Four Arthurian Romances
misery unbearable. In contempt of the body and life, it weakly piped in
a low, hoarse tone: "Ah, fortune, how disastrously thy wheel has turned
for me! Thou hast mocked me shamefully: a while ago I was up, but now I
am down; I was well off of late, but now I am in a sorry state; not long
since thou didst smile on me, but now thy eyes are filled with tears.
Alas, poor wretch, why didst thou trust in her, when so soon she has
deserted thee! Behold, in a very little while she has cast thee down
from thy high estate! Fortune, it was wrong of thee to mock me thus; but
what carest thou! Thou carest not how it may turn out. Ah, sacred Cross!
All, Holy Ghost! How am I wretched and undone! How completely has my
career been closed! Ah, Gawain, you who possess such worth, and whose
goodness is unparalleled, surely I may well be amazed that you do
not come to succour me. Surely you delay too long and are not showing
courtesy. He ought indeed to receive your aid whom you used to love so
devotedly! For my part I may truly say that there is no lodging place or
retreat on either side of the sea, where I would not have searched for
you at least seven or ten years before finding you, if I knew you to be
in prison. But why do I thus torment myself? You do not care for me even
enough to take this trouble. The rustic is right when he says that it
is hard nowadays to find a friend! It is easy to rest the true friend
in time of need. Alas! more than a year has passed since first I was put
inside this tower. I feel hurt, Gawain, that you have so long deserted
me! But doubtless you know nothing of all this, and I have no ground for
blaming you. Yes, when I think of it, this must be the case, and I was
very wrong to imagine such a thing; for I am confident that not for all
the world contains would you and your men have failed to come to release
me from this trouble and distress, if you were aware of it. If for no
other reason, you would be bound to do this out of love for me, your
companion. But it is idle to talk about it--it cannot be. Ah, may the
curse and the damnation of God and St. Sylvester rest upon him who
has shut me up so shamefully! He is the vilest man alive, this envious
Meleagant, to treat me as evilly as possible!" Then he, who is wearing
out his life in grief, ceases speaking and holds his peace. But when
she, who was lingering at the base of the tower, heard what he said,
she did not delay, but acted wisely and called him thus: "Lancelot,"
as loudly as she could; "friend, up there, speak to one who is your
friend!" But inside he did not hear her words. Then she called out
louder yet, until he in his weakness faintly heard her, and wondered
who could be calling him. [427] He heard the voice and heard his name
pronounced, but he did not know who was calling him: he thinks it must
be a spirit. He looks all about him to see, I suppose, if he could espy
any one; but there is nothing to be seen but the tower and himself.
"God," says he, "what is that I heard? I heard some one speak, but see
nothing! Indeed, this is passing marvellous, for I am not asleep, but
wide awake. Of course, if this happened in a dream, I should consider it
an illusion; but I am awake, and therefore I am distressed." Then with
some trouble he gets up, and with slow and feeble steps he moves toward
the little opening. Once there, he peers through it, up and down and to
either side. When he had looked out as best he might, he caught sight of
her who had hailed him. He did not recognise her by sight. But she knew
him at once and said: "Lancelot, I have come from afar in search of you.
Now, thank God, at last I have found you. I am she who asked of you a
boon as you were on your way to the sword-bridge, and you very gladly
granted it at my request; it was the head I bade you cut from the
conquered knight whom I hated so. Because of this boon and this service
you did me, I have gone to this trouble. As a guerdon I shall deliver
you from here." "Damsel, many thanks to you," the prisoner then replied;
"the service I did you will be well repaid if I am set at liberty. If
you can get me out of here, I promise and engage to be henceforth always
yours, so help me the holy Apostle Paul! And as I may see God face to
face, I shall never fail to obey your commands in accordance with your
will. You may ask for anything I have, and receive it without delay."
"Friend, have no fear that you will not be released from here. You shall
be loosed and set free this very day. Not for a thousand pounds would I
renounce the expectation of seeing you free before the datum of another
day. Then I shall take you to a pleasant place, where you may rest and
take your ease. There you shall have everything you desire, whatever
it be. So have no fear. But first I must see if I can find some tool
anywhere hereabouts with which you might enlarge this hole, at least
enough to let you pass." "God grant that you find something," he said,
agreeing to this plan; "I have plenty of rope in here, which the rascals
gave me to pull up my food--hard barley bread and dirty water, which
sicken my stomach and heart." Then the daughter of Bademagu sought and
found a strong, stout, sharp pick, which she handed to him. He pounded,
and hammered and struck and dug, notwithstanding the pain it caused him,
until he could get out comfortably. Now he is greatly relieved and glad,
you may be sure, to be out Of prison and to get away from the place
where he has been so long confined. Now he is at large in the open air.
You may be sure that he would not go back again, were some one to gather
in a pile and give to him all the gold there is scattered in the world.
