee anything to ease thy life! The banks
of the Seine will meet, and the hour of prime will be called noon,
before I refuse to carry out the fight." "May God and the right, which
I have in this cause, and in which I trust and have trusted till the
present time, aid him, who in charity and courtesy has offered himself
in my service, though he knows not who I am, and though we are ignorant
of each other's identity."
(Vv. 5991-6148.) So they talked until their conversation ceased, and
then produced the knights in the middle of the court. Then all the
people crowd about, as people are wont to do when they wish to witness
blows in battle or in joust. But those who were about to fight did
not recognise each other, though their relations were wont to be very
affectionate. Then do they not love each other now? I would answer you
both "yes" and "no." And I shall prove that each answer is correct. In
truth, my lord Gawain loves Yvain and regards him as his companion, and
so does Yvain regard him, wherever he may be. Even here, if he knew who
he was, he would make much of him, and either one of them would lay down
his head for the other before he would allow any harm to come to him. Is
not that a perfect and lofty love? Yes, surely. But, on the other hand,
is not their hate equally manifest? Yes; for it is a certain thing that
doubtless each would be glad to have broken the other's head, and so
to have injured him as to cause his humiliation. Upon my word, it is a
wondrous thing, that Love and mortal Hate should dwell together. God!
How can two things so opposed find lodging in the same dwelling-place?
It seems to me they cannot live together; for one could not dwell with
the other, without giving rise to noise and contention, as soon as each
knew of the other's presence. But upon the ground-floor there may be
several apartments: for there are halls and sleeping-rooms. It may be
the same in this case: I think Love had ensconced himself in some hidden
room, while Hate had betaken herself to the balconies looking on the
high-road, because she wishes to be seen. Just now Hate is in the
saddle, and spurs and pricks forward as she can, to get ahead of Love
who is indisposed to move. Ah! Love, what has become of thee? Come out
now, and thou shalt see what a host has been brought up and opposed to
thee by the enemies of thy friends. The enemies are these very men who
love each other with such a holy love for love, which is neither false
nor feigned, is a precious and a holy thing. In this case Love is
completely blind, and Hate, too, is deprived of sight. For if Love had
recognised these two men, he must have forbidden each to attack the
other, or to do any thing to cause him harm. In this respect, then,
Love is blind and discomfited and beguiled; for, though he sees them, he
fails to recognise those who rightly belong to him. And though Hate is
unable to tell why one of them should hate the other, yet she tries to
engage them wrongfully, so that each hates the other mortally. You know,
of course, that he cannot be said to love a man who would wish to harm
him and see him dead. How then? Does Yvain wish to kill his friend, my
lord Gawain? Yes, and the desire is mutual. Would, then, my lord Gawain
desire to kill Yvain with his own hands, or do even worse than I have
said? Nay, not really, I swear and protest. One would not wish to injure
or harm the other, in return for all that God has done for man, or for
all the empire of Rome. But this, in turn, is a lie of mine, for it is
plainly to be seen that, with lance raised high in rest, each is ready
to attack the other, and there will be no restraint of the desire of
each to wound the other with intent to injure him and work him woe. Now
tell me! When one will have defeated the other, of whom can he complain
who has the worst of it? For if they go so far as to come to blows, I am
very much afraid that they will continue the battle and the strife
until victory be definitely decided. If he is defeated, will Yvain be
justified in saying that he has been harmed and wronged by a man who
counts him among his friends, and who has never mentioned him but by the