Four Arthurian Romances
not ask your reason." The Queen listened as Lancelot voiced his
disappointment, but in order to grieve and confound him, she would not
answer a single word, but returned to her room. And Lancelot followed
her with his eyes and heart until she reached the door; but she was not
long in sight, for the room was close by. His eyes would gladly have
followed her, had that been possible; but the heart, which is more
lordly and masterful in its strength, went through the door after her,
while the eyes remained behind weeping with the body. And the king said
privily to him: "Lancelot, I am amazed at what this means: and how it
comes about that the Queen cannot endure the sight of you, and that she
is so unwilling to speak with you. If she is ever accustomed to speak
with you, she ought not to be niggardly now or avoid conversation with
you, after what you have done for her. Now tell me, if you know, why and
for what misdeed she has shown you such a countenance." "Sire, I did not
notice that just now; but she will not look at me or hear my words, and
that distresses and grieves me much." "Surely," says the king, "she is
in the wrong, for you have risked your life for her. Come away now, fair
sweet friend, and we shall go to speak with the seneschal." "I shall be
glad to do so," he replies. Then they both go to the seneschal. As soon
as Lancelot came where he was, the seneschal's first exclamation was:
"How thou hast shamed me!" "I? How so?" Lancelot inquires; "tell me what
disgrace have I brought upon you?" "A very great disgrace, for thou hast
carried out what I could not accomplish, and thou hast done what I could
not do."
(Vv. 4031-4124.) Then the king left them together in the room, and went
out alone. And Lancelot inquires of the seneschal if he has been badly
off. "Yes," he answers, "and I still am so. I was never more wretched
than I am now. And I should have died a long time ago, had it not been
for the king, who in his compassion has shown me so much gentleness and
kindness that he willingly let me lack nothing of which I stood in need;
but I was furnished at once with everything that I desired. But opposed
to the kindness which he showed me, was Meleagant his son, who is full
of wickedness, and who summoned the physicians to him and bade them
apply such ointments as would kill me. Such a father and stepfather have
I had! For when the king had a good plaster applied to my wounds in his
desire that I should soon be cured, his treacherous son, wishing to put
me to death, had it promptly taken off and some harmful salve applied.
But I am very sure that the king was ignorant of this; he would not
tolerate such base and murderous tricks. But you do not know how
courteous he has been to my lady: no frontier tower since the time that
Noah built the ark was ever so carefully guarded, for he has guarded her
so vigilantly that, though his son chafed under the restraint, he would
nor let him see her except in the presence of the king himself. Up to
the present time the king in his mercy has shown her all the marks of
consideration which she herself proposed. She alone had the disposition
of her affairs. And the king esteemed her all the more for the loyalty
she showed. But is it true, as I am told, that she is so angry with you
that she has publicly refused to speak with you?" "You have been told
the exact truth," Lancelot replies, "but for God's sake, can you tell me
why she is so displeased with me?" He replies that he does not know, and
that he is greatly surprised at it. "Well, let it be as she pleases,"
says Lancelot, feeling his helplessness; "I must now take my leave, and
I shall go to seek my lord Gawain who has entered this land, and who
arranged with me that he would proceed directly to the waterbridge."
Then, leaving the room, he appeared before the king and asked for leave
to proceed in that direction. And the king willingly grants him leave to
go. Then those whom Lancelot had set free and delivered from prison ask
him what they are to do. And he replies: "All those who desire may come
with me, and those who wish to stay with the Queen may do so: there is
no reason why they should accompany me." Then all those, who so desire,
accompany him, more glad and joyous than is their wont. With the Queen
remain her damsels who are light of heart, and many knights and ladies
too. But there is not one of those who stay behind, who would not have
preferred to return to his own country to staying there. But on my
lord Gawain's account, whose arrival is expected, the Queen keeps them,
saying that she will never stir until she has news of him.
