JAUFRY THE KNIGHT AND THE FAIR BRUNISSENDE
A TALE OF THE TIMES OF KING ARTHUR
By Mary Lafon
Translated From The French Version by Alfred Elwes.
Illustrated With Twenty Engravings By Gustave Dore
Addey And Co.
MDCCCLVI
[Illustration: frontispiece]
[Illustration: titlepage]
ILLUSTRATIONS.
They reached the lofty rock, where, at the summit, they beheld the king
hanging thus helpless from the monster's horns..........Frontispiece.
“Knight,” then cried Jaufry to the corpse, “it grieves me not to know
thy slayer, or whether thou wert wrong or whether right: thou now art
dead; but if I can, I even will learn why, and by whose hand”.....035
“Knight,” said Sir Jaufry, “thou dost press me sore”..............043
The wood and iron, for a cubit's length, pierced through the shoulder.
..................................................................053
“Good Mend,” he then apostrophised the knight, “the passage now may be
considered safe”..................................................054
“Halt, knight,” he cried; “I'll have a word with thee”............060
A fierce wind, in passing, swept away the last memorial of the magic
work..............................................................082
Knights and burghers, minstrels, jugglers from all countries, hither
trooping came.....................................................088
His troop returned, bearing him faint and bleeding................094
The wood was gloomy, intricate, and dense; and at the first cross-road
before him, he beheld, squatted beneath a pine, a hag, whose aspect
struck him with surprise..........................................100
“Heaven!” Sir Jaufry cried, “in thee I trust; what figure have we
here?”............................................................110
Back returned the sable knight, hissing and growling as the thunder
doth when tempests vex the air....................................112
Jaufry with Augier's daughter rode away...........................117
No wonder, then, if Jaufry were surprised to see her come thus lovely,
full of grace, and smiling as the queen of the sweet south........131
I leave you to surmise the games and joy which at the castle on that
day were seen.....................................................134
They sat them down in the great hall of the castle................136
He his efforts used to save her with the butt-end of his lance....140
Sir Jaufry found himself with two dames in a delicious land.......143
Then was the convent-church most richly decked, to which the king in
pomp conducted him with the fair Brunissende......................155
All the train which called Sir Melyan lord escorted back in triumph
to Montbran that happy pair.......................................157
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The description given by one of the authors of _Jauvfry_ about the
origin of the romance, and the evidence afforded by the French adapter
concerning the Mss. wherein it is contained, make it unnecessary for me
to dwell upon these particulars.
The veneration in which King Arthur's name is held by all lovers of
the early romantic history of Britain will give the tale a strong
recommendation in such eyes; while the personages with which it deals
render the appearance of its characters in an English dress the more
pleasing and appropriate.
As answerable for the fashion and material of the costume, I may be
permitted to say a few words concerning the rule which has guided me
in producing it. Keeping in view that the original romance is a poem in
form and composition, I have endeavoured, in my translation, still to
preserve the poetic character; and though compelled to base my work upon
a prose version, I have tried, within certain limits, rather to restore
its original shape, than allow it, by the second ordeal to which it is
thus subjected, to lose it altogether. Whether such attempt, however
honestly conceived, has been properly carried out, must be determined by
my readers.
A.E.
King's Arms,
Moorgate Street, London.
PREFACE TO THE FRENCH VERSION.
The literary world of France scarce knows the extent of its own riches.
In the catacombs of its libraries and archives there is a heap of
unknown jewels which would give a new and brighter lustre to its poetic
wreath. The “great age” did not even suspect their existence; the
eighteenth century passed over without bestowing on them, a glance; and
if, in our days, a few of our learned brethren have conceived the idea
of drawing them to light, the rumour of their labours, which moreover
were both superficial and incomplete, never got beyond the doors of the
Institute.
There still remains, then, more especially as regards the south, to open
up the lode of this mine of gold,--a virgin mine as yet, inasmuch as
Sainte-Palaye, Rochegude, Raynouard, and Fauriel, have but scraped Upon
its surface,--and reanimate, in a poetic point of view, the middle ages,
too easily sacrificed at the period of the _renaissance_, too severely
proscribed by the University. Fed, in truth, from our entry into college
with the literature of Greece and Rome, which, however admirable in
form, is but sober in invention, we can have no conception of those
works wherein the imagination of France, youthful, vigorous, and gay,
blossomed in full freshness like a rose in spring. Some judgment may
be formed of the value of the poems rhymed by the troubadours in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries by the romance which is now presented
to the public. Dragged from the dust beneath which it has lain buried
for six hundred years, the romance of _Jaufry_ is translated for the
first time; and when we consider the merit of the story, we may add,
without fear of contradiction, that it deserved such honour long ago.
