Four Arthurian Romances
pieces. The combatants felt no shame in falling to earth, in view of
their mishaps, but they quickly spring to their feet, and without waste
of threatening words rush at each other more fiercely than two wild
boars, and deal great blows with their swords of steel like men whose
hate is violent. Repeatedly they trim the helmets and shining hauberks
so fiercely that after the sword the blood spurts out. They furnished
an excellent battle, indeed, as they stunned and wounded each other with
their heavy, wicked blows. Many fierce, hard, long bouts they sustained
with equal honour, so that the onlookers could discern no advantage on
either side. But it was inevitable that he who had crossed the bridge
should be much weakened by his wounded hands. The people who sided with
him were much dismayed, for they notice that his strokes are growing
weaker, and they fear he will get the worst of it; it seemed to them
that he was weakening, while Meleagant was triumphing, and they began
to murmur all around. But up at the window of the tower there was a wise
maiden who thought within herself that the knight had not undertaken the
battle either on her account or for the sake of the common herd who had
gathered about the list, but that his only incentive had been the Queen;
and she thought that, if he knew that she was at the window seeing and
watching him, his strength and courage would increase. And if she had
known his name, she would gladly have called to him to look about him.
Then she came to the Queen and said: "Lady, for God's sake and your
own as well as ours, I beseech you to tell me, if you know, the name of
yonder knight, to the end that it may be of some help to him." "Damsel,"
the Queen replies, "you have asked me a question in which I see no hate
or evil, but rather good intent; the name of the knight, I know, is
Lancelot of the Lake." [420] "God, how happy and glad at heart I am!"
the damsel says. Then she leans forward and calls to him by name so
loudly that all the people hear: "Lancelot, turn about and see who is
here taking note of thee!"
(Vv. 3685-3954.) When Lancelot heard his name, he was not slow to turn
around: he turns and sees seated up there at the window of the tower
her whom he desired most in the world to see. From the moment he caught
sight of her, he did not turn or take his eyes and face from her,
defending himself with backhand blows. And Meleagant meanwhile attacked
him as fiercely as he could, delighted to think that the other cannot
withstand him now; and they of the country are well pleased too,
while the foreigners are so distressed that they can no longer support
themselves, and many of them fall to earth either upon their knees or
stretched out prone; thus some are glad, and some distressed. Then the
damsel cried again from the window: "Ah, Lancelot, how is it that thou
dost now conduct thyself so foolishly? Once thou wert the embodiment
of prowess and of all that is good, and I do not think God ever made a
knight who could equal thee in valour and in worth. But now we see
thee so distressed that thou dealest back-hand blows and fightest thy
adversary, behind thy back. Turn, so as to be on the other side, and so
that thou canst face toward this tower, for it will help thee to keep
it in view." Then Lancelot is so ashamed and mortified that he hates
himself, for he knows full well that all have seen how, for some time
past, he has had the worst of the fight. Thereupon he leaps backward and
so manoeuvres as to force Meleagant into a position between him and the
tower. Meleagant makes every effort to regain his former position. But
Lancelot rushes upon him, and strikes him so violently upon his body and
shield whenever he tries to get around him, that he compels him to whirl
about two or three times in spite of himself. Lancelot's strength and
courage grow, partly because he has love's aid, and partly because he
never hated any one so much as him with whom he is engaged. Love and
mortal hate, so fierce that never before was such hate seen, make him so
fiery and bold that Meleagant ceases to treat it as a jest and begins to
stand in awe of him, for he had never met or known so doughty a knight,
nor had any knight ever wounded or injured him as this one does. He
is glad to get away from him, and he winces and sidesteps, fearing his
blows and avoiding them. And Lancelot does not idly threaten him, but
drives him rapidly toward the tower where the Queen was stationed on the
watch. There upon the tower he did her the homage of his blows until he
came so close that, if he advanced another step, he would lose sight
of her. Thus Lancelot drove him back and forth repeatedly in whatever
direction he pleased, always stopping before the Queen, his lady, who
had kindled the flame which compels him to fix his gaze upon her. And
this same flame so stirred him against Meleagant that he was enabled to
lead and drive him wherever he pleased. In spite of himself he drives
him on like a blind man or a man with a wooden leg. The king sees his
son so hard pressed that he is sorry for him and he pities him, and he
will not deny him aid and assistance if possible; but if he wishes to
proceed courteously, he must first beg the Queen's permission. So he
began to say to her: "Lady, since I have had you in my power, I have
loved you and faithfully served and honoured you. I never consciously
left anything undone in which I saw your honour involved; now repay
me for what I have done. For I am about to ask you a favour which you
should not grant unless you do so willingly. I plainly see that my son
is getting the worst of this battle; I do not speak so because of the
chagrin I feel, but in order that Lancelot, who has him in his power,
may not kill him. Nor ought you to wish to see him killed; not because
he has not wronged both you and him, but because I make the request of
you: so tell him, please, to stop beating him. If you will, you can thus
repay me for what I have done for you." "Fair sire, I am willing to do
so at your request," the Queen replies; "had I mortal hatred for your
son, whom it is true I do not love, yet you have served me so well that,
to please you, I am quite willing that he should desist." These words
were not spoken privately, but Lancelot and Meleagrant heard what was
said. The man who is a perfect lover is always obedient and quickly and
gladly does his mistress' pleasure. So Lancelot was constrained to do
his Lady's will, for he loved more than Pyramus, [421] if that were
possible for any man to do. Lancelot heard what was said, and as soon as
the last word had issued from her mouth, "since you wish him to desist,
I am willing that he should do so," Lancelot would not have touched him
or made a movement for anything, even if the other had killed him. He
does not touch him or raise his hand. But Meleagant, beside himself with
rage and shame when he hears that it has been necessary to intercede
in his behalf, strikes him with all the strength he can muster. And the
king went down from the tower to upbraid his son, and entering the list
he addressed him thus: "How now? Is this becoming, to strike him when he
is not touching thee? Thou art too cruel and savage, and thy prowess
is now out of place! For we all know beyond a doubt that he is thy
superior." Then Meleagant, choking with shame, says to the king: "I
think you must be blind! I do not believe you see a thing. Any one must
indeed be blind to think I am not better than he." "Seek some one to
believe thy words!" the king replies, "for all the people know whether
thou speakest the truth or a lie. All of us know full well the truth."
