Arthurian Romances (57 page)

‘I grieve for her beautiful hair, which surpasses pure gold as it glistens; it kindles and enflames me with passion when I see her tearing and pulling it out. Nor can the tears that flow from her eyes ever be dried: all these things displease me. Although they are filled with unceasing tears there never were more beautiful eyes. It grieves me that she is weeping, but nothing causes me more distress than to see her doing injury to her face, which has not deserved it. I've never seen a more perfectly shaped face, nor one fresher or more full of colour; but it pierces my heart through that she is an enemy to it. And truly, she is not holding back but is doing the worst she can to it, yet no crystal or mirror is so bright or smooth.

‘God! Why is she acting so madly? Why does she not moderate the hurt she does to herself? Why does she wring her beautiful hands and strike and scratch at her breast? Would she not be a true wonder to look upon if she were happy, when now she is so beautiful even in anguish? Indeed yes, I swear it's true; never again will Nature be able to create such immeasurable beauty, for in making her Nature has surpassed every limit. Or else, perhaps, Nature had no hand in creating her? Then how could she have come to be? Where did such great beauty come from? God with his bare hands must have made her to make Nature marvel at her. Nature's time would all be wasted if she tried to make another like her, for even God could not succeed again. And I believe that even if He decided to make the effort, He'd never be able to make another like her, no matter how hard He tried.'

Thus my lord Yvain observed the lady racked with grief, and I don't believe it ever happened that any man in prison – as my lord Yvain was imprisoned and in fear of losing his head – was ever so madly in love and yet unable to express his feelings to her or, even, find anyone to do so for him. He remained at the window until he saw the lady leave and both gates lowered again. Someone else, who preferred his freedom to remaining here, might have been upset; but for him it was all the same whether the gates were closed or opened. He could never have gone away had they been left open in front of him, not even if the lady were to give him leave and forgive him freely for the death of her husband so that he could depart in safety. Shame and Love, who opposed him on both sides, held him back: on the one hand, if he left he would be shamed, for Kay and the other knights
would never believe that he had accomplished what he had; on the other, he was so eager at least to see the beautiful lady, if he could not receive any further favour, that he did not mind imprisonment. He would rather have died than leave.

The damsel, who wished only to keep him company, soon returned to comfort and cheer him and to seek and bring him whatever he desired. She found him obsessed and weak from the love that had entered him.

‘My lord Yvain,' she said to him, ‘what sort of a time have you had today?'

‘Such,' he replied, ‘as greatly pleased me.'

‘Pleased you? For God's sake, are you telling the truth? How can anyone pass a good time when it is apparent that he's being hunted down by those who would kill him? Such a man must love and desire his own death!'

‘Indeed,' he said, ‘my sweet friend, I have no desire at all to die, and yet what I saw pleased me greatly, as God is my witness, and pleases me now and will please me evermore.'

‘Let's let this be for now,' she said, ‘for I am well aware where these words are leading; I'm not so simple or foolish that I cannot understand plain words. But follow me now, for I'll soon make arrangements to get you out of prison. I'll see you to safety tonight or tomorrow, if it please you. Come along, I'll lead you.'

‘You can be certain that I'll never leave secretly like a thief,' he replied. ‘It will be more honourable for me to leave when the people are all gathered outside there in the streets, than in the dark of the night.'

With these words, he followed her into her little room. The damsel, who was cunning and eager to serve him, lavished upon him everything he needed. And when the occasion arose, she remembered what he had told her: how pleased he had been to see the people who bore him mortal hatred seeking him throughout the room.

The damsel was in such favour with her lady that there was nothing she was afraid to tell her, no matter what it might concern, for she was her adviser and confidante. And why should she be afraid to console her lady and instruct her for her own good? At the first opportunity, she told her in secret: ‘My lady, I'm astonished to see you behave so foolishly. Do you think your grief will bring your husband back to you?'

‘Not at all,' she answered, ‘but I wish I had died of sorrow.'

‘Why?'

‘In order to go after him.'

