The {071}knight had rode for great part of the day beneath the rays of
a most burning sun, and horse and rider both alike fatigued, when he
beheld a young and handsome squire running towards him at his greatest
speed. Rent was his garment even to his waist; and on he came, with
madness in his looks, tearing by handfuls his fair curling hair.
Scarce did he make out Jaufry from afar when he exclaimed:
“Fly, fly, brave knight, fly quickly from this spot, an that thou
choosest not to lose thy life!”
“And wherefore so, fair friend?” asked Dovon's son.
“Fly, for the love of God, say I; nor lose thou further time.”
“Art {072}thou, then, shorn of sense,” exclaimed the knight, “such
counsel to propose, when I behold no foe?”
“Ah!” cried the squire then, “he comes; he's there; nor think I in
a year to cure the fright that he hath caused me! He hath slain my
lord,--a knight of price, who was conducting to his castle-home his
lady-wife, a Norman count's most noble daughter. This wretch hath seized
the bride; and to myself has caused such dire fear, that ev'ry limb
still trembles at the shock.”
“And is't because _thou_ fearest,” asked Sir Jaufry, red with rage,
“thou counsell'st flight to _me?_ By holy faith, I hold thee fool, and
worse.”
As he spoke thus, a leper came in sight, who sped along, a child within
his arms. Its wretched mother, with dishevelled hair, followed with
piercing cries. When she beheld the knight, she knelt down at his feet,
and in a tone of agony exclaimed:
“Mercy, my lord; O, mercy! For the love of Heaven, grant me help, and
get me back the child yon leper bears.”
“Woman,” responded Jaufry, “wherefore takes he it?”
“My {073}lord, because it is his wicked will.”
“Had he no other cause?”
“No, by your glorious sire!”
“Since it is thus,” quoth Jaufry, “he is wrong; and I will try to win it
back for you.”
He spurred at once his horse, she following; and cried aloud, with all
the strength he had:
“Halt, leprous, wicked wretch! and bring thou back the child!”
The leper turned his head and raised his hand, making the mark of scorn;
which so enraged the knight, he swore the insult deeply to avenge. The
hideous leper answered with a laugh; for he had reached the threshold of
his door. He darted in for refuge, followed full speed by Jaufry; who,
dismounting from his horse, which with his lance he left to the poor
dame, dashed through the castle-gate with sword in hand and shield upon
his arm.
As he was traversing the castle through, which he found vast and
sumptuous to the view, he came into a hall where a huge leper, frightful
to behold, had cast upon a couch a damsel in first youth, whose beauty
in that age could scarce be matched. Her cheek was fresher than an
opening rose at break of day, and her torn {074}vesture half-betrayed
a bosom snowy white. Her eyes were bathed in tears; her words, despair,
and sobs, moved Jaufry's soul: but when the leper rose and seized his
club, such feelings changed to horror and surprise.
He was in height more tall than knightly lance, and at the shoulders was
two fathoms broad: his arms and hands were huge, his fingers crookt and
full of knots, his cheeks were spread with pustules and with scales; a
broken pupil, eyes without lids but with vermilion edged, blue lips, and
yellow teeth, made up the portrait of this monster dread. Fiercer than
living coal he flew on Jaufry, bidding him straight to yield.
“No, certes,' the knight replied.
“Say, who in evil hour sent thee here?”
“No one.”
“And pray what seekest thou?”
“A child, that from its mother hath been torn by lep'rous hands, which
must give up their prey.”
“Vain fool, 'tis _I_ forbid,--I, by whose mace thy fate shall now be
sealed; better for thee thou hadst not risen the morn, since thou shalt
now for ever lay thee down.”
His club he raised in uttering these words, and on the {075}shield of
Jaufry then let fall so fierce a blow, the knight went reeling to the
ground. Again that club was raised; but Jaufry rose and fled. Certes
he had cause to flee the stroke he saw impending; for that huge mass
of iron as it fell made the vast hall to tremble. Then Jaufry, with a
bound, before the leper stood, and with firm hand dealt him in turn a
blow which took a palm from off his raiment and the flesh behind. Seeing
his blood, which fast began to stream, the giant uttered first a fearful
cry, then ran at Jaufry, raising his knotted club with both his hands.
Scarce could the youthful knight evade the stroke and leap behind a
column; the monster struck it with such dire strength, the massive iron
crushed the marble plinth, and all the castle groaned.
Meanwhile the damsel fervently prayed Heaven, as humbly on the
blood-stained stones she knelt:
“O, mighty Lord, who in Thy image didst great Adam make; Thou who hast
done so much to save us all,--now save me from this wretch, and let yon
knight withdraw me from his hands!”
