(Vv. 3563-3898.) While he thus bemoaned his fate, a lorn damsel in sorry

plight, who was in the chapel, saw him and heard his words through

a crack in the wall. As soon as he was recovered from his swoon, she

called to him: "God," said she, "who is that I hear? Who is it that thus

complains?" And he replied: "And who are you?" "I am a wretched one,"

she said, "the most miserable thing alive." And he replied: "Be silent,

foolish one! Thy grief is joy and thy sorrow is bliss compared with that

in which I am cast down. In proportion as a man becomes more accustomed

to happiness and joy, so is he more distracted and stunned than any

other man by sorrow when it comes. A man of little strength can carry,

through custom and habit, a weight which another man of greater strength

could not carry for anything." "Upon my word," she said, "I know

the truth of that remark; but that is no reason to believe that your

misfortune is worse than mine. Indeed, I do not believe it at all, for

it seems to me that you can go anywhere you choose to go, whereas I am

imprisoned here, and such a fate is my portion that to-morrow I shall be

seized and delivered to mortal judgment." "Ah, God!" said he, "and for

what crime?" "Sir knight, may God never have mercy upon my soul, if I

have merited such a fate! Nevertheless, I shall tell you truly, without

deception, why I am here in prison: I am charged with treason, and I

cannot find any one to defend me from being burned or hanged to-morrow."

"In the first place," he replied, "I may say that my grief and woe are

greater than yours, for you may yet be delivered by some one from the

peril in which you are. Is that not true:" "Yes, but I know not yet by

whom. There are only two men in the world who would dare on my behalf

to face three men in battle." "What? In God's name, are there three

of them?" "Yes, sire, upon my word. There are three who accuse me of

treachery." "And who are they who are so devoted to you that either one

of them would be bold enough to fight against three in your defence?" "I

will answer your question truthfully: one of them is my lord Gawain, and

the other is my lord Yvain, because of whom I shall to-morrow be handed

over unjustly to the martyrdom of death." "Because of whom?" he asked,

"what did you say?" "Sire, so help me God, because of the son of King

Urien." "Now I understand your words, but you shall not die, without

he dies too. I myself am that Yvain, because of whom you are in such

distress. And you, I take it, are she who once guarded me safely in the

hall, and saved my life and my body between the two portcullises, when I

was troubled and distressed, and alarmed at being trapped. I should have

been killed or seized, had it not been for your kind aid. Now tell me,

my gentle friend, who are those who now accuse you of treachery, and

have confined you in this lonely place?" "Sire, I shall not conceal it

from you, since you desire me to tell you all. It is a fact that I was

not slow in honestly aiding you. Upon my advice my lady received you,

after heeding my opinion and my counsel. And by the Holy Paternoster,

more for her welfare than for your own I thought I was doing it, and I

think so still. So much now I confess to you: it was her honour and

your desire that I sought to serve, so help me God! But when it became

evident that you had overstayed the year when you should return to my

mistress, then she became enraged at me, and thought that she had been

deceived by putting trust in my advice. And when this was discovered by

the seneschal--a rascally, underhanded, disloyal wretch, who was jealous

of me because in many matters my lady trusted me more than she trusted

him, he saw that he could now stir up great enmity between me and

her. In full court and in the presence of all he accused me of having

betrayed her in your favour. And I had no counsel or aid except my own;

but I knew that I had never done or conceived any treacherous act toward

my lady, so I cried out, as one beside herself, and without the advice

of any one, that I would present in my own defence one knight who should

fight against three. The fellow was not courteous enough to scorn

to accept such odds, nor was I at liberty to retreat or withdraw

for anything that might happen. So he took me at my word, and I was

compelled to furnish bail that I would present within forty days a

knight to do battle against three knights. Since then I have visited

many courts; I was at King Arthur's court, but found no help from any

there, nor did I find any one who could tell me any good news of you,

for they knew nothing of your affairs." "Pray tell me. Where then was my

good and gentle lord Gawain? No damsel in distress ever needed his aid

without its being extended to her." "If I had found him at court, I

could not have asked him for anything which would have been refused me;

but a certain knight has carried off the Queen, so they told me; surely

the King was mad to send her off in his company. [322] I believe it was

Kay who escorted her to meet the knight who has taken her away; and my

lord Gawain in great distress has gone in search for her. He will never

have any rest until he finds her. Now I have told you the whole truth of

my adventure. To-morrow I shall be put to a shameful death, and shall

be burnt inevitably, a victim of your criminal neglect." And he replies:

"May God forbid that you should be harmed because of me! So long as

I live you shall not die! You may expect me tomorrow, prepared to the

extent of my power to present my body in your cause, as it is proper

that I should do. But have no concern to tell the people who I am!

However the battle may turn out, take care that I be not recognised!"

"Surely, sire, no pressure could make me reveal your name. I would

sooner suffer death, since you will have it so. Yet, after all, I beg

you not to return for my sake. I would not have you undertake a battle

which will be so desperate. I thank you for your promised word that you

would gladly undertake it, but consider yourself now released, for it is

better that I should die alone than that I should see them rejoice over

your death as well as mine; they would not spare my life after they had

put you to death. So it is better for you to remain alive than that we

both should meet death." "That is very ungrateful remark, my dear," says

my lord Yvain; "I suppose that either you do not wish to be delivered

from death, or else that you scorn the comfort I bring you with my aid.

I will not discuss the matter more, for you have surely done so much

for me that I cannot fail you in any need. I know that you are in great

distress; but, if it be God's will, in whom I trust, they shall all

three be discomfited. So no more upon that score: I am going off now to

find some shelter in this wood, for there is no dwelling near at hand."

"Sire," she says, "may God give you both good shelter and good night,

and protect you as I desire from everything that might do you harm!"

Then my lord Yvain departs, and the lion as usual after him. They

journeyed until they came to a baron's fortified place, which was

completely surrounded by a massive, strong, and high wall. The castle,

being extraordinarily well protected, feared no assault of catapult or

storming-machine; but outside the walls the ground was so completely

cleared that not a single hut or dwelling remained standing. You will

learn the cause of this a little later, when the time comes. My lord

Yvain made his way directly toward the fortified place, and seven

varlets came out who lowered the bridge and advanced to meet him. But

they were terrified at sight of the lion, which they saw with him, and

asked him kindly to leave the lion at the gate lest he should wound or

kill them. And he replies: "Say no more of that! For I shall not enter

without him. Either we shall both find shelter here or else I shall stay

outside; he is as dear to me as I am myself. Yet you need have no fear

of him! For I shall keep him so well in hand that you may be quite

confident." They made answer: "Very well!" Then they entered the town,

and passed on until they met knights and ladies and charming damsels

coming down the street, who salute him and wait to remove his armour as

they say: "Welcome to our midst, fair sire! And may God grant that you

tarry here until you may leave with great honour and satisfaction!" High

and low alike extend to him a glad welcome, and do all they can for him,

as they joyfully escort him into the town. But after they had expressed

their gladness they are overwhelmed by grief, which makes them quickly

forget their joy, as they begin to lament and weep and beat themselves.

Thus, for a long space of time, they cease not to rejoice or make

lament: it is to honour their guest that they rejoice, but their heart

is not in what they do, for they are greatly worried over an event which

they expect to take place on the following day, and they feel very sure

and certain that it will come to pass before midday. My lord Yvain was

so surprised that they so often changed their mood, and mingled grief

with their happiness, that he addressed the lord of the place on the

subject. "For God's sake," he said, "fair gentle sir, will you kindly

inform me why you have thus honoured me, and shown at once such joy and

such heaviness?" "Yes, if you desire to know, but it would be better

for you to desire ignorance and silence. I will never tell you willingly

anything to cause you grief. Allow us to continue to lament, and do you

pay no attention to what we do!" "It would be quite impossible for me

to see you sad and nor take it upon my heart, so I desire to know the

truth, whatever chagrin may result to me." "Well, then," he said, "I

will tell you all. I have suffered much from a giant, who has insisted

that I should give him my daughter, who surpasses in beauty all the

maidens in the world. This evil giant, whom may God confound, is named

Harpin of the Mountain. Not a day passes without his taking all of my

possessions upon which he can lay his hands. No one has a better right

than I to complain, and to be sorrowful, and to make lament. I might

well lose my senses from very grief, for I had six sons who were

knights, fairer than any I knew in the world, and the giant has taken

all six of them. Before my eyes he killed two of them, and to-morrow he

will kill the other four, unless I find some one who will dare to fight

him for the deliverance of my sons, or unless I consent to surrender my

daughter to him; and he says that when he has her in his possession he

will give her over to be the sport of the vilest and lewdest fellows in

his house, for he would scorn to take her now for himself. That is the

disaster which awaits me to-morrow, unless the Lord God grant me His

aid. So it is no wonder, fair sir, if we are all in tears. But for your

sake we strive for the moment to assume as cheerful a countenance as we

can. For he is a fool who attracts a gentleman to his presence and then

does not honour him; and you seem to be a very perfect gentleman. Now

I have told you the entire story of our great distress. Neither in town

nor in fortress has the giant left us anything, except what we have

here. If you had noticed, you must have seen this evening that he has

not left us so much as an egg, except these walls which are new; for he

has razed the entire town. When he had plundered all he wished, he set

fire to what remained. In this way he has done me many an evil turn."

(Vv. 3899-3956.) My lord Yvain listened to all that his host told him,

and when he had heard it all he was pleased to answer him: "Sire, I am

sorry and distressed about this trouble of yours; but I marvel greatly

that you have not asked assistance at good King Arthur's court. There is

no man so mighty that he could not find at his court some who would be

glad to try their strength with his." Then the wealthy man reveals and

explains to him that he would have had efficient help if he had known

where to find my lord Gawain. "He would not have failed me upon this

occasion, for my wife is his own sister; but a knight from a strange

land, who went to court to seek the King's wife, has led her away.

However, he could not have gotten possession of her by any means of his

own invention, had it not been for Kay, who so befooled the King that he

gave the Queen into his charge and placed her under his protection. He

was a fool, and she imprudent to entrust herself to his escort. And I

am the one who suffers and loses in all this; for it is certain that my

excellent lord Gawain would have made haste to come here, had he known

the facts, for the sake of his nephews and his niece. But he knows

nothing of it, wherefore I am so distressed that my heart is almost

breaking, for he is gone in pursuit of him, to whom may God bring shame

and woe for having led the Queen away." While listening to this recital

my lord Yvain does not cease to sigh. Inspired by the pity which he

feels, he makes this reply: "Fair gentle sire, I would gladly undertake

this perilous adventure, if the giant and your sons should arrive

to-morrow in time to cause me no delay, for tomorrow at noon I shall

be somewhere else, in accordance with a promise I have made." "Once

for all, fair sire," the good man said, "I thank you a hundred thousand

times for your willingness." And all the people of the house likewise

expressed their gratitude.

(Vv. 3957-4384.) Just then the damsel came out of a room, with her

graceful body and her face so fair and pleasing to look upon. She was

very simple and sad and quiet as she came, for there was no end to the

grief she felt: she walked with her head bowed to the ground. And her

mother, too, came in from an adjoining room, for the gentleman had sent

for them to meet his guest. They entered with their mantles wrapped

about them to conceal their tears; and he bid them throw back their

mantles, and hold up their heads, saying: "You ought not to hesitate

to obey my behests, for God and good fortune have given us here a very

well-born gentleman who assures me that he will fight against the giant.

Delay no longer now to throw yourselves at his feet!" "May God never let

me see that!" my lord Yvain hastens to exclaim; "surely it would not be

proper under any circumstances for the sister and the niece of my lord

Gawain to prostrate themselves at my feet. May God defend me from ever

giving place to such pride as to let them fall at my feet! Indeed, I

should never forget the shame which I should feel; but I should be

very glad if they would take comfort until to-morrow, when they may see

whether God will consent to aid them. I have no other request to make,

except that the giant may come in such good time that I be not compelled

to break my engagement elsewhere; for I would not fail for anything

to be present to-morrow noon at the greatest business I could ever

undertake." Thus he is unwilling to reassure them completely, for he

fears that the giant may not come early enough to allow him to reach

in time the damsel who is imprisoned in the chapel. Nevertheless, he

promises them enough to arouse good hope in them. They all alike join in

thanking him, for they place great confidence in his prowess, and they

think he must be a very good man, when they see the lion by his side as

confident as a lamb would be. They take comfort and rejoice because of

the hope they stake on him, and they indulge their grief no more. When

the time came they led him off to bed in a brightly lighted room; both

the damsel and her mother escorted him, for they prized him dearly, and

would have done so a hundred thousand times more had they been informed

of his prowess and courtesy. He and the lion together lay down there and

took their rest. The others dared not sleep in the room; but they closed

the door so tight that they could not come out until the next day at

dawn. When the room was thrown open he got up and heard Mass, and then,

because of the promise he had made, he waited until the hour of prime.