(Vv. 6657-6728.) Behold Lancelot now released, but so feeble that he
staggered from his weakness and disability. Gently, without hurting him,
she sets him before her on her mule, and then they ride off rapidly. But
the damsel purposely avoids the beaten track, that they may not be
seen, and proceeds by a hidden path; for if she had travelled openly,
doubtless some one would have recognised them and done them harm, and
she would not have wished that to happen. So she avoided the dangerous
places and came to a mansion where she often makes her sojourn because
of its beauty and charm. The entire estate and the people on it belonged
to her, and the place was well furnished, safe, and private. There
Lancelot arrived. And as soon as he had come, and had laid aside his
clothes, the damsel gently laid him on a lofty, handsome couch, then
bathed and rubbed him so carefully that I could not describe half the
care she took. She handled and treated him as gently as if he had been
her father. Her treatment makes a new man of him, as she revives him
with her cares. Now he is no less fair than an angel and is more nimble
and more spry than anything you ever saw. When he arose, he was no
longer mangy and haggard, but strong and handsome. And the damsel sought
out for him the finest robe she could find, with which she clothed him
when he arose. And he was glad to put it on, quicker than a bird
in flight. He kissed and embraced the maid, and then said to her
graciously: "My dear, I have only God and you to thank for being
restored to health again. Since I owe my liberty to you, you may take
and command at will my heart and body, my service and estate. I belong
to you in return for what you have done for me; but it is long since I
have been at the court of my lord Arthur, who has shown me great honour;
and there is plenty there for me to do. Now, my sweet gentle friend,
I beg you affectionately for leave to go; then, with your consent, I
should feel free to go." "Lancelot, fair, sweet dear friend, I am quite
willing," the damsel says; "I desire your honour and welfare above
everything everywhere." Then she gives him a wonderful horse she has,
the best horse that ever was seen, and he leaps up without so much as
saying to the stirrups "by your leave": he was up without considering
them. Then to God, who never lies, they commend each other with good
intent.
(Vv. 6729-7004.) Lancelot was so glad to be on the road that, if I
should take an oath, I could not possibly describe the joy he felt at
having escaped from his trap. But he said to himself repeatedly that woe
was the traitor, the reprobate, whom now he has tricked and ridiculed,
"for in spite of him I have escaped." Then he swears by the heart and
body of Him who made the world that not for all the riches and wealth
from Babylon to Ghent would he let Meleagant escape, if he once got him
in his power: for he has him to thank for too much harm and shame! But
events will soon turn out so as to make this possible; for this very
Meleagant, whom he threatens and presses hard, had already come to court
that day without being summoned by any one; and the first thing he did
was to search until he found my lord Gawain. Then the rascally proven
traitor asks him about Lancelot, whether he had been seen or found, as
if he himself did not know the truth. As a matter of fact, he did not
know the truth, although he thought he knew it well enough. And Gawain
told him, as was true, that he had not been seen, and that he had not
come. "Well, since I don't find him," says Meleagant, "do you come and
keep the promise you made me: I shall not longer wait for you." Then
Gawain makes answer: "I will keep presently my word with you, if it
please God in whom I place my trust. I expect to discharge my debt to
you. But if it comes to throwing dice for points, and I should throw
a higher number than you, so help me God and the holy faith, I'll not
withdraw, but will keep on until I pocket all the stakes." [428] Then
without delay Gawain orders a rug to be thrown down and spread before
him. There was no snivelling or attempt to run away when the squires
heard this command, but without grumbling or complaint they execute
what he commands. They bring the rug and spread it out in the place
indicated; then he who had sent for it takes his seat upon it and gives
orders to be armed by the young men who were standing unarmed before
him. There were two of them, his cousins or nephews, I know not
which, but they were accomplished and knew what to do. They arm him so
skilfully and well that no one could find any fault in the world with
them for any mistake in what they did. When they finished arming him,
one of them went to fetch a Spanish steed able to cross the fields,
woods, hills, and valleys more swiftly than the good Bucephalus. [429]
Upon a horse such as you have heard Gawain took his seat--the admired
and most accomplished knight upon whom the sign of the Cross was ever
made. Already he was about to seize his shield, when he saw Lancelot
dismount before him, whom he was not expecting to see. He looked at
him in amazement, because he had come so unexpectedly; and, if I am not
wrong, he was as much surprised as if he had fallen from the clouds.
However, no business of his own can detain him, as soon as he sees
Lancelot, from dismounting and extending his arms to him, as he
embraces, salutes and kisses him. Now he is happy and at ease, when he
has found his companion. Now I will tell you the truth, and you must not
think I lie, that Gawain would not wish to be chosen king, unless he had
Lancelot with him. The King and all the rest now learn that, in spite of
all, Lancelot, for whom they so long have watched, has come back quite
safe and sound. Therefore they all rejoice, and the court, which so
long has looked for him, comes together to honour him. Their happiness
dispels and drives away the sorrow which formerly was theirs. Grief
takes flight and is replaced by an awakening joy. And how about the
Queen? Does she not share in the general jubilee? Yes, verily, she
first of all. How so? For God's sake, where, then, could she be keeping