Four Arthurian Romances
had no one chanced to notice him. And now when he cannot harm himself,
he cries: "Ah, vile and shameless death! For God's sake, why hadst thou
not the power and might to kill me before my lady died? I suppose it
was because thou wouldst not deign to do what might be a kindly deed. If
thou didst spare me, it must be attributed to thy wickedness. Ah, what
kind of service and kindness is that! How well hast thou employed them
here! A curse upon him who thanks thee or feels gratitude for such a
service! I know not which is more my enemy: life, which detains me, or
death, which will not slay me. Each one torments me mortally; and it
serves me right, so help me God, that in spite of myself I should still
live on. For I ought to have killed myself as soon as my lady the Queen
showed her hate for me; she did not do it without cause, but she had
some good reason, though I know not what it is. And if I had known what
it was before her soul went to God, I should have made her such rich
amends as would have pleased her and gained her mercy. God! what could
my crime have been? I think she must have known that I mounted upon the
cart. I do not know what other cause she can have to blame me. This has
been my undoing. If this is the reason of her hate, God! what harm could
this crime do? Any one who would reproach me for such an act never knew
what love is, for no one could mention anything which, if prompted by
love, ought to be turned into a reproach. Rather, everything that one
can do for his lady-love is to be regarded as a token of his love and
courtesy. Yet, I did not do it for my 'lady-love'. I know not by what
name to call her, whether 'lady-love', or not. I do not dare to call her
by this name. But I think I know this much of love: that if she loved
me, she ought not to esteem me less for this crime, but rather call me
her true lover, inasmuch as I regarded it as an honour to do all love
bade me do, even to mount upon a cart. She ought to ascribe this to
love; and this is a certain proof that love thus tries his devotees and
thus learns who is really his. But this service did not please my lady,
as I discovered by her countenance. And yet her lover did for her that
for which many have shamefully reproached and blamed him, though she was
the cause of it; and many blame me for the part I have played, and have
turned my sweetness into bitterness. In truth, such is the custom of
those who know so little of love, that even honour they wash in shame.
But whoever dips honour into shame, does not wash it, but rather sullies
it. But they, who maltreat him so, are quite ignorant of love; and he,
who fears not his commands, boasts himself very superior to him.
For unquestionably he fares well who obeys the commands of love, and
whatever he does is pardonable, but he is the coward who does not dare."
(Vv. 4415-4440.) Thus Lancelot makes his lament, and his men stand
grieving by his side, keeping hold of him and guarding him. Then the
news comes that the Queen is not dead. Thereupon Lancelot at once takes
comfort, and if his grief for her death had before been intense and
deep, now his joy for her life was a hundred thousand times as great.
And when they arrived within six or seven leagues of the castle where
King Bademagu was, grateful news of Lancelot was told him, how he was
alive and was coming hale and hearty, and this news the king was glad
to hear. He did a very courteous thing in going at once to appraise the
Queen. And she replies: "Fair sire, since you say so, I believe it is
true, but I assure you that, if he were dead, I should never be happy
again. All my joy would be cut off, if a knight had been killed in my
service."
(Vv. 4441-4530.) Then the king leaves her, and the Queen yearns ardently
for the arrival of her lover and her joy. She has no desire this time
to bear him any grudge. But rumour, which never rests but runs always
unceasingly, again reaches the Queen to the effect that Lancelot would
have killed himself for her sake, if he had had the chance. She is happy
at the thought that this is true, but she would not have had it happen
so for anything, for her sorrow would have been too great. Thereupon
Lancelot arrived in haste. [422] As soon as the king sees him, he runs
to kiss and embrace him. He feels as if he ought to fly, borne along by
the buoyancy of his joy. But his satisfaction is cut short by those who
had taken and bound his guest, and the king tells them they have come
in an evil hour, for they shall all be killed and confounded. Then they
made answer that they thought he would have it so. "It is I whom you
have insulted in doing your pleasure. He has no reason to complain,"
the king replies; "you have not shamed him at all, but only me who was
protecting him. However you look at it, the shame is mine. But if you
escape me now, you will see no joke in this." When Lancelot hears his
wrath, he puts forth every effort to make peace and adjust matters; when
his efforts have met with success, the king takes him away to see the
Queen. This time the Queen did not lower her eyes to the ground, but she
went to meet him cheerfully, honouring him all she could, and making him
sit down by her side. Then they talked together at length of all that
was upon their hearts, and love furnished them with so much to say that
topics did not lack. And when Lancelot sees how well he stands, and that
all he says finds favour with the Queen, he says to her in confidence:
"Lady, I marvel greatly why you received me with such a countenance when
you saw me the day before yesterday, and why you would not speak a word
to me: I almost died of the blow you gave me, and I had not the courage
to dare to question you about it, as I now venture to do. I am ready
now, lady, to make amends, when you have told me what has been the crime
which has caused me such distress." Then the Queen replies: "What? Did
you not hesitate for shame to mount the cart? You showed you were loath
to get in, when you hesitated for two whole steps. That is the reason
why I would neither address nor look at you." "May God save me from such
a crime again," Lancelot replies, "and may God show me no mercy, if you
were not quite right! For God's sake, lady, receive my amends at once,
and tell me, for God's sake, if you can ever pardon me." "Friend, you
are quite forgiven," the Queen replies; "I pardon you willingly." "Thank
you for that, lady," he then says; "but I cannot tell you here all that
I should like to say; I should like to talk with you more at leisure, if
possible." Then the Queen indicates a window by her glance rather than
with her finger, and says: "Come through the garden to-night and speak
with me at yonder window, when every one inside has gone to sleep. You
will not be able to get in: I shall be inside and you outside: to gain
entrance will be impossible. I shall be able to touch you only with my
lips or hand, but, if you please, I will stay there until morning for
love of you. Our bodies cannot be joined, for close beside me in my room
lies Kay the seneschal, who is still suffering from his wounds. And the
door is not open, but is tightly closed and guarded well. When you come,
take care to let no spy catch sight of you." "Lady," says he, "if I can
help it, no spy shall see me who might think or speak evil of us." Then,
having agreed upon this plan, they separate very joyfully.