Then in the hearing of all he summoned the lord of the town and said:

"My lord, I have no more time to wait, but must ask your permission

to leave at once; I cannot tarry longer here. But believe truly that

I would gladly and willingly stay here yet awhile for the sake of the

nephews and the niece of my beloved lord Gawain, if I did not have a

great business on hand, and if it were not so far away." At this the

damsel's blood quivered and boiled with fear, as well as the lady's and

the lord's. They were so afraid he would go away that they were on the

point of humbling themselves and casting themselves at his feet, when

they recalled that he would not approve or permit their action. Then the

lord makes him an offer of all he will take of his lands or wealth, if

only he will wait a little longer. And he replied: "God forbid that ever

I should take anything of yours!" Then the damsel, who is in dismay,

begins to weep aloud, and beseeches him to stay. Like one distracted and

prey to dread, she begs him by the glorious queen of heaven and of the

angels, and by the Lord, not to go but to wait a little while; and

then, too, for her uncle's sake, whom he says he knows, and loves, and

esteems. Then his heart is touched with deep pity when he hears her

adjuring him in the name of him whom he loves the most, and by the

mistress of heaven, and by the Lord, who is the very honey and sweet

savour of pity. Filled with anguish he heaved a sigh, for were the

kingdom of Tarsus at stake he would not see her burned to whom he had

pledged his aid. If he could not reach her in time, he would be unable

to endure his life, or would live on without his wits on the other hand,

the kindness of his friend, my lord Gawain, only increased his distress;

his heart almost bursts in half at the thought that he cannot delay.

Nevertheless, he does not stir, but delays and waits so long that the

giant came suddenly, bringing with him the knights: and hanging from his

neck he carried a big square stake with a pointed end, and with this he

frequently spurred them on. For their part they had no clothing on that

was worth a straw, except some soiled and filthy shirts: and their feet

and hands were bound with cords, as they came riding upon four limping

jades, which were weak, and thin, and miserable. As they came riding

along beside a wood, a dwarf, who was puffed up like a toad, had

tied the horses' tails together, and walked beside them, beating them

remorselessly with a four-knotted scourge until they bled, thinking

thereby to be doing something wonderful. Thus they were brought along in

shame by the giant and the dwarf. Stopping in the plain in front of the

city gate, the giant shouts out to the noble lord that he will kill his

sons unless he delivers to him his daughter, whom he will surrender to

his vile fellows to become their sport. For he no longer loves her nor

esteems her, that he should deign to abase himself to her. She shall be

constantly beset by a thousand lousy and ragged knaves, vacant wretches,

and scullery boys, who all shall lay hands on her. The worthy man is

well-nigh beside himself when he hears how his daughter will be made

a bawd, or else, before his very eyes, his four sons will be put to a

speedy death. His agony is like that of one who would rather be dead

than alive. Again and again he bemoans his fate, and weeps aloud and

sighs. Then my frank and gentle lord Yvain thus began to speak to him:

"Sire, very vile and impudent is that giant who vaunts himself out

there. But may God never grant that he should have your daughter in his

power! He despises her and insults her openly. It would be too great a

calamity if so lovely a creature of such high birth were handed over

to become the sport of boys. Give me now my arms and horse! Have the

drawbridge lowered, and let me pass. One or the other must be cast down,

either I or he, I know not which. If I could only humiliate the cruel

wretch who is thus oppressing you, so that he would release your sons

and should come and make amends for the insulting words he has spoken

to you, then I would commend you to God and go about my business." Then

they go to get his horse, and hand over to him his arms, striving so

expeditiously that they soon have him quite equipped. They delayed as

little as they could in arming him. When his equipment was complete,

there remained nothing but to lower the bridge and let him go. They

lowered it for him, and he went out. But the lion would by no means

stay behind. All those who were left behind commended the knight to

the Saviour, for they fear exceedingly lest their devilish enemy, who

already had slain so many good men on the same field before their eyes,

would do the same with him. So they pray God to defend him from death,

and return him to them safe and sound, and that He may give him strength

to slay the giant. Each one softly prays to God in accordance with his

wish. And the giant fiercely came at him, and with threatening words

thus spake to him: "By my eyes, the man who sent thee here surely had

no love for thee! No better way could he have taken to avenge himself on

thee. He has chosen well his vengeance for whatever wrong thou hast done

to him." But the other, fearing naught, replies: "Thou treatest of what

matters not. Now do thy best, and I'll do mine. Idle parley wearies me."

Thereupon my lord Yvain, who was anxious to depart, rides at him. He

goes to strike him on the breast, which was protected by a bear's skin,

and the giant runs at him with his stake raised in air. My lord Yvain

deals him such a blow upon the chest that he thrusts through the skin

and wets the tip of his lance in his body's blood by way of sauce. And

the giant belabours him with the stake, and makes him bend beneath the

blows. My lord Yvain then draws the sword with which he knew how to

deal fierce blows. He found the giant unprotected, for he trusted in his

strength so much that he disdained to arm himself. And he who had drawn

his blade gave him such a slash with the cutting edge, and not with the

flat side, that he cut from his cheek a slice fit to roast. Then the

other in turn gave him such a blow with the stake that it made him sing

in a heap upon his horse's neck. Thereupon the lion bristles up, ready

to lend his master aid, and leaps up in his anger and strength, and

strikes and tears like so much bark the heavy bearskin the giant wore,

and he tore away beneath the skin a large piece of his thigh, together

with the nerves and flesh. The giant escaped his clutches, roaring and

bellowing like a bull, for the lion had badly wounded him. Then raising

his stake in both hands, he thought to strike him, but missed his aim,

when the lion leaded backward so he missed his blow, and fell exhausted

beside my lord Yvain, but without either of them touching the other.

Then my lord Yvain took aim and landed two blows on him. Before he could

recover himself he had severed with the edge of his sword the giant's

shoulder from his body. With the next blow he ran the whole blade of his

sword through his liver beneath his chest; the giant falls in death's

embrace. And if a great oak tree should fall, I think it would make no

greater noise than the giant made when he tumbled down. All those who

were on the wall would fain have witnessed such a blow. Then it became

evident who was the most fleet of foot, for all ran to see the game,

just like hounds which have followed the beast until they finally come

up with him. So men and women in rivalry ran forward without delay to

where the giant lay face downward. The daughter comes running, and

her mother too. And the four brothers rejoice after the woes they have

endured. As for my lord Yvain they are very sure that they could not

detain him for any reason they might allege, but they beseech him to

return and stay to enjoy himself as soon as he shall have completed the

business which calls him away. And he replies that he cannot promise

them anything, for as yet he cannot guess whether it will fare well or

ill with him. But thus much did he say to his host: that he wished that

his four sons and his daughter should take the dwarf and go to my lord

Gawain when they hear of his return, and should tell and relate to him

how he has conducted himself. For kind actions are of no use if you are

not willing that they be known. And they reply: "It is not right that

such kindness as this should be kept hid: we shall do whatever you

desire. But tell us what we can say when we come before him. Whose

praises can we speak, when we know not what your name may be?" And he

answers them: "When you come before him, you may say thus much: that I

told you 'The Knight with the Lion' was my name. And at the same time

I must beg you to tell him from me that, if he does not recognise who I

am, yet he knows me well and I know him. Now I must be gone from here,

and the thing which most alarms me is that I may too long have tarried

here, for before the hour of noon be passed I shall have plenty to do

elsewhere, if indeed I can arrive there in time." Then, without further

delay, he starts. But first his host begged him insistently that he

would take with him his four sons: for there was none of them who would

not strive to serve him, if he would allow it. But it did not please

or suit him that any one should accompany him; so he left the place to

them, and went away alone. And as soon as he starts, riding as fast as

his steed can carry him, he heads toward the chapel. The path was good

and straight, and he knew well how to keep the road. But before he could

reach the chapel, the damsel had been dragged out and the pyre prepared

upon which she was to be placed. Clad only in a shift, she was held

bound before the fire by those who wrongly attributed to her an

intention she had never had. My lord Yvain arrived, and, seeing her

beside the fire into which she was about to be cast, he was naturally

incensed. He would be neither courteous nor sensible who had any

doubt about that fact. So it is true that he was much incensed; but he

cherishes within himself the hope that God and the Right will be on his

side. In such helpers he confides; nor does he scorn his lion's aid.

Rushing quickly toward the crowd, he shouts: "Let the damsel be, you

wicked folk! Having committed no crime, it is not right that she should

be cast upon a pyre or into a furnace." And they draw off on either

side, leaving a passage-way for him. But he yearns to see with his own

eyes her whom his heart beholds in whatever place she may be. His eyes

seek her until he finds her, while he subdues and holds in check his

heart, just as one holds in check with a strong curb a horse that pulls.

Nevertheless, he gladly gazes at her, and sighs the while; but he does

not sigh so openly that his action is detected; rather does he stifle

his sighs, though with difficulty. And he is seized with pity at

hearing, seeing, and perceiving the grief of the poor ladies, who cried:

"Ah, God, how hast Thou forgotten us! How desolate we shall now remain

when we lose so kind a friend, who gave us such counsel and such aid,

and interceded for us at court! It was she who prompted madame to clothe

us with her clothes of vair. Henceforth the situation will change, for

there will be no one to speak for us! Cursed be he who is the cause of

our loss! For we shall fare badly in all this. There will be no one to

utter such advice as this: 'My lady, give this vair mantle, this cloak,

and this garment to such and such an honest dame! Truly, such charity

will be well employed, for she is in very dire need of them.' No such

words as these shall be uttered henceforth, for there is no one else who

is frank and courteous; but every one solicits for himself rather than

for some one else, even though he have no need."

(Vv. 4385-4474.) Thus they were bemoaning their fate; and my lord Yvain

who was in their midst, heard their complaints, which were neither

groundless nor assumed. He saw Lunete on her knees and stripped to her

shift, having already made confession, and besought God's mercy for her

sins. Then he who had loved her deeply once came to her and raised her

up, saying: "My damsel, where are those who blame and accuse you? Upon

the spot, unless they refuse, battle will be offered them." And she, who

had neither seen nor looked at him before, said: "Sire, you come from

God in this time of my great need! The men who falsely accuse me are all

ready before me here; if you had been a little later I should soon have

been reduced to fuel and ashes. You have come here in my defence,

and may God give you the power to accomplish it in proportion as I am

guiltless of the accusation which is made against me!" The seneschal and

his two brothers heard these words. "Ah!" they exclaim, "woman, chary

of uttering truth but generous with lies! He indeed is mad who for thy

words assumes so great a task. The knight must be simple-minded who has

come here to die for thee, for he is alone and there are three of us. My

advice to him is that he turn back before any harm shall come to him."

Then he replies, as one impatient to begin: "Whoever is afraid, let him

run away! I am not so afraid of your three shields that I should go off

defeated without a blow. I should be indeed discourteous, if, while yet

unscathed and in perfect case, I should leave the place and field to

you. Never, so long as I am alive and sound, will I run away before

such threats. But I advise thee to set free the damsel whom thou hast

unjustly accused; for she tells me, and I believe her word, and she has

assured me upon the salvation of her soul, that she never committed,

or spoke, or conceived any treason against her mistress. I believe

implicitly what she has told me, and will defend her as best I can, for

I consider the righteousness of her cause to be in my favour. For, if

the truth be known, God always sides with the righteous cause, for God

and the Right are one; and if they are both upon my side, then I have

better company and better aid than thou." [323] Then the other responds

imprudently that he may make every effort that pleases him and is

convenient to do him injury, provided that his lion shall not do him

harm. And he replies that he never brought the lion to champion his

cause, nor does he wish any but himself to take a hand: but if the lion

attacks him, let him defend himself against him as best he can, for

concerning him he will give no guarantee. Then the other answers:

"Whatever thou mayst say; unless thou now warn thy lion, and make him

stand quietly to one side, there is no use of thy longer staying here,

but begone at once, and so shalt thou be wise; for throughout this

country every one is aware how this girl betrayed her lady, and it is

right that she receive her due reward in fire and flame." "May the Holy

Spirit forbid!" says he who knows the truth; "may God not let me

stir from here until I have delivered her!" Then he tells the lion to

withdraw and to lie down quietly, and he does so obediently.