Let the reader call up in his mind a pavilion of Smyrna or Granada, with
columns of white marble light and graceful as those of the Alhambra,
with elegant trellis-work, glass of varied hues, and filled with a
pervading tone of warmth,--the warmth of a May sun,--and he will have
some notion of the romance of _Jaufry and the fair Brunissende_:--few
things being more piquant, more fresh, more fanciful, or which better
reflect the charming caprices of a southern imagination in the middle
ages. Feudal society revives therein entire, with all its fairy doings,
its knightly fictions, its manners, and its grand lance-thrusts; and
such is the interest of the tale, that we allow ourselves to be carried
away by it with as much pleasure as our ancestors must have felt,
when it was told to the sounds of the minstrers viol in the great
castle-hall, or beneath the shadow of the tent.
Two peculiarities, which are not matter of indifference to history,
enhance the value of this poetic gem: one is, the influence of Arabic
ideas, of which it has a distant savour like the balmy oases of
the East; and the other, the inspiration which it evidently lent to
Cervantes. If, for instance, we discover therein the roc, the wishes,
and the tent of the Fairy Paribanou, as traces of the _Arabian Nights_,
we behold, on the other hand, that this romance of _Jaufry_ has
furnished the one-handed genius of Alcala with the first idea of the
adventure of the galley-slaves (_desdichados galeotes_), the cavalier
in green (_cavallero del verde gavan_), the braying of the regidors
(_rebuzno de los dos regidores_), the Princess Micomicona, and the
enchanted head. And in this respect we may be permitted to remark, that
the romance of _Jaufry_ offers matter of a piquant comparison with the
work of Miguel Cervantes. Is it not strange, after the ingenious _Don
Quixote_, to find ourselves reading with pleasure the adventures of a
knight-errant?
We should still have much to say concerning this poem and our system of
translating it; but as we are averse to useless dissertations, we will
confine our further remarks within short space. This romance, which is
written in the _Provençal_ tongue of the twelfth century, is composed
of eleven thousand one hundred and sixty verses of eight syllables. *
It was begun by a troubadour, who heard the tale related at the court of
the king of Aragon, and finished by a poet whose modesty caused him to
conceal his own name and that of his colleague. In order to render the
reading of their work more pleasant, while using our efforts to retain
the southern character and genuine tone of colour, we have pared away
some of the verbosity and tautologies which at times encumber while they
retard the progress of the action. May this flower of the genius of our
fathers retain in our modern tongue a part of that freshness and perfume
which were its attributes in former days!
* The Imperial Library possesses two manuscript copies: one
in small folio, written in a minute round Italian hand, with
double columns of forty-five verses,--124 pages, classed
under No. 291, 2d French supplement; the other, a small
quarto, which will be found under No. 7988.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
Now of a tale of chivalry, of proper fashion, great allurement, full
of-wise and courteous instances, and wherein abound acts of great
prowess, strange adventures, assaults, encounters, and dread battles,
you may list the telling. An it amuse you, I will relate thereof all
that I do know, or that it please you to give ear unto. Let me know only
that which ye desire, and if ye be inclined to listen in good sooth.
When the minstrel doth indeed recite, neither should hearers buy nor
sell, nor in low voice hold council; for thus the recital is lost to
him who speaketh, and they methinks who listen cannot find therein great
pleasure.
I come, then, to recount to you tidings of the court of good King
Arthur; he who was so worthy, so valiant, and so wise, that his name
shall never die, but whereof shall eternally be spoken the mighty things
he did; and the good knights, all for their prowess known, whom he did
gather at his famed Round Table. In that court, the fairest and most
loyal that ever shone beneath the stars, all men did find that counsel
and that aid of which they stood in need. There triumphed right, and
there were wrongs redressed.