Her orison scarce o'er, Jaufry stepped out, and ere the giant could
again his heavy club let fall, he with his trenchant blade had severed
his right arm. Being thus {076}lopped, the monster in his wrath and
agony so loudly groaned, the palace trembled to its very base and shook
the outer air. In vain did Jaufry dodge his falling mace, it struck him
to the ground; so that from nostrils, eyes, and mouth, the purple stream
burst forth. The mace, in falling on the marble flags, now brake in
twain, which Jaufry seeing, he uprose in haste, and newly struck the
leper; at the knee-joint he aimed; the monster reeled, then fell like
some great tree.
Prone as the leper lay, Jaufry ran up, his sword in air, and said:
“Methinks that peace will soon be made 'twixt you and me.”
Then letting fall his sword with both his hands, he clove the monster's
head e'en to the teeth. In the convulsions of his agony still fiercely
strove the wretch, and with his foot hurled him so madly 'gainst the
distant wall, Sir Jaufry fell deprived of sound and sight. His trembling
hand no longer clutched his sword; like ruby wine, from nostrils and
from mouth burst forth his blood, and motion made he none.*
* E l'mezel a si repennat,
Que tal cop l'a del pe donat,
For {077}an instant's space the damsel thought her champion was gone. In
grief she hastened to undo the straps which bound his polished casque.
The freshness drawing from his breast a sigh, she ran for water, and
his face she bathed. His senses half-re-turned, he staggered up, and
thinking still to hold his trusty blade, he struck the damsel,--deeming
her the foe,--to such effect that both rolled on the ground. Like madman
then he sped around the hall, and ran behind a column, where he crouched
and trembled 'neath his shield.
'Twas there the damsel came; and in a voice of dulcet tone, she said:
“Brave knight, come, ope again those manly eyes, and see who 'tis that
speaks. Forget ye what is due to chivalry, of which you are a lord? your
courage and your fame? Recall yourself, and lower that bright shield;
behold, the leper's dead!”
C'a ana part, lo fas anar
E si ab la paret urtar
Que l'auzer li tolc e l'vezer
Et anet à terra cazer
E l'sanc tot yin clar e vermeil
I eis per lo nas e la bocha.....
Ms. fol. 28 verso, verse 2461.
Jaufry {078}recovered at this heart'ning speech, and finding his head
bare,--
“Damsel,” he asked, “who hath removed my casque, and taken my good
sword?”
“Myself, good lord, whilst you were in a swoon.”
“The giant, what doth he?”
“Bathed in his blood and at your feet he lies.” Jaufry looked up, and
when the corpse he saw thus shattered and quite still, he slowly rose,
and sat him on a bench until his senses were again restored; then, when
the dizziness had fled his brain, he thought upon the mother and the
child, and straightway ran from hall to hall to search the infant out.
But though he sought and ran and called aloud, neither the leper nor the
child appeared.
“I will yet search and search,” he then exclaimed; “or here or out the
door they must be found; for I'll not hold me at a denier's worth till
to the mother her poor child's restored, and I've had vengeance for that
leper's scorn.”
With such resolve, he strode towards the door; but though the portal was
thrown open wide, he could not pass it through. Spite of his will, his
efforts, and his strength, {079}his feet seemed stopped before an unseen
bar.
“Good Heaven,” he said, “what! am I then entranced?”
He drew him back, and gathering for a spring, with wond'rous force he
bounded to the door. Still all was vain, he could not cross the sill.
Again and yet again he tried, till deep discouragement iced o'er his
heart. Then tears broke from his eyes, and murmuring:
“Alas, good Lord,” he said, “Thou gav'st me strength to kill yon wicked
wretch; what boots it, if I here must captive be?”
'Twas as he thus bemoaned his adverse fate, there broke upon his ear
from some nigh place a sound of infant tongues, which sadly cried:
“Save us, O, save us, mighty lord!”
Swift at the sound he roused his spirit up, and running, found at one
end of a hall a close-shut door fast bolted from within. Jaufry called
out, and struck it with great noise; yet answer none was made: enraged
at this, he burst it in with force, and with his naked blade entered a
gloomy vault. There was the leper found, with knife in hand, who
seven infants had just put {080}to death. Some thirty more there still
remained alive, whose bitter cries went through the softened soul.
Touched at the frightful sight, Jaufry struck down the wretch, who
called his master's help; and then in wrath exclaimed:
“Thy master, villain, can no answer make; his soul this earth hath fled:
and thou, for erstwhile making mock of me, shalt now thy meed receive.”
Raising meanwhile his arm, the leper's hand he severed at a blow. The
wretch upon the blood-stained pavement rolled; then crawling to his
feet, he humbly cried:
“Mercy, good knight; in God's name, pity me, and take not quite my life!
'Twas by constraint and force I killed these babes. My lord, who sought
to cure his leprosy, bade me, with awful threats, each day prepare a
bath of human blood.”
“Thy life I'll grant,” quoth Jaufry to him then, “an that thou give me
means to leave this place.”
“I can,” the leper said; “but had you now deprived me of my life, not
knowing of the spell, a hundred thousand years had rolled their course,
and yet not seen you free.”