(Vv. 4475-4532.) The lion now withdrew, and the parley and quarrel being

ended between them two, they all took their distance for the charge. The

three together spurred toward him, and he went to meet them at a walk.

He did not wish to be overturned or hurt at this first encounter. So he

let them split their lances, while keeping his entire, making for them a

target of his shield, whereon each one broke his lance. Then he galloped

off until he was separated from them by the space of an acre; but he

soon returned to the business in hand, having no desire to delay. On

his coming up the second time, he reached the seneschal before his two

brothers, and breaking his lance upon his body, he carried him to earth

in spite of himself, and he gave him such a powerful blow that for a

long while he lay stunned, incapable of doing him any harm. And then the

other two came at him with their swords bared, and both deal him great

blows, but they receive still heavier blows from him. For a single one

of the blows he deals is more than a match for two of theirs; thus he

defends himself so well that they have no advantage over him, until the

seneschal gets up and does his best to injure him, in which attempt the

others join, until they begin to press him and get the upper hand. Then

the lion, who is looking on, delays no longer to lend him aid; for it

seems to him that he needs it now. And all the ladies, who are devoted

to the damsel, beseech God repeatedly and pray to Him earnestly not to

allow the death or the defeat of him who has entered the fray on her

account. The ladies, having no other weapons, thus assist him with their

prayers. And the lion brings him such effective aid, that at his first

attack, he strikes so fiercely the seneschal, who was now on his feet,

that he makes the meshes fly from the hauberk like straw, and he drags

him down with such violence that he tears the soft flesh from his

shoulder and all down his side. He strips whatever he touches, so that

the entrails lie exposed. The other two avenge this blow.

(Vv. 4533-4634.) Now they are all even on the field. The seneschal is

marked for death, as he turns and welters in the red stream of warm

blood pouring from his body. The lion attacks the others; for my

lord Yvain is quite unable, though he did his best by beating or

by threatening him, to drive him back; but the lion doubtless feels

confident that his master does not dislike his aid, but rather loves him

the more for it: so he fiercely attacks them, until they have reason

to complain of his blows, and they wound him in turn and use him badly.

When my lord Yvain sees his lion wounded, his heart is wroth within his

breast, and rightly so; but he makes such efforts to avenge him, and

presses them so hard, that he completely reduces them; they no longer

resist him, but surrender to him at discretion, because of the lion's

help, who is now in great distress; for he was wounded everywhere, and

had good cause to be in pain. For his part, my lord Yvain was by no

means in a healthy state, for his body bore many a wound. But he is not

so anxious about himself as about his lion, which is in distress. Now

he has delivered the damsel exactly in accordance with his wish, and

the lady has very willingly dismissed the grudge that she bore her.

And those men were burned upon the pyre which had been kindled for

the damsel's death; for it is right and just that he who has misjudged

another, should suffer the same manner of death as that to which he had

condemned the other. Now Lunete is joyous and glad at being reconciled

with her mistress, and together they were more happy than any one ever

was before. Without recognising him, all present offered to him, who was

their lord, their service so long as life should last; even the lady,

who possessed unknowingly his heart, begged him insistently to tarry

there until his lion and he had quite recovered. And he replied: "Lady,

I shall not now tarry here until my lady removes from me her displeasure

and anger: then the end of all my labours will come." "Indeed," she

said, "that grieves me. I think the lady cannot be very courteous who

cherishes ill-will against you. She ought not to close her door against

so valorous a knight as you, unless he had done her some great wrong."

"Lady," he replies, "however great the hardship be, I am pleased by what

ever may be her will. But speak to me no more of that; for I shall say

nothing of the cause or crime, except to those who are informed of it."

"Does any one know it, then, beside you two?" "Yes, truly, lady." "Well,

tell us at least your name, fair sir; then you will be free to go."

"Quite free, my lady? No, I shall not be free. I owe more than I can

pay. Yet, I ought not to conceal from you my name. You will never hear

of 'The Knight with the Lion' without hearing of me; for I wish to be

known by that name." "For God's sake, sir, what does that name mean? For

we never saw you before, nor have we ever heard mentioned this name

of yours." "My lady, you may from that infer that my fame is not

widespread." Then the lady says: "Once more, if it did not oppose your

will, I would pray you to tarry here." "Really, my lady, I should not

dare, until I knew certainly that I had regained my lady's good-will."

"Well, then, go in God's name, fair sir; and, if it be His will, may He

convert your grief and sorrow into joy." "Lady," says he, "may God hear

your prayer." Then he added softly under his breath: "Lady, it is you

who hold the key, and, though you know it not, you hold the casket in

which my happiness is kept under lock."

(Vv. 4635-4674.) Then he goes away in great distress, and there is no

one who recognises him save Lunete, who accompanied him a long distance.

Lunete alone keeps him company, and he begs her insistently never to

reveal the name of her champion. "Sire," says she, "I will never do so."

Then he further requested her that she should not forget him, and that

she should keep a place for him in his mistress' heart, whenever the

chance arose. She tells him to be at ease on that score; for she will

never be forgetful, nor unfaithful, nor idle. Then he thanks her a

thousand times, and he departs pensive and oppressed, because of his

lion that he must needs carry, being unable to follow him on foot. He

makes for him a litter of moss and ferns in his shield. When he has made

a bed for him there, he lays him in it as gently as he can, and carries

him thus stretched out full length on the inner side of his shield.

Thus, in his shield he bears him off, until he arrives before the gate

of a mansion, strong and fair. Finding it closed, he called, and the

porter opened it so promptly that he had no need to call but once. He

reaches out to take his rein, and greets him thus: "Come in, fair sire.

I offer you the dwelling of my lord, if it please you to dismount." "I

accept the offer gladly," he replies, "for I stand in great need of it,

and it is time to find a lodging."

(Vv. 4675-4702.) Thereupon, he passed through the gate, and saw the

retainers in a mass coming to meet him. They greeted him and helped him

from his horse, and laid down upon the pavement his shield with the lion

on it. And some, taking his horse, put it in a stable: while others very

properly relieved him of his arms and took them. Then the lord of the

castle heard the news, and at once came down into the courtyard,

and greeted him. And his lady came down, too, with all her sons and

daughters and a great crowd of other people, who all rejoiced to offer

him a lodging. They gave him a quiet room, because they deemed that he

was sick; but their good nature was put to a test when they allowed the

lion to go with him. His cure was undertaken by two maidens skilled in

surgery, who were daughters of the lord. I do not know how many days

he stayed there, until he and his lion, being cured, were compelled to

proceed upon their way.

(Vv. 4703-4736.) But within this time it came about that my lord of

Noire Espine had a struggle with Death, and so fierce was Death's attack

that he was forced to die. After his death it happened that the elder of

two daughters whom he had, announced that she would possess uncontested

all the estates for herself during her entire lifetime, and that she

would give no share to her sister. And the other one said that she would

go to King Arthur's court to seek help for the defence of her claim to

the land. When the former saw that her sister would by no means concede

all the estates to her without contest, she was greatly concerned, and

thought that, if possible, she would get to court before her. At once

she prepared and equipped herself, and without any tarrying or delay,

she proceeded to the court. The other followed her, and made all the

haste she could; but her journey was all in vain, for her eider sister

had already presented her case to my lord Gawain, and he had promised

to execute her will. But there was an agreement between them that if any

one should learn of the facts from her, he would never again take arms

for her, and to this arrangement she gave consent.

(Vv. 4737-4758.) Just then the other sister arrived at court, clad in

a short mantle of scarlet cloth and fresh ermine. It happened to be

the third day after the Queen had returned from the captivity in which

Maleagant had detained her with all the other prisoners; but Lancelot

had remained behind, treacherously confined within a tower. And on that

very day, when the damsel came to court, news was received of the cruel

and wicked giant whom the knight with the lion had killed in battle. In

his name, my lord Gawain was greeted by his nephews and niece, who told

him in detail of all the great service and great deeds of prowess he

had done for them for his sake, and how that he was well acquainted with

him, though not aware of his identity.

(Vv. 4759-4820.) All this was heard by her, who was plunged thereby

into great despair and sorrow and dejection; for, since the best of the

knights was absent, she thought she would find no aid or counsel at the

court. She had already made several loving and insistent appeals to my

lord Gawain; but he had said to her: "My dear, it is useless to appeal

to me; I cannot do it; I have another affair on hand, which I shall

in no wise give up." Then the damsel at once left him, and presented

herself before the King. "O King," said she, "I have come to thee and to

thy court for aid. But I find none, and I am very much mazed that I can

get no counsel here. Yet it would not be right for me to go away without

taking leave. My sister may know, however, that she might obtain by

kindness whatever she desired of my property; but I will never surrender

my heritage to her by force, if I can help it, and if I can find any

aid or counsel." "You have spoken wisely," said the King; "since she is

present here, I advise, recommend, and urge her to surrender to you what

is your right." Then the other, who was confident of the best knight in

the world, replied: "Sire, may God confound me, if ever I bestow on her

from my estates any castle, town, clearing, forest, land, or anything

else. But if any knight dares to take arms on her behalf and desires to

defend her cause, let him step forth at once." "Your offer to her is not

fair; she needs more time," the King replied; "if she desires, she may

have forty days to secure a champion, according to the practice of all

courts." To which the elder sister replied: "Fair King, my lord, you may

establish your laws as it pleases you, and as seems good, nor is it

my place to gainsay you, so I must consent to the postponement, if she

desires it." Whereupon, the other says that she does desire it, and she

makes formal request for it. Then she commended the King to God, and

left the court resolving to devote her life to the search through all

the land for the Knight with the Lion, who devotes himself to succouring

women in need of aid.

(Vv. 4821-4928.) Thus she entered upon her quest, and traversed many

a country without hearing any news of him, which caused her such grief

that she fell sick. But it was well for her that it happened so; for she

came to the dwelling of a friend of hers, by whom she was dearly loved.

By this time her face showed clearly that she was not in good health.

They insisted upon detaining her until she told them of her plight;

whereupon, another damsel took up the quest wherein she had been

engaged, and continued the search on her behalf. So while the one

remained in this retreat, the other rode rapidly all day long, until the

darkness of night came on, and caused her great anxiety. [324] And her

trouble was doubled when the rain came on with terrible violence, as

if God Himself were doing His worst, while she was in the depths of the

forest. The night and the woods cause her great distress, but she is

more tormented by the rain than by either the woods or the night. And

the road was so bad that her horse was often up to the girth in mud; any

damsel might well be terrified to be in the woods, without escort, in

such bad weather and in such darkness that she could not see the horse

she was riding. So she called on God first, and His mother next, and

then on all the saints in turn, and offered up many a prayer that

God would lead her out from this forest and conduct her to some

lodging-place. She continued in prayer until she heard a horn, at which

she greatly rejoiced; for she thought now she would find shelter, if she

could only reach the place. So she turned in the direction of the sound,

and came upon a paved road which led straight toward the horn whose

sound she heard; for the horn had given three long, loud blasts. And she

made her way straight toward the sound, until she came to a cross which

stood on the right side of the road, and there she thought that she

might find the horn and the person who had sounded it. So she spurred

her horse in that direction, until she drew near a bridge, and descried

the white walls and the barbican of a circular castle. Thus, by chance

she came upon the castle, setting her course by the sound which had led

her thither. She had been attracted by the sound of the horn blown by a

watchman upon the walls. As soon as the watchman caught sight of her, he

called to her, then came down, and taking the key of the gate, opened

it for her and said: "Welcome, damsel, whoe'er you be. You shall be

well lodged this night." "I have no other desire than that," the damsel

replied, as he let her in. After the toil and anxiety she had endured

that day, she was fortunate to find such a lodging-place; for she was

very comfortable there. After the meal the host addressed her, and

inquired where she was going and what was her quest. Whereupon, she thus

replied: "I am seeking one whom I never saw, so far as I am aware, and

never knew; but he has a lion with him, and I am told that, if I find

him, I can place great confidence in him." "I can testify to that," the

other said: "for the day before yesterday God sent him here to me in

my dire need. Blessed be the paths which led him to my dwelling. For he

made me glad by avenging me of a mortal enemy and killing him before

my eyes. Outside yonder gate you may see to-morrow the body of a mighty

giant, whom he slew with such ease that he hardly had to sweat." "For

God's sake, sire," the damsel said, "tell me now the truth, if you know

whither he went, and where he is." "I don't know," he said, "as God sees

me here; but to-morrow I will start you on the road by which he went

away from here." "And may God," said she, "lead me where I may hear true

news of him. For if I find him, I shall be very glad."