Then the king bids his barons lead his son away, which they do at once
in execution of his command: they led away Meleagant. But it was not
necessary to use force to induce Lancelot to withdraw, for Meleagant
might have harmed him grievously, before he would have sought to defend
himself. Then the king says to his son: "So help me God, now thou must
make peace and surrender the Queen. Thou must cease this quarrel once
for all and withdraw thy claim." "That is great nonsense you have
uttered! I hear you speak foolishly. Stand aside! Let us fight, and do
not mix in our affairs!" But the king says he will take a hand, for he
knows well that, were the fight to continue, Lancelot would kill his
son. "He kill me! Rather would I soon defeat and kill him, if you would
leave us alone and let us fight." Then the king says: "So help me God,
all that thou sayest is of no avail." "Why is that?" he asks. "Because I
will not consent. I will not so trust in thy folly and pride as to allow
thee to be killed. A man is a fool to court death, as thou dost in thy
ignorance. I know well that thou hatest me because I wish to save thy
life. God will not let me see and witness thy death, if I can help it,
for it would cause me too much grief." He talks to him and reproves him
until finally peace and good-will are restored. The terms of the peace
are these: he will surrender the Queen to Lancelot, provided that the
latter without reluctance will fight them again within a year of such
time as he shall choose to summon him: this is no trial to Lancelot.
When peace is made, all the people press about, and it is decided
that the battle shall be fought at the court of King Arthur, who holds
Britain and Cornwall in his sway: there they decide that it shall be.
And the Queen has to consent, and Lancelot has to promise, that if
Meleagant can prove him recreant, she shall come back with him again
without the interference of any one. When the Queen and Lancelot had
both agreed to this, the arrangement was concluded, and they both
retired and removed their arms. Now the custom in the country was that
when one issued forth, all the others might do so too. All called down
blessings upon Lancelot: and you may know that he must have felt great
joy, as in truth he did. All the strangers assemble and rejoice over
Lancelot, speaking so as to be heard by him: "Sire, in truth we were
joyful as soon as we heard your name, for we felt sure at once that we
should all be set free." There was a great crowd present at this glad
scene, as each one strives and presses forward to touch him if possible.
Any one who succeeded in touching him was more delighted than he could
tell. There was plenty of joy, and of sorrow too; those who were now set
free rejoiced unrestrainedly; but Meleagant and his followers have not
anything they want, but are pensive, gloomy, and downcast. The king
turns away from the list, taking with him Lancelot, who begs him to take
him to the Queen. "I shall not fail to do so," the king replies; "for it
seems to me the proper thing to do. And if you like, I will show you Kay
the seneschal." At this Lancelot is so glad that he almost falls at his
feet. Then the king took him at once into the hall, where the Queen had
come to wait for him.
(Vv. 3955-4030.) When the Queen saw the king holding Lancelot by the
hand, she rose before the king, but she looked displeased with clouded
brow, and she spoke not a word. "Lady, here is Lancelot come to see
you," says the king; "you ought to be pleased and satisfied." "I, sire?
He cannot please me. I care nothing about seeing him." "Come now, lady,"
says the king who was very frank and courteous, "what induces you to
act like this? You are too scornful toward a man who has served you so
faithfully that he has repeatedly exposed his life to mortal danger on
this journey for your sake, and who has defended and rescued you from my
son Meleagant who had deeply wronged you." "Sire, truly he has made
poor use of his time. I shall never deny that I feel no gratitude toward
him." Now Lancelot is dumbfounded; but he replies very humbly like a
polished lover: "Lady, certainly I am grieved at this, but I dare