There dames and damsels, widows and orphans attacked unjustly, or
disinherited by force, ne'er failed to meet with champions. The
oppressed of all conditions there did find a refuge, and none e'er
sought protection there in vain. Give, then, sweet welcome to a poem the
fruit of such good place, and deign to listen unto it in peace.
The troubadour who rhymed it never knew King Arthur; but he heard
the entire story told at the court of the king of Aragon, the best of
monarchs in this world. *
* Don Pedro III., killed in 1213 at the battle of Muret.
A worthy father and a famous son, lord of goodly fortunes, humble in
heart, and frank in nature as in mind, the king of Aragon loveth God and
feareth Him; he maintaineth faith and loyalty, peace and justice: thus
God protecteth him, giveth him the victory when he raiseth his banner
against the infidel, and placeth him above all those who are alike
worthy and bold. Where shall we seek youthful brows wearing a crown
which emitteth rays of greater splendour?
He giveth good gifts to minstrels and to knights, and his court is the
resort of all those who are esteemed brave and courteous. It was before
him the troubadour heard related, by a stranger-knight of kin to Arthur
and Sir Gawain, the song he here hath rhymed; and whereof the first
adventure occurred while the king of the Round Table held his court at
Carlisle on the day of Pentecost.
CHAPTER I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE FOREST.
'Twas {017}on the day of Pentecost, a feast which to Carlisle had drawn
a host of knights, that Arthur, King of Briton's isle, his crown placed
on his brows, and to the old monastic church proceeded to hear mass. And
with him went a brilliant train, the Knights of the Round Table. There
were Sir Gawain, Lancelot du Lac, Tristrem, and Ivan bold, Eric frank
of heart, and Quex the seneschal, Percival and Calogrant, Cliges the
worthy, Coedis the handsome knight, and Caravis short i' the arm; the
whole of his bright court, indeed, was there, and many more whose names
I have forgot.
When mass was done, they to the palace home returned 'mid laughter and
loud noise, the thoughts of each on pleasure only bent. Each on arrival
gave his humour play. Some spoke of love, and some of chivalry; {018}and
some of ventures they were going to seek. Quex at this moment came into
the hall, holding a branch of apple in his hand. All made room for him;
for there were few who did not fear his tongue and the hard words which
it was wont to utter. This baron bold held nothing in respect. E'en of
the best he ever said the worst. But this apart, he was a brave stout
knight, in council sage, a valiant man of war, and lord of lineage high;
but this, his humour and his biting words took from him much that was of
right his due.
He, going straightway to the king, thus said:
“Sire, an it please you, it is time to dine.”
“Quex,” replied Arthur, in an angry tone, “sure thou wast born but to
awake my wrath, and out of season ever to discourse. Have I not told
thee, ay, a thousand times, naught should induce me to partake of food,
when thus my court had met, till some adventure had turned up, some
knight were vanquished, or some maid set free. Go sit thee down at
bottom of the hall.”
Quex went without a word among that joyous throng, where men of all
conditions, knights and lords, minstrels and mountebanks, ceased not
their tricks, their {019}gay discourse, their laughter, till the hour of
noon. At noon, King Arthur called Sir Gawain, and thus spoke:
“Fair nephew, cause our chargers to be brought; for since adventure
cometh not to us, we must fain seek it in the open field; for should we
longer stay, our knights, indeed, would have a right to think that it
were time to dine.”
“Your will, my lord,” Sir Gawain said, “shall be obeyed.”
And at the instant he the squires bade to saddle horses and their armour
bring. Soon were the steeds prepared, the nobles armed. The king then
girded on his famous sword, and at the head of his bold barons placed,
set out for Bressiland, a gloomy wood. Having along its deep and shady
paths awhile proceeded, the good king drew rein, and 'mid the greatest
silence bent his ear. A distant voice was then distinctly heard, calling
at intervals for human help, and turn by turn invoking God and saints!
“I will ride yonder,” bold King Arthur cried; “but with no company save
my good sword.”
“An it please you, my lord,” Sir Gawain said, “I fain would ride with
you.”
“Not {020}so, fair nephew,” the king made reply; “I need no company.”
“Since such your wish,” said Gawain, “have your will.”