(Vv. 4929-4964.) Thus they continued in long converse until at last they

went to bed. When the day dawned, the maid arose, being in great concern

to find the object of her quest. And the master of the house arose with

all his companions, and set her upon the road which led straight to the

spring beneath the pine. And she, hastening on her way toward the town,

came and asked the first men whom she met, if they could tell her where

she would find the lion and the knight who travelled in company. And

they told her that they had seen him defeat three knights in that very

place. Whereupon, she said at once: "For God's sake, since you have said

so much, do not keep back from me anything that you can add." "No," they

replied; "we know nothing more than we have said, nor do we know what

became of him. If she for whose sake he came here, cannot give you

further news, there will be no one here to enlighten you. You will not

have far to go, if you wish to speak with her; for she has gone to make

prayer to God and to hear Mass in yonder church, and judging by the time

she has been inside, her orisons have been prolonged."

(Vv. 4965-5106.) While they were talking thus, Lunete came out from the

church, and they said: "There she is." Then she went to meet her, and

they greeted each other. She asked Lunete at once for the information

she desired; and Lunete said that she would have a palfrey saddled; for

she wished to accompany her, and would take her to an enclosure where

she had left him. The other maiden thanked her heartily. Lunete mounts

the palfrey which is brought without delay, and, as they ride, she tells

her how she had been accused and charged with treason, and how the pyre

was already kindled upon which she was to be laid, and how he had come

to help her in just the moment of her need. While speaking thus, she

escorted her to the road which led directly to the spot where my lord

Yvain had parted from her. When she had accompanied her thus far, she

said: "Follow this road until you come to a place where, if it please

God and the Holy Spirit, you will hear more reliable news of him than

I can tell. I very well remember that I left him either near here, or

exactly here, where we are now; we have not seen each other since then,

and I do not know what he has done. When he left me, he was in sore need

of a plaster for his wounds. So I will send you along after him, and if

it be God's will, may He grant that you find him to-night or to-morrow

in good health. Now go: I commend you to God. I must not follow you any

farther, lest my mistress be displeased with me." Then Lunete leaves her

and turns back; while the other pushed on until she found a house,

where my lord Yvain had tarried until he was restored to health. She saw

people gathered before the gate, knights, ladies and men-at-arms, and

the master of the house; she saluted them, and asked them to tell her,

if possible, news of a knight for whom she sought. "Who is he?" they

ask. "I have heard it said that he is never without a lion." "Upon my

word, damsel," the master says, "he has just now left us. You can come

up with him to-night, if you are able to keep his tracks in sight, and

are careful not to lose any time." "Sire," she answers, "God forbid.

But tell me now in what direction I must follow him." And they tell

her: "This way, straight ahead," and they beg her to greet him on their

behalf. But their courtesy was not of much avail; for, without giving

any heed, she galloped off at once. The pace seemed much too slow to

her, though her palfrey made good time. So she galloped through the mud

just the same as where the road was good and smooth, until she caught

sight of him with the lion as his companion. Then in her gladness she

exclaims: "God, help me now. At last I see him whom I have so long

pursued, and whose trace I have long followed. But if I pursue and

nothing gain, what will it profit me to come up with him? Little or

nothing, upon my word. If he does not join in my enterprise, I have

wasted all my pains." Thus saying, she pressed on so fast that her

palfrey was all in a sweat; but she caught up with him and saluted him.

He thus at once replied to her: "God save you, fair one, and deliver you

from grief and woe." "The same to you, sire, who, I hope, will soon be

able to deliver me." Then she draws nearer to him, and says: "Sire, I

have long searched for you. The great fame of your merit has made me

traverse many a county in my weary search for you. But I continued my

quest so long, thank God, that at last I have found you here. And if I

brought any anxiety with me, I am no longer concerned about it, nor do I

complain or remember it now. I am entirely relieved; my worry has taken

flight the moment I met with you. Moreover, the affair is none of mine:

I come to you from one that is better than I, a woman who is more noble

and excellent. But if she be disappointed in her hopes of you, then she

has been betrayed by your fair renown, for she has no expectation of

other aid. My damsel, who is deprived of her inheritance by a sister,

expects with your help to win her suit; she will have none but you

defend her cause. No one can make her believe that any one else could

bear her aid. By securing her share of the heritage, you will have won

and acquired the love of her who is now disinherited, and you will also

increase your own renown. She herself was going in search for you to

secure the boon for which she hoped; no one else would have taken her

place, had she not been detained by an illness which compels her to keep

her bed. Now tell me, please, whether you will dare to come, or whether

you will decline." "No," he says; "no man can win praise in a life of

ease; and I will not hold back, but will follow you gladly, my sweet

friend, whithersoever it may please you. And if she for whose sake you

have sought me out stands in some great need of me, have no fear that I

shall not do all I can for her. Now may God grant me the happiness and

grace to settle in her favour her rightful claim."

(Vv. 5107-5184.) [325] Thus conversing, they two rode away until they

approached the town of Pesme Avanture. They had no desire to pass it

by, for the day was already drawing to a close. They came riding to the

castle, when all the people, seeing them approach, called out to the

knight: "Ill come, sire, ill come. This lodging-place was pointed out to

you in order that you might suffer harm and shame. An abbot might take

his oath to that." "Ah," he replied, "foolish and vulgar folk, full

of all mischief, and devoid of honour, why have you thus assailed me?"

"Why? you will find out soon enough, if you will go a little farther.

But you shall learn nothing more until you have ascended to the

fortress." At once my lord Yvain turns toward the tower, and the crowd

cries out, all shouting aloud at him: "Eh, eh, wretch, whither goest

thou? If ever in thy life thou hast encountered one who worked thee

shame and woe, such will be done thee there, whither thou art going,

as will never be told again by thee." My lord Yvain, who is listening,

says: "Base and pitiless people, miserable and impudent, why do you

assail me thus, why do you attack me so? What do you wish of me, what

do you want, that you growl this way after me?" A lady, who was somewhat

advanced in years, who was courteous and sensible, said: "Thou hast no

cause to be enraged: they mean no harm in what they say; but, if thou

understoodest them aright, they are warning thee not to spend the night

up there; they dare not tell thee the reason for this, but they are

warning and blaming thee because they wish to arouse thy fears. This

they are accustomed to do in the case of all who come, so that they may

not go inside. And the custom is such that we dare not receive in our

own houses, for any reason whatsoever, any gentleman who comes here from

a distance. The responsibility now is thine alone; no one will stand in

thy way. If thou wishest, thou mayst go up now; but my advice is to turn

back again." "Lady," he says, "doubtless it would be to my honour and

advantage to follow your advice; but I do not know where I should find

a lodging-place to-night." "Upon my word," says she, "I'll say no more,

for the concern is none of mine. Go wherever you please. Nevertheless,

I should be very glad to see you return from inside without too great

shame; but that could hardly be." "Lady," he says, "may God reward you

for the wish. However, my wayward heart leads me on inside, and I

shall do what my heart desires." Thereupon, he approaches the gate,

accompanied by his lion and his damsel. Then the porter calls to him,

and says: "Come quickly, come. You are on your way to a place where you

will be securely detained, and may your visit be accursed."

(Vv. 5185-5346.) The porter, after addressing him with this very

ungracious welcome, hurried upstairs. But my lord Yvain, without making

reply, passed straight on, and found a new and lofty hall; in front

of it there was a yard enclosed with large, round, pointed stakes,

and seated inside the stakes he saw as many as three hundred maidens,

working at different kinds of embroidery. Each one was sewing with

golden thread and silk, as best she could. But such was their poverty,

that many of them wore no girdle, and looked slovenly, because so poor;

and their garments were torn about their breasts and at the elbows, and

their shifts were soiled about their necks. Their necks were thin, and

their faces pale with hunger and privation. They see him, as he looks at

them, and they weep, and are unable for some time to do anything or to

raise their eyes from the ground, so bowed down they are with woe. When

he had contemplated them for a while, my lord Yvain turned about and

moved toward the door; but the porter barred the way, and cried: "It

is no use, fair master; you shall not get out now. You would like to be

outside: but, by my head, it is of no use. Before you escape you will

have suffered such great shame that you could not easily suffer more;

so you were not wise to enter here, for there is no question of escaping

now." "Nor do I wish to do so, fair brother," said he; "but tell me,

by thy father's soul, whence came the damsels whom I saw in the yard,

weaving cloths of silk and gold. I enjoy seeing the work they do, but I

am much distressed to see their bodies so thin, and their faces so pale

and sad. I imagine they would be fair and charming, if they had what

they desire." "I will tell you nothing," was the reply; "seek some one

else to tell you." "That will I do, since there is no better way." Then

he searches until he finds the entrance of the yard where the damsels

were at work: and coming before them, he greets them all, and sees tears

flowing from their eyes, as they weep. Then he says to them: "May it

please God to remove from your hearts, and turn to joy, this grief, the

cause of which I do not know." One of them answers: "May you be heard by

God, to whom you have addressed your prayer. It shall not be concealed

from you who we are, and from what land: I suppose that is what you wish

to know." "For no other purpose came I here," says he. [326] "Sire,

it happened a long while ago that the king of the Isle of Damsels went

seeking news through divers courts and countries, and he kept on his

travels like a dunce until he encountered this perilous place. It was an

unlucky hour when he first came here, for we wretched captives who are

here receive all the shame and misery which we have in no wise deserved.

And rest assured that you yourself may expect great shame, unless a

ransom for you be accepted. But, at any rate, so it came about that my

lord came to this town, where there are two sons of the devil (do not

take it as a jest) who were born of a woman and an imp. These two were

about to fight with the king, whose terror was great, for he was not yet

eighteen years old, and they would have been able to cleave him through

like a tender lamb. So the king, in his terror, escaped his fate as best

he could, by swearing that he would send hither each year, as required,

thirty of his damsels, and with this rent he freed himself. And when

he swore, it was agreed that this arrangement should remain in force

as long as the two devils lived. But upon the day when they should

be conquered and defeated in battle, he would be relieved from this

tribute, and we should be delivered who are now shamefully given over to

distress and misery. Never again shall we know what pleasure is. But I

spoke folly just now in referring to our deliverance, for we shall never

more leave this place. We shall spend our days weaving cloths of silk,

without ever being better clad. We shall always be poor and naked, and

shall always suffer from hunger and thirst, for we shall never be able

to earn enough to procure for ourselves any better food. Our bread

supply is very scarce--a little in the morning and less at night, for

none of us can gain by her handiwork more than fourpence a day for her

daily bread. And with this we cannot provide ourselves with sufficient

food and clothes. For though there is not one of us who does not earn as

much as twenty sous [327] a week, yet we cannot live without hardship.

Now you must know that there is not a single one of us who does not do

twenty sous worth of work or more, and with such a sum even a duke would

be considered rich. So while we are reduced to such poverty, he, for

whom we work, is rich with the product of our toil. We sit up many

nights, as well as every day, to earn the more, for they threaten to do

us injury, when we seek some rest, so we do not dare to rest ourselves.

But why should I tell you more? We are so shamefully treated and

insulted that I cannot tell you the fifth part of it all. But what makes

us almost wild with rage is that we very often see rich and excellent

knights, who fight with the two devils, lose their lives on our account.