“Haste {081}thee, then, now,” quoth Jaufry, eagerly. “Sir knight,” the
man with shining face replied, “you still have much to bear. Such is the
fashion of this castle's spell, my lord alone could power grant to such
as hither came to cross the threshold; but never did they pass it in
return save dead or maimed.”
“How, then, wilt thou succeed?” said Jaufry.
“Spy you, on top of yonder casement high, a marble head?”
“Yea, by my faith! And then?”
“Lo, reach it down; and break it fair in twain; you'll thus destroy the
charm: but first your armour carefully put on; for when the spell is
o'er, these castle-walls will crumble into dust.”
Trusting not wholly to the lep'rous wretch, Jaufry then bound him by the
feet and arms, and to the damsel thus confided him:
“If he hath lied,” said he, “spare not his life.” Then he resumed his
helm, took down the marble head, whose shape was fair and cunningly
devised, and setting it near him on a wooden bench, discharged on't
with his sword so great a blow, he clove it dean in twain. Sudden
it shrieked, it moaned, it bounded up, hissing and growling as a
thunderbolt; whilst the vexed {082}elements at once unchained, and beam
and stone at war with frightful din came crushing over Jaufry. Vainly
his shield was raised to guard his head; Heaven's face was darkened
o'er; an awful storm, where wind and lightning strove, bursting with
ruin, 'mid the ambient air had borne the knight away, but for his orison
to heaven's King. Huge clouds of dust rose upwards to the skies; while a
fierce wind, in passing, swept away the last memorial of the magic work:
of castle naught remained.
[Illustration: 108]
Bowed down, and scarce himself, did Jaufry move his limbs. Bowed down
and bruised and tottering, dragged he some steps, then fell. The maid,
the slave, and mother with her child, who had sought refuge 'neath a
huge rock's vault, found him at length outstretched upon the turf, his
strength exhausted and quite motionless.
“Say, then, good knight,” the damsel smiling spoke, “how fares it with
you now?”
“I have no bruise that's perilous, nor mortal wound,” replied the
knight; “but such this latter strife, I find, indeed, I sadly lack
repose.”
The damsel then embraced him with her arms, and pressed her lips upon
his eyes and mouth. When Jaufry saw the mother,--
“Woman,” {083}he said, “hast thou regained thy child?”
“I have, my lord; thanks, be it told, to you.”
“An it be so, proceed then to Carlisle, with this fair damsel, babes,
and leper,--all. There I must beg you go, King Arthur thank, from
Jaufry, Dovon's son, and tell him of this fight.”
Thus speaking, he uprose; drew to his fancy his good horse's girths;
and having consigned his friends to Heaven's care, resumed his quest of
Taulat: albeit 'twas now with measured steps and slow; for this dread
battle had worn out his strength.
Having obtained her mantle and her horse, the maid set out from thence
at the like hour, and with her went the leper and the rest; nor stayed
she on the way, but only stopped when she had reached fair Carlisle's
lofty towers.
There all regarded her with wonderment.
“Whence can proceed,” they said, “this strange cortège? whence come
these people? and what want they here?” The curious crowd followed that
damsel fair up to the castle-gates, and there the knights, who noble
escort made, led her with all her troop before the king.
There {084}bended she her knee, and as a dame of gentle breeding spoke:
“May He, the Lord of all and of all things, who in His hands doth justly
hold the keys of good and ill, increase your fame, and keep in glory the
knights of your Round Table!”
“And,” said the worthy king, “may Heaven save you, sweet damsel, who are
fair and good as courteous and well-bred!”
“Sire, from Jaufry, Dovon's son, I come, to thank you for my life; which
to his mighty valour do I owe. I am the daughter of the Count Passant,
whose name perchance hath reached your royal ear. A knight of high
esteem, who sought adventure to display his worth, brought me from
Normandy to these fair shores. For seven long months, by valley and by
hill we wandered on, full many a snare escaping, and without check full
many a weary fight. This land did hold, alas, a giant dread, of hideous
aspect, and of awful strength, eaten with leprosy and fearful sores,
whose thought doth make my very soul to heave. Before us suddenly this
wretch appeared; and taking from his neck a monstrous club, struck at
my lord with force so terrible, he stunned him with the blow. Like as a
child {085}then, clutching at his arm, against a rock he fractured every
bone; whilst me he seized from off my palfrey's back, and to his magic
castle quickly bore. There I had lost my life, yea, more than life, but
that high Heaven, whose justice I implored, in mercy sent Sir Jaufry to
my aid. This doughty knight at length the monster slew; but ne'er can
I with greater truth aver, such battle never did these eyes behold, or
blows so great e'er given and received.”
The mother and the handless leper told their tale in turn. But whilst
they thus their message each relates, we will to Jaufry go, who onward
still his course doth slowly take, without he yet a single soul descried
who could give tidings of the man he sought.