(Vv. 4551-4650.) Lancelot leaves the room in such a happy frame that all
his past troubles are forgotten. But he was so impatient for the night
to come that his restlessness made the day seem longer than a hundred
ordinary days or than an entire year. If night had only come, he would
gladly have gone to the trysting place. Dark and sombre night at last
won its struggle with the day, and wrapped it up in its covering, and
laid it away beneath its cloak. When he saw the light of day obscured,
he pretended to be tired and worn, and said that, in view of his
protracted vigils, he needed rest. You, who have ever done the same, may
well understand and guess that he pretends to be tired and goes to bed
in order to deceive the people of the house; but he cared nothing about
his bed, nor would he have sought rest there for anything, for he could
not have done so and would not have dared, and furthermore he would not
have cared to possess the courage or the power to do so. Soon he softly
rose, and was pleased to find that no moon or star was shining, and that
in the house there was no candle, lamp, or lantern burning. Thus he went
out and looked about, but there was no one on the watch for him, for
all thought that he would sleep in his bed all night. Without escort or
company he quickly went out into the garden, meeting no one on the way,
and he was so fortunate as to find that a part of the garden-wall had
recently fallen down. Through this break he passes quickly and proceeds
to the window, where he stands, taking good care not to cough or sneeze,
until the Queen arrives clad in a very white chemise. She wore no cloak
or coat, but had thrown over her a short cape of scarlet cloth and
shrew-mouse fur. As soon as Lancelot saw the Queen leaning on the
window-sill behind the great iron bars, he honoured her with a gentle
salute. She promptly returned his greeting, for he was desirous of her,
and she of him. Their talk and conversation are not of vulgar, tiresome
affairs. They draw close to one another, until each holds the other's
hand. But they are so distressed at not being able to come together more
completely, that they curse the iron bars. Then Lancelot asserts that,
with the Queen's consent, he will come inside to be with her, and that
the bars cannot keep him out. And the Queen replies: "Do you not see how
the bars are stiff to bend and hard to break? You could never so twist,
pull or drag at them as to dislodge one of them." "Lady," says he, "have
no fear of that. It would take more than these bars to keep me out.
Nothing but your command could thwart my power to come to you. If you
will but grant me your permission, the way will open before me. But if
it is not your pleasure, then the way is so obstructed that I could not
possibly pass through." "Certainly," she says, "I consent. My will need
not stand in your way; but you must wait until I retire to my bed again,
so that no harm may come to you, for it would be no joke or jest if the
seneschal, who is sleeping here, should wake up on hearing you. So it is
best for me to withdraw, for no good could come of it, if he should see
me standing here." "Go then, lady," he replies; "but have no fear that I
shall make any noise. I think I can draw out the bars so softly and with
so little effort that no one shall be aroused."
(Vv. 4651-4754.) Then the Queen retires, and he prepares to loosen the
window. Seizing the bars, he pulls and wrenches them until he makes them
bend and drags them from their places. But the iron was so sharp that
the end of his little finger was cut to the nerve, and the first joint
of the next finger was torn; but he who is intent upon something else
paid no heed to any of his wounds or to the blood which trickled down.
Though the window is not low, Lancelot gets through it quickly and
easily. First he finds Kay asleep in his bed, then he comes to the bed
of the Queen, whom he adores and before whom he kneels, holding her more
dear than the relic of any saint. And the Queen extends her arms to him
and, embracing him, presses him tightly against her bosom, drawing him
into the bed beside her and showing him every possible satisfaction; her
love and her heart go out to him. It is love that prompts her to treat
him so; and if she feels great love for him, he feels a hundred thousand
times as much for her. For there is no love at all in other hearts