They pay dearly for the lodging they receive, as you will do to-morrow.

For, whether you wish to do so or not, you will have to fight

singlehanded and lose your fair renown with these two devils." "May God,

the true and spiritual, protect me," said my lord Yvain, "and give you

back your honour and happiness, if it be His will. I must go now and see

the people inside there, and find out what sort of entertainment they

will offer me." "Go now, sire, and may He protect you who gives and

distributes all good things."

(Vv. 5347-5456.) Then he went until he came to the hall where he found

no one, good or bad, to address him. Then he and his companion passed

through the house until they came to a garden. They never spoke of, or

mentioned, stabling their horses. But what matters it? For those who

considered them already as their own had stabled them carefully. I do

not know whether their expectation was wise, for the horses' owners are

still perfectly hale. The horses, however, have oats and hay, and stand

in litter up to their belly. My lord Yvain and his company enter the

garden. There he sees, reclining upon his elbow upon a silken rug, a

gentleman, to whom a maiden was reading from a romance about I know

not whom. There had come to recline there with them and listen to the

romance a lady, who was the mother of the damsel, as the gentleman was

her father; they had good reason to enjoy seeing and hearing her, for

they had no other children. She was not yet sixteen years old, and

was so fair and full of grace that the god of Love would have devoted

himself entirely to her service, if he had seen her, and would never

have made her fall in love with anybody except himself. For her sake he

would have become a man, and would lay aside his deity, and would smite

his own body with that dart whose wound never heals unless some base

physician attends to it. It is not fitting that any one should recover

until he meets with faithlessness. Any one who is cured by other means

is not honestly in love. I could tell you so much about this wound, if

you were pleased to listen to it, that I would not get through my tale

to-day. But there would be some one who would promptly say that I was

telling you but an idle tale; for people don't fall in love nowadays,

nor do they love as they used to do, so they do not care to hear of it.

[328] But hear now in what fashion and with what manner of hospitality

my lord Yvain was received. All those who were in the garden leaped to

their feet when they saw him come, and cried out: "This way, fair sire.

May you and all you love be blessed with all that God can do or say." I

know not if they were deceiving him, but they receive him joyfully and

act as if they are pleased that he should be comfortably lodged. Even

the lord's daughter serves him very honourably, as one should treat a

worthy guest. She relieves him of all his arms, nor was it the least

attention she bestowed on him when she herself washed his neck and face.

The lord wishes that all honour should be shown him, as indeed they do.

She gets out from her wardrobe a folded shirt, white drawers, needle and

thread for his sleeves, which she sews on, thus clothing him. [329] May

God want now that this attention and service may not prove too costly to

him! She gave him a handsome jacket to put on over his shirt, and about

his neck she placed a brand new spotted mantle of scarlet stuff.

She takes such pains to serve him well that he feels ashamed and

embarrassed. But the damsel is so courteous and open-hearted and polite

that she feels she is doing very little. And she knows well that it is

her mother's will that she shall leave nothing undone for him which she

thinks may win his gratitude. That night at table he was so well served

with so many dishes that there were too many. The servants who brought

in the dishes might well have been wearied by serving them. That night

they did him all manner of honour, putting him comfortably to bed, and

not once going near him again after he had retired. His lion lay at

his feet, as his custom was. In the morning, when God lighted His great

light for the world, as early as was consistent in one who was always

considerate, my lord Yvain quickly arose, as did his damsel too. They

heard Mass in a chapel, where it was promptly said for them in honour of

the Holy Spirit.

(Vv. 5457-5770.) After the Mass my lord Yvain heard bad news, when he

thought the time had come for him to leave and that nothing would stand

in his way; but it could not be in accordance with his wish. When he

said: "Sire, if it be your will, and with your permission, I am going

now," the master of the house replied: "Friend, I will not grant you

permission yet. There is a reason why I cannot do so, for there is

established in this castle a very terrible practice which I am bound

to observe. I shall now cause to approach two great, strong fellows of

mine, against whom, whether right or wrong, you must take arms. If you

can defend yourself against them, and conquer and slay them both, my

daughter desires you as her lord, and the suzerainty of this town and

all its dependencies awaits you." "Sire," said he, "for all this I have

no desire. So may God never bestow your daughter upon me, but may she

remain with you; for she is so fair and so elegant that the Emperor

of Germany would be fortunate to win her as his wife." "No more, fair

guest," the lord replied: "there is no need of my listening to your

refusal, for you cannot escape. He who can defeat the two, who are about

to attack you, must by right receive my castle, and all my land, and

my daughter as his wife. There is no way of avoiding or renouncing

the battle. But I feel sure that your refusal of my daughter is due to

cowardice, for you think that in this manner you can completely avoid

the battle. Know, however, without fail that you must surely fight. No

knight who lodges here can possibly escape. This is a settled custom

and statute, which will endure yet for many a year, for my daughter will

never be married until I see them dead or defeated." "Then I must fight

them in spite of myself. But I assure you that I should very gladly give

it up. In spite of my reluctance, however, I shall accept the battle,

since it is inevitable." Thereupon, the two hideous, black sons of

the devil come in, both armed with a crooked club of a cornelian

cherry-tree, which they had covered with copper and wound with brass.

They were armed from the shoulders to the knees, but their head and

face were bare, as well as their brawny legs. Thus armed, they advanced,

bearing in their hands round shields, stout and light for fighting. The

lion begins to quiver as soon as he sees them, for he sees the arms they

have, and perceives that they come to fight his master. He is aroused,

and bristles up at once, and, trembling with rage and bold impulse, he

thrashes the earth with his tail, desiring to rescue his master before

they kill him. And when they see him they say: "Vassal, remove the lion

from here that he may not do us harm. Either surrender to us at once, or

else, we adjure you, that lion must be put where he can take no part in

aiding you or in harming us. You must come alone to enjoy our sport, for

the lion would gladly help you, if he could." My lord Yvain then replies

to them: "Take him away yourselves if you are afraid of him. For I shall

be well pleased and satisfied if he can contrive to injure you, and I

shall be grateful for his aid." They answer: "Upon my word that will

not do; you shall never receive any help from him. Do the best you can

alone, without the help of any one. You must fight single-handed against

us two. If you were not alone, it would be two against two; so you must

follow our orders, and remove your lion from here at once, however much

you may dislike to do so." "Where do you wish him to be?" he asks, "or

where do you wish me to put him?" Then they show him a small room, and

say: "Shut him up in there." "It shall be done, since it is your will."

Then he takes him and shuts him up. And now they bring him arms for his

body, and lead out his horse, which they give to him, and he mounts. The

two champions, being now assured about the lion, which is shut up in

the room, come at him to injure him and do him harm. They give him such

blows with the maces that his shield and helmet are of little use, for

when they hit him on the helmet they batter it in and break it; and the

shield is broken and dissolved like ice, for they make such holes in

it that one could thrust his fists through it: their onslaught is truly

terrible. And he--what does he do against these two devils? Urged on

by shame and fear, he defends himself with all his strength. He strains

every nerve, and exerts himself to deal heavy, and telling blows; they

lost nothing by his gifts, for he returned their attentions with

double measure. In his room, the lion's heart is heavy and sad, for he

remembers the kind deed done for him by this noble man, who now must

stand in great need of his service and aid. If now he could escape

from there, he would return him the kindness with full measure and

full bushel, without any discount whatsoever. He looks about in all

directions, but sees no way of escape. He hears the blows of the

dangerous and desperate fight, and in his grief he rages and is beside

himself. He investigates, until he comes to the threshold, which was

beginning to grow rotten; and he scratches at it until he can squeeze

himself in as far as his haunches, when he sticks fast. Meanwhile, my

lord Yvain was hard pressed and sweating freely, for he found that the

two fellows were very strong, fierce, and persistent. He had received

many a blow, and repaid it as best he could, but without doing them any

harm, for they were well skilled in fencing, and their shields were not

of a kind to be hacked by any sword, however sharp and well tempered

it might be. So my lord Yvain had good reason to fear his death, yet he

managed to hold his own until the lion extricated himself by continued

scratching beneath the threshold. If the rascals are not killed now,

surely they will never be. For so long as the lion knows them to be

alive, they can never obtain truce or peace with him. He seizes one of

them, and pulls him down to earth like a tree-trunk. The wretches are

terrified, and there is not a man present who does not rejoice. For he

whom the lion has dragged down will never be able to rise again, unless

the other succours him. He runs up to bring him aid, and at the same

time to protect himself, lest the lion should attack him as soon as he

had despatched the one whom he had thrown down; he was more afraid of

the lion than of his master. But my lord Yvain will be foolish now if

he allows him longer life, when he sees him turn his back, and sees his

neck bare and exposed; this chance turned out well for him. When the

rascal exposed to him his bare head and neck, he dealt him such a blow

that he smote his head from his shoulders so quietly that the fellow

never knew a word about it. Then he dismounts, wishing to help and save

the other one from the lion, who holds him fast. But it is of no use,

for already he is in such straits that a physician can never arrive in

time; for the lion, coming at him furiously, so wounded him at the first

attack, that he was in a dreadful state. Nevertheless, he drags the lion

back, and sees that he had torn his shoulder from its place. He is in

no fear of the fellow now, for his club has fallen from his hand, and

he lies like a dead man without action or movement; still he has enough

strength to speak, and he said as clearly as he could: "Please take your

lion away, fair sire, that he may not do me further harm. Henceforth you

may do with me whatever may be your desire. Whoever begs and prays

for mercy, ought not to have his prayer refused, unless he addresses a

heartless man. I will no longer defend myself, nor will I ever get up

from here with my own strength; so I put myself in your hands." "Speak

out then," he says, "if thou dost admit that thou art conquered and

defeated." "Sire," he says, "it is evident. I am defeated in spite of

myself, and I surrender, I promise you." "Then thou needest have no

further fear of me, and my lion will leave thee alone." Then he is

surrounded by all the crowd, who arrive on the scene in haste. And both

the lord and his lady rejoice over him, and embrace him, and speak to

him of their daughter, saying: "Now you will be the lord and master of

us all, and our daughter will be your wife, for we bestow her upon you

as your spouse." "And for my part," he says. "I restore her to you. Let

him who has her keep her. I have no concern with her, though I say it

not in disparagement. Take it not amiss if I do not accept her, for

I cannot and must not do so. But deliver to me now, if you will, the

wretched maidens in your possession. The agreement, as you well know,

is that they shall all go free." "What you say is true," he says: "and I

resign and deliver them freely to you: there will be no dispute on that

score. But you will be wise to take my daughter with all my wealth, for

she is fair, and charming, and sensible. You will never find again such

a rich marriage as this." "Sire," he replies, "you do not know of my

engagements and my affairs, and I do not dare to explain them to you.

But, you may be sure, when I refuse what would never be refused by any

one who was free to devote his heart and intentions to such a fair and

charming girl, that I too would willingly accept her hand if I could, or

if I were free to accept her or any other maid. But I assure you that I

cannot do it: so let me depart in peace. For the damsel, who escorted

me hither, is awaiting me. She has kept me company, and I would not

willingly desert her whatever the future may have in store." "You wish

to go, fair sire? But how? My gate will never be opened for you unless

my judgment bids me give the command; rather shall you remain here as my

prisoner. You are acting haughtily and making a mistake when you disdain

to take my daughter at my request." "Disdain, my lord? Upon my soul, I

do not disdain her. Whatever the penalty may be, I cannot marry a wife

or tarry here. I shall follow the damsel who is my guide: for otherwise

it cannot be. But, with your consent, I will pledge you my right hand,

and you may take my word, that, just as you see me now, I will return

if possible, and then will accept your daughter's hand, whenever it may

seem good ro you." "Confound any one," he says, "who asks you for your

word or promise or pledge. If my daughter pleases you, you will return

quickly enough. You will not return any sooner. I think, for having

given your word or sworn an oath. Begone now. I release you from all

oaths and promises. If you are detained by rain or wind, or by nothing

at all, it is of no consequence to me. I do not hold my daughter so

cheap as to bestow her upon you forcibly. Now go about your business.

For it is quite the same to me whether you go or whether you stay."