(Vv. 4125-4262.) The news spreads everywhere that the Queen is free to
go, and that all the other prisoners have been set at liberty and are
free to go whenever it suits and pleases them. Wherever the people of
the land gather together, they ask each other about the truth of this
report, and never talk of anything else. They are very much enraged that
all the dangerous passes have been overcome, and that any one may come
and go as he pleases. But when the natives of the country, who had not
been present at the battle, learned how Lancelot had been the victor,
they all betook themselves to the place where they knew he must pass
by, thinking that the king would be well pleased if they should seize
Lancelot and hale him back to him. All of his own men were without
their arms, and therefore they were at a disadvantage when they saw the
natives of the country coming under arms. It was not strange that they
seized Lancelot, who was without his arms. They lead him back prisoner,
his feet lashed together beneath his horse. Then his own men say:
"Gentlemen, this is an evil deed; for the king has given us his
safe-conduct, and we are under his protection." But the others reply:
"We do not know how that may be; but as we have taken you, you must
return with us to court." The rumour, which swiftly flies and runs,
reaches the king, that his men have seized Lancelot and put him to
death. When the king hears it, he is sorely grieved and swears angrily
by his head that they who have killed him shall surely die for the deed;
and that, if he can seize or catch them, it shall be their fate to be
hanged, burned, or drowned. And if they attempt to deny their deed, he
will not believe what they say, for they have brought him such grief and
shame that he would be disgraced were vengeance not to be exacted from
them; but he will be avenged without a doubt. The news of this spread
until it reached the Queen, who was sitting at meat. She almost killed
herself on hearing the false report about Lancelot, but she supposes it
to be true, and therefore she is in such dismay that she almost loses
the power to speak; but, because of those present, she forces herself
to say: "In truth, I am sorry for his death, and it is no wonder that
I grieve, for he came into this country for my sake, and therefore I
should mourn for him." Then she says to herself, so that the others
should not hear, that no one need ask her to drink or eat, if it is
true that he is dead, in whose life she found her own. Then grieving she
rises from the table, and makes her lament, but so that no one hears
or notices her. She is so beside herself that she repeatedly grasps
her throat with the desire to kill herself; but first she confesses to
herself, and repents with self-reproach, blaming and censuring herself
for the wrong she had done him, who, as she knew, had always been hers,
and would still be hers, if he were alive. She is so distressed at
the thought of her cruelty, that her beauty is seriously impaired. Her
cruelty and meanness affected her and marred her beauty more than all
the vigils and fastings with which she afflicted herself. When all her
sins rise up before her, she gathers them together, and as she reviews
them, she repeatedly exclaims: "Alas! of what was I thinking when my
lover stood before me and I should have welcomed him, that I would not
listen to his words? Was I not a fool, when I refused to look at or
speak to him? Foolish indeed? Rather was I base and cruel, so help me
God. I intended it as a jest, but he did not take it so, and has not
pardoned me. I am sure it was no one but me who gave him his death-blow.
When he came before me smiling and expecting that I would be glad to
see him and would welcome him, and when I would not look at him, was not
that a mortal blow? When I refused to speak with him, then doubtless at
one blow I deprived him of his heart and life. These two strokes have
killed him, I am sure; no other bandits have caused his death. God! can
I ever make amends for this murder and this crime? No, indeed; sooner
will the rivers and the sea dry up. Alas! how much better I should feel,
and how much comfort I should take, if only once before he died I had
held him in my arms! What? Yes, certainly, quite unclad, in order the
better to enjoy him. If he is dead, I am very wicked not to destroy
myself. Why? Can it harm my lover for me to live on after he is dead, if
I take no pleasure in anything but in the woe I bear for him? In giving
myself up to grief after his death, the very woes I court would be sweet
to me, if he were only still alive. It is wrong for a woman to wish to
die rather than to suffer for her lover's sake. It is certainly sweet
for me to mourn him long. I would rather be beaten alive than die and be
at rest."
(Vv. 4263-4414.) For two days the Queen thus mourned for him without
eating or drinking, until they thought she too would die. There are
plenty of people ready to carry bad news rather than good. The news
reaches Lancelot that his lady and sweetheart is dead. You need have
no doubt of the grief he felt; every one may feel sure that he was
afflicted and overcome with grief. Indeed, if you would know the truth,
he was so downcast that he held his life in slight esteem. He wished to
kill himself at once, but first he uttered a brief lament. He makes
a running noose at one end of the belt he wore, and then tearfully
communes thus with himself: "Ah, death, how hast thou spied me out and
undone me, when in the bloom of health! I am undone, and yet I feel no
pain except the grief within my heart. This is a terrible mortal grief.
I am willing that it should be so, and if God will, I shall die of it.
Then can I not die some other way, without God's consent? Yes, if he
will let me tie this noose around my neck. I think I can compel death,
even against her will, to take my life. Death, who covets only those
who fear her, will not come to me; but my belt will bring her within my
power, and as soon as she is mine, she will execute my desire. But, in
truth, she will come too tardily for me, for I yearn to have her now!"
Then he delays and hesitates no longer, but adjusts his head within the
noose until it rests about his neck; and in order that he may not
fail to harm himself, he fastens the end of the belt tightly about the
saddle-bow, without attracting the attention of any one. Then he let
himself slide to earth, intending his horse to drag him until he was
lifeless, for he disdains to live another hour. When those who ride with
him see him fallen to earth, they suppose him to be in a faint, for no
one sees the noose which he had attached about his neck. At once they
caught him in their arms and, on raising him, they found the noose which
he had put around his neck and with which he sought to kill himself.
They quickly cut the noose; but the noose had so hurt his throat that
for some time he could not speak; the veins of his neck and throat are
almost broken. Now he could not harm himself, even had he wished to
do so; however, he is grieved that they have laid hands on him, and he
almost burns up with rage, for willingly would he have killed himself