Arthur called quickly for his shield and lance, and spurred right
eagerly towards the spot whence came the plaintive voice. As he drew
near, the cries the sharper grew. The king pricked on with greater
speed, and stopped before a stream by which a mill was placed. Just at
the door he saw a woman stand, who wept, and screamed, and wrung her
trembling hands, while she her tresses tore in deep despair. The good
king, moved to pity, asked her why she grieved.
“My lord,” she weepingly replied, “oh! help me, in God's name! a
dreadful beast, come down from yonder mount, is there within devouring
all my corn!”
Arthur approached, and saw the savage beast, which truly was most
frightful to behold.
Larger than largest bull, it had a coat of long and russet fur, a
whitish neck and head, which bristled with a pile of horns. Its eyes
were large and round, its teeth of monstrous size; its jaws were
shapeless, legs of massive build; its feet were broad and square.
A giant elk were not of greater bulk. Arthur observed {021}it for a
certain time with wonder in his mind; crossing himself, he then got
off his horse, drew forth his sword, and, covered with his shield, went
straight into the mill. The beast, however, far from being scared, did
not so much as even raise its head, but from the hopper still devoured
the corn. Seeing it motionless, the king believed the beast was lack of
spirit, and, to excite it, struck it on the back: but still the creature
moved not. He then advanced, and standing right in front, lunged at the
beast as though to run it through. It did not even seem to note the act.
Arthur then cautiously laid down his shield, replaced his sword, and,
being stout and strong, he seized it by the horns, and shook it with
great force; natheless he could not make it leave the grain. In rage,
he was about to raise his fist, so as to deal it on the head a blow; but
lo! he could not then remove his hands,--they were as riveted unto its
horns.
Soon as the beast perceived its foe was caught, it raised its head; and
issued from the mill, bearing, pendant from its horns, the king, aghast,
distracted, and yet wild with rage. It then regained the wood at easy
pace; when Gawain, who, by good fortune, happed to ride before his
Mends, beheld it thus his uncle {022}carrying off,--a sight which
half-deprived him of his wits.
“Knights!” he exclaimed aloud, “hie hither! help to our good lord! and
may the laggard never sit at his Round Table more! We should indeed
deserve dishonoured names were the king lost for want of timely aid.” As
thus he spoke, he flew towards the beast, not waiting for the rest, and
couched his lance as though to strike at it.
But the king, fearing harm would come to him, addressed him thus:
“Fair nephew, thanks; but e'en for my sake halt. If thou do touch it, I
am surely lost; and if thou spare it, saved. I might have slain it, and
yet did not so; something now tells me I held not my hand in vain. Let
it, then, go its course; and keep my men from coming on too near.”
“My lord,” Sir Gawain answered him with tears, “must I, then, let you
perish without help?”
“The best of help,” the king rejoined, “will be to do my bidding.”
Sir Gawain was at this so much incensed, he cast down lance and shield,
he tore his cloak and handfuls from his hair.
Just {023}at this time Ivan and Tristrem came, with lances lowered, and
at top of speed; Gawain threw up his hands, and loudly cried:
“Strike not, my lords, for his, King Arthur's sake; he's a dead man if
you but touch the beast.”
“What, then, are we to do?” inquired they.
“We'll follow it,” quoth Gawain: “if the king be hurt, the beast shall
die.”
The monster still kept on its even way, not seeming to remark the
knights, until a rock it reached, lofty and round and high. It scaled
it, as a swallow, rapidly; and Gawain and his friends, who at a distance
followed, sad and full of thought, saw it, when thus the summit
was attained, crawl straight towards a peak which overhung. There,
stretching out its head, it held the king suspended o'er the abyss.
Judge the alarm of Gawain and his friends, who each beside was almost
wild with rage! Hearing their cries, they who remained behind came up
full spur, and reached the lofty rock, where, at the summit, they beheld
the king hanging thus helpless from the monster's horns. They then
gave loose to the most doleful cries that ever had been heard. I cannot
picture to you their despair. Brave knights and pages then you might
have {024}seen tearing their hair and rending their attire, that wood
reviling and the strange adventure which they had come to seek. And Quex
exclaimed, by way of final stroke:
“Alas! fair chivalry, how hard thy lot! this day to cause the death of
our good king, and lose thy valour when 'twas needed most!”