(Vv. 5771-5871.) Thereupon my lord Yvain turns away and delays no longer

in the castle. He escorted the poor and ill-clad wretches, who were now

released from captivity, and whom the lord committed to his care. These

maidens feel that now they are rich, as they file out in pairs before

him from the castle. I do not believe that they would rejoice so much as

they do now were He who created the whole world to descend to earth from

Heaven. Now all those people who had insulted him in every possible way

come to beseech him for mercy and peace, and escort him on his way. He

replies that he knows nothing of what they mean. "I do not understand

what you mean," he says; "but I have nothing against you. I do not

remember that you ever said anything that harmed me." They are very glad

for what they hear, and loudly praise his courtesy, and after escorting

him a long distance, they all commend him to God. Then the damsels,

after asking his permission, separated from him. When they left him,

they all bowed to him, and prayed and expressed the wish that God might

grant him joy and health, and the accomplishment of his desire, wherever

in the future he should go. Then he, who is anxious to be gone, says

that he hopes God will save them all. "Go," he says, "and may God

conduct you into your countries safe and happy." Then they continue

their way joyfully; and my lord Yvain departs in the other direction.

All the days of that week he never ceases to hurry on under the escort

of the maid, who was well acquainted with the road, and with the retired

place where she had left the unhappy and disconsolate damsel who had

been deprived of her inheritance. But when she heard news of the arrival

of the maiden and of the Knight with the Lion. There never was such joy

as she felt within her heart. For now she thinks that, if she insists,

her sister will cede her a part of her inheritance. The damsel had long

lain sick, and had just recovered from her malady. It had seriously

affected her, as was apparent from her face. Straightway she went forth

to meet them, greeting them and honouring them in every way she could.

There is no need to speak of the happiness that prevailed that night

in the house. No mention will be made of it, for the story would be too

long to tell. I pass over all that, until they mounted next morning and

went away. They rode until they saw the town where King Arthur had been

staying for a fortnight or more. And there, too, was the damsel who

had deprived her sister of her heritage, for she had kept close to the

court, waiting for the arrival of her sister, who now draws near. But

she does not worry much, for she does not think that her sister can find

any knight who can withstand my lord Gawain's attack, and only one day

of the forty yet remains. If this single day had passed, she would have

had the reasonable and legal right to claim the heritage for herself

alone. But more stands in the way than she thinks or believes. That

night they spent outside the town in a small and humble house, where,

in accordance with their desire, they were not recognised. At the first

sign of dawn the next morning they necessarily issue forth, but ensconce

themselves in hiding until broad daylight.

(Vv. 5872-5924.) I know not how many days had passed since my lord

Gawain had so completely disappeared that no one at court knew anything

about him, except only the damsel in whose cause he was to fight. He

had concealed himself three or four leagues from the court, and when he

returned he was so equipped that even those who knew him perfectly

could not recognise him by the arms he bore. The damsel, whose injustice

toward her sister was evident, presented him at court in the sight of

all, for she intended with his help to triumph in the dispute where she

had no rights. So she said to the King: "My lord, time passes. The

noon hour will soon be gone, and this is the last day. As you see, I am

prepared to defend my claim. If my sister were going to return, there

would be nothing to do but await her arrival. But I may praise God that

she is not coming back again. It is evident that she cannot better her

affairs, and that her trouble has been for naught. For my part, I have

been ready all the time up to this last day, to prove my claim to what

is mine. I have proved my point entirely without a fight, and now I

may rightfully go to accept my heritage in peace; for I shall render no

accounting for it to my sister as long as I live, and she will lead a

wretched and miserable existence." Then the King, who well knew that the

damsel was disloyally unjust toward her sister, said to her: "My dear,

upon my word, in a royal court one must wait as long as the king's

justice sits and deliberates upon the verdict. It is not yet time to

pack up, for it is my belief that your sister will yet arrive in time."

Before the King had finished, he saw the Knight with the Lion and the

damsel with him. They two were advancing alone, having slipped away from

the lion, who had stayed where they spent the night.

(Vv. 5925-5990.) The King saw the damsel whom he did not fail to

recognise, and he was greatly pleased and delighted to see her, for

he was on her side of the quarrel, because he had regard for what was

right. Joyfully he cried out to her as soon as he could: "Come forward,

fair one: may God save you!" When the other sister hears these words,

she turns trembling, and sees her with the knight whom she had brought

to defend in her claim: then she turned blacker than the earth. The

damsel, after being kindly welcomed by all, went to where the King was

sitting. When she had come before him, she spoke to him thus: "God save

the King and his household. If my rights in this dispute can be settled

by a champion, then it will be done by this knight who has followed

me hither. This frank and courteous knight had many other things to do

elsewhere; but he felt such pity for me that he cast aside all his other

affairs for the sake of mine. Now, madame, my very dear sister, whom I

love as much as my own heart, would do the right and courteous thing if

she would let me have so much of what is mine by right that there might

be peace between me and her; for I ask for nothing that is hers." "Nor

do I ask for anything that is thine," the other replied; "for thou hast

nothing, and nothing shalt thou have. Thou canst never talk so much as

to gain anything by thy words. Thou mayest dry up with grief." Then the

other, who was very polite and sensible and courteous, replied with the

words: "Certainly I am sorry that two such gentlemen as these should

fight on our behalf over so small a disagreement. But I cannot disregard

my claim, for I am in too great need of it. So I should be much obliged

to you if you would give me what is rightly mine." "Surely," the other

said, "any one would be a fool to consider thy demands. May I burn in

evil fire and flame if I give thee anything to ease thy life! The banks

of the Seine will meet, and the hour of prime will be called noon,

before I refuse to carry out the fight." "May God and the right, which

I have in this cause, and in which I trust and have trusted till the

present time, aid him, who in charity and courtesy has offered himself

in my service, though he knows not who I am, and though we are ignorant

of each other's identity."

(Vv. 5991-6148.) So they talked until their conversation ceased, and

then produced the knights in the middle of the court. Then all the

people crowd about, as people are wont to do when they wish to witness

blows in battle or in joust. But those who were about to fight did

not recognise each other, though their relations were wont to be very

affectionate. Then do they not love each other now? I would answer you

both "yes" and "no." And I shall prove that each answer is correct. In

truth, my lord Gawain loves Yvain and regards him as his companion, and

so does Yvain regard him, wherever he may be. Even here, if he knew who

he was, he would make much of him, and either one of them would lay down

his head for the other before he would allow any harm to come to him. Is

not that a perfect and lofty love? Yes, surely. But, on the other hand,

is not their hate equally manifest? Yes; for it is a certain thing that

doubtless each would be glad to have broken the other's head, and so

to have injured him as to cause his humiliation. Upon my word, it is a

wondrous thing, that Love and mortal Hate should dwell together. God!

How can two things so opposed find lodging in the same dwelling-place?

It seems to me they cannot live together; for one could not dwell with

the other, without giving rise to noise and contention, as soon as each

knew of the other's presence. But upon the ground-floor there may be

several apartments: for there are halls and sleeping-rooms. It may be

the same in this case: I think Love had ensconced himself in some hidden

room, while Hate had betaken herself to the balconies looking on the

high-road, because she wishes to be seen. Just now Hate is in the

saddle, and spurs and pricks forward as she can, to get ahead of Love

who is indisposed to move. Ah! Love, what has become of thee? Come out

now, and thou shalt see what a host has been brought up and opposed to

thee by the enemies of thy friends. The enemies are these very men who

love each other with such a holy love for love, which is neither false

nor feigned, is a precious and a holy thing. In this case Love is

completely blind, and Hate, too, is deprived of sight. For if Love had

recognised these two men, he must have forbidden each to attack the

other, or to do any thing to cause him harm. In this respect, then,

Love is blind and discomfited and beguiled; for, though he sees them, he

fails to recognise those who rightly belong to him. And though Hate is

unable to tell why one of them should hate the other, yet she tries to

engage them wrongfully, so that each hates the other mortally. You know,

of course, that he cannot be said to love a man who would wish to harm

him and see him dead. How then? Does Yvain wish to kill his friend, my

lord Gawain? Yes, and the desire is mutual. Would, then, my lord Gawain

desire to kill Yvain with his own hands, or do even worse than I have

said? Nay, not really, I swear and protest. One would not wish to injure

or harm the other, in return for all that God has done for man, or for

all the empire of Rome. But this, in turn, is a lie of mine, for it is

plainly to be seen that, with lance raised high in rest, each is ready

to attack the other, and there will be no restraint of the desire of

each to wound the other with intent to injure him and work him woe. Now

tell me! When one will have defeated the other, of whom can he complain

who has the worst of it? For if they go so far as to come to blows, I am

very much afraid that they will continue the battle and the strife

until victory be definitely decided. If he is defeated, will Yvain be

justified in saying that he has been harmed and wronged by a man who

counts him among his friends, and who has never mentioned him but by the

name of friend or companion? Or, if it comes about perchance that Yvain

should hurt him in turn, or defeat him in any way, will Gawain have

the right to complain? Nay, for he will not know whose fault it is. In

ignorance of each other's identity, they both drew off and took their

distance. At this first shock, their lances break, though they were

stout, and made of ash. Not a word do they exchange, for if they had

stopped to converse their meeting would have been different. In that

case, no blow would have been dealt with lance or sword; they would have

kissed and embraced each other rather than sought each other's harm. For

now they attack each other with injurious intent. The condition of the

swords is not improved, nor that of the helmets and shields, which are

dented and split; and the edges of the swords are nicked and dulled. For

they strike each other violently, not with the fiat of the swords,

but with the edge, and they deal such blows with the pommels upon the

nose-guards and upon the neck, forehead and cheeks, that they are all

marked black and blue where the blood collects beneath the skin. And

their hauberks are so torn, and their shields so broken in pieces, that

neither one escaped without wounds. Their breath is almost exhausted

with the labour of the strife; they hammer away at each other so lustily

that every hyacinth and emerald set in their helmets is crushed and

smashed. For they give each other such a battering with their pommels

upon the helmets that they are quite stunned, as they almost beat out

each other's brains. The eyes in their heads gleam like sparks, as, with

stout square fists, and strong nerves, and hard bones, they strike each

other upon the mouth as long as they can grip their swords, which are of

great service to them in dealing their heavy blows.

(Vv. 6149-6228.) When they had for a long time strained themselves,

until the helmets were crushed, and the hauberks' meshes were torn

apart with the hammering of the swords, and the shields were split and

cracked, they drew apart a little to give their pulse a rest and to

catch their breath again. However, they do not long delay, but run at

each other again more fiercely than before. And all declare that they

never saw two more courageous knights. "This fight between them is no

jest, but they are in grim earnest. They will never be repaid for their

merits and deserts." The two friends, in their bitter struggle, heard

these words, and heard how the people were talking of reconciling the

two sisters; but they had no success in placating the elder one. And the

younger one said she would leave it to the King, and would not gainsay

him in anything. But the elder one was so obstinate that even the

Queen Guinevere and the knights and the King and the ladies and the

townspeople side with the younger sister, and all join in beseeching the

King to give her a third or a fourth part of the land in spite of the

elder sister, and to separate the two knights who had displayed such

bravery, for it would be too bad if one should injure the other or

deprive him of any honour. And the King replied that he would take no

hand in making peace, for the elder sister is so cruel that she has no

desire for it. All these words were heard by the two, who were attacking

each other so bitterly that all were astonished thereat; for the battle

is waged so evenly that it is impossible to judge which has the better

and which the worse. Even the two men themselves, who fight, and who

are purchasing honour with agony, are filled with amazement and stand

aghast, for they are so well matched in their attack, that each wonders

who it can be that withstands him with such bravery. They fight so long

that the day draws on to night, while their arms grow weary and their

bodies sore, and the hot, boiling blood flows from many a spot and

trickles down beneath their hauberks: they are in such distress that

it is no wonder if they wish to rest. Then both withdraw to rest

themselves, each thinking within himself that, however long he has had

to wait, he now at last has met his match. For some time they thus seek

repose, without daring to resume the fight. They feel no further desire

to fight, because of the night which is growing dark, and because of the

respect they feel for each other's might. These two considerations keep

them apart, and urge them to keep the peace. But before they leave the

field they will discover each other's identity, and joy and mercy will

be established between them.