‘After him? May God forbid, and may He send you as good a husband as it is in his power to do.'

‘Don't utter such a lie, for he could never send me such a good one.'

‘He'll send you a better one, if you'll take him; I'll prove it.'

‘Go away! Hush! I'll never find another like him!'

‘Indeed you will, my lady, if it suits you. But tell me now, if it's not too painful, who will defend your land when King Arthur comes? He is due to arrive at your stone and spring next week. Have you not received word from the Savage Damsel, who sent you a message about this? Ah, what a fine deed she did for you! You should be seeking advice now about how to defend your spring, yet you cannot stop weeping! There's no time to delay, if you please, my dear lady. As you are well aware, all your knights are not worth a single serving girl; even the most conceited among them would never take up his shield and lance to defend your spring. You have a lot of worthless men: there's not one among them bold enough to mount his horse, and the king is coming with such a large army that he'll take everything without a fight.'

The lady thought about this and knew that she was being given honest advice. But she had in her the same folly that other women have: nearly all of them are obstinate in their folly and refuse to accept what they really want.

‘Go away!' she said, ‘leave me alone. If I ever hear you speak of this again, you'll be sorry you didn't run away: you talk so much you wear me out.'

‘Very well, my lady!' she said. ‘It's obvious you're the sort of woman who gets angry when anyone gives her good advice.'

Then she departed and left her lady alone. And the lady reflected that she had been very much in the wrong; she was eager to learn how the damsel could prove that one might find a knight better than her husband had been: she would gladly hear her tell it, but she had forbidden her to speak. She mulled over these thoughts until the damsel returned. Paying no heed to her lady's injunction, she spoke to her at once: ‘Ah! my lady, is it fitting that you kill yourself with so much grief? For God's sake, compose yourself and cease this sorrow, if only out of shame: it's not proper that such a high-born lady should persist in her mourning for so long. Remember your station and your great gentility. Do you think that all valour died with your husband? A hundred just as good or better remain throughout the world.'

‘May God confound me if you're not lying! Name me just one man with as good a reputation for valour as my husband had throughout his life?'

‘You'll not be happy with me; instead, you'll become angry again and threaten me once more.'

‘I won't, I promise you.'

‘Then may it advance your happiness, which will soon be yours if you are willing to accept it. And may God grant that it please you! I see no reason to remain silent, for no one can overhear us. You will consider me presumptuous, but I should speak my mind, I think: when two armed knights come together in battle, which one do you think is worth more, when the one has defeated the other? As for me, I would give the prize to the winner. And what would you say?'

‘It seems to me you're setting a trap and want to catch me by my answer.'

‘Upon my word, you can clearly understand that I'm following the line of truth and am proving to you irrefutably that the one who defeated your husband is more worthy than he was: he defeated him and pursued him boldly as far as this place, and imprisoned him within his own house.'

‘Now I've heard sheer nonsense, the greatest ever spoken. Go away, you're full of wickedness! Go away, you foolish and meddlesome hussy! Don't ever say such mad things again, and never come back into my presence if you're going to speak of him.'

‘Indeed, my lady, I was certain that you wouldn't be happy with me, and I told you so before I spoke. But you promised me that you would not get angry and wouldn't be displeased with me. You've kept your promise to me poorly. Now it's happened that you've spoken your mind to me; I'd have done better to have kept quiet.'

Then she returned to her chamber where my lord Yvain was staying and attended to his every comfort; but nothing could please him as long as he couldn't see his lady, and he had no notion or idea of what the damsel had said to her lady. All night long the lady struggled within herself, for she was very worried about how to protect her spring. So she began to feel sorry for having reproached the girl and for having insulted and mistrusted her, because now she was totally convinced that the damsel had not brought up the knight's name in hope of any payment or reward, or out of any affection for him. And she fully realized the damsel loved her more than him and would never give her advice that would bring her shame or trouble, for she was too loyal a friend to her.

You can see how the lady has changed already: she now feared that the girl to whom she had spoken harshly could never again love her in her heart; and the knight, whom she had condemned, she now truly pardoned as a matter of right and by force of argument, since he had never done her any wrong. So she debated just as if he had come into her presence and she had began to plead the case with him: ‘Do you seek to deny,' she asked, ‘that my husband died at your hands?'

‘That,' he said, ‘I cannot deny, and I fully acknowledge it.'

‘Then tell me why. Did you do it to hurt me, or out of hatred or spite?'

‘May my death come swiftly if ever I did it to hurt you.'

‘Then you have done no wrong to me; nor did you wrong him, for had he been able he would have killed you. Therefore it seems to me I've given a just and rightful judgement.'

In this manner she herself found good cause and reason for not hating him. She spoke in a manner confirming her desires and by her own efforts kindled her love, like the log that smokes until the flame catches, without anyone blowing or fanning it. And if the damsel were to return now, she would win the quarrel that she had argued so avidly and for which she'd been so bitterly reproached.

The damsel did return in the morning and took up the matter just where she had left it. The lady kept her head lowered, because she felt guilty for having spoken ill of her; but now she wanted to make amends and ask her the knight's name, rank, and lineage. So she humbled herself prudently and said: ‘I want to beg your forgiveness for the insults and arrogant words I foolishly uttered; I shall always abide by your advice. But tell me, if you know, about the knight of whom you spoke to me at such length: what sort of man is he, and of what lineage? If he is of a rank suitable for me and does not hold himself aloof, I promise you that I will make him my husband and lord of my land. But it must be done in such a way that people will not blame me and say “That's the woman who accepted the man who killed her husband”.'

‘In God's name, my lady, it will be so. You will have the noblest and the finest and the fairest lord who ever came from Abel's line.'

‘What is his name?'

‘My lord Yvain.'

‘In faith, he's not base-born, but of the highest nobility. I'm sure of this, since he is the son of King Urien.'

‘By my faith, my lady, you are right.'

‘And when can we have him here?'

‘In five days.'

‘That's too long, for I wish he were here already. Have him come tonight or tomorrow at the latest.'

‘My lady, I don't think a bird could fly so far in one day. But I shall send one of my servants who is swift of foot and will reach the court of King Arthur, I should think, no later than tomorrow evening, for he cannot be found before that.'

‘This delay is much too long: the days are long. But tell him he must be back here tomorrow evening and that he must go more swiftly than ever, for if he chooses to push himself hard he can turn two days into one. What's more, the moon will be out tonight, which will turn the night into day. Upon his return I will give him whatever he wants me to give.'

‘Leave this task to me and you will have him in your hands within three days at the latest. Meanwhile, you must summon your people and seek their counsel concerning the imminent arrival of the king. In order to maintain the custom of defending your spring, it behoves you to seek good advice; yet there's none of them haughty enough to dare boast he would go there. Therefore you can properly say that you must remarry. A very renowned knight has sought your hand, but you dare not take him unless they all accept him. And I can promise you this much: I know they are all so cowardly that, in order to burden another with the obligation that would be too heavy for them, they will all fall at your feet and be grateful to you since they will no longer be in fear. Because whoever's afraid of his own shadow will gladly avoid, if he can, an encounter with lance or javelin: to a coward such games are unwelcome.'

‘By my faith,' the lady replied, ‘this is what I wish, and to this I consent; and I had already thought it out just as you have stated it, and we shall do it in just this way. But why are you tarrying here? Be off with you! Don't wait any longer! Do what you must to bring him here, and I shall assemble my people.'

And so their conversation ended. The damsel pretended to go in search of my lord Yvain in his own land; and each day she bathed him, and washed and brushed his hair; and in the meantime she prepared for him a robe of red scarlet, lined with vair with the chalk still upon it.
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She was able to provide whatever he needed to adorn himself: a golden clasp at his neck, worked with precious stones, which makes the wearer look especially fashionable, and a belt and purse made of a fabric trimmed with gold. When she had outfitted him fully, she told her lady that her messenger had returned, having ably carried out his task.