Saying these words he sank upon the ground. The king, however, still
remained suspended in mid air, the beast meanwhile not offering to stir.
The monarch feared to drop in that abyss; and in low voice he prayed the
saints and God to save him from this pass. Then Gawain, Tristrem, and I
know not who beside, took counsel how they might heap up their robes, so
as to break the brave King Arthur's fall. Gawain had scarce proposed it
to the crowd than each one doffed his garments speedily.
In haste they brought their cloaks and mantles gay; stripped off with
eagerness their doublets, hose; and in an instant every knight was bare:
such was the heap of garments 'neath that rock, the king had fallen
without deadly risk. When this the beast beheld, it stirred as though it
would draw back, and slightly shook its head. The crowd below, alarmed,
at {025}once upraised a cry; and on their bended knees prayed Heaven
to guard the king, and bear him safe and sound. The beast with mighty
spring then leaped below; and setting Arthur free, itself it changed
into a handsome knight, in scarlet richly dad from head to heel. This
noble bent his knee before the king, and smiling said:
“My liege, command your men their garments to resume; they now may dine
in peace; though somewhat late, the adventure has been found.”
Arthur amazed, nay, half-distraught at this adventure strange, now
recognised the knight,--a courtly guest, esteemed among the brave, the
courteous, and the sage.
Adroit in arms, gay, graceful, and beloved; among the first in strife,
yet kind and modest too,--this lord was master of the seven arts, and
in all spells was versed. For some time past between him and the king a
compact stood, whereby it was agreed, if he himself transformed when all
the court was met, he should as guerdon three good gifts receive--a cup
of gold, a charger of great price, and from the fairest damsel a sweet
kiss.
Gawain at once ran up, fearing his uncle in his fell {026}was crushed;
and you may safely judge of his surprise--finding him thus, in high good
humour, stand loud laughing with the beast.
“In faith, fair friend,” quoth he, “you can indeed enchant poor folks,
and force even barons to throw off their clothes.”
“You may resume them, good my lord,” said the enchanter in the same gay
tone; “for lo! the king no longer needs their use.”
They did indeed soon put them on again, nor stayed to pick or choose;
the court at once returned to fair Carlisle, the monarch and Sir Gawain
riding on a-head. The palace-walls soon echoed with their joy. The pages
brought them wherewithal to wash, and soon the knights were placed about
the board. Grand was that court, and rich and brave and good; many a
puissant name, full many a king, and many a duke and count, were seated
there. Gawain the valiant knight and Ivan the well-bred, each holding
the queen's arm, then led her in, where, at the table, sat she 'neath
the king. Gawain then placed himself the other side, and Ivan by the
queen: at once with laughter they began to tell of the enchanter's
skill; and when Queen Guenever, and they, the knights who were {027}not
in the wood, had learned the doings there, they were indeed surprised;
and soon loud laughed and chatted with the rest. Meanwhile Sir Quex
before the king and fair Queen Ghieneyer the golden dishes placed;
he then sat down to eat his own good meal, for he did boast a famous
appetite, while ready pages served the other knights. Nothing was
wanting at that banquet high: the roebuck, kid, and succulent wild-boar;
the crane, the bustard, capons, swans, wild-geese; peacocks, and fine
fat hens and partridges; white bread and purest wine,--of all good
things the best was there beheld. Served by a host of graceful youths
beside, the guests did honour to the feast.
Eating and drinking then engaged each thought; when straight there
entered, mounting a fleet horse, with spotted robe, a youthful squire,
tall and of noble mien. Never, do I believe, was man more finely-shaped.
His shoulders were at least two cubits broad, his features regular, his
eyes were sparkling, full of love and mirth; his hair was shining as
the brightest gold, his arms were large and square, his teeth as ivory
white. His frame, which tapered at the waist, was well developed,
and displayed his strength. His legs were long and straight, and feet
high-arched.
His {028}violet and well-cut robe rested in graceful folds on hose of
the same hue. A garland of fresh flowers crowned his brows, to which the
sun had given a deeper tint, heightening the colour of his ruddy cheeks.
Entering the hall, he alighted from his horse, and came with quick and
joyous step to kneel at the good monarch's feet. He then his purpose
opened with these words:
“May He who made this world and all it holds; He who no suzerain
hath,--now save the king, and all that 's his!”
“Friend,” replied Arthur, “thank thee for those words; if thou dost seek
a boon, it shall be thine.”
“My liege, I am a squire, come from far unto your court, because I knew
so doing I should meet the best of kings; and I conjure you for St.
Mary's sake, if you so please, to arm me now a knight.”
“Friend,” said the king, “arise, and take thy seat; it shall be done
thee even as thou wilt.”
“Never, my liege, if you permit, will I uprise from hence till you have
granted me the boon I ask.”
“It is conceded,” then exclaimed the king.
The squire arose as these fair words were said, and went {029}to take
his place at that rich board. But scarcely was this done, than lo! the
guests beheld a knight, well armed, and on a charger fleet, come riding
in. Crossing the hall, he with his lance did strike a lord upon the
breast, and stretched him dying just before the queen. He then rode out,
exclaiming as he went:
“This have I done to shame thee, wicked king. If it do grieve thee, and
thy boasted knights should care to follow, I am Taulat Lord of Rugimon;
and each passing year, on this same day, will I return to do thee the
like scorn.”
Good Arthur drooped his head, enraged, yet sad; but then the squire
rose, and knelt before the king:
“Sire,” he said, “now give me knightly arms, that I may follow up that
haughty lord who casts dishonour on this royal court.”
“Friend,” exclaimed Quex at this, “your courage will be higher when
you're drunk. Sit yourself down again, and drink another bout; the heart
will be the merrier, and you can better floor a knight with wine than
with a sharp-edged sword, however stout!”
The squire to this responded not a word, out of his duty for the worthy
king; but for such cause, Quex had {030}for his speech paid dear.
Arthur, however, gave his anger vent, and thus exclaimed:
“Wilt thou, then, Quex, ne'er hold that biting tongue until I've driven
thee from out my court? What has emboldened thee to speak thus vilely,
and to a stranger who a suit prefers? Canst thou not keep within thee
all the spite, the envy, wicked words, and slanderous thoughts with
which thou art swelling o'er?”
“My lord,” the squire said, “pray let him have his say; little heed
I the flings of his forked tongue, for which I will a noble vengeance
seek. Vile word ne'er sullieth honour. Let me rather have a suit of
arms, to follow him who now has issued hence; for I do feel I shall not
eat at ease till he and I have met in deadly fight.”
The monarch courteously replied:
“My friend, I willingly will give thee steed, good arms, and knightly
spurs; for thou dost ask these gifts as squire of gentle birth. But thou
art all too young to fight with him who now has left this hall. Not four
among the knights of my Hound Table can dare to meet his blows, or touch
him in the field. Leave, then, this care to others; I should grieve to
lose at once so stout and brave a squire.”
“Since, {031}sire, you think me stout, and call me brave, 'tis
wrongfully or but to jeer you wish to stay my fighting; but in that
you'll not succeed save you refuse to grant the boon erewhile you
promised me;--and should a king forget his promise made, gone are his
lustre and his courtesy.”
The monarch answered:
“Friend, I yield me to thy ardent wish; thou shalt be armed a knight.”
He then commanded two attendant squires at once go seek his armour,
lance, a fine and tempered shield, the casque, the sharp-edged sword,
the spurs, and horse of price in full caparison; then, when they brought
the arms and horse, he caused the squire to put the hauberk on, he
buckled his right spur, girded his sword upon the youth's left flank,
and having kissed him gently on the mouth, he asked of him his name.
“Sire, in the land where I was born my name is Jaufry, son of Dovon.”
The king, on hearing him speak thus, sighed heavily, and said, while
tears were in his eye:
“Ah! what a knight and lord of mark was this same Dovon! He was of my
table and my court. A {032}brave knight and a learned: never had he
superior in arms. None were held stouter or more dread in fight. May
God, if He so will it, grant him grace; since for my sake he died! An
archer pierced his heart with a steel bolt, while he a keep held out on
my domain in Normandy.”
Meanwhile a squire brought Jaufry a bay steed. The young knight placed
his hand upon the bow, and leaped upon the horse, all armed as he then
stood, without the use of stirrup; then called he for his shield and
lance, consigned the king to God, and having taken leave of all the
rest, he galloped from that hall.