(Vv. 6229-6526.) My brave and courteous lord Yvain was the first to

speak. But his good friend was unable to recognise him by his utterance;

for he was prevented by his low tone and by his voice which was hoarse,

weak, and broken; for his blood was all stirred up by the blows he had

received. "My lord," he says, "the night comes on! I think no blame

or reproach will attach to us if the night comes between us. But I

am willing to admit, for my own part, that I feel great respect and

admiration for you, and never in my life have I engaged in a battle

which has made me smart so much, nor did I ever expect to see a knight

whose acquaintance I should so yearn to make. You know well how to land

your blows and how to make good use of them: I have never known a knight

who was so skilled in dealing blows. It was against my will that I

received all the blows you have bestowed on me to-day; I am stunned

by the blows you have I struck upon my head." "Upon my word," my lord

Gawain replies, "you are not so stunned and faint but that I am as much

so, or more. And if I should tell you the simple truth, I think you

would not be loath to hear it, for if I have lent you anything of mine,

you have fully paid me back, principal and interest; for you were more

ready to pay back than I was to accept the payment. But however that

may be, since you wish me to inform you of my name, it shall not be kept

from you: my name is Gawain the son of King Lot." As soon as my

lord Yvain heard that, he was amazed and sorely troubled; angry and

grief-stricken, he cast upon the ground his bloody sword and broken

shield, then dismounted from his horse, and cried: "Alas, what mischance

is this! Through what unhappy ignorance in not recognising each other

have we waged this battle! For if I had known who you were, I should

never have fought with you; but, upon my word, I should have surrendered

without a blow." "How is that?" my lord Gawain inquires, "who are you,

then?" "I am Yvain, who love you more than any man in the whole wide

world, for you have always been fond of me and shown me honour in every

court. But I wish to make you such amends and do you such honour in this

affair that I will confess myself to have been defeated." "Will you do

so much for my sake?" my gentle lord Gawain asks him; "surely I should

be presumptuous to accept any such amends from you. This honour shall

never be claimed as mine, but it shall be yours, to whom I resign

it." "Ah, fair sire, do not speak so. For that could never be. I am so

wounded and exhausted that I cannot endure more." "Surely, you have no

cause to be concerned." his friend and companion replies; "but for my

part, I am defeated and overcome; I say it not as a compliment; for

there is no stranger in the world, to whom I would not say as much,

rather than receive any more blows." Thus saying, he got down from his

horse, and they threw their arms about each other's neck, kissing each

other, and each continuing to assert that it is he who has met defeat.

The argument is still in progress when the King and the knights come

running up from every side, at the sight of their reconciliation; and

great is their desire to hear how this can be, and who these men are who

manifest such happiness. The King says: "Gentlemen, tell us now who

it is that has so suddenly brought about this friendship and harmony

between you two, after the hatred and strife there has been this day?"

Then his nephew, my lord Gawain, thus answers him: "My lord, you shall

be informed of the misfortune and mischance which have been the cause of

our strife. Since you have tarried in order to hear and learn the cause

of it, it is right to let you know the truth. I, Gawain, who am your

nephew, did not recognise this companion of mine, my lord Yvain, until

he fortunately, by the will of God, asked me my name. After each had

informed the other of his name, we recognised each other, but not until

we had fought it out. Our struggle already has been long; and if we had

fought yet a little longer, it would have fared ill with me, for, by my

head, he would have killed me, what with his prowess and the evil cause

of her who chose me as her champion. But I would rather be defeated than

killed by a friend in battle." Then my lord Yvain's blood was stirred,

as he said to him in reply: "Fair dear sire, so help me God, you have no

right to say so much. Let my lord, The King, well know in this battle

I am surely the one who has been defeated and overcome!" "I am the one"

"No, I am." Thus each cries out, and both are so honest and courteous

that each allows the victory and crown to be the other's prize, while

neither one of them will accept it. Thus each strives to convince the

King and all the people that he has been defeated and overthrown.

But when he had listened to them for a while, the King terminated the

dispute. He was well pleased with what he heard and with the sight of

them in each other's arms, though they had wounded and injured each

other in several places. "My lords," he says, "there is deep affection

between you two. You give clear evidence of that, when each insists that

it is he who has been defeated. Now leave it all to me! For I think I

can arrange it in such a way that it will redound to your honour, and

every one will give consent." Then they both promised him that they

would do his will in every particular. And the King says that he will

decide the quarrel fairly and faithfully. "Where is the damsel," he

inquires, "who has ejected her sister from her land, and has forcibly

and cruelly disinherited her?" "My lord," she answers, "here I am." "Are

you there? Then draw near to me! I saw plainly some time ago that you

were disinheriting her. But her right shall no longer be denied; for you

yourself have avowed the truth to me. You must now resign her share to

her." "Sire," she says, "if I uttered a foolish and thoughtless word,

you ought not to take me up in it. For God's sake, sire, do not be hard

on me! You are a king, and you ought to guard against wrong and error."

The King replies: "That is precisely why I wish to give your sister her

rights; for I have never defended what is wrong. And you have surely

heard how your knight and hers have left the matter in my hands. I shall

not say what is altogether pleasing to you; for your injustice is well

known. In his desire to honour the other, each one says that he has been

defeated. But there is no need to delay further: since the matter has

been left to me, either you will do in all respects what I say, without

resistance, or I shall announce that my nephew has been defeated in the

fight. That would be the worst thing that could happen to your cause,

and I shall be sorry to make such a declaration." In reality, he would

not have said it for anything; but he spoke thus in order to see if he

could frighten her into restoring the heritage to her sister; for he

clearly saw that she never would surrender anything to her for any

words of his unless she was influenced by force or fear. In fear and

apprehension, she replied to him: "Fair lord, I must now respect your

desire, though my heart is very loath to yield. Yet, however hard it may

go with me, I shall do it, and my sister shall have what belongs to her.

I give her your own person as a pledge of her share in my inheritance,

in order that she may be more assured of it." "Endow her with it, then,

at once," the King replies; "let her receive it from your hands, and

let her vow fidelity to you! Do you love her as your vassal, and let

her love you as her sovereign lady and as her sister." Thus the King

conducts the affair until the damsel takes possession of her land, and

offers her thanks to him for it. Then the King asked the valiant and

brave knight who was his nephew to allow himself to be disarmed; and

he requested my lord Yvain to lay aside his arms also; for now they may

well dispense with them. Then the two vassals lay aside their arms and

separate on equal terms. And while they are taking off their armour,

they see the lion running up in search of his master. As soon as he

catches sight of him, he begins to show his joy. Then you would have

seen people draw aside, and the boldest among them takes to flight.

My lord Yvain cries out: "Stand still, all! Why do you flee? No one is

chasing you. Have no fear that yonder lion will do you harm. Believe

me, please, when I say that he is mine, and I am his, and we are both

companions." Then it was known of a truth by all those who had heard

tell of the adventures of the lion and of his companion that this must

be the very man who had killed the wicked giant. And my lord Gawain said

to him: "Sir companion, so help me God, you have overwhelmed me with

shame this day. I did not deserve the service that you did me in killing

the giant to save my nephews and my niece. I have been thinking about

you for some time, and I was troubled because it was said that we

were acquainted as loving friends. I have surely thought much upon the

subject: but I could not hit upon the truth, and had never heard of any

knight that I had known in any land where I had been, who was called

'The Knight with the Lion.'" While they chatted thus they took their

armour off, and the lion came with no slow step to the place where his

master sat, and showed such joy as a dumb beast could. Then the two

knights had to be removed to a sick-room and infirmary, for they needed

a doctor and piaster to cure their wounds. King Arthur, who loved them

well, had them both brought before him, and summoned a surgeon whose

knowledge of surgery was supreme. He exercised his art in curing them,

until he had healed their wounds as well and as quickly as possible.

When he had cured them both, my lord Yvain, who had his heart set fast

on love, saw clearly that he could not live, but that he finally would

die unless his lady took pity upon him; for he was dying for love of

her; so he thought he would go away from the court alone, and would go

to fight at the spring that belonged to her, where he would cause such

a storm of wind and rain that she would be compelled perforce to make

peace with him; otherwise, there would be no end to the disturbance of

the spring, and to the rain and wind.

(Vv. 6527-6658.) As soon as my lord Yvain felt that he was cured and

sound again, he departed without the knowledge of any one. But he had

with him his lion, who never in his life wished to desert him. They

travelled until they saw the spring and made the rain descend. Think not

that this is a lie of mine, when I tell you that the disturbance was so

violent that no one could tell the tenth part of it: for it seemed as if

the whole forest must surely be engulfed. The lady fears for her town,

lest it, too, will crumble away; the walls totter, and the tower rocks

so that it is on the verge of falling down. The bravest Turk would

rather be a captive in Persia than be shut up within those walls. The

people are so stricken with terror that they curse all their ancestors,

saying: "Confounded be the man who first constructed a house in this

neighbourhood, and all those who built this town! For in the wide world

they could not have found so detestable a spot, for a single man is able

here to invade and worry and harry us." "You must take counsel in this

matter, my lady," says Lunete; "you will find no one who will undertake

to aid you in this time of need unless you seek for him afar. In the

future we shall never be secure in this town, nor dare to pass beyond

the walls and gate. You know full well that, were some one to summon

together all your knights for this cause, the best of them would not

dare to step forward. If it is true that you have no one to defend

your spring, you will appear ridiculous and humiliated. It will redound

greatly to your honour, forsooth, if he who has attacked you shall

retire without a fight! Surely you are in a bad predicament if you do

not devise some other plan to benefit yourself." The lady replies: "Do

thou, who art so wise, tell me what plan I can devise, and I will follow

thy advice." "Indeed, lady, if I had any plan, I should gladly propose

it to you. But you have great need of a wiser counsellor. So I shall

certainly not dare to intrude, and in common with the others I shall

endure the rain and wind until, if it please God, I shall see some

worthy man appear here in your court who will assume the responsibility

and burden of the battle; but I do not believe that that will happen

to-day, and we have not yet seen the worst of your urgent need." Then

the lady replies at once: "Damsel, speak now of something else! Say no

more of the people of my household; for I cherish no further expectation

that the spring and its marble brim will ever be defended by any of

them. But, if it please God, let us hear now what is your opinion

and plan; for people always say that in time of need one can test his

friend." [330] "My lady, if there is any one who thinks he could find

him who slew the giant and defeated the three knights, he would do

well to go to search for him. But so long as he shall incur the enmity,

wrath, and displeasure of his lady, I fancy there is not under heaven

any man or woman whom he would follow, until he had been assured upon

oath that everything possible would be done to appease the hostility

which his lady feels for him, and which is so bitter that he is dying

of the grief and anxiety it causes him." And the lady said: "Before you

enter upon the quest, I am prepared to promise you upon my word and to

swear that, if he will return to me, I will openly and frankly do all

I can to bring about his peace of mind." Then Lunete replies to her:

"Lady, have no fear that you cannot easily effect his reconciliation,

when once it is your desire to do so; but, if you do not object, I will

take your oath before I start." "I have no objection," the lady says.

With delicate courtesy, Lunete procured at once for her a very precious

relic, and the lady fell upon her knees. Thus Lunete very courteously

accepted her upon her oath. In administering the oath, she forgot

nothing which it might be an advantage to insert. "Lady," she says, "now

raise your hand! I do not wish that the day after to-morrow you should

lay any charge upon me; for you are not doing anything for me, but you

are acting for your own good. If you please now, you shall swear that

you will exert yourself in the interests of the Knight with the Lion

until he recover his lady's love as completely as he ever possessed it."

The lady then raised her right hand and said: "I swear to all that thou

hast said, so help me God and His holy saint, that my heart may never

fail to do all within my power. If I have the strength and ability,

I will restore to him the love and favour which with his lady he once

enjoyed."

(Vv. 6659-6716.) Lunete has now done well her work; there was nothing

which she had desired so much as the object which she had now attained.

They had already got out for her a palfrey with an easy pace. Gladly and

in a happy frame of mind Lunete mounts and rides away, until she finds

beneath the pine-tree him whom she did not expect to find so near at

hand. Indeed, she had thought that she would have to seek afar before

discovering him. As soon as she saw him, she recognised him by the lion,

and coming toward him rapidly, she dismounted upon the solid earth. And

my lord Yvain recognised her as soon as he saw her, and greeted her, as

she saluted him with the words: "Sire, I am very happy to have found you

so near at hand." And my lord Yvain said in reply: "How is that? Were

you looking for me, then?" "Yes, sire, and in all my life I have never

felt so glad, for I have made my mistress promise, if she does not go

back upon her word, that she will be again your lady as was once the

case, and that you shall be her lord; this truth I make bold to tell."

My lord Yvain was greatly elated at the news he hears, and which he

had never expected to hear again. He could not sufficiently show his

gratitude to her who had accomplished this for him. He kisses her eyes,

and then her face, saying: "Surely, my sweet friend, I can never repay

you for this service. I fear that ability and time will fail me to do

you the honour and service which is your due." "Sire," she replies, "have

no concern, and let not that thought worry you! For you will have an

abundance of strength and time to show me and others your good will. If

I have paid this debt I owed, I am entitled to only so much gratitude as

the man who borrows another's goods and then discharges the obligation.

Even now I do not consider that I have paid you the debt I owed."

"Indeed you have, as God sees me, more than five hundred thousand times.

Now, when you are ready, let us go. But have you told her who I am?"

"No, I have not, upon my word. She knows you only by the name of 'The

Knight with the Lion.'"

(Vv. 6717-6758.) Thus conversing they went along, with the lion

following after them, until they all three came to the town. They said

not a word to any man or woman there, until they arrived where the lady

was. And the lady was greatly pleased as soon as she heard that the

damsel was approaching, and that she was bringing with her the lion and

the knight, whom she was very anxious to meet and know and see. All

clad in his arms, my lord Yvain fell at her feet upon his knees, while

Lunete, who was standing by, said to her: "Raise him up, lady, and apply

all your efforts and strength and skill in procuring that peace and

pardon which no one in the world, except you, can secure for him." Then

the lady bade him rise, and said: "He may dispose of all my power!

I shall be very happy, if possible, to accomplish his wish and his

desire." "Surely, my lady," Lunete replied, "I would not say it if it

were not true. But all this is even more possible for you than I have

said: but now I will tell you the whole truth, and you shall see: you

never had and you never will have such a good friend as this gentleman.

God, whose will it is that there should be unending peace and love

between you and him, has caused me to find him this day so near at hand.

In order to test the truth of this, I have only one thing to say: lady,

dismiss the grudge you bear him! For he has no other mistress than you.

This is your husband, my lord Yvain."

(Vv. 6759-6776.) The lady, trembling at these words, replied: "God save

me! You have caught me neatly in a trap! You will make me love, in spite

of myself, a man who neither loves nor esteems me. This is a fine piece

of work, and a charming way of serving me! I would rather endure the

winds and the tempests all my life: And if it were not a mean and

ugly thing to break one's word, he would never make his peace or be

reconciled with me. This purpose would have always lurked within me, as

a fire smoulders in the ashes; but I do not wish to renew it now, nor do

I care to refer to it, since I must be reconciled with him."

(Vv. 6777-6798.) My lord Yvain hears and understands that his cause is

going well, and that he will be peacefully reconciled with her. So he

says: "Lady, one ought to have mercy on a sinner. I have had to pay, and

dearly to pay, for my mad act. It was madness that made me stay away,

and I now admit my guilt and sin. I have been bold, indeed, in daring

to present myself to you; but if you will deign to keep me now, I never

again shall do you any wrong." She replied: "I will surely consent to

that; for if I did not do all I could to establish peace between you

and me, I should be guilty of perjury. So, if you please, I grant your

request." "Lady," says he, "so truly as God in this mortal life could

not otherwise restore me to happiness, so may the Holy Spirit bless me

five hundred times!"

(Vv. 6799-6813.) Now my lord Yvain is reconciled, and you may believe

that, in spite of the trouble he has endured, he was never so happy

for anything. All has turned out well at last; for he is beloved and

treasured by his lady, and she by him. His troubles no longer are in

his mind; for he forgets them all in the joy he feels with his precious

wife. And Lunete, for her part, is happy too: all her desires are

satisfied when once she had made an enduring peace between my polite

lord Yvain and his sweetheart so dear and so elegant.

(Vv. 6814-6818.) Thus Chrétien concludes his romance of the Knight with

the Lion; for I never heard any more told of it, nor will you ever hear

any further particulars, unless some one wishes to add some lies.

----Endnotes: Yvain

Endnotes supplied by Prof. Foerster are indicated by "(F.)"; all other

endnotes are supplied by W.W. Comfort.

[Footnote 31:

"cele feste, qui tant coste,

Qu'an doit clamer la pantecoste."

This rhyme is frequently met in mediaeval narrative poems.

(F.)]]

[Footnote 32: The contemporary degeneracy of lovers and of the art of

love is a favourite theme of mediaeval poets.]

[Footnote 33: Cf. "Roman de la Rose", 9661, for the stinking manure pit.

(F.)]

[Footnote 34: The forest of Broceliande is in Brittany, and in it

Chrétien places the marvellous spring of Barenton, of which we read

in the sequel. In his version the poet forgets that the sea separates

the court at Carduel from the forest of Broceliande. His readers,

however, probably passed over this "lapsus". The most famous passage

relating to this forest and its spring is found in Wace, "Le Roman de

Rou et des dues de Normandie", vv. 6395-6420, 2 vols. (Heilbronn,

1877-79). Cf. further the informing note by W.L. Holland, "Chrétien von

Troies", p. 152 f. (Tubingen, 1854).]

[Footnote 35: This grotesque portrait of the "vilain" is perfectly

conventional in aristocratic poetry, and is also applied to some

Saracens in the epic poems. Cf. W.W. Comfort in "Pub. of the Modern

Language Association of America", xxi. 494 f., and in "The Dublin

Review", July 1911.]

[Footnote 36: For the description of the magic fountain, cf. W.A. Nitze,

"The Fountain Defended" in "Modern Philology", vii. 145-164; G.L.

Hamilton, "Storm-making Springs", etc., in "Romantic Review", ii.

355-375; A.F. Grimme in "Germania", xxxiii. 38; O.M. Johnston in

"Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association",

xxxiii., p. lxxxiii. f.]

[Footnote 37: Eugen Kolbing, "Christian von Troyes Yvain und die

Brandanuslegende" in "Ztsch. fur vergleichende Literaturgeschichte"

(Neue Folge, xi. Brand, 1897), pp. 442-448, has pointed out other

striking allusions in the Latin "Navigatio S. Brandans" (ed. Wahlund,

Upsala, 1900) and elsewhere in Celtic legend to trees teeming with

singing birds, in which the souls of the blessed are incorporated. A

more general reference to trees, animated by the souls of the dead, is

found in J.G. Frazer, "The Golden Bough" (2nd ed. 1900), vol. I., p. 178

f.]

[Footnote 38: Cf. A. Tobler in "Ztsch. fur romanische Philologie", iv.

80-85, who gives many other instances of boasting after meals. See

next note.]

[Footnote 39: Noradin is the Sultan Nureddin Mahmud (reigned 1146-1173),

a contemporary of the poet; Forre is a legendary Saracen king of

Naples, mentioned in the epic poems (cf. E. Langlois, "Table des noms

propres de toute nature compris dans les chansons de geste", Paris,

1904; Albert Counson, "Noms epiques entres dans le vocabulaire commun"

in "Romanische Forschungen", xxiii. 401-413). These names are mentioned

here in connection with the brave exploits which Christian knights,

while in their cups, may boast that they will accomplish (F.). This

practice of boasting was called indulging in "gabs" (=Eng. "gab"), a

good instance of which will be found in "Le Voyage de Charlemagne a

Jeruslaem" (ed. Koschwitz), v. 447 ff.]

[Footnote 310: It is evident in this passage that Chrétien's version is

not clear; the reader cannot be sure in what sort of an apartment

Yvain is secreted. The passage is perfectly clear, however, in the

Welsh "Owein", as shown by A.C.L. Brown in "Romanic Review", iii.

143-172, "On the Independent Character of the Welsh 'Owain'", where he

argues convincingly for an original older than either the extant French

of Welsh versions.]

[Footnote 311: The damsel's surprise and fright at the sight of Yvain,

which puzzled Professor Foerster, is satisfactorily explained by J.

Acher in "Ztsch. fur franzosische Sprache und Literatur", xxxv. 150.]

[Footnote 312: For magic rings, cf. A. Hertel, "Verzauberte

Oertlichkeiten", etc. (Hanover, 1908); D.B. Easter, "The Magic Elements

in the romans d'aventure and the romans bretons" (Baltimore, 1906).]

[Footnote 313: Much has been written on the widespread belief that a

dead person's wounds would bleed afresh in the presence of his

murderer. The passage in our text is interesting as being the earliest

literary reference to the belief. Other instances will be found in

Shakespear ("King Richard III., Act. I., Sc. 2), Cervantes ("Don

Quixote"), Scott ("Ballads"), and Schiller ("Braut von Messina"). In

the 15th and 16th centuries especially, the bleeding of the dead became

in Italy, Germany, France, and Spain an absolute or contributory proof

of guilt in the eyes of the law. The suspected culprit might be

subjected to this ordeal as part of the inquisitional method to

determine guilt. For theories of the origin of this belief and of its

use in legal trials, as well as for more extended bibliography, cf. Karl

Lehmann in "Germanistische Abhandlungen fur Konrad von Maurer"

(Gottingen, 1893), pp. 21-45; C.V. Christensen, "Baareproven"

(Copenhagen, 1900).]

[Footnote 314: W.L. Holland in his note for this passage recalls

Schiller's "Jungfrau von Orleans", Act III. Sc. 7, and Shakespeare,

first part of "King Henry IV.", Act V. Sc. 4:

"When that this body did contain a spirit,

A kingdom for it was too small a bound;

But now two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough."]

[Footnote 315: Foerster regards this excuse for Kay's defeat as

ironical.]

[Footnote 316: It is hoped that the following passage may have retained

in the translation some of the gay animation which clothes this

description of a royal entry into a mediaeval town.]

[Footnote 317: This idea forms the dominating motive, it will be

recalled, in "Erec et Enide" (cf. note to "Erec", v. 2576).]

[Footnote 318: The parallel between Yvain's and Roland's madness will

occur to readers of Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso", though in the

former case Yvain's madness seems to be rather a retribution for his

failure to keep his promise, while Roland's madness arises from excess

of love.]

[Footnote 319: Argonne is the name of a hilly and well-wooded district

in the north-east of France, lying between the Meuse and the Aisne.]

[Footnote 320: An allusion to the well-known epic tradition embodied in

the "Chanson de Roland". It was common for mediaeval poets to give

names to both the horses and the swords of their heroes.]

[Footnote 321: For the faithful lion in the Latin bestiaries and

mediaeval romances, see the long note of W.L. Holland, "Chrétien von

Troies" (Tubingen, 1854), p. 161 f., and G. Baist in Zeitschrift fur

romanische Philologie, xxi. 402-405. To the examples there cited may be

added the episodes in "Octavian" (15th century), published in the

"Romanische Bibliothek" (Heilbronn, 1883).]

[Footnote 322: This is the first of three references in this poem to the

abduction of Guinevere as fully narrated in the poem of "Lancelot". The

other references are in v. 3918 and v.4740 f.]

[Footnote 323: Yvain here states the theory of the judicial trial by

combat. For another instance see "Lancelot", v. 4963 f. Cf. M. Pfeffer

in "Ztsch. fur romanische Philogie", ix. 1-74, and L. Jordan, id. Xxix.

385-401.]

[Footnote 324: A similar description of a distressed damsel wandering at

night in a forest is found in "Berte aus grans pies", by Adenet le Roi

(13th century).]

[Footnote 325: The lion is forgotten for the moment, but will appear

again v. 5446. (F.)]

[Footnote 326: This entire passage belongs in the catagory of widespread

myths which tell of a tribute of youths or maidens paid to some cruel

monster, from which some hero finally obtains deliverance. Instances

are presented in the adventures of Theseus and Tristan.]

[Footnote 327: The old French monetary table was as follows: