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Four Arthurian Romances

by active 12th century de Troyes Chrétien · English · Gutenberg #831 · 1,025,167 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Four Arthurian Romances

Author: active 12th century de Troyes Chrétien

Translator: William Wistar Comfort


        
Release date: February 1, 1997 [eBook #831]
                Most recently updated: August 16, 2026

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/831

Credits: Douglas B. Killings and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR ARTHURIAN ROMANCES ***




FOUR ARTHURIAN ROMANCES:

"EREC ET ENIDE", "CLIGÉS", "YVAIN", AND "LANCELOT"


by Chrétien de Troyes

Fl. 12th Century A.D.

Originally written in Old French, sometime in the second half of the
12th Century A.D., by the court poet Chrétien de Troyes.




SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT--

Carroll, Carleton W. (Ed.): "Chrétien DeTroyes: Erec and Enide" (Garland
Library of Medieval Literature, New York & London, 1987). Edited with a
translation (see Penguin Classics edition below).

Kibler, William W. (Ed.): "Chrétien DeTroyes: The Knight with the Lion,
or Yvain (Garland Library of Medieval Literature 48A, New York & London,
1985). Original text with English translation (See Penguin Classics
edition below).

Kibler, William W. (Ed.): "Chrétien DeTroyes: Lancelot, or The Knight of
the Cart (Garland Library of Medieval Literature 1A, New York & London,
1981). Original text with English translation (See Penguin Classics
edition below).

Micha, Alexandre (Ed.): "Les Romans de Chrétien de Troyes, Vol. II:
Cligés" (Champion, Paris, 1957).


OTHER TRANSLATIONS--

Cline, Ruth Harwood (Trans.): "Chrétien DeTroyes: Yvain, or the Knight
with the Lion" (University of Georgia Press, Athens GA, 1975).

Kibler, William W. & Carleton W. Carroll (Trans.): "Chrétien DeTroyes:
Arthurian Romances" (Penguin Classics, London, 1991). Contains
translations of "Erec et Enide" (by Carroll), "Cligés", "Yvain",
"Lancelot", and DeTroyes' incomplete "Perceval" (by Kibler). Highly
recommended.

Owen, D.D.R (Trans.): "Chrétien DeTroyes: Arthurian Romances" (Everyman
Library, London, 1987). Contains translations of "Erec et Enide",
"Cligés", "Yvain", "Lancelot", and DeTroyes' incomplete "Perceval".
NOTE: This edition replaced W.W. Comfort's in the Everyman Library
catalogue. Highly recommended.


RECOMMENDED READING--

Anonymous: "Lancelot of the Lake" (Trans: Corin Corely; Oxford
University Press, Oxford, 1989). English translation of one of the
earliest prose romances concerning Lancelot.

Anonymous: "The Mabinogion" (Ed: Jeffrey Gantz; Penguin Classics,
London, 1976). Contains a translation of "Geraint and Enid", an earlier
Welsh version of "Erec et Enide".

Anonymous: "Yvain and Gawain", "Sir Percyvell of Gales", and "The Anturs
of Arther" (Ed: Maldwyn Mills; Everyman, London, 1992). NOTE: Texts are
in Middle-English; "Yvain and Gawain" is a Middle-English work based
almost exclusively on Chrétien DeTroyes' "Yvain".

Malory, Sir Thomas: "Le Morte D'Arthur" (Ed: Janet Cowen; Penguin
Classics, London, 1969).


*****




INTRODUCTION

Chrétien De Troyes has had the peculiar fortune of becoming the best
known of the old French poets to students of mediaeval literature, and
of remaining practically unknown to any one else. The acquaintance of
students with the work of Chrétien has been made possible in academic
circles by the admirable critical editions of his romances undertaken
and carried to completion during the past thirty years by Professor
Wendelin Foerster of Bonn. At the same time the want of public
familiarity with Chrétien's work is due to the almost complete lack of
translations of his romances into the modern tongues. The man who, so
far as we know, first recounted the romantic adventures of Arthur's
knights, Gawain. Yvain, Erec, Lancelot, and Perceval, has been
forgotten; whereas posterity has been kinder to his debtors, Wolfram
yon Eschenbach, Malory, Lord Tennyson, and Richard Wagner. The present
volume has grown out of the desire to place these romances of adventure
before the reader of English in a prose version based directly upon the
oldest form in which they exist.

Such extravagant claims for Chrétien's art have been made in some
quarters that one feels disinclined to give them even an echo here.
The modem reader may form his own estimate of the poet's art, and that
estimate will probably not be high. Monotony, lack of proportion,
vain repetitions, insufficient motivation, wearisome subtleties, and
threatened, if not actual, indelicacy are among the most salient defects
which will arrest, and mayhap confound, the reader unfamiliar with
mediaeval literary craft. No greater service can be performed by an
editor in such a case than to prepare the reader to overlook these
common faults, and to set before him the literary significance of this
twelfth-century poet.

Chrétien de Troyes wrote in Champagne during the third quarter of the
twelfth century. Of his life we know neither the beginning nor the
end, but we know that between 1160 and 1172 he lived, perhaps as
herald-at-arms (according to Gaston Paris, based on "Lancelot" 5591-94)
at Troyes, where was the court of his patroness, the Countess Marie de
Champagne. She was the daughter of Louis VII, and of that famous Eleanor
of Aquitaine, as she is called in English histories, who, coming from
the South of France in 1137, first to Paris and later to England, may
have had some share in the introduction of those ideals of courtesy and
woman service which were soon to become the cult of European society.
The Countess Marie, possessing her royal mother's tastes and gifts, made
of her court a social experiment station, where these Provencal ideals
of a perfect society were planted afresh in congenial soil. It appears
from contemporary testimony that the authority of this celebrated feudal
dame was weighty, and widely felt. The old city of Troyes, where she
held her court, must be set down large in any map of literary history.
For it was there that Chrétien was led to write four romances which
together form the most complete expression we possess from a single
author of the ideals of French chivalry. These romances, written in
eight-syllable rhyming couplets, treat respectively of Erec and Enide,
Cligés, Yvain, and Lancelot. Another poem, "Perceval le Gallois", was
composed about 1175 for Philip, Count of Flanders, to whom Chrétien was
attached during his last years. This last poem is not included in
the present translation because of its extraordinary length of 32,000
verses, because Chrétien wrote only the first 9000 verses, and because
Miss Jessie L. Weston has given us an English version of Wolfram's
well-known "Parzival", which tells substantially the same story, though
in a different spirit. To have included this poem, of which he wrote
less than one-third, in the works of Chrétien would have been unjust to
him. It is true the romance of "Lancelot" was not completed by Chrétien,
we are told, but the poem is his in such large part that one would be
over-scrupulous not to call it his. The other three poems mentioned are
his entire. In addition, there are quite generally assigned to the poet
two insignificant lyrics, the pious romance of "Guillaume d'Angleterre",
and the elaboration of an episode from Ovid's "Metamorphoses" (vi.,
426-674) called "Philomena" by its recent editor (C. de Boer, Paris,
1909). All these are extant and accessible. But since "Guillaume
d'Angleterre" and "Philomena" are not universally attributed to
Chrétien, and since they have nothing to do with the Arthurian material,
it seems reasonable to limit the present enterprise to "Erec and Enide",
"Cligés", "Yvain", and "Lancelot".

Professor Foerster, basing his remark upon the best knowledge we possess
of an obscure matter, has called "Erec and Enide" the oldest Arthurian
romance extant. It is not possible to dispute this significant claim,
but let us make it a little more intelligible. Scholarship has shown
that from the early Middle Ages popular tradition was rife in Britain
and Brittany. The existence of these traditions common to the Brythonic
peoples was called to the attention of the literary world by William of
Malmesbury ("Gesta regum Anglorum") and Geoffrey of Monmouth ("Historia
regum Britanniae") in their Latin histories about 1125 and 1137
respectively, and by the Anglo-Norman poet Wace immediately afterward.
Scholars have waged war over the theories of transmission of the
so-called Arthurian material during the centuries which elapsed
between the time of the fabled chieftain's activity in 500 A.D. and
his appearance as a great literary personage in the twelfth century.
Documents are lacking for the dark ages of popular tradition before the
Norman Conquest, and the theorists may work their will. But Arthur and
his knights, as we see them in the earliest French romances, have little
in common with their Celtic prototypes, as we dimly catch sight of them
in Irish, Welsh, and Breton legend. Chrétien belonged to a generation
of French poets who rook over a great mass of Celtic folk-lore they
imperfectly understood, and made of what, of course, it had never been
before: the vehicle to carry a rich freight of chivalric customs and
ideals. As an ideal of social conduct, the code of chivalry never
touched the middle and lower classes, but it was the religion of the
aristocracy and of the twelfth-century "honnete homme". Never was
literature in any age closer to the ideals of a social class. So true is
this that it is difficult to determine whether social practices
called forth the literature, or whether, as in the case of the
seventeenth-century pastoral romance in France, it is truer to say that
literature suggested to society its ideals. Be that as it may, it is
proper to observe that the French romances of adventure portray
late mediaeval aristocracy as it fain would be. For the glaring
inconsistencies between the reality and the ideal, one may turn to the
chronicles of the period. Yet, even history tells of many an ugly sin
rebuked and of many a gallant deed performed because of the courteous
ideals of chivalry. The debt of our own social code to this literature
of courtesy and frequent self-sacrifice is perfectly manifest.

What Chrétien's immediate and specific source was for his romances is of
deep interest to the student. Unfortunately, he has left us in doubt. He
speaks in the vaguest way of the materials he used. There is no evidence
that he had any Celtic written source. We are thus thrown back upon
Latin or French literary originals which are lost, or upon current
continental lore going back to a Celtic source. This very difficult
problem is as yet unsolved in the case of Chrétien, as it is in the
case of the Anglo-Norman Beroul, who wrote of Tristan about 1150. The
material evidently was at hand and Chrétien appropriated it, without
much understanding of its primitive spirit, but appreciating it as a
setting for the ideal society dreamed of but not realised in his own
day. Add to this literary perspicacity, a good foundation in classic
fable, a modicum of ecclesiastical doctrine, a remarkable facility in
phrase, figure, and rhyme and we have the foundations for Chrétien's art
as we shall find it upon closer examination.

A French narrative poet of the twelfth century had three categories of
subject-matter from which to choose: legends connected with the history
of France ("matiere de France"), legends connected with Arthur and
other Celtic heroes ("matiere de Bretagne"), and stories culled from
the history or mythology of Greece and Rome, current in Latin and French
translations ("matiere de Rome la grant"). Chrétien tells us in "Cligés"
that his first essays as a poet were the translations into French of
certain parts of Ovid's most popular works: the "Metamorphoses", the
"Ars Amatoria", and perhaps the "Remedia Amoris". But he appears early
to have chosen as his special field the stories of Celtic origin dealing
with Arthur, the Round Table, and other features of Celtic folk-lore.
Not only was he alive to the literary interest of this material when
rationalised to suit the taste of French readers; his is further the
credit of having given to somewhat crude folk-lore that polish and
elegance which is peculiarly French, and which is inseparably associated
with the Arthurian legends in all modern literature. Though Beroul, and
perhaps other poets, had previously based romantic poems upon individual
Celtic heroes like Tristan, nevertheless to Chrétien, so far as we can
see, is due the considerable honour of having constituted Arthur's court
as a literary centre and rallying-point for an innumerable company
of knights and ladies engaged in a never-ending series of amorous
adventures and dangerous quests. Rather than unqualifiedly attribute
to Chrétien this important literary convention, one should bear in mind
that all his poems imply familiarity on the part of his readers with
the heroes of the court of which he speaks. One would suppose that other
stories, told before his versions, were current. Some critics would go
so far as to maintain that Chrétien came toward the close, rather than
at the beginning, of a school of French writers of Arthurian romances.
But, if so, we do not possess these earlier versions, and for lack of
rivals Chrétien may be hailed as an innovator in the current schools of
poetry.

And now let us consider the faults which a modern reader will not be
slow to detect in Chrétien's style. Most of his salient faults are
common to all mediaeval narrative literature. They may be ascribed to
the extraordinary leisure of the class for whom it was composed--a class
which was always ready to read an old story told again, and which would
tolerate any description, however detailed. The pastimes of this
class of readers were jousting, hunting, and making love. Hence the
preponderance of these matters in the literature of its leisure hours.
No detail of the joust or hunt was unfamiliar or unwelcome to these
readers; no subtle arguments concerning the art of love were too
abstruse to delight a generation steeped in amorous casuistry and
allegories. And if some scenes seem to us indelicate, yet after
comparison with other authors of his times, Chrétien must be let off
with a light sentence. It is certain he intended to avoid what was
indecent, as did the writers of narrative poetry in general. To
appreciate fully the chaste treatment of Chrétien one must know some
other forms of mediaeval literature, such as the fabliaux, farces, and
morality plays, in which courtesy imposed no restraint. For our poet's
lack of sense of proportion, and for his carelessness in the proper
motivation of many episodes, no apology can be made. He is not always
guilty; some episodes betoken poetic mastery. But a poet acquainted, as
he was, with some first-class Latin poetry, and who had made a business
of his art, ought to have handled his material more intelligently,
even in the twelfth century. The emphasis is not always laid with
discrimination, nor is his yarn always kept free of tangles in the
spinning.

Reference has been made to Chrétien's use of his sources. The tendency
of some critics has been to minimise the French poet's originality by
pointing out striking analogies in classic and Celtic fable. Attention
has been especially directed to the defence of the fountain and the
service of a fairy mistress in "Yvain", to the captivity of Arthur's
subjects in the kingdom of Gorre, as narrated in "Lancelot", reminding
one so insistently of the treatment of the kingdom of Death from which
some god or hero finally delivers those in durance, and to the reigned
death of Fenice in "Cligés", with its many variants. These episodes are
but examples of parallels which will occur to the observant reader. The
difficult point to determine, in speaking of conceptions so widespread
in classic and mediaeval literature, is the immediate source whence
these conceptions reached Chrétien. The list of works of reference
appended to this volume will enable the student to go deeper into
this much debated question, and will permit us to dispense with an
examination of the arguments in this place. However, such convincing
parallels for many of Chrétien's fairy and romantic episodes have been
adduced by students of Irish and Welsh legend that one cannot fail to
be impressed by the fact that Chrétien was in touch, either by oral or
literary tradition, with the populations of Britain and of Brittany, and
that we have here his most immediate inspiration. Professor Foerster,
stoutly opposing the so-called Anglo-Norman theory which supposes the
existence of lost Anglo-Norman romances in French as the sources of
Chrétien de Troyes, is, nevertheless, well within the truth when
he insists upon what is, so far as we are concerned, the essential
originality of the French poet. The general reader will to-day care as
little as did the reader of the twelfth century how the poet came upon
the motives and episodes of his stories, whether he borrowed them or
invented them himself. Any poet should be judged not as a "finder"
but as a "user" of the common stock of ideas. The study of sources of
mediaeval poetry, which is being so doggedly carried on by scholars, may
well throw light upon the main currents of literary tradition, but it
casts no reflection, favourable or otherwise, upon the personal art of
the poet in handling his stuff. On that count he may plead his own cause
before the jury.

Chrétien's originality, then, consists in his portrayal of the social
ideal of the French aristocracy in the twelfth century. So far as we
know he was the first to create in the vulgar tongues a vast court,
where men and women lived in conformity with the rules of courtesy,
where the truth was told, where generosity was open-handed, where the
weak and the innocent were protected by men who dedicated themselves to
the cult of honour and to the quest of a spotless reputation. Honour and
love combined to engage the attention of this society; these were
its religion in a far more real sense than was that of the Church.
Perfection was attainable under this code of ethics: Gawain, for
example, was a perfect knight. Though the ideals of this court and
those of Christianity are in accord at many points, vet courtly love and
Christian morality are irreconcilable. This Arthurian material, as used
by Chrétien, is fundamentally immoral as judged by Christian standards.
Beyond question, the poets and the public alike knew this to be the
case, and therein lay its charm for a society in which the actual
relations or the sexes were rigidly prescribed by the Church and by
feudal practice, rather than by the sentiments of the individuals
concerned. The passionate love of Tristan for Iseut, of Lancelot for
Guinevere, of Cligés for Fenice, fascinate the conventional Christian
society of the twelfth century and of the twentieth century alike,
but there-is only one name among men for such relations as theirs, and
neither righteousness nor reason lie that way. Even Tennyson, in spite
of all he has done to spiritualise this material, was compelled to
portray the inevitable dissolution and ruin of Arthur's court. Chrétien
well knew the difference between right and wrong, between reason and
passion, as the reader of "Cligés" may learn for himself. Fenice was not
Iseut, and she would not have her Cligés to be a Tristan. Infidelity,
if you will, but not "menage a trois". Both "Erec" and "Yvain" present
a conventional morality. But "Lancelot" is flagrantly immoral, and the
poet is careful to state that for this particular romance he is indebted
to his patroness Marie de Champagne. He says it was she who furnished
him with both the "matiere" and the "san", the material of the story and
its method of treatment.

Scholars have sought to fix the chronology of the poet's works, and have
been tempted to speculate upon the evolution of his literary and moral
ideas. Professor Foerster's chronology is generally accepted, and there
is little likelihood of his being in error when he supposes Chrétien's
work to have been done as follows: the lost "Tristan" (the existence of
which is denied by Gaston Paris in "Journal des Savants", 1902, pp. 297
f.), "Erec and Enide", "Cligés", "Lancelot", "Yvain", "Perceval". The
arguments for this chronology, based upon external as well as internal
criticism, may be found in the Introductions to Professor Foerster's
recent editions. When we speculate upon the development of Chrétien's
moral ideas we are not on such sure ground. As we have seen, his
standards vary widely in the different romances. How much of this
variation is due to chance circumstance imposed by the nature of
his subject or by the taste of his public, and how much to changing
conviction it is easy to see, when we consider some contemporary
novelist, how dangerous it is to judge of moral convictions as reflected
in literary work. "Lancelot" must be the keystone of any theory
constructed concerning the moral evolution of Chrétien. The following
supposition is tenable, if the chronology of Foerster is correct. After
the works of his youth, consisting of lyric poems and translations
embodying the ideals of Ovid and of the school of contemporary
troubadour poets, Chrétien took up the Arthurinn material and started
upon a new course. "Erec" is the oldest Arthurinn romance to have
survived in any language, but it is almost certainly not the first to
have been written. It is a perfectly clean story: of love, estrangement,
and reconciliation in the persons of Erec and his charming sweetheart
Enide. The psychological analysis of Erec's motives in the rude testing
of Enide is worthy of attention, and is more subtle than anything
previous in French literature with which we are acquainted. The poem is
an episodical romance in the biography of an Arthurinn hero, with the
usual amount of space given to his adventures. "Cligés" apparently
connects a Byzantine tale of doubtful origin in an arbitrary fashion
with the court of Arthur. It is thought that the story embodies the same
motive as the widespread tale of the deception practised upon Solomon by
his wife, and that Chrétien's source, as he himself claims, was literary
(cf. Gaston Paris in "Journal des Savants", 1902, pp. 641-655). The
scene where Fenice feigns death in order to rejoin her lover is a
parallel of many others in literary history, and will, of course,
suggest the situation in Romeo and Juliet. This romance well illustrates
the drawing power of Arthur's court as a literary centre, and its use as
a rallying-point for courteous knights of whatever extraction. The poem
has been termed an "Anti-Tristan", because of its disparaging reference
to the love of Tristan and Iseut, which, it is generally supposed,
had been narrated by Chrétien in his earlier years. Next may come
"Lancelot", with its significant dedication to the Countess of
Champagne. Of all the poet's work, this tale of the rescue of Guinevere
by her lover seems to express most closely the ideals of Marie's court
ideals in which devotion and courtesy but thinly disguise free love.
"Yvain" is a return to the poet's natural bent, in an episodical
romance, while "Perceval" crowns his production with its pure and
exalted note, though without a touch of that religious mysticism
which later marked Wolfram yon Eschenbach's "Parzival". "Guillaime
d'Angleterre" is a pseudo-historical romance of adventure in which the
worldly distresses and the final reward of piety are conventionally
exposed. It is uninspired, its place is difficult to determine, and
its authorship is questioned by some. It is aside from the Arthurian
material, and there is no clue to its place in the evolution of
Chrétien's art, if indeed it be his work.

A few words must be devoted to Chrétien's place in the history of
mediaeval narrative poetry. The heroic epic songs of France, devoted
either to the conflict of Christendom under the leadership of France
against the Saracens, or else to the strife and rivalry of French
vassals among themselves, had been current for perhaps a century before
our poet began to write. These epic poems, of which some three score
have survived, portray a warlike, virile, unsentimental feudal society,
whose chief occupation was fighting, and whose dominant ideals were
faith in God, loyalty to feudal family ties, and bravery in battle.
Woman's place is comparatively obscure, and of love-making there is
little said. It is a poetry of vigorous manhood, of uncompromising
morality, and of hard knocks given and taken for God, for Christendom,
and the King of France. This poetry is written in ten- or twelve-
syllable verses grouped, at first in assonanced, later in rhymed,
"tirades" of unequal length. It was intended for a society which was
still homogeneous, and to it at the outset doubtless all classes of the
population listened with equal interest. As poetry it is monotonous,
without sense of proportion, padded to facilitate memorisation by
professional reciters, and unadorned by figure, fancy, or imagination.
Its pretention to historic accuracy begot prosaicness in its approach
to the style of the chronicles. But its inspiration was noble, its
conception of human duties was lofty. It gives a realistic portrayal of
the age which produced it, the age of the first crusades, and to this
day we would choose as our models of citizenship Roland and Oliver
rather than Tristan and Lancelot. The epic poems, dealing with the
pseudo-historical characters who had fought in civil and foreign wars
under Charlemagne, remained the favourite literary pabulum of the middle
classes until the close of the thirteenth century. Professor Bedier
is at present engaged in explaining the extraordinary hold which these
poems had upon the public, and in proving that they exercised a distinct
function when exploited by the Church throughout the period of
the crusades to celebrate local shrines and to promote muscular
Christianity. But the refinement which began to penetrate the ideals of
the French aristocracy about the middle of the twelfth century craved a
different expression in narrative literature. Greek and Roman mythology
and history were seized upon with some effect to satisfy the new demand.
The "Roman de Thebes", the "Roman d'Alexandre", the "Roman de
Troie", and its logical continuation, the "Roman d'Eneas", are all
twelfth-century attempts to clothe classic legend in the dress of
mediaeval chivalry. But better fitted to satisfy the new demand was the
discovery by the alert Anglo-Normans perhaps in Brittany, perhaps in the
South of England, of a vast body of legendary material which, so far as
we know, had never before this century received any elaborate literary
treatment. The existence of the literary demand and this discovery of
the material for its prompt satisfaction is one of the most remarkable
coincidences in literary history. It would seem that the pride of the
Celtic populations in a Celtic hero, aided and abetted by Geoffrey of
Monmouth, who first showed the romantic possibilities of the material,
made of the obscure British chieftain Arthur a world conqueror. Arthur
thus became already in Geoffrey's "Historia regum Britaniae" a conscious
protagonist of Charlemagne and his rival in popularity. This grandiose
conception of Arthur persisted in England, but this conception of the
British chieftain did not interest the French. For Chrétien Arthur had
no political significance. He is simply the arbiter of his court in all
affairs of justice and courtesy. Charlemagne's very realistic entourage
of virile and busy barons is replaced by a court of elegant chevaliers
and unemployed ladies. Charlemagne's setting is historical and
geographical; Arthur's setting is ideal and in the air. In the oldest
epic poems we find only God-fearing men and a few self-effacing women;
in the Arthurian romances we meet gentlemen and ladies, more elegant and
seductive than any one in the epic poems, but less fortified by
faith and sense of duty against vice because breathing an enervating
atmosphere of leisure and decadent morally. Though the Church made the
attempt in "Parzival", it could never lay its hands so effectively upon
this Celtic material, because it contained too many elements which
were root and branch inconsistent with the essential teachings of
Christianity. A fleeting comparison of the noble end of Charlemagne's
Peers fighting for their God and their King at Ronceval with the futile
and dilettante careers of Arthur's knights in joust and hunt, will show
better than mere words where the difference lies.

The student of the history of social and moral ideals will find much to
interest him in Chrétien's romances. Mediaeval references show that he
was held by his immediate successors, as he is held to-day when fairly
viewed, to have been a master of the art of story-telling. More than any
other single narrative poet, he was taken as a model both in France and
abroad. Professor F. M. Warren has set forth in detail the finer points
in the art of poetry as practised by Chrétien and his contemporary
craftsmen (see "Some Features of Style in Early French Narrative Poetry,
1150-1170 in "Modern Philology", iii., 179-209; iii., 513-539; iv.,
655-675). Poets in his own land refer to him with reverence, and foreign
poets complimented him to a high degree by direct translation and by
embroidering upon the themes which he had made popular. The knights made
famous by Chrétien soon crossed the frontiers and obtained rights of
citizenship in counties so diverse as Germany, England, Scandinavia,
Holland, Italy, and to a lesser extent in Spain and Portugal. The
inevitable tendency of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to reduce
poetry to prose affected the Arthurian material; vast prose compilations
finally embodied in print the matter formerly expressed in verse, and it
was in this form that the stories were known to later generations until
revived interest in the Middle Ages brought to light the manuscripts in
verse.

Aside from certain episodes of Chrétien's romances, the student will be
most interested in the treatment of love as therein portrayed. On this
topic we may hear speaking the man of his time. "Cligés" contains the
body of Chrétien's doctrine of love, while Lancelot is his most perfect
lover. His debt to Ovid has not yet been indicated with sufficient
preciseness. An elaborate code to govern sentiment and its expression
was independently developed by the troubadours of Provence in the early
twelfth century. These Provencal ideals of the courtly life were carried
into Northern France partly as the result of a royal marriage in 1137
and of the crusade of 1147, and there by such poets as Chrétien they
were gathered up and fused with the Ovidian doctrine into a highly
complicated but perfectly definite statement of the ideal relations of
the sexes. Nowhere in the vulgar tongues can a better statement of these
relations be found than in "Cligés."

So we leave Chrétien to speak across the ages for himself and his
generation. He is to be read as a story-teller rather than as a poet,
as a casuist rather than as a philosopher. But when all deductions are
made, his significance as a literary artist and as the founder of a
precious literary tradition distinguishes him from all other poets
of the Latin races between the close of the Empire and the arrival of
Dante.

--W. W. COMFORT.





EREC ET ENIDE [11]

(Vv. 1-26.) The rustic's proverb says that many a thing is despised that
is worth much more than is supposed. Therefore he does well who makes
the most of whatever intelligence he may possess. For he who neglects
this concern may likely omit to say something which would subsequently
give great pleasure. So Chrétien de Troyes maintains that one ought
always to study and strive to speak well and teach the right; and he
derives from a story of adventure a pleasing argument whereby it may be
proved and known that he is not wise who does not make liberal use of
his knowledge so long as God may give him grace. The story is about Erec
the son of Lac--a story which those who earn a living by telling stories
are accustomed to mutilate and spoil in the presence of kings and
counts. And now I shall begin the tale which will be remembered so long
as Christendom endures. This is Chrétien's boast.

(Vv. 27-66.) One Easter Day in the Springtime, King Arthur held court in
his town of Cardigan. Never was there seen so rich a court; for many
a good knight was there, hardy, bold, and brave, and rich ladies and
damsels, gentle and fair daughters of kings. But before the court was
disbanded, the King told his knights that he wished to hunt the White
Stag, [12] in order to observe worthily the ancient custom. When my lord
Gawain heard this, he was sore displeased, and said: "Sire, you will
derive neither thanks nor goodwill from this hunt. We all know long
since what this custom of the White Stag is: whoever can kill the White
Stag must forsooth kiss the fairest maiden of your court, come what may.
But of this there might come great ill, for there are here five hundred
damsels of high birth, gentle and prudent daughters of kings, and there
is none of them but has a bold and valiant knight for her lover who
would be ready to contend, whether right or wrong, that she who is his
lady is the fairest and gentlest of them all." The King replies: "That
I know well; yet will I not desist on that account; for a king's word
ought never to be gainsaid. To-morrow morning we shall all gaily go to
hunt the White Stag in the forest of adventure. And very delightful this
hunt will be."

(Vv. 67-114.) And so the affair is arranged for the next morning
at daybreak. The morrow, as soon as it is day, the King gets up and
dresses, and dons a short jacket for his forest ride. He commands the
knights to be aroused and the horses to be made ready. Already they
are ahorse, and off they go, with bows and arrows. After them the Queen
mounts her horse, taking a damsel with her. A maid she was, the daughter
of a king, and she rode a white palfrey. After them there swiftly
followed a knight, named Erec, who belonged to the Round Table, and had
great fame at the court. [13] Of all the knights that ever were there,
never one received such praise; and he was so fair that nowhere in the
world need one seek a fairer knight than he. He was very fair, brave,
and courteous, though not yet twenty-five years old. Never was there
a man of his age of greater knighthood. And what shall I say of his
virtues? Mounted on his horse, and clad in an ermine mantle, he came
galloping down the road, wearing a coat of splendid flowered silk which
was made at Constantinople. He had put on hose of brocade, well made and
cut, and when his golden spurs were well attached, he sat securely in
his stirrups. He carried no arm with him but his sword. As he galloped
along, at the corner of a street he came up with the Queen, and said:
"My lady, if it please you, I should gladly accompany you along this
road, having come for no other purpose than to bear you company." And
the Queen thanks him: "Fair friend, I like your company well, in truth;
for better I could not have."

(Vv. 115-124.) Then they ride along at full speed until they come into
the forest, where the party who had gone before them had already started
the stag. Some wind the horns and others shout; the hounds plunge ahead
after the stag, running, attacking, and baying; the bowmen shoot amain.
And before them all rode the King on a Spanish hunter.

(Vv. 125-154.) Queen Guinevere was in the wood listening for the dogs;
beside her were Erec and the damsel, who was very courteous and fair.
But those who had pursued the stag were so far from them that, however
intently they might listen to catch the sound of horn or baying of
hound, they no longer could hear either horse, huntsman, or hound. So
all three of them drew rein in a clearing beside the road. They had been
there but a short time when they saw an armed knight along on his steed,
with shield slung about his neck, and his lance in hand. The Queen
espied him from a distance By his right side rode a damsel of noble
bearing, and before them, on a hack, came a dwarf carrying in his hand
a knotted scourge. When Queen Guinevere saw the comely and graceful
knight, she desired to know who he and his damsel were. So she bid her
damsel go quickly and speak to him.

(Vv. 155-274.) "Damsel," says the Queen, "go and bid yonder knight come
to me and bring his damsel with him." The maiden goes on amble straight
toward the knight. But the spiteful dwarf sallies forth to meet her with
his scourge in hand, crying: "Halt, maiden, what do you want here? You
shall advance no farther." "Dwarf," says she, "let me pass. I wish to
speak with yonder knight; for the Queen sends me hither." The dwarf, who
was rude and mean, took his stand in the middle of the road, and said:
"You have no business here. Go back. It is not meet that you should
speak to so excellent a knight." The damsel advanced and tried to pass
him by force, holding the dwarf in slight esteem when she saw that he
was so small. Then the dwarf raised his whip, when he saw her coming
toward him and tried to strike her in the face. She raised her arm
to protect herself, but he lifted his hand again and struck her all
unprotected on her bare hand: and so hard did he strike her on the back
of her hand that it turned all black and blue. When the maiden could do
nothing else, in spite of herself she must needs return. So weeping she
turned back. The tears came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. When
the Queen sees her damsel wounded, she is sorely grieved and angered and
knows not what to do. "Ah, Erec, fair friend," she says, "I am in great
sorrow for my damsel whom that dwarf has wounded. The knight must be
discourteous indeed, to allow such a monster to strike so beautiful a
creature. Erec, fair friend, do you go to the knight and bid him come
to me without delay. I wish to know him and his lady." Erec starts
off thither, giving spurs to his steed, and rides straight toward
the knight. The ignoble dwarf sees him coming and goes to meet him.
"Vassal," says he, "stand back! For I know not what business you have
here. I advise you to withdraw." "Avaunt," says Erec, "provoking dwarf!
Thou art vile and troublesome. Let me pass." "You shall not." "That
will I." "You shall not." Erec thrusts the dwarf aside. The dwarf had no
equal for villainy: he gave him a great blow with his lash right on
the neck, so that Erec's neck and face are scarred with the blow of
the scourge; from top to bottom appear the lines which the thongs have
raised on him. He knew well that he could not have the satisfaction of
striking the dwarf; for he saw that the knight was armed, arrogant, and
of evil intent, and he was afraid that he would soon kill him, should he
strike the dwarf in his presence. Rashness is not bravery. So Erec acted
wisely in retreating without more ado. "My lady," he says, "now matters
stand worse; for the rascally dwarf has so wounded me that he has badly
cut my face. I did not dare to strike or touch him; but none ought
to reproach me, for I was completely unarmed. I mistrusted the armed
knight, who, being an ugly fellow and violent, would take it as no jest,
and would soon kill me in his pride. But this much I will promise you;
that if I can, I shall yet avenge my disgrace, or increase it. But my
arms are too far away to avail me in this time of need; for at Cardigan
did I leave them this morning when I came away. And if I should go to
fetch them there, peradventure I should never again find the knight who
is riding off apace. So I must follow him at once, far or near, until
I find some arms to hire or borrow. If I find some one who will lend me
arms, the knight will quickly find me ready for battle. And you may be
sure without fail that we two shall fight until he defeat me, or I him.
And if possible, I shall be back by the third day, when you will see me
home again either joyous or sad, I know not which. Lady, I cannot delay
longer, for I must follow after the knight. I go. To God I commend you."
And the Queen in like manner more than five hundred rimes commends him
to God, that he may defend him from harm.

(Vv. 275-310.) Erec leaves the Queen and ceases not to pursue the
knight. The Queen remains in the wood, where now the King had come up
with the Stag. The King himself outstripped the others at the death.
Thus they killed and took the White Stag, and all returned, carrying the
Stag, till they came again to Cardigan. After supper, when the knights
were all in high spirits throughout the hall, the King, as the custom
was, because he had taken the Stag, said that he would bestow the kiss
and thus observe the custom of the Stag. Throughout the court a great
murmur is heard: each one vows and swears to his neighbour that it
shall not be done without the protest of sword or ashen lance. Each one
gallantly desires to contend that his lady is the fairest in the hall.
Their conversation bodes no good, and when my lord Gawain heard it, you
must know that it was not to his liking. Thus he addressed the King:
"Sire," he says, "your knights here are greatly aroused, and all their
talk is of this kiss. They say that it shall never be bestowed without
disturbance and a fight." And the King wisely replied to him: "Fair
nephew Gawain, give me counsel now, sparing my honour and my dignity,
for I have no mind for any disturbance."

(Vv. 311-341.) To the council came a great part of the best knights of
the court. King Yder [14] arrived, who was the first to be summoned, and
after him King Cadoalant, who was very wise and bold. Kay and Girflet
came too, and King Amauguin was there, and a great number of other
knights were there with them. The discussion was in process when the
Queen arrived and told them of the adventure which she had met in the
forest, of the armed knight whom she saw, and of the malicious little
dwarf who had struck her damsel on the bare hand with his whip, and who
struck Erec, too, in the same way an ugly blow on the face; but that
Erec followed the knight to obtain vengeance, or increase his shame, and
how he said that if possible he would be back by the third day. "Sire,"
says the Queen to the King, "listen to me a moment. If these knights
approve what I say, postpone this kiss until the third day, when Erec
will be back." There is none who does not agree with her, and the King
himself approves her words.

(Vv. 342-392.) Erec steadily follows the knight who was armed and the
dwarf who had struck him until they come to a well placed town, strong
and fine [15]. They enter straight through the gate. Within the town
there was great joy of knights and ladies, of whom there were many and
fair. Some were feeding in the streets their sparrow-hawks and moulting
falcons; others were giving an airing to their tercels, [16] their mewed
birds, and young yellow hawks; others play at dice or other game of
chance, some at chess, and some at backgammon. The grooms in front of
the stables are rubbing down and currying the horses. The ladies are
bedecking themselves in their boudoirs. As soon as they see the knight
coming, whom they recognised with his dwarf and damsel, they go out
three by three to meet him. The knight they all greet and salute, but
they give no heed to Erec, for they did not know him. Erec follows close
upon the knight through the town, until he saw him lodged. Then, very
joyful, he passed on a little farther until he saw reclining upon some
steps a vavasor [17] well on in years. He was a comely man, with white
locks, debonair, pleasing, and frank. There he was seated all alone,
seeming to be engaged in thought. Erec took him for an honest man who
would at once give him lodging. When he turned through the gate into the
yard, the vavasor ran to meet him, and saluted him before Erec had said
a word. "Fair sir," says he, "be welcome. If you will deign to lodge
with me, here is my house all ready for you." Erec replies: "Thank you!
For no other purpose have I come; I need a lodging place this night."

(Vv. 393-410.) Erec dismounts from his horse, which the host himself
leads away by the bridle, and does great honour to his guest. The
vavasor summons his wife and his beautiful daughter, who were busy in a
work-room--doing I know not what. The lady came out with her daughter,
who was dressed in a soft white under-robe with wide skirts hanging
loose in folds. Over it she wore a white linen garment, which completed
her attire. And this garment was so old that it was full of holes down
the sides. Poor, indeed, was her garb without, but within her body was
fair.

(Vv. 411-458.) The maid was charming, in sooth, for Nature had used all
her skill in forming her. Nature herself had marvelled more than five
hundred times how upon this one occasion she had succeeded in creating
such a perfect thing. Never again could she so strive successfully to
reproduce her pattern. Nature bears witness concerning her that never
was so fair a creature seen in all the world. In truth I say that never
did Iseut the Fair have such radiant golden tresses that she could be
compared with this maiden. [18] The complexion of her forehead and face
was clearer and more delicate than the lily. But with wondrous art her
face with all its delicate pallor was suffused with a fresh crimson
which Nature had bestowed upon her. Her eyes were so bright that they
seemed like two stars. God never formed better nose, mouth, and eyes.
What shall I say of her beauty? In sooth, she was made to be looked at;
for in her one could have seen himself as in a mirror. So she came forth
from the work-room: and when she saw the knight whom she had never seen
before, she drew back a little, because she did not know him, and in her
modesty she blushed. Erec, for his part, was amazed when he beheld such
beauty in her, and the vavasor said to her: "Fair daughter dear, take
this horse and lead him to the stable along with my own horses. See that
he lack for nothing: take off his saddle and bridle, give him oats and
hay, look after him and curry him, that he may be in good condition."

(Vv. 459-546) The maiden takes the horse, unlaces his breast-strap, and
takes off his bridle and saddle. Now the horse is in good hands, for she
takes excellent care of him. She throws a halter over his head, rubs him
down, curries him, and makes him comfortable. Then she ties him to the
manger and puts plenty of fresh sweet hay and oats before him. Then she
went back to her father, who said to her: "Fair daughter dear, take now
this gentleman by the hand and show him all honour. Take him by the hand
upstairs." The maiden did not delay (for in her there was no lack of
courtesy) and led him by the hand upstairs. The lady had gone before and
prepared the house. She had laid embroidered cushions and spreads upon
the couches, where they all three sat down Erec with his host beside
him, and the maiden opposite. Before them, the fire burns brightly. The
vavasor had only one man-servant, and no maid for chamber or kitchen
work. This one man was busy in the kitchen preparing meat and birds for
supper. A skilful cook was he, who knew how to prepare meal in boiling
water and birds on the spit. When he had the meal prepared in accordance
with the orders which had been given him, he brought them water for
washing in two basins. The table was soon set, cloths, bread, and wine
set out, and they sat down to supper. They had their fill of all they
needed. When they had finished and when the table was cleared, Erec thus
addressed his host, the master of the house: "Tell me, fair host." he
asked, "why your daughter, who is so passing fair and clever, is so
poorly and unsuitably attired." "Fair friend," the vavasor replies,
"many a man is harmed by poverty, and even so am I. I grieve to see
her so poorly clad, and yet I cannot help it, for I have been so long
involved in war that I have lost or mortgaged or sold all my land. [19]
And yet she would be well enough dressed if I allowed her to accept
everything that people wish to give her. The lord of this castle himself
would have dressed her in becoming fashion and would have done her every
manner of favour, for she is his niece and he is a count. And there is
no nobleman in this region, however rich and powerful, who would not
willingly have taken her to wife had I given my consent. But I am
waiting yet for some better occasion, when God shall bestow still
greater honour upon her, when fortune shall bring hither some king or
count who shall lead her away, for there is under Heaven no king or
count who would be ashamed of my daughter, who is so wondrous fair that
her match cannot be found. Fair, indeed, she is; but yet greater far
than her beauty, is her intelligence. God never created any one so
discreet and of such open heart. When I have my daughter beside me, I
don't care a marble about all the rest of the world. She is my delight
and my pastime, she is my joy and comfort, my wealth and my treasure,
and I love nothing so much as her own precious self."

(Vv. 547-690.) When Erec had listened to all that his host told him, he
asked him to inform him whence came all the chivalry that was quartered
in the town. For there was no street or house so poor and small but it
was full of knights and ladies and squires. And the vavasor said to him:
"Fair friend, these are the nobles of the country round; all, both young
and old, have come to a fete which is to be held in this town tomorrow;
therefore the houses are so full. When they shall all have gathered,
there will be a great stir to-morrow; for in the presence of all the
people there will be set upon a silver perch a sparrow-hawk of five or
six moultings--the best you can imagine. Whoever wishes to gain the hawk
must have a mistress who is fair, prudent, and courteous. And if there
be a knight so bold as to wish to defend the worth and the name of the
fairest in his eyes, he will cause his mistress to step forward and
lift the hawk from the perch, if no one dares to interpose. This is the
custom they are observing, and for this each year they gather here."
Thereupon Erec speaks and asks him: "Fair host, may it not displease
you, but tell me, if you know, who is a certain knight bearing arms of
azure and gold, who passed by here not long ago, having close beside him
a courtly damsel, preceded by a hump-backed dwarf." To him the host then
made reply: "That is he who will win the hawk without any opposition
from the other knights. I don't believe that any one will offer
opposition; this time there will be no blows or wounds. For two years
already he has won it without being challenged; and if he wins it
again this year, he will have gained permanent possession of it. Every
succeeding year he may keep it without contest or challenge." Quickly
Erec makes reply: "I do not like that knight. Upon my word, had I some
arms I should challenge him for the hawk. Fair host, I beg you as a boon
to advise me how I may be equipped with arms whether old or new, poor or
rich, it matters not." And he replies to him generously: "It were a pity
for you to feel concern on that score! I have good fine arms which I
shall be glad to lend you. In the house I have a triple-woven hauberk,
[110] which was selected from among five hundred. And I have some fine
valuable greaves, polished, handsome, and light in weight. The helmet
is bright and handsome, and the shield fresh and new. Horse, sword, and
lance all I will lend you, of course; so let no more be said." "Thank
you kindly, fair gentle host! But I wish for no better sword that this
one which I have brought with me, nor for any other horse than my own,
for I can get along well enough with him. If you will lend me the rest,
I shall esteem it a great favour. But there is one more boon I wish to
ask of you, for which I shall make just return if God grant that I come
off from the battle with honour." And frankly he replies to him: "Ask
confidently for what you want, whatever it be, for nothing of mine shall
lack you." Then Erec said that he wished to defend the hawk on behalf
of his daughter; for surely there will be no damsel who is one hundredth
part as beautiful as she. And if he takes her with him, he will have
good and just reason to maintain and to prove that she is entitled to
carry away the hawk. Then he added: "Sire, you know not what guest you
have sheltered here, nor do you know my estate and kin. I am the son of
a rich and puissant king: my father's name is King Lac, and the Bretons
call me Erec. I belong to King Arthur's court, and have been with him
now three years. I know not if any report of my father or of me has ever
reached this land. But I promise you and vow that if you will fit me out
with arms, and will give me your daughter to-morrow when I strive for
the hawk, I will take her to my country, if God grant me the victory,
and I will give her a crown to wear, and she shall be queen of three
cities." "Ah, fair sir! Is it true that you are Erec, the son of Lac?"
"That is who I am, indeed" quoth he. Then the host was greatly delighted
and said: "We have indeed heard of you in this country. Now I think all
the more of you, for you are very valiant and brave. Nothing now shall
you be refused by me. At your request I give you my fair daughter."
Then taking her by the hand, he says: "Here, I give her to you." Erec
received her joyfully, and now has all he desired. Now they are all
happy there: the father is greatly delighted, and the mother weeps for
joy. The maiden sat quiet; but she was very happy and glad that she was
betrothed to him, because he was valiant and courteous: and she knew
that he would some day be king, and she should receive honour and be
crowned rich queen.

(Vv. 691-746.) They had sat up very late that night. But now the
beds were prepared with white sheets and soft pillows, and when the
conversation flagged they all went to bed in happy frame. Erec slept
little that night, and the next morn, at crack of dawn, he and his host
rose early. They both go to pray at church, and hear a hermit chant the
Mass of the Holy Spirit, not forgetting to make an offering. When they
had heard Mass both kneel before the altar and then return to the house.
Erec was eager for the battle; so he asks for arms, and they are given
to him. The maiden herself puts on his arms (though she casts no spell
or charm), [111] laces on his iron greaves, and makes them fast with
thong of deer-hide. She puts on his hauberk with its strong meshes, and
laces on his ventail. The gleaming helmet she sets upon his head, and
thus arms him well from tip to toe. At his side she fastens his sword,
and then orders his horse to be brought, which is done. Up he jumped
clear of the ground. The damsel then brings the shield and the strong
lance: she hands him the shield, and he takes it and hangs it about his
neck by the strap. She places the lance in his hand, and when he had
grasped it by the butt-end, he thus addressed the gentle vavasor: "Fair
sire," quoth he, "if you please, make your daughter ready now; for
I wish to escort her to the sparrow-hawk in accordance with our
agreement." The vavasor then without delay had saddled a bay palfrey.
There can nothing be said of the harness because of the dire poverty
with which the vavasor was afflicted. Saddle and bridle were put on, and
up the maiden mounted all free and in light attire, without waiting
to be urged. Erec wished to delay no longer; so off he starts with the
host's daughter by his side, followed by the gentleman and his lady.

(Vv. 747-862.) Erec rides with lance erect and with the comely damsel by
his side. All the people, great and small, gaze at them with wondering
eyes as they pass through the streets. And thus they question each
other: "Who is yonder knight? He must be doughty and brave, indeed, to
act as escort for this fair maid. His efforts will be well employed in
proving that this damsel is the fairest of them all." One man to another
says: "In very truth, she ought to have the sparrow-hawk." Some praised
the maid, while many said: "God! who can this knight be, with the fair
damsel by his side?" "I know not." "Nor I." Thus spake each one. "But
his gleaming helmet becomes him well, and the hauberk, and shield, and
his sharp steel sword. He sits well upon his steed and has the bearing
of a valiant vassal, well-shapen in arm, in limb and foot." While all
thus stand and gaze at them, they for their part made no delay to take
their stand by the sparrow-hawk, where to one side they awaited the
knight. And now behold! they see him come, attended by his dwarf and his
damsel. He had heard the report, that a knight had come who wished to
obtain the sparrow-hawk, but he did not believe there could be in the
world a knight so bold as to dare to fight with him. He would quickly
defeat him and lay him low. All the people knew him well, and all
welcome him and escort him in a noisy crowd: knights, squires, ladies,
and damsels make haste to run after him. Leading them all the knight
rides proudly on, with his damsel and his dwarf at his side, and he
makes his way quickly to the sparrow-hawk. But all about there was such
a press of the rough and vulgar crowd that it was impossible to touch
the hawk or to come near where it was. Then the Count arrived on the
scene, and threatened the populace with a switch which he held in his
hand. The crowd drew back, and the knight advanced and said quietly
to his lady: "My lady, this bird, which is so perfectly moulted and so
fair, should be yours as your just portion; for you are wondrous fair
and full of charm. Yours it shall surely be so long as I live. Step
forward, my dear, and lift the hawk from the perch." The damsel was on
the point of stretching forth her hand when Erec hastened to challenge
her, little heeding the other's arrogance. "Damsel," he cries, "stand
back! Go dally with some other bird, for to this one you have no right.
In spite of all, I say this hawk shall never be yours. For a better one
than you claims it--aye, much more fair and more courteous." The other
knight is very wroth; but Erec does not mind him, and bids his own
maiden step forward. "Fair one." he cries, "come forth. Lift the bird
from the perch, for it is right that you should have it. Damsel, come
forth! For I will make boast to defend it if any one is so bold as
to intervene. For no woman excels you in beauty or worth, in grace or
honour any more than the moon outshines the sun." The other could suffer
it no longer, when he hears him so manfully offer himself to do battle.
"Vassal," he cries, "who art thou who dost thus dispute with me the
hawk?" Erec boldly answers him: "A knight I am from another land. This
hawk I have come to obtain; for it is right, I say it in spite of all,
that this damsel of mine should have it." "Away!" cries the other, "it
shall never be. Madness has brought thee here. If thou dost wish to have
the hawk, thou shalt pay fight dearly for it." "Pay, vassal; and how?"
"Thou must fight with me, if thou dost not resign it to me." "You talk
madness," cries Erec; "for me these are idle threats; for little
enough do I fear you." "Then I defy thee here and now. The battle is
inevitable." Erec replies: "God help me now; for never did I wish for
aught so much." Now soon you will hear the noise of battle.

(Vv. 863-1080.) The large place was cleared, with the people gathered
all around. They draw off from each other the space of an acre, then
drive their horses together; they reach for each other with the tips of
their lances, and strike each other so hard that the shields are pierced
and broken; the lances split and crack; the saddle-bows are knocked to
bits behind. They must needs lose their stirrups, so that they both fall
to the ground, and the horses run off across the field. Though smitten
with the lances, they are quickly on their feet again, and draw their
swords from the scabbards. With great fierceness they attack each other,
and exchange great sword blows, so that the helmets are crushed and made
to ring. Fierce is the clash of the swords, as they rain great blows
upon neck and shoulders. For this is no mere sport: they break whatever
they touch, cutting the shields and shattering the hauberks. The swords
are red with crimson blood. Long the battle lasts; but they fight so
lustily that they become weary and listless. Both the damsels are in
tears, and each knight sees his lady weep and raise her hands to God and
pray that He may give the honours of the battle to the one who strives
for her. "Ha! vassal," quoth the knight to Erec, "let us withdraw and
rest a little; for too weak are these blows we deal. We must deal better
blows than these; for now it draws near evening. It is shameful and
highly discreditable that this battle should last so long. See yonder
that gentle maid who weeps for thee and calls on God. Full sweetly she
prays for thee, as does also mine for me. Surely we should do our best
with our blades of steel for the sake of our lady-loves." Erec replies:
"You have spoken well." Then they take a little rest, Erec looking
toward his lady as she softly prays for him. While he sat and looked
on her, great strength was recruited within him. Her love and beauty
inspired him with great boldness. He remembered the Queen, to whom he
pledged his word that he would avenge the insult done him, or would make
it greater yet. "Ah! wretch," says he, "why do I wait? I have not yet
taken vengeance for the injury which this vassal permitted when his
dwarf struck me in the wood." His anger is revived within him as he
summons the knight: "Vassal," quoth he, "I call you to battle anew. Too
long we have rested; let us now renew our strife." And he replies: "That
is no hardship to me." Whereupon, they again fall upon each other.
They were both expert fencers. At his first lunge the knight would have
wounded Erec had he not skilfully parried. Even so, he smote him so
hard over the shield beside his temple that he struck a piece from his
helmet. Closely shaving his white coif, the sword descends, cleaving the
shield through to the buckle, and cutting more than a span from the side
of his hauberk. Then he must have been well stunned, as the cold steel
penetrated to the flesh on his thigh. May God protect him now! If the
blow had not glanced off, it would have cut right through his body. But
Erec is in no wise dismayed: he pays him back what is owing him, and.
attacking him boldly, smites him upon the shoulder so violently a blow
that the shield cannot withstand it, nor is the hauberk of any use to
prevent the sword from penetrating to the bone. He made the crimson
blood flow down to his waist-band. Both of the vassals are hard
fighters: they fight with honours even, for one cannot gain from the
other a single foot of ground. Their hauberks are so torn and their
shields so hacked, that there is actually not enough of them left to
serve as a protection. So they fight all exposed. Each one loses a deal
of blood, and both grow weak. He strikes Erec and Erec strikes him. Erec
deals him such a tremendous blow upon the helmet that he quite stuns
him. Then he lets him have it again and again, giving him three blows
in quick succession, which entirely split the helmet and cut the coif
beneath it. The sword even reaches the skull and cuts a bone of his
head, but without penetrating the brain. He stumbles and totters, and
while he staggers, Erec pushes him over, so that he falls upon his right
side. Erec grabs him by the helmet and forcibly drags it from his
head, and unlaces the ventail, so that his head and face are completely
exposed. When Erec thinks of the insult done him by the dwarf in the
wood, he would have cut off his head, had he not cried for mercy. "Ah!
vassal," says he, "thou hast defeated me. Mercy now, and do not kill me,
after having overcome me and taken me prisoner: that would never bring
thee praise or glory. If thou shouldst touch me more, thou wouldst do
great villainy. Take here my sword; I yield it thee." Erec, however,
does not take it, but says in reply: "I am within an ace of killing
thee." "Ah! gentle knight, mercy! For what crime, indeed, or for what
wrong shouldst thou hate me with mortal hatred? I never saw thee before
that I am aware, and never have I been engaged in doing thee any shame
or wrong." Erec replies: "Indeed you have." "Ah, sire, tell me when! For
I never saw you, that I can remember, and if I have done you any wrong,
I place myself at your mercy." Then Erec said: "Vassal, I am he who was
in the forest yesterday with Queen Guinevere, when thou didst allow thy
ill-bred dwarf to strike my lady's damsel. It is disgraceful to strike
a woman. And afterwards he struck me, taking me for some common fellow.
Thou wast guilty of too great insolence when thou sawest such an outrage
and didst complacently permit such a monster of a lout to strike the
damsel and myself. For such a crime I may well hate thee; for thou
hast committed a grave offence. Thou shalt now constitute thyself my
prisoner, and without delay go straight to my lady whom thou wilt surely
find at Cardigan, if thither thou takest thy way. Thou wilt reach there
this very night, for it is not seven leagues from here, I think. Thou
shalt hand over to her thyself, thy damsel, and thy dwarf, to do as she
may dictate; and tell her that I send her word that to-morrow I shall
come contented, bringing with me a damsel so fair and wise and fine
that in all the world she has not her match. So much thou mayst tell her
truthfully. And now I wish to know thy name." Then he must needs say in
spite of himself: "Sire, my name is Yder, son of Nut. This morning I had
not thought that any single man by force of arms could conquer me. Now
I have found by experience a man who is better than I. You are a very
valiant knight, and I pledge you my faith here and now that I will go
without delay and put myself in the Queen's hands. But tell me without
reserve what your name may be. Who shall I say it is that sends me? For
I am ready to start." And he replies: "My name I will tell thee without
disguise: it is Erec. Go, and tell her that it is I who have sent thee
to her." "Now I'll go, and I promise you that I will put my dwarf, my
damsel, and myself altogether at her disposal (you need have no fear),
and I will give her news of you and of your damsel." Then Erec received
his plighted word, and the Count and all the people round about the
ladies and the gentlemen were present at the agreement. Some were
joyous, and some downcast; some were sorry, and others glad. The most
rejoiced for the sake of the damsel with the white raiment, the daughter
of the poor vavasor she of the gentle and open heart; but his damsel and
those who were devoted to him were sorry for Yder.

(Vv. 1081-1170.) Yder, compelled to execute his promise, did not wish
to tarry longer, but mounted his steed at once. But why should I make
a long story? Taking his dwarf and his damsel, they traversed the woods
and the plain, going on straight until they came to Cardigan. In the
bower [112] outside the great hall, Gawain and Kay the seneschal and a
great number of other lords were gathered. The seneschal was the first
to espy those approaching, and said to my lord Gawain: "Sire, my heart
divines that the vassal who yonder comes is he of whom the Queen spoke
as having yesterday done her such an insult. If I am not mistaken, there
are three in the party, for I see the dwarf and the damsel." "That is
so," says my lord Gawain; "it is surely a damsel and a dwarf who are
coming straight toward us with the knight. The knight himself is fully
armed, but his shield is not whole. If the Queen should see him,
she would know him. Hello, seneschal, go call her now!" So he went
straightway and found her in one of the apartments. "My lady," says he,
"do you remember the dwarf who yesterday angered you by wounding your
damsel?" "Yes, I remember him right well. Seneschal, have you any
news of him? Why have you mentioned him?" "Lady, because I have seen a
knight-errant armed coming upon a grey horse, and if my eyes have not
deceived me, I saw a damsel with him; and it seems to me that with him
comes the dwarf, who still holds the scourge from which Erec received
his lashing." Then the Queen rose quickly and said: "Let us go quickly,
seneschal, to see if it is the vassal. If it is he, you may be sure that
I shall tell you so, as soon as I see him." And Kay said: "I will show
him to you. Come up into the bower where your knights are assembled. It
was from there we saw him coming, and my lord Gawain himself awaits
you there. My lady, let us hasten thither, for here we have too long
delayed." Then the Queen bestirred herself, and coming to the windows
she took her stand by my lord Gawain, and straightway recognised the
knight. "Ha! my lords," she cries, "it is he. He has been through great
danger. He has been in a battle. I do not know whether Erec has avenged
his grief, or whether this knight has defeated Erec. But there is many a
dent upon his shield, and his hauberk is covered with blood, so that it
is rather red than white." "In sooth, my lady," quoth my lord Gawain,
"I am very sure that you are quite right. His hauberk is covered with
blood, and pounded and beaten, showing plainly that he has been in a
fight. We can easily see that the battle has been hot. Now we shall soon
hear from him news that will give us joy or gloom: whether Erec sends
him to you here as a prisoner at your discretion, or whether he comes
in pride of heart to boast before us arrogantly that he has defeated or
killed Erec. No other news can he bring, I think." The Queen says: "I am
of the same opinion." And all the others say: "It may well be so."

(Vv. 1171-1243.) Meanwhile Yder enters the castle gate, bringing them
news. They all came down from the bower, and went to meet him. Yder came
up to the royal terrace and there dismounted from his horse. And Gawain
took the damsel and helped her down from her palfrey; the dwarf, for his
part, dismounted too. There were more than one hundred knights standing
there, and when the three newcomers had all dismounted they were led
into the King's presence. As soon as Yder saw the Queen, he bowed low
and first saluted her, then the King and his knights, and said: "Lady,
I am sent here as your prisoner by a gentleman, a valiant and noble
knight, whose face yesterday my dwarf made smart with his knotted
scourge. He has overcome me at arms and defeated me. Lady, the dwarf I
bring you here: he has come to surrender to you at discretion. I bring
you myself, my damsel, and my dwarf to do with us as you please." The
Queen keeps her peace no longer, but asks him for news of Erec: "Tell
me," she says, "if you please, do you know when Erec will arrive?"
"To-morrow, lady, and with him a damsel he will bring, the fairest of
all I ever knew." When he had delivered his message, the Queen, who was
kind and sensible, said to him courteously: "Friend, since thou hast
thrown thyself upon my mercy, thy confinement shall be less harsh; for I
have no desire to seek thy harm. But tell me now, so help thee God, what
is thy name?" And he replies: "Lady, my name is Yder, son of Nut." And
they knew that he told the truth. Then the Queen arose, and going before
the King, said: "Sire, did you hear? You have done well to wait for
Erec, the valiant knight. I gave you good advice yesterday, when I
counselled you to await his return. This proves that it is wise to take
advice." The King replies: "That is no lie; rather is it perfectly true
that he who takes advice is no fool. Happily we followed your advice
yesterday. But if you care anything for me, release this knight from his
durance, provided he consent to join henceforth my household and court;
and if he does not consent, let him suffer the consequence." When the
King had thus spoken, the Queen straightway released the knight; but it
was on this condition, that he should remain in the future at the court.
He did not have to be urged before he gave his consent to stay. Now he
was of the court and household to which he had not before belonged. Then
valets were at hand to run and relieve him of his arms.

(Vv. 1244-1319.) Now we must revert to Erec, whom we left in the field
where the battle had taken place. Even Tristan, when he slew fierce
Morhot on Saint Samson's isle [113], awakened no such jubilee as they
celebrated here over Erec. Great and small, thin and stout--all make
much of him and praise his knighthood. There is not a knight but cries:
"Lord what a vassal! Under Heaven there is not his like!" They follow
him to his lodgings, praising him and talking much. Even the Count
himself embraces him, who above the rest was glad, and said: "Sire, if
you please, you ought by right to lodge in my house, since you are the
son of King Lac. If you would accept of my hospitality you would do me
a great honour, for I regard you as my liege. Fair sire, may it please
you, I beg you to lodge with me." Erec answers: "May it not displease
you, but I shall not desert my host to-night, who has done me much
honour in giving me his daughter. What say you, sir? Is it not a fair
and precious gift?" "Yes, sire," the Count replies; "the gift, in truth,
is fine and good. The maid herself is fair and clever, and besides is of
very noble birth. You must know that her mother is my sister. Surely, I
am glad at heart that you should deign to take my niece. Once more I beg
you to lodge with me this night." Erec replies: "Ask me no more. I will
not do it." Then the Count saw that further insistence was useless, and
said: "Sire, as it please you! We may as well say no more about it; but
I and my knights will all be with you to-night to cheer you and bear
you company." When Erec heard that, he thanked him, and returned to his
host's dwelling, with the Count attending him. Ladies and knights were
gathered there, and the vavasor was glad at heart. As soon as Erec
arrived, more than a score of squires ran quickly to remove his arms.
Any one who was present in that house could have witnessed a happy
scene. Erec went first and took his seat; then all the others in order
sit down upon the couches, the cushions, and benches. At Erec's side the
Count sat down, and the damsel with her radiant face, who was feeding
the much disputed hawk upon her wrist with a plover's wing. [114] Great
honour and joy and prestige had she gained that day, and she was very
glad at heart both for the bird and for her lord. She could not have
been happier, and showed it plainly, making no secret of her joy. All
could see how gay she was, and throughout the house there was great
rejoicing for the happiness of the maid they loved.

(Vv. 1320-1352.) Erec thus addressed the vavasor: "Fair host, fair
friend, fair sire! You have done me great honour, and richly shall it
be repaid you. To-morrow I shall take away your daughter with me to the
King's court, where I wish to take her as my wife; and if you will
tarry here a little, I shall send betimes to fetch you. I shall have you
escorted into the country which is my father's now, but which later will
be mine. It is far from here--by no means near. There I shall give you
two towns, very splendid, rich, and fine. You shall be lord of Roadan,
which was built in the time of Adam, and of another town close by, which
is no less valuable. The people call it Montrevel, and my father owns no
better town. [115] And before the third day has passed, I shall send you
plenty of gold and silver, of dappled and grey furs, and precious silken
stuffs wherewith to adorn yourself and your wife my dear lady. To-morrow
at dawn I wish to take your daughter to court, dressed and arrayed as
she is at present. I wish my lady, the Queen, to dress her in her best
dress of satin and scarlet cloth."

(Vv. 1353-1478.) There was a maiden near at hand, very honourable,
prudent, and virtuous. She was seated on a bench beside the maid with
the white shift, and was her own cousin the niece of my lord the Count.
When she heard how Erec intended to take her cousin in such very poor
array to the Queen's court, she spoke about it to the Count. "Sire,"
she says, "it would be a shame to you more than to any one else if this
knight should take your niece away with him in such sad array." And
the Count made answer: "Gentle niece, do you give her the best of your
dresses." But Erec heard the conversation, and said: "By no means, my
lord. For be assured that nothing in the world would tempt me to let
her have another robe until the Queen shall herself bestow it upon her."
When the damsel heard this, she replied: "Alas! fair sire, since you
insist upon leading off my cousin thus dressed in a white shift and
chemise, and since you are determined that she shall have none of
my dresses, a different gift I wish to make her. I have three good
palfreys, as good as any of king or count, one sorrel, one dappled, and
the other black with white forefeet. Upon my word, if you had a hundred
to pick from, you would not find a better one than the dappled mount.
The birds in the air do not fly more swiftly than the palfrey; and he is
not too lively, but just suits a lady. A child can ride him, for he
is neither skittish nor balky, nor does he bite nor kick nor become
unmanageable. Any one who is looking for something better does not know
what he wants. And his pace is so easy and gentle that a body is more
comfortable and easy on his back than in a boat." Then said Erec: "My
dear, I have no objection to her accepting this gift; indeed, I am
pleased with the offer, and do not wish her to refuse it." Then the
damsel calls one of her trusty servants, and says to him: "Go, friend,
saddle my dappled palfrey, and lead him here at once." And he carries
out her command: he puts on saddle and bridle and strives to make him
appear well. Then he jumps on the maned palfrey, which is now ready for
inspection. When Erec saw the animal, he did not spare his praise, for
he could see that he was very fine and gentle. So he bade a servant lead
him back and hitch him in the stable beside his own horse. Then they all
separated, after an evening agreeably spent. The Count goes off to his
own dwelling, and leaves Erec with the vavasor, saying that he will bear
him company in the morning when he leaves. All that night they slept
well. In the morning, when the dawn was bright, Erec prepares to start,
commanding his horses to be saddled. His fair sweetheart, too, awakes,
dresses, and makes ready. The vavasor and his wife rise too, and every
knight and lady there prepares to escort the damsel and the knight. Now
they are all on horseback, and the Count as well. Erec rides beside the
Count, having beside him his sweetheart ever mindful of her hawk. Having
no other riches, she plays with her hawk. Very merry were they as they
rode along; but when the time came to part, the Count wished to send
along with Erec a party of his knights to do him honour by escorting
him. But he announced that none should bide with him, and that he wanted
no company but that of the damsel. Then, when they had accompanied them
some distance, he said: "In God's name, farewell!" Then the Count kisses
Erec and his niece, and commends them both to merciful God. Her father
and mother, too, kiss them again and again, and could not keep back
their tears: at parting, the mother weeps, the father and the daughter
too. For such is love and human nature, and such is affection between
parents and children. They wept from sorrow, tenderness, and love which
they had for their child; yet they knew full well that their daughter
was to fill a place from which great honour would accrue to them. They
shed tears of love and pity when they separated from their daughter, but
they had no other cause to weep. They knew well enough that eventually
they would receive great honour from her marriage. So at parting many
a tear was shed, as weeping they commend one another to God, and thus
separate without more delay.

(Vv. 1479-1690.) Erec quit his host; for he was very anxious to reach
the royal court. In his adventure he took great satisfaction; for now he
had a lady passing fair, discreet, courteous, and debonair. He could not
look at her enough: for the more he looks at her, the more she pleases
him. He cannot help giving her a kiss. He is happy to ride by her side,
and it does him good to look at her. Long he gazes at her fair hair, her
laughing eyes, and her radiant forehead, her nose, her face, and mouth,
for all of which gladness fills his heart. He gazes upon her down to the
waist, at her chin and her snowy neck, her bosom and sides, her arms and
hands. But no less the damsel looks at the vassal with a clear eye and
loyal heart, as if they were in competition. They would not have ceased
to survey each other even for promise of a reward! A perfect match they
were in courtesy, beauty, and gentleness. And they were so alike in
quality, manner, and customs, that no one wishing to tell the truth
could choose the better of them, nor the fairer, nor the more discreet.
Their sentiments, too, were much alike; so that they were well suited
to each other. Thus each steals the other's heart away. Law or marriage
never brought together two such sweet creatures. And so they rode along
until just on the stroke of noon they approached the castle of Cardigan,
where they were both expected. Some of the first nobles of the court had
gone up to look from the upper windows and see if they could see them.
Queen Guinevere ran up, and even the King came with Kay and Perceval of
Wales, and with them my lord Gawain and Tor, the son of King Ares; Lucan
the cupbearer was there, too, and many another doughty knight. Finally,
they espied Erec coming along in company with his lady. They all knew
him well enough from as far as they could see him. The Queen is greatly
pleased, and indeed the whole court is glad of his coming, because they
all love him so. As soon as he was come before the entrance hall, the
King and Queen go down to meet him, all greeting him in God's name. They
welcome Erec and his maiden, commending and praising her great beauty.
And the King himself caught her and lifted her down from her palfrey.
The King was decked in fine array and was then in cheery mood. He did
signal honour to the damsel by taking her hand and leading her up into
the great stone hall. After them Erec and the Queen also went up hand
in hand, and he said to her: "I bring you, lady, my damsel and my
sweetheart dressed in poor garb. As she was given to me, so have I
brought her to you. She is the daughter of a poor vavasor. Through
poverty many an honourable man is brought low: her father, for instance,
is gentle and courteous, but he has little means. And her mother is a
very gentle lady, the sister of a rich Count. She has no lack of beauty
or of lineage, that I should not marry her. It is poverty that has
compelled her to wear this white linen garment until both sleeves are
torn at the side. And yet, had it been my desire, she might have had
dresses rich enough. For another damsel, a cousin of hers, wished to
give her a robe of ermine and of spotted or grey silk. But I would
not have her dressed in any other robe until you should have seen her.
Gentle lady, consider the matter now and see what need she has of a
fine becoming gown." And the Queen at once replies: "You have done quite
right; it is fitting that she should have one of my gowns, and I will
give her straightway a rich, fair gown, both fresh and new." The Queen
then hastily took her off to her own private room, and gave orders
to bring quickly the fresh tunic and the greenish-purple mantle,
embroidered with little crosses, which had been made for herself. The
one who went at her behest came bringing to her the mantle and the
tunic, which was lined with white ermine even to the sleeves. At the
wrists and on the neck-band there was in truth more than half a mark's
weight of beaten gold, and everywhere set in the gold there were
precious stones of divers colours, indigo and green, blue and dark
brown. This tunic was very rich, but not a writ less precious, I trow,
was the mantle. As yet, there were no ribbons on it; for the mantle like
the tunic was brand new. The mantle was very rich and fine: laid about
the neck were two sable skins, and in the tassels there was more than an
ounce of gold; on one a hyacinth, and on the other a ruby flashed more
bright than burning candle. The fur lining was of white ermine; never
was finer seen or found. The cloth was skilfully embroidered with little
crosses, all different, indigo, vermilion, dark blue, white, green,
blue, and yellow. The Queen called for some ribbons four ells long, made
of silken thread and gold. The ribbons are given to her, handsome and
well matched. Quickly she had them fastened to the mantle by some one
who knew how to do it, and who was master of the art. When the mantle
needed no more touches, the gay and gentle lady clasped the maid with
the white gown and said to her cheerily: "Mademoiselle, you must change
this frock for this tunic which is worth more than a hundred marks of
silver. So much I wish to bestow upon you. And put on this mantle, too.
Another time I will give you more." Not able to refuse the gift, she
takes the robe and thanks her for it. Then two maids took her aside into
a room, where she took off her frock as being of no further value; but
she asked and requested that it be given away (to some poor woman) for
the love of God. Then she dons the tunic, and girds herself, binding on
tightly a golden belt, and afterwards puts on the mantle. Now she looked
by no means ill; for the dress became her so well that it made her look
more beautiful than ever. The two maids wove a gold thread in amongst
her golden hair: but her tresses were more radiant than the thread of
gold, fine though it was. The maids, moreover, wove a fillet of flowers
of many various colours and placed it upon her head. They strove as best
they might to adorn her in such wise that no fault should be found with
her attire. Strung upon a ribbon around her neck, a damsel hung two
brooches of enamelled gold. Now she looked so charming and fair that I
do not believe that you could find her equal in any land, search as you
might, so skilfully had Nature wrought in her. Then she stepped out of
the dressing-room into the Queen's presence. The Queen made much of her,
because she liked her and was glad that she was beautiful and had such
gentle manners. They took each other by the hand and passed into the
King's presence. And when the King saw them, he got up to meet them.
When they came into the great hall, there were so many knights there who
rose before them that I cannot call by name the tenth part of them, or
the thirteenth, or the fifteenth. But I can tell you the names of some
of the best of the knights who belonged to the Round Table and who were
the best in the world.

(Vv. 1691-1750.) Before all the excellent knights, Gawain ought to be
named the first, and second Erec the son of Lac, and third Lancelot of
the Lake. [116] Gornemant of Gohort was fourth, and the fifth was the
Handsome Coward. The sixth was the Ugly Brave, the seventh Meliant of
Liz, the eighth Mauduit the Wise, and the ninth Dodinel the Wild. Let
Gandelu be named the tenth, for he was a goodly man. The others I shall
mention without order, because the numbers bother me. Eslit was there
with Briien, and Yvain the son of Uriien. And Yvain of Loenel was there,
as well as Yvain the Adulterer. Beside Yvain of Cavaliot was Garravain
of Estrangot. After the Knight with the Horn was the Youth with the
Golden Ring. And Tristan who never laughed sat beside Bliobleheris, and
beside Brun of Piciez was his brother Gru the Sullen. The Armourer sat
next, who preferred war to peace. Next sat Karadues the Shortarmed,
a knight of good cheer; and Caveron of Robendic, and the son of King
Quenedic and the Youth of Quintareus and Yder of the Dolorous Mount.
Gaheriet and Kay of Estraus, Amauguin and Gales the Bald, Grain,
Gornevain, and Carabes, and Tor the son of King Aras, Girflet the son
of Do, and Taulas, who never wearied of arms: and a young man of great
merit, Loholt the son of King Arthur, [117] and Sagremor the Impetuous,
who should not be forgotten, nor Bedoiier the Master of the Horse,
who was skilled at chess and trictrac, nor Bravain, nor King Lot, nor
Galegantin of Wales, nor Gronosis, versed in evil, who was son of Kay
the Seneschal, nor Labigodes the Courteous, nor Count Cadorcaniois, nor
Letron of Prepelesant, whose manners were so excellent, nor Breon the
son of Canodan, nor the Count of Honolan who had such a head of fine
fair hair; he it was who received the King's horn in an evil day; [118]
he never had any care for truth.

(Vv. 1751-1844.) When the stranger maiden saw all the knights arrayed
looking steadfastly at her, she bowed her head in embarrassment; nor was
it strange that her face blushed all crimson. But her confusion was so
becoming to her that she looked all the more lovely. When the King saw
that she was embarrassed, he did not wish to leave her side. Taking her
gently by the hand, he made her sit down on his right hand; and on his
left sat the Queen, speaking thus to the King the while. "Sire, in my
opinion he who can win such a fair lady by his arms in another land
ought by right to come to a royal court. It was well we waited for Erec;
for now you can bestow the kiss upon the fairest of the court. I should
think none would find fault with you! for none can say, unless he lie,
that this maiden is not the most charming of all the damsels here, or
indeed in all the world." The King makes answer: "That is no lie; and
upon her, if there is no remonstrance, I shall bestow the honour of the
White Stag." Then he added to the knights: "My lords, what say you? What
is your opinion? In body, in face, and in whatever a maid should have,
this one is the most charming and beautiful to be found, as I may say,
before you come to where Heaven and earth meet. I say it is meet that
she should receive the honour of the Stag. And you, my lords, what do
you think about it? Can you make any objection? If any one wishes to
protest, let him straightway speak his mind. I am King, and must keep
my word and must not permit any baseness, falsity, or arrogance. I must
maintain truth and righteousness. It is the business of a loyal king
to support the law, truth, faith, and justice. I would not in any wise
commit a disloyal deed or wrong to either weak or strong. It is not meet
that any one should complain of me; nor do I wish the custom and the
practice to lapse, which my family has been wont to foster. You, too,
would doubtless regret to see me strive to introduce other customs
and other laws than those my royal sire observed. Regardless of
consequences, I am bound to keep and maintain the institution of my
father Pendragon, who was a just king and emperor. Now tell me fully
what you think! Let none be slow to speak his mind, if this damsel is
not the fairest of my household and ought not by right to receive the
kiss of the White Stag: I wish to know what you truly think." Then they
all cry with one accord: "Sire, by the Lord and his Cross! you may well
kiss her with good reason, for she is the fairest one there is. In this
damsel there is more beauty than there is of radiance in the sun. You
may kiss her freely, for we all agree in sanctioning it." When the King
hears that this is well pleasing to them all, he will no longer delay in
bestowing the kiss, but turns toward her and embraces her. The maid was
sensible, and perfectly willing that the King should kiss her; she would
have been discourteous, indeed, to resent it. In courteous fashion and
in the presence of all his knights the King kissed her, and said: "My
dear. I give you my love in all honesty. I will love you with true
heart, without malice and without guile." By this adventure the King
carried out the practice and the usage to which the White Stag was
entitled at his court.

Here ends the first part of my story. [119]

(Vv. 1845-1914.) When the kiss of the Stag was taken according to the
custom of the country, Erec, like a polite and kind man, was solicitous
for his poor host. It was not his intention to fail to execute what he
had promised. Hear how he kept his covenant: for he sent him now five
sumpter mules, strong and sleek, loaded with dresses and clothes,
buckrams and scarlets, marks of gold and silver plate, furs both vair
and grey, skins of sable, purple stuffs, and silks. When the mules were
loaded with all that a gentleman can need, he sent with them an escort
of ten knights and sergeants chosen from his own men, and straightly
charged them to salute his host and show great honour both to him and to
his lady, as if it were to himself in person; and when they should have
presented to them the sumpters which they brought them, the gold, the
silver, and money, and all the other furnishings which were in the
boxes, they should escort the lady and the vavasor with great honour
into his kingdom of Farther Wales. [120] Two towns there he had promised
them, the most choice and the best situated that there were in all his
land, with nothing to fear from attack. Montrevel was the name of one,
and the other's name was Roadan. When they should arrive in his kingdom,
they should make over to them these two towns, together with their rents
and their jurisdiction, in accordance with what he had promised them.
All was carried out as Erec had ordered. The messengers made no delay,
and in good time they presented to his host the gold and the silver
and the sumpters and the robes and the money, of which there was great
plenty. They escorted them into Erec's kingdom, and strove to serve them
well. They came into the country on the third day, and transferred to
them the towers of the towns; for King Lac made no objection. He gave
them a warm welcome and showed them honour, loving them for the sake
of his son Erec. He made over to them the title to the towns, and
established their suzerainty by making knights and bourgeois swear that
they would reverence them as their true liege lords. When this was
done and accomplished, the messengers returned to their lord Erec, who
received them gladly. When he asked for news of the vavasor and his
lady, of his own father and of his kingdom, the report they gave him was
good and fair.

(Vv. 1915-2024.) Not long after this, the time drew near when Erec was
to celebrate his marriage. The delay was irksome to him, and he resolved
no longer to suffer and wait. So he went and asked of the King that
it might please him to allow him to be married at the court. The King
vouchsafed him the boon, and sent through all his kingdom to search for
the kings and counts who were his liege-men, bidding them that none be
so bold as not to be present at Pentecost. None dares to hold back and
not go to court at the King's summons. Now I will tell you, and listen
well, who were these counts and kings. With a rich escort and one
hundred extra mounts Count Brandes of Gloucester came. After him came
Menagormon, who was Count of Clivelon. And he of the Haute Montagne came
with a very rich following. The Count of Treverain came, too, with a
hundred of his knights, and Count Godegrain with as many more. Along
with those whom I have just mentioned came Maheloas, a great baron, lord
of the Isle of Voirre. In this island no thunder is heard, no lightning
strikes, nor tempests rage, nor do toads or serpents exist there, nor is
it ever too hot or too cold. [121] Graislemier of Fine Posterne brought
twenty companions, and had with him his brother Guigomar, lord of the
Isle of Avalon. Of the latter we have heard it said that he was a friend
of Morgan the Fay, and such he was in very truth. Davit of Tintagel
came, who never suffered woe or grief. Guergesin, the Duke of Haut Bois,
came with a very rich equipment. There was no lack of counts and dukes,
but of kings there were still more. Garras of Cork, a doughty king, was
there with five hundred knights clad in mantles, hose, and tunics of
brocade and silk. Upon a Cappadocian steed came Aguisel, the Scottish
king, and brought with him his two sons, Cadret and Coi--two much
respected knights. Along with those whom I have named came King Ban of
Gomeret, and he had in his company only young men, beardless as yet on
chin and lip. A numerous and gay band he brought two hundred of them
in his suite; and there was none, whoever he be, but had a falcon or
tercel, a merlin or a sparrow-hawk, or some precious pigeon-hawk, golden
or mewed. Kerrin, the old King of Riel, brought no youth, but rather
three hundred companions of whom the youngest was seven score years old.
Because of their great age, their heads were all as white as snow, and
their beards reached down to their girdles. Arthur held them in great
respect. The lord of the dwarfs came next, Bilis, the king of Antipodes.
This king of whom I speak was a dwarf himself and own brother of Brien.
Bilis, on the one hand, was the smallest of all the dwarfs, while his
brother Brien was a half-foot or full palm taller than any other knight
in the kingdom. To display his wealth and power, Bilis brought with him
two kings who were also dwarfs and who were vassals of his, Grigoras and
Glecidalan. Every one looked at them as marvels. When they had arrived
at court, they were treated with great esteem. All three were honoured
and served at the court like kings, for they were very perfect
gentlemen. In brief, when King Arthur saw all his lords assembled, his
heart was glad. Then, to heighten the joy, he ordered a hundred squires
to be bathed whom he wished to dub knights. There was none of them
but had a parti-coloured robe of rich brocade of Alexandria, each one
choosing such as pleased his fancy. All had arms of a uniform pattern,
and horses swift and full of mettle, of which the worst was worth a
hundred livres.

(Vv. 2025-2068.) When Erec received his wife, he must needs call her by
her right name. For a wife is not espoused unless she is called by her
proper name. As yet no one knew her name, but now for the first time it
was made known: Enide was her baptismal name. [122] The Archbishop of
Canterbury, who had come to the court, blessed them, as is his right.
When the court was all assembled, there was not a minstrel in the
countryside who possessed any pleasing accomplishment that did not come
to the court. In the great hall there was much merry-making, each one
contributing what he could to the entertainment: one jumps, another
tumbles, another does magic; there is story-telling, singing, whistling,
playing from notes; they play on the harp, the rote, the fiddle, the
violin, the flute, and pipe. The maidens sing and dance, and outdo each
other in the merry-making. At the wedding that day everything was
done which can give joy and incline man's heart to gladness. Drums are
beaten, large and small, and there is playing of pipes, fifes, horns,
trumpets, and bagpipes. What more shall I say? There was not a wicket or
a gate kept closed; but the exits and entrances all stood ajar, so that
no one, poor or rich, was turned away. King Arthur was not miserly, but
gave orders to the bakers, the cooks, and the butlers that they should
serve every one generously with bread, wine, and venison. No one asked
anything whatever to be passed to him without getting all he desired.

(Vv. 2069-2134.) There was great merriment in the palace. But I will
pass over the rest, and you shall hear of the joy and pleasure in the
bridal chamber. Bishops and archbishops were there on the night when
the bride and groom retired. At this their first meeting, Iseut was not
filched away, nor was Brangien put in her place. [123] The Queen herself
took charge of their preparations for the night; for both of them were
dear to her. The hunted stag which pants for thirst does not so long for
the spring, nor does the hungry sparrow-hawk return so quickly when he
is called, as did these two come to hold each other in close embrace.
That night they had full compensation for their long delay. After the
chamber had been cleared, they allow each sense to be gratified: the
eyes, which are the entrance-way of love, and which carry messages to
the heart, take satisfaction in the glance, for they rejoice in all they
see; after the message of the eyes comes the far surpassing sweetness of
the kisses inviting love; both of them make trial of this sweetness, and
let their hearts quaff so freely that hardly can they leave off. Thus,
kissing was their first sport. And the love which is between them
emboldened the maid and left her quite without her fears; regardless of
pain, she suffered all. Before she rose, she no longer bore the name
of maid; in the morning she was a new-made dame. That day the minstrels
were in happy mood, for they were all well paid. They were fully
compensated for the entertainment they had given, and many a handsome
gift was bestowed upon them: robes of grey squirrel skin and ermine, of
rabbit skins and violet stuffs, scarlets and silken stuffs. Whether
it be a horse or money, each one got what he deserved according to his
skill. And thus the wedding festivities and the court lasted almost
a fortnight with great joy and magnificence. For his own glory and
satisfaction, as well as to honour Erec the more, King Arthur made all
the knights remain a full fortnight. When the third week began, all
together by common consent agreed to hold a tournament. On the one
side, my lord Gawain offered himself as surety that it would take place
between Evroic and Tenebroc: and Meliz and Meliadoc were guarantors on
the other side. Then the court separated.

(Vv. 2135-2292.) A month after Pentecost the tournament assembled, and
the jousting began in the plain below Tenebroc. Many an ensign of red,
blue, and white, many a veil and many a sleeve were bestowed as tokens
of love. Many a lance was carried there, flying the colours argent and
green, or gold and azure blue. There were many, too, with different
devices, some with stripes and some with dots. That day one saw laced on
many a helmet of gold or steel, some green, some yellow, and others red,
all aglowing in the sun; so many scutcheons and white hauberks; so many
swords girt on the left side; so many good shields, fresh and new, some
resplendent in silver and green, others of azure with buckles of gold;
so many good steeds marked with white, or sorrel, tawny, white, black,
and bay: all gather hastily. And now the field is quite covered with
arms. On either side the ranks tremble, and a roar rises from the fight.
The shock of the lances is very great. Lances break and shields are
riddled, the hauberks receive bumps and are torn asunder, saddles go
empty and horsemen ramble, while the horses sweat and foam. Swords are
quickly drawn on those who tumble noisily, and some run to receive the
promise of a ransom, others to stave off this disgrace. Erec rode a
white horse, and came forth alone at the head of the line to joust, if
he may find an opponent. From the opposite side there rides out to meet
him Orguelleus de la Lande, mounted on an Irish steed which bears
him along with marvellous speed. On the shield before his breast Erec
strikes him with such force that he knocks him from his horse: he leaves
him prone and passes on. Then Raindurant opposed him, son of the old
dame of Tergalo, covered with blue cloth of silk; he was a knight of
great prowess. Against one another now they charge and deal fierce blows
on the shields about their neck. Erec from lance's length lays him over
on the hard ground. While riding back he met the King of the Red City,
who was very valiant and bold. They grasp their reins by the knots and
their shields by the inner straps. They both had fine arms, and strong
swift horses, and good shields, fresh and new. With such fury they
strike each other that both their lances fly in splinters. Never was
there seen such a blow. They rush together with shields, arms, and
horses. But neither girth nor rein nor breast-strap could prevent the
king from coming to earth. So he flew from his steed, carrying with him
saddle and stirrup, and even the reins of his bridle in his hand. All
those who witnessed the jousting were filled with amazement, and said it
cost him dear to joust with such a goodly knight. Erec did not wish
to stop to capture either horse or rider, but rather to joust and
distinguish himself in order that his prowess might appear. He thrills
the ranks in front of him. Gawain animates those who were on his side
by his prowess, and by winning horses and knights to the discomfiture
of his opponents. I speak of my lord Gawain, who did right well and
valiantly. In the fight he unhorsed Guincel, and took Gaudin of the
Mountain; he captured knights and horses alike: my lord Gawain did well.
Girtlet the son of Do, and Yvain, and Sagremor the Impetuous, so evilly
entreated their adversaries that they drove them back to the gates,
capturing and unhorsing many of them. In front of the gate of the town
the strife began again between those within and those without. There
Sagremor was thrown down, who was a very gallant knight. He was on the
point of being detained and captured, when Erec spurs to rescue him,
breaking his lance into splinters upon one of the opponents. So hard he
strikes him on the breast that he made him quit the saddle. Then he
made of his sword and advances upon them, crushing and splitting their
helmets. Some flee, and others make way before him, for even the boldest
fears him. Finally, he distributed so many blows and thrusts that he
rescued Sagremor from them, and drove them all in confusion into the
town. Meanwhile, the vesper hour drew to a close. Erec bore himself so
well that day that he was the best of the combatants. But on the morrow
he did much better yet: for he took so many knights and left so many
saddles empty that none could believe it except those who had seen it.
Every one on both sides said that with his lance and shield he had won
the honours of the tournament. Now was Erec's renown so high that no one
spoke save of him, nor was any one of such goodly favour. In countenance
he resembled Absalom, in language he seemed a Solomon, in boldness he
equalled Samson, [124] and in generous giving and spending he was the
equal of Alexander. On his return from the tourney Erec went to speak
with the King. He went to ask him for leave to go and visit his own
land; but first he thanked him like a frank, wise, and courteous man for
the honour which he had done him; for very deep was his gratitude.
Then he asked his permission to leave, for he wished to visit his own
country, and he wished to take his wife with him. This request the King
could not deny, and yet he would have had him stay. He gives him leave
and begs him to return as soon as possible: for in the whole court there
was no better or more gallant knight, save only his dear nephew Gawain;
[125] with him no one could be compared. But next after him, he prized
Erec most, and held him more dear than any other knight.

(Vv. 2293-2764.) Erec wished to delay no longer. As soon as he had the
King's leave, he bid his wife make her preparations, and he retained as
his escort sixty knights of merit with horses and with dappled and grey
furs. As soon as he was ready for his journey, he tarried little further
at court, but took leave of the Queen and commended the knights to God.
The Queen grants him leave to depart. At the hour of prime he set out
from the royal palace. In the presence of them all he mounted his steed,
and his wife mounted the dappled horse which she had brought from her
own country; then all his escort mounted. Counting knights and squires,
there were full seven score in the train. After four long days' journey
over hills and slopes, through forests, plains, and streams, they
came on the fifth day to Camant, where King Lac was residing in a very
charming town. No one ever saw one better situated; for the town was
provided with forests and meadow-land, with vineyards and farms, with
streams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths,
and polite, well-mannered clerks who spent their incomes freely, with
fair and charming maidens, and with prosperous burghers. Before Erec
reached the town, he sent two knights ahead to announce his arrival
to the King. When he heard the news, the King had clerks, knights, and
damsels quickly mount, and ordered the bells to be rung, and the streets
to be hung with tapestries and silken stuffs, that his son might be
received with joy; then he himself got on his horse. Of clerks there
were present fourscore, gentle and honourable men, clad in grey cloaks
bordered with sable. Of knights there were full five hundred, mounted
on bay, sorrel, or white-spotted steeds. There were so many burghers and
dames that no one could tell the number of them. The King and his son
galloped and rode on till they saw and recognised each other. They both
jump down from their horses and embrace and greet each other for a long
time, without stirring from the place where they first met. Each party
wished the other joy: the King makes much of Erec, but all at once
breaks off to turn to Enide. On all sides he is in clover: he embraces
and kisses them both, and knows not which of the two pleases him the
more. As they gaily enter the castle, the bells all ring their peals to
honour Erec's arrival. The streets are all strewn with reeds, mint, and
iris, and are hung overhead with curtains and tapestries of fancy silk
and satin stuffs. There was great rejoicing; for all the people came
together to see their new lord, and no one ever saw greater happiness
than was shown alike by young and old. First they came to the church,
where very devoutly they were received in a procession. Erec kneeled
before the altar of the Crucifix, and two knights led his wife to the
image of Our Lady. When she had finished her prayer, she stepped back
a little and crossed herself with her right hand, as a well-bred dame
should do. Then they came out from the church and entered the royal
palace, when the festivity began. That day Erec received many presents
from the knights and burghers: from one a palfrey of northern stock, and
from another a golden cup. One presents him with a golden pigeon-hawk,
another with a setter-dog, this one a greyhound, this other a
sparrowhawk, and another a swift Arab steed, this one a shield, this one
an ensign, this one a sword, and this a helmet. Never was a king more
gladly seen in his kingdom, nor received with greater joy, as all strove
to serve him well. Yet greater joy they made of Enide than of him, for
the great beauty which they saw in her, and still more for her open
charm. She was seated in a chamber upon a cushion of brocade which had
been brought from Thessaly. Round about her was many a fair lady; yet as
the lustrous gem outshines the brown flint, and as the rose excels the
poppy, so was Enide fairer than any other lady or damsel to be found in
the world, wherever one might search. She was so gentle and honourable,
of wise speech and affable, of pleasing character and kindly mien. No
one could ever be so watchful as to detect in her any folly, or sign of
evil or villainy. She had been so schooled in good manners that she had
learned all virtues which any lady can possess, as well as generosity
and knowledge. All loved her for her open heart, and whoever could do
her any service was glad and esteemed himself the more. No one spoke any
ill of her, for no one could do so. In the realm or empire there was no
lady of such good manners. But Erec loved her with such a tender love
that he cared no more for arms, nor did he go to tournaments, nor have
any desire to joust; but he spent his time in cherishing his wife. He
made of her his mistress and his sweetheart. He devoted all his heart
and mind to fondling and kissing her, and sought no delight in other
pastime. His friends grieved over this, and often regretted among
themselves that he was so deep in love. Often it was past noon before
he left her side; for there he was happy, say what they might. He rarely
left her society, and yet he was as open-handed as ever to his knights
with arms, dress, and money. There was not a tournament anywhere to
which he did not send them well apparelled and equipped. Whatever the
cost might be, he gave them fresh steeds for the tourney and joust. All
the knights said it was a great pity and misfortune that such a valiant
man as he was wont to be should no longer wish to bear arms. He was
blamed so much on all sides by the knights and squires that murmurs
reached Enide's ears how that her lord had turned craven about arms
and deeds of chivalry, and that his manner of life was greatly changed.
[126] She grieved sorely over this, but she did not dare to show her
grief; for her lord at once would take affront, if she should speak to
him. So the matter remained a secret, until one morning they lay in bed
where they had had sport together. There they lay in close embrace, like
the true lovers they were. He was asleep, but she was awake, thinking
of what many a man in the country was saying of her lord. And when she
began to think it all over, she could not keep back the tears. Such
was her grief and her chagrin that by mischance she let fall a word for
which she later felt remorse, though in her heart there was no guile.
She began to survey her lord from head to foot, his well-shaped body and
his clear countenance, until her tears fell fast upon the bosom of her
lord, and she said: "Alas, woe is me that I ever left my country! What
did I come here to seek? The earth ought by right to swallow me up when
the best knight, the most hardy, brave, fair, and courteous that ever
was a count or king, has completely abjured all his deeds of chivalry
because of me. And thus, in truth, it is I who have brought shame upon
his head, though I would fain not have done so at any price." Then she
said to him: "Unhappy thou!" And then kept silence and spoke no more.
Erec was not sound asleep and, though dozing, heard plainly what she
said. He aroused at her words, and much surprised to see her weeping, he
asked her: "Tell me, my precious beauty, why do you weep thus? What has
caused you woe or sorrow? Surely it is my wish to know. Tell me now,
my gentle sweetheart; and raise care to keep nothing back, why you said
that woe was me? For you said it of me and of no one else. I heard your
words plainly enough." Then was Enide in a great plight, afraid and
dismayed. "Sire," says she, "I know nothing of what you say." "Lady, why
do you conceal it? Concealment is of no avail. You hare been crying; I
can see that, and you do not cry for nothing. And in my sleep I heard
what you said." "Ah! fair sire, you never heard it, and I dare say it
was a dream." "Now you are coming to me with lies. I hear you calmly
lying to me. But if you do not tell me the truth now, you will come to
repent of it later." "Sire, since you torment me thus, I will tell you
the whole truth, and keep nothing back. But I am afraid that you will
not like it. In this land they all say--the dark, the fair, and the
ruddy--that it is a great pity that you should renounce your arms; your
reputation has suffered from it. Every one used to say not long ago that
in all the world there was known no better or more gallant knight.
Now they all go about making game of you--old and young, little and
great--calling you a recreant. Do you suppose it does not give me pain
to hear you thus spoken of with scorn? It grieves me when I hear it
said, and yet it grieves me more that they put the blame for it on me.
Yes, I am blamed for it, I regret to say, and they all assert it is
because I have so ensnared and caught you that you are losing all your
merit, and do not care for aught but me. You must choose another course,
so that you may silence this reproach and regain your former fame; for I
have heard too much of this reproach, and yet I did not dare to disclose
it to you. Many a time, when I think of it, I have to weep for very
grief. Such chagrin I felt just now that I could not keep myself from
saying that you were ill-starred." "Lady," said he, "you were in the
right, and those who blame me do so with reason. And now at once prepare
yourself to take the road. Rise up from here, and dress yourself in your
richest robe, and order your saddle to be put on your best palfrey." Now
Enide is in great distress: very sad and pensive, she gets up, blaming
and upbraiding herself for the foolish words she spoke: she had now
made her bed, and must lie in it. "Ah!" said she, "poor fool! I was too
happy, for there lacked me nothing. God! why was I so forward as to dare
to utter such folly? God! did not my lord love me to excess? In faith,
alas, he was too fond of me. And now I must go away into exile. But I
have yet a greater grief, that I shall no longer see my lord, who loved
me with such tenderness that there was nothing he held so dear. The best
man that was ever born had become so wrapped up in me that he cared for
nothing else. I lacked for nothing then. I was very happy. But pride
it is that stirred me up: because of my pride, I must suffer woe for
telling him such insulting words, and it is right that I should suffer
woe. One does not know what good fortune is until he has made trial of
evil." Thus the lady bemoaned her fate, while she dressed herself fitly
in her richest robe. Yet nothing gave her any pleasure, but rather cause
for deep chagrin. Then she had a maid call one of her squires, and bids
him saddle her precious palfrey of northern stock, than which no count
or king ever had a better. As soon as she had given him the command, the
fellow asked for no delay, but straightway went and saddled the dappled
palfrey. And Erec summoned another squire and bade him bring his arms to
arm his body withal. Then he went up into a bower, and had a Limoges rug
laid out before him on the floor. Meanwhile, the squire ran to fetch the
arms and came back and laid them on the rug. Erec took a seat opposite,
on the figure of a leopard which was portrayed on the rug. He prepares
and gets ready to put on his arms: first, he had laced on a pair of
greaves of polished steel; next, he dons a hauberk, which was so fine
that not a mesh could be cut away from it. This hauberk of his was rich,
indeed, for neither inside nor outside of it was there enough iron to
make a needle, nor could it gather any rust; for it was all made of
worked silver in tiny meshes triple-wove; and it was made with such
skill that I can assure you that no one who had put it on would have
been more uncomfortable or sore because of it, than if he had put on a
silk jacket over his undershirt. The knights and squires all began to
wonder why he was being armed; but no one dared to ask him why. When
they had put on his hauberk, a valet laces about his head a helmet
fluted with a band of gold, shining brighter than a mirror. Then he
takes the sword and girds it on, and orders them to bring him saddled
his bay steed of Gascony. Then he calls a valet to him, and says:
"Valet, go quickly, run to the chamber beside the tower where my wife
is, and tell her that she is keeping me waiting here too long. She has
spent too much time on her attire. Tell her to come and mount at once,
for I am awaiting her." And the fellow goes and finds her all ready,
weeping and making moan: and he straightway addressed her thus: "Lady,
why do you so delay? My lord is awaiting you outside yonder, already
fully armed. He would have mounted some time ago, had you been ready."
Enide wondered greatly what her lord's intention was; but she very
wisely showed herself with as cheerful a countenance as possible, when
she appeared before him. In the middle of the courtyard she found him,
and King Lac comes running out. Knights come running, too, striving with
each other to reach there first. There is neither young nor old but goes
to learn and ask if he will take any of them with him. So each offers
and presents himself. But he states definitely and affirms that he will
take no companion except his wife, asserting that he will go alone.
Then the King is in great distress. "Fair son," says he, "what dost thou
intend to do? Thou shouldst tell me thy business and keep nothing back.
Tell me whither thou will go; for thou art unwilling on any account
to be accompanied by an escort of squires or knights. If thou hast
undertaken to fight some knight in single combat, yet shouldst thou not
for that reason fail to take a part of thy knights with thee to betoken
thy wealth and lordship. A king's son ought not to fare alone. Fair son,
have thy sumpters loaded now, and take thirty or forty or more of thy
knights, and see that silver and gold is taken, and whatever a gentleman
needs." Finally Erec makes reply and tells him all in detail how he has
planned his journey. "Sire," says he, "it must be so. I shall take no
extra horse, nor have I any use for gold or silver, squire or sergeant;
nor do I ask for any company save that of my wife alone. But I pray you,
whatever may happen, should I die and she come back, to love her and
hold her dear for love of me and for my prayer, and give her so long as
she live, without contention or any strife, the half of your land to be
her own." Upon hearing his son's request, the King said: "Fair son, I
promise it. But I grieve much to see thee thus go off without escort,
and if I had my way, thou shouldst not thus depart." "Sire, it cannot
be otherwise. I go now, and to God commend you. But keep in mind my
companions, and give them horses and arms and all that knight may need."
The King cannot keep back the tears when he is parted from his son. The
people round about weep too; the ladies and knights shed tears and make
great moan for him. There is not one who does not mourn, and many a one
in the courtyard swoons. Weeping, they kiss and embrace him, and are
almost beside themselves with grief. I think they would not have been
more sad if they had seen him dead or wounded. Then Erec said to comfort
them: "My lords, why do you weep so sore? I am neither in prison nor
wounded. You gain nothing by this display of grief. If I go away, I
shall come again when it please God and when I can. To God I commend you
one and all; so now let me go; too long you keep me here. I am sorry and
grieved to see you weep." To God he commends them and they him.

(Vv. 2765-2924.) So they departed, leaving sorrow behind them. Erec
starts, and leads his wife he knows not whither, as chance dictates.
"Ride fast," he says, "and take good care not to be so rash as to speak
to me of anything you may see. Take care never to speak to me, unless I
address you first. Ride on now fast and with confidence." "Sire," says
she, "it shall be done." She rode ahead and held her peace. Neither one
nor the other spoke a word. But Enide's heart is very sad, and within
herself she thus laments, soft and low that he may not hear: "Alas," she
says, "God had raised and exalted me to such great joy; but now He
has suddenly cast me down. Fortune who had beckoned me has quickly now
withdrawn her hand. I should not mind that so much, alas, if only I
dared to address my lord. But I am mortified and distressed because my
lord has turned against me, I see it clearly, since he will not speak
to me. And I am not so bold as to dare to look at him." While she thus
laments, a knight who lived by robbery issued forth from the woods. He
had two companions with him, and all three were armed. They covet the
palfrey which Enide rides. "My lords, do you know the news I bring?"
says he to his two companions. "If we do not now make a haul, we are
good-for-nothing cowards and are playing in bad luck. Here comes a lady
wondrous fair, whether married or not I do not know, but she is very
richly dressed. The palfrey and saddle, with the breast-strap and reins,
are worth a thousand livres of Chartres. I will take the palfrey for
mine, and the rest of the booty you may have. I don't want any more for
my share. The knight shall not lead away the lady, so help me God. For I
intend to give him such a thrust as he will dearly pay. I it was who saw
him first, and so it is my right to go the first and offer battle."
They give him leave and he rides off, crouching well beneath his shield,
while the other two remain aloof. In those days it was the custom and
practice that in an attack two knights should not join against one;
thus if they too had assailed him, it would seem that they had acted
treacherously. Enide saw the robbers, and was seized with great fear.
"God," says she, "what can I say? Now my lord will be either killed
or made a prisoner; for there are three of them and he is alone. The
contest is not fair between one knight and three. That fellow will
strike him now at a disadvantage; for my lord is off his guard. God,
shall I be then such a craven as not to dare to raise my voice? Such a
coward I will not be: I will not fail to speak to him." On the spot
she turns about and calls to him: "Fair sire, of what are you thinking?
There come riding after you three knights who press you hard. I greatly
fear they will do you harm." "What?" says Erec, "what's that you say?
You have surely been very bold to disdain my command and prohibition.
This time you shall be pardoned; but if it should happen another time,
you would not be forgiven." Then turning his shield and lance, he rushes
at the knight. The latter sees him coming and challenges him. When Erec
hears him, he defies him. Both give spur and clash together, holding
their lances at full extent. But he missed Erec, while Erec used him
hard; for he knew well the right attack. He strikes him on the shield
so fiercely that he cracks it from top to bottom. Nor is his hauberk any
protection: Erec pierces and crushes it in the middle of his breast, and
thrusts a foot and a half of his lance into his body. When he drew back,
he pulled out the shaft. And the other fell to earth. He must needs die,
for the blade had drunk of his life's blood. Then one of the other two
rushes forward, leaving his companion behind, and spurs toward Erec,
threatening him. Erec firmly grasps his shield, and attacks him with
a stout heart. The other holds his shield before his breast. Then they
strike upon the emblazoned shields. The knight's lance flies into two
bits, while Erec drives a quarter of lance's length through the other's
breast. He will give him no more trouble. Erec unhorses him and leaves
him in a faint, while he spurs at an angle toward the third robber. When
the latter saw him coming on he began to make his escape. He was afraid,
and did not dare to face him; so he hastened to take refuge in the
woods. But his flight is of small avail, for Erec follows him close
and cries aloud: "Vassal, vassal, turn about now, and prepare to defend
yourself, so that I may not slay you in act of flight. It is useless
to try to escape." But the fellow has no desire to turn about, and
continues to flee with might and main. Following and overtaking him,
Erec hits him squarely on his painted shield, and throws him over on the
other side. To these three robbers he gives no further heed: one he has
killed, another wounded, and of the third he got rid by throwing him
to earth from his steed. He took the horses of all three and tied them
together by the bridles. In colour they were not alike: the first was
white as milk, the second black and not at all bad looking, while the
third was dappled all over. He came back to the road where Enide was
awaiting him. He bade her lead and drive the three horses in front of
her, warning her harshly never again to be so bold as to speak a single
word unless he give her leave. She makes answer: "I will never do so,
fair sire, if it be your will." Then they ride on, and she holds her
peace.

(Vv. 2925-3085.) They had not yet gone a league when before them in a
valley there came five other knights, with lances in rest, shields held
close in to the neck, and their shining helmets laced up tight; they,
too, were on plunder bent. All at once they saw the lady approach in
charge of the three horses, and Erec who followed after. As soon as they
saw them, they divided their equipment among themselves, just as if they
had already taken possession of it. Covetousness is a bad thing. But it
did not turn out as they expected; for vigorous defence was made. Much
that a fool plans is not executed, and many a man misses what he thinks
to obtain. So it befell them in this attack. One said that he would
take the maid or lose his life in the attempt; and another said that the
dappled steed shall be his, and that he will be satisfied with that. The
third said that he would take the black horse. "And the white one for
me," said the fourth. The fifth was not at all backward, and vowed that
he would have the horse and arms of the knight himself. He wished to win
them by himself, and would fain attack him first, if they would give him
leave: and they willingly gave consent. Then he leaves them and rides
ahead on a good and nimble steed. Erec saw him, but made pretence that
he did not yet notice him. When Enide saw them, her heart jumped with
fear and great dismay. "Alas!" said she, "I know not what to say or do;
for my lord severely threatens me, and says that he will punish me, if
I speak a word to him. But if my lord were dead now, there would be no
comfort for me. I should be killed and roughly treated. God! my lord
does not see them! Why, then, do I hesitate, crazed as I am? I am indeed
too chary of my words, when I have not already spoken to him. I know
well enough that those who are coming yonder are intent upon some wicked
deed. And God! how shall I speak to him? He will kill me. Well, let him
kill me! Yet I will not fail to speak to him." Then she softly calls
him: "Sire!" "What?" says he, "what do you want?" "Your pardon, sire. I
want to tell you that five knights have emerged from yonder thicket, of
whom I am in mortal fear. Having noticed them, I am of the opinion that
they intend to fight with you. Four of them have stayed behind, and the
other comes toward you as fast as his steed can carry him. I am afraid
every moment lest he will strike you. 'Tis true, the four have stayed
behind; but still they are not far away, and will quickly aid him,
if need arise." Erec replies: "You had an evil thought, when you
transgressed my command--a thing which I had forbidden you. And yet I
knew all the time that you did not hold me in esteem. Your service has
been ill employed; for it has not awakened my gratitude, but rather
kindled the more my ire. I have told you that once, and I say it again.
This once again I will pardon you; but another time restrain yourself,
and do not again turn around to watch me: for in doing so you would
be very foolish. I do not relish your words." Then he spurs across the
field toward his adversary, and they come together. Each seeks out and
assails the other. Erec strikes him with such force that his shield
flies from his neck, and thus he breaks his collar-bone. His stirrups
break, and he falls without the strength to rise again, for he was badly
bruised and wounded. One of the others then appeared, and they attack
each other fiercely. Without difficulty Erec thrusts the sharp and well
forged steel into his neck beneath the chin, severing thus the bones
and nerves. At the back of his neck the blade protrudes, and the hot red
blood flows down on both sides from the wound. He yields his spirit, and
his heart is still. The third sallies forth from his hiding-place on
the other side of a ford. Straight through the water, on he comes. Erec
spurs forward and meets him before he came out of the water, striking
him so hard that he beats down flat both rider and horse. The steed lay
upon the body long enough to drown him in the stream, and then struggled
until with difficulty he got upon his feet. Thus he conquered three of
them, when the other two thought it wise to quit the conflict and not to
strive with him. In flight they follow the stream, and Erec after them
in hot pursuit, until he strikes one upon the spine so hard that he
throws him forward upon the saddle-bow. He put all his strength into the
blow, and breaks his lance upon his body, so that the fellow fell head
foremost. Erec makes him pay dearly for the lance which he has broken
on him, and drew his sword from the scabbard. The fellow unwisely
straightened up; for Erec gave him three such strokes that he slaked his
sword's thirst in his blood. He severs the shoulder from his body, so
that it fell down on the ground. Then, with sword drawn, he attacked the
other, as he sought to escape without company or escort. When he sees
Erec pursuing him, he is so afraid that he knows not what to do: he does
not dare to face him, and cannot turn aside; he has to leave his horse,
for he has no more trust in him. He throws away his shield and lance,
and slips from his horse to earth. When he saw him on his feet, Erec
no longer cared to pursue him, but he stooped over for the lance, not
wishing to leave that, because of his own which had been broken. He
carries off his lance and goes away, not leaving the horses behind: he
catches all five of them and leads them off. Enide had hard work to
lead them all; for he hands over all five of them to her with the other
three, and commands her to go along smartly, and to keep from addressing
him in order that no evil or harm may come to her. So not a word does
she reply, but rather keeps silence; and thus they go, leading with them
all the eight horses.

(Vv. 3086-3208.) They rode till nightfall without coming to any town or
shelter. When night came on, they took refuge beneath a tree in an open
field. Erec bids his lady sleep, and he will watch. She replies that she
will not, for it is not right, and she does not wish to do so. It is
for him to sleep who is more weary. Well pleased at this, Erec accedes.
Beneath his head he placed his shield, and the lady took her cloak, and
stretched it over him from head to foot. Thus, he slept and she kept
watch, never dozing the whole night, but holding tight in her hand by
the bridle the horses until the morning broke; and much she blamed and
reproached herself for the words which she had uttered, and said that
she acted badly, and was not half so ill-treated as she deserved to be.
"Alas," said she, "in what an evil hour have I witnessed my pride and
presumption! I might have known without doubt that there was no knight
better than, or so good as, my lord. I knew it well enough before, but
now I know it better. For I have seen with my own eyes how he has not
quailed before three or even five armed men. A plague for ever upon
my tongue for having uttered such pride and insult as now compel me
to suffer shame!" All night long she thus lamented until the morning
dawned. Erec rises early, and again they take the road, she in front and
he behind. At noon a squire met them in a little valley, accompanied
by two fellows who were carrying cakes and wine and some rich autumn
cheeses to those who were mowing the hay in the meadows belonging to
Count Galoain. The squire was a clever fellow, and when he saw Erec and
Enide, who were coming from the direction of the woods, he perceived
that they must have spent the night in the forest and had had nothing to
eat or drink; for within a radius of a day's journey there was no town,
city or tower, no strong place or abbey, hospice or place of refuge. So
he formed an honest purpose and turned his steps toward them, saluting
them politely and saving: "Sire, I presume that you have had a hard
experience last night. I am sure you have had no sleep and have spent
the night in these woods. I offer you some of this white cake, if it
please you to partake of it. I say it not in hope of reward: for I ask
and demand nothing of you. The cakes are made of good wheat; I have good
wine and rich cheeses, too, a white cloth and fine jugs. If you feel
like taking lunch, you need not seek any farther. Beneath these white
beeches, here on the greensward, you might lay off your arms and rest
yourself a while. My advice is that you dismount." Erec got down from
his horse and said: "Fair gentle friend, I thank you kindly: I will eat
something, without going farther." The young man knew well what to do:
he helped the lady from her horse, and the boys who had come with the
squire held the steeds. Then they go and sit down in the shade. The
squire relieves Erec of his helmet, unlaces the mouth-piece from before
his face; then he spreads out the cloth before them on the thick tuff.
He passes them the cake and wine, and prepares and cuts a cheese. Hungry
as they were, they helped themselves, and gladly drank of the wine. The
squire serves them and omits no attention. When they had eaten and drunk
their fill, Erec was courteous and generous. "Friend," says he, "as a
reward, I wish to present you with one of my horses. Take the one you
like the best. And I pray it may be no hardship for you to return to the
town and make ready there a goodly lodging." And he replies that he
will gladly do whatever is his will. Then he goes up to the horses and,
untying them, chooses the dapple, and speaks his thanks; for this one
seems to be the best. Up he springs by the left stirrup, and leaving
them both there, he rode off to the town at top speed, where he engaged
suitable quarters. Now behold! he is back again: "Now mount, sire,
quickly," says he, "for you have a good fine lodging ready." Erec
mounted, and then his lady, and, as the town was hard by, they soon had
reached their lodging-place. There they were received with joy. The host
with kindness welcomed them, and with joy and gladness made generous
provision for their needs.

(Vv. 3209-3458.) When the squire had done for them all the honour that
he could do, he came and mounted his horse again, leading it off in
front of the Count's bower to the stable. The Count and three of his
vassals were leaning out of the bower, when the Count, seeing his squire
mounted on the dappled steed, asked him whose it was. And he replied
that it was his. The Count, greatly astonished, says: "How is that?
Where didst thou get him?" "A knight whom I esteem highly gave him to
me, sire," says he. "I have conducted him within this town, and he
is lodged at a burgher's house. He is a very courteous knight and the
handsomest man I ever saw. Even if I had given you my word and oath,
I could not half tell you how handsome he is." The Count replies: "I
suppose and presume that he is not more handsome than I am." "Upon my
word, sire," the sergeant says, "you are very handsome and a gentleman.
There is not a knight in this country, a native of this land, whom you
do not excel in favour. But I dare maintain concerning this one that
he is fairer than you, if he were not beaten black and blue beneath his
hauberk, and bruised. In the forest he has been fighting single-handed
with eight knights, and leads away their eight horses. And there comes
with him a lady so fair that never lady was half so fair as she." [128]
When the Count hears this news, the desire takes him to go and see if
this is true or false. "I never heard such a thing," says he; "take me
now to his lodging-place, for certainly I wish to know if thou dost lie
or speak the truth." He replies: "Right gladly, sire. This is the way
and the path to follow, for it is not far from here." "I am anxious to
see them," says the Count. Then he comes down, and the squire gets off
his horse, and makes the Count mount in his place. Then he ran ahead
to tell Erec that the Count was coming to visit him. Erec's lodging was
rich indeed--the kind to which he was accustomed. There were many tapers
and candles lighted all about. The Count came attended by only three
companions. Erec, who was of gracious manners, rose to meet him, and
exclaimed: "Welcome, sire!" And the Count returned his salutation. They
both sat down side by side upon a soft white couch, where they chat with
each other. The Count makes him an offer and urges him to consent to
accept from him a guarantee for the payment of his expenses in the
town. But Erec does not deign to accept, saying he is well supplied with
money, and has no need to accept aught from him. They speak long of many
things, but the Count constantly glances about in the other direction,
where he caught sight of the lady. Because of her manifest beauty, he
fixed all his thought on her. He looked at her as much as he could;
he coveted her, and she pleased him so that her beauty filled him with
love. Very craftily he asked Erec for permission to speak with her.
"Sire," he says "I ask a favour of you, and may it not displease you. As
an act of courtesy and as a pleasure, I would fain sit by yonder lady's
side. With good intent I came to see you both, and you should see no
harm in that. I wish to present to the lady my service in all respects.
Know well that for love of you I would do whatever may please her." Erec
was not in the least jealous and suspected no evil or treachery. "Sire,"
says he, "I have no objection. You may sit down and talk with her. Don't
think that I have any objection. I give you permission willingly." The
lady was seated about two spear-lengths away from him. And the Count
took his seat close beside her on a low stool. Prudent and courteous,
the lady turned toward him. "Alas," quoth he, "how grieved I am to see
you in such humble state! I am sorry and feel great distress. But if you
would believe my word, you could have honour and great advantage, and
much wealth would accrue to you. Such beauty as yours is entitled to
great honour and distinction. I would make you my mistress, if it should
please you and be your will; you would be my mistress dear and lady over
all my land. When I deign to woo you thus, you ought not to disdain my
suit. I know and perceive that your lord does not love and esteem you.
If you will remain with me, you would be mated with a worthy lord."
"Sire," says Enide, "your proposal is vain. It cannot be. Ah! better
that I were yet unborn, or burnt upon a fire of thorns and my ashes
scattered abroad than that I should ever in any wise be false to my
lord, or conceive any felony or treachery toward him. You have made a
great mistake in making such a proposal to me. I shall not agree to it
in any wise." The Count's ire began to rise. "You disdain to love me,
lady?" says he; "upon my word, you are too proud. Neither for flattery
nor for prayer you will do my will? It is surely true that a woman's
pride mounts the more one prays and flatters her; but whoever insults
and dishonours her will often find her more tractable. I give you my
word that if you do not do my will there soon will be some sword-play
here. Rightly or wrongly, I will have your lord slain right here before
your eyes." "Ah, sire," says Enide, "there is a better way than that you
say. You would commit a wicked and treacherous deed if you killed him
thus. Calm yourself again, I pray; for I will do your pleasure. You
may regard me as all your own, for I am yours and wish to be. I did not
speak as I did from pride, but to learn and prove if I could find in you
the true love of a sincere heart. But I would not at any price have you
commit an act of treason. My lord is not on his guard; and if you should
kill him thus, you would do a very ugly deed, and I should have the
blame for it. Every one in the land would say that it had been done with
my consent. Go and rest until the morrow, when my lord shall be about
to rise. Then you can better do him harm without blame and without
reproach." With her heart's thoughts her words do not agree. "Sire,"
says she, "believe me now! Have no anxiety; but send here to-morrow your
knights and squires and have me carried away by force. My lord will rush
to my defence, for he is proud and bold enough. Either in earnest or in
jest, have him seized and treated ill, or strike his head off, if you
will. I have led this life now long enough; to tell the truth. I like
not the company of this my lord. Rather would I feel your body lying
beside me in a bed. And since we have reached this point, of my love you
may rest assured." The Count replies: "It is well, my lady! God bless
the hour that you were born; in great estate you shall be held." "Sire,"
says she, "indeed, I believe it. And yet I would fain have your word
that you will always hold me dear; I could not believe you otherwise."
Glad and merry, the Count replies: "See here, my faith I will pledge to
you loyally as a Count, Madame, that I shall do all your behests. Have
no further fear of that. All you want you shall always have." Then she
took his plighted word; but little she valued or cared for it, except
therewith to save her lord. Well she knows how to deceive a fool, when
she puts her mind upon it. Better it were to lie to him than that her
lord should be cut off. The Count now rose from her side, and commends
her to God a hundred times. But of little use to him will be the faith
which she has pledged to him. Erec knew nothing at all of this that they
were plotting to work his death; but God will be able to lend him aid,
and I think He will do so. Now Erec is in great peril, and does not know
that he must be on his guard. The Count's intentions are very base in
planning to steal away his wife and kill him when he is without defence.
In treacherous guise he takes his leave: "To God I commend you," says
he, and Erec replies: "And so do I you, sire." Thus they separated.
Already a good part of the night was passed. Out of the way, in one of
the rooms, two beds were made upon the floor. In one of them Erec lays
him down, in the other Enide went to rest. Full of grief and anxiety,
she never closed her eyes that night, but remained on watch for her
lord's sake; for from what she had seen of the Count, she knew him to be
full of wickedness. She knows full well that if he once gets possession
of her lord, he will not fail to do him harm. He may be sure of being
killed: so for his sake she is in distress. All night she must needs
keep her vigil; but before the dawn, if she can bring it about, and if
her lord will take her word, they will be ready to depart.

(Vv. 3459-3662.) Erec slept all night long securely until daylight. Then
Enide realised and suspected that she might hesitate too long. Her heart
was tender toward her lord, like a good and loyal lady. Her heart was
neither deceitful nor false. So she rises and makes ready, and drew near
to her lord to wake him up. "Ah, sire," says she, "I crave your
pardon. Rise quickly now, for you are betrayed beyond all doubt, though
guiltless and free from any crime. The Count is a proven traitor, and
if he can but catch you here, you will never get away without his having
cut you in pieces. He hates you because he desires me. But if it please
God, who knows all things, you shall be neither slain nor caught. Last
evening he would have killed you had I not assured him that I would be
his mistress and his wife. You will see him return here soon: he wants
to seize me and keep me here and kill you if he can find you." Now Erec
learns how loyal his wife is to him. "Lady," says he, "have our horses
quickly saddled; then run and call our host, and tell him quickly to
come here. Treason has been long abroad." Now the horses are saddled,
and the lady summoned the host. Erec has armed and dressed himself, and
into his presence came the host. "Sire," said he, "what haste is this,
that you are risen at such an hour, before the day and the sun appear?"
Erec replies that he has a long road and a full day before him, and
therefore he has made ready to set out, having it much upon his mind;
and he added: "Sire, you have nor yet handed me any statement of my
expenses. You have received me with honour and kindness, and therein
great merit redounds to you. Cancel my indebtedness with these seven
horses that I brought here with me. Do not disdain them, but keep them
for your own. I cannot increase my gift to you by so much as the value
of a halter." The burgher was delighted with this gift and bowed low,
expressing his thanks and gratitude. Then Erec mounts and takes his
leave, and they set out upon their way. As they ride, he frequently
warns Enide that if she sees anything she should not be so bold as to
speak to him about it. Meanwhile, there entered the house a hundred
knights well armed, and very much dismayed they were to find Erec no
longer there. Then the Count learned that the lady had deceived him. He
discovered the footsteps of the horses, and they all followed the trail,
the Count threatening Erec and vowing that, if he can come up with him,
nothing can keep him from having his head on the spot. "A curse on
him who now hangs back, and does not spur on fast!" quoth he; "he who
presents me with the head of the knight whom I hate so bitterly, will
have served me to my taste." Then they plunge on at topmost speed,
filled with hostility toward him who had never laid eyes on them and had
never harmed them by deed or word. They ride ahead until they made him
out; at the edge of a forest they catch sight of him before he was hid
by the forest trees. Not one of them halted then, but all rushed on in
rivalry. Enide hears the clang and noise of their arms and horses, and
sees that the valley is full of them. As soon as she saw them, she could
not restrain her tongue. "Ah, sire," she cries, "alas, how this Count
has attacked you, when he leads against you such a host! Sire, ride
faster now, until we be within this wood. I think we can easily distance
them, for they are still a long way behind. If you go on at this pace,
you can never escape from death, for you are no match for them." Erec
replies: "Little esteem you have for me, and lightly you hold my words.
It seems I cannot correct you by fair request. But as the Lord have
mercy upon me until I escape from here, I swear that you shall pay
dearly for this speech of yours; that is, unless my mind should change."
Then he straightway turns about, and sees the seneschal drawing near
upon a horse both strong and fleet. Before them all he takes his stand
at the distance of four cross-bow shots. He had not disposed of his
arms, but was thoroughly well equipped. Erec reckons up his opponents'
strength, and sees there are fully a hundred of them. Then he who thus
is pressing him thinks he had better call a hair. Then they ride to meet
each other, and strike upon each other's shield great blows with their
sharp and trenchant swords. Erec caused his stout steel sword to pierce
his body through and through, so that his shield and hauberk protected
him no more than a shred of dark-blue silk. And next the Count comes
spurring on, who, as the story tells, was a strong and doughty knight.
But the Count in this was ill advised when he came with only shield and
lance. He placed such trust in his own prowess that he thought that he
needed no other arms. He showed his exceeding boldness by rushing on
ahead of all his men more than the space of nine acres. When Erec saw
him stand alone, he turned toward him; the Count is not afraid of him,
and they come together with clash of arms. First the Count strikes him
with such violence upon the breast that he would have lost his stirrups
if he had not been well set. He makes the wood of his shield to split
so that the iron of his lance protrudes on the other side. But Erec's
hauberk was very solid and protected him from death without the tear
of a single mesh. The Count was strong and breaks his lance; then Erec
strikes him with such force on his yellow painted shield that he
ran more than a yard of his lance through his abdomen, knocking him
senseless from his steed. Then he turned and rode away without further
tarrying on the spot. Straight into the forest he spurs at full speed.
Now Erec is in the woods, and the others paused a while over those who
lay in the middle of the field. Loudly they swear and vow that they will
rather follow after him for two or three days than fail to capture and
slaughter him. The Count, though grievously wounded in the abdomen,
hears what they say. He draws himself up a little and opens his eyes a
tiny bit. Now he realises what an evil deed he had begun to execute. He
makes the knights step back, and says: "My lords, I bid you all, both
strong and weak, high and low, that none of you be so bold as to dare
to advance a single step. All of you return now quickly! I have done
a villainous deed, and I repent me of my foul design. The lady who
outwitted me is very honourable, prudent, and courteous. Her beauty
fired me with love for her; because I desired her, I wished to kill her
lord and keep her back with me by force. I well deserved this woe, and
now it has come upon me. How abominably disloyal and treacherous I was
in my madness! Never was there a better knight born of mother than he.
Never shall he receive harm through me if I can in any way prevent it.
I command you all to retrace your steps." Back they go disconsolate,
carrying the lifeless seneschal on the shield reversed. The Count,
whose wound was not mortal, lived on for some time after. Thus was Erec
delivered.

(Vv. 3663-3930.) Erec goes off at full speed down a road between two
hedgerows--he and his wife with him. Both putting spurs to their
horses, they rode until they came to a meadow which had been mown. After
emerging from the hedged enclosure they came upon a drawbridge before a
high tower, which was all closed about with a wall and a broad and deep
moat. They quickly pass over the bridge, but had not gone far before the
lord of the place espied them from up in his tower. About this man I
can tell you the truth: that he was very small of stature, but very
courageous of heart. When he sees Erec cross the bridge, he comes down
quickly from his tower, and on a great sorrel steed of his he causes
a saddle to be placed, which showed portrayed a golden lion. Then he
orders to be brought his shield, his stiff, straight lance, a sharp
polished sword, his bright shining helmet, his gleaming hauberk, and
triple-woven greaves; for he has seen an armed knight pass before his
list against whom he wishes to strive in arms, or else this stranger
will strive against him until he shall confess defeat. His command
was quickly done: behold the horse now led forth; a squire brought him
around already bridled and with saddle on. Another fellow brings the
arms. The knight passed out through the gate, as quickly as possible,
all alone, without companion. Erec is riding along a hill-side, when
behold the knight comes tearing down over the top of the hill, mounted
upon a powerful steed which tore along at such a pace that he crushed
the stones beneath his hoofs finer than a millstone grinds the corn; and
bright gleaming sparks flew off in all directions, so that it seemed as
if his four feet were all ablaze with fire. Enide heard the noise and
commotion, and almost fell from her palfrey, helpless and in a faint.
There was no vein in her body in which the blood did not turn, and her
face became all pale and white as if she were a corpse. Great is her
despair and dismay, for she does not dare to address her lord, who often
threatens and chides at her and charges her to hold her peace. She is
distracted between two courses to pursue, whether to speak or to hold
her peace. She takes counsel with herself, and often she prepares to
speak, so that her tongue already moves, but the voice cannot issue
forth; for her teeth are clenched with fear, and thus shut up her speech
within. Thus she admonishes and reproaches herself, but she closes her
mouth and grits her teeth so that her speech cannot issue forth. At
strife with herself, she said: "I am sure and certain that I shall incur
a grievous loss, if here I lose my lord. Shall I tell him all, then,
openly? Not I. Why not? I would not dare, for thus I should enrage my
lord. And if my lord's ire is once aroused, he will leave me in this
wild place alone, wretched and forlorn. Then I shall be worse off than
now. Worse off? What care I? May grief and sorrow always be mine as long
as I live, if my lord does not promptly escape from here without being
delivered to a violent death. But if I do not quickly inform him, this
knight who is spurring hither will have killed him before he is aware;
for he seems of very evil intent. I think I have waited too long from
fear of his vigorous prohibition. But I will no longer hesitate because
of his restraint. I see plainly that my lord is so deep in thought that
he forgets himself; so it is fight that I should address him." She
spoke to him. He threatens her, but has no desire to do her harm, for he
realises and knows full well that she loves him above all else, and
he loves her, too, to the utmost. He rides toward the knight, who
challenges him to battle, and they meet at the foot of the hill, where
they attack and defy each other. Both smite each other with their
iron-tipped lances with all their strength. The shields that hang about
their necks are not worth two coats of bark: the leather tears, and they
split the wood, and they shatter the meshes of the hauberks. Both are
pierced to the vitals by the lances, and the horses fall to earth. Now,
both the warriors were doughty. Grievously, but not mortally, wounded,
they quickly got upon their feet and grasped afresh their lances, which
were not broken nor the worse for wear. But they cast them away on the
ground, and drawing their swords from the scabbard, they attack each
other with great fury. Each wounds and injures the other, for there
is no mercy on either side. They deal such blows upon the helmets
that gleaming sparks fly out when their swords recoil. They split and
splinter the shields; they batter and crush the hauberks. In four places
the swords are brought down to the bare flesh, so that they are greatly
weakened and exhausted. And if both their swords had lasted long without
breaking, they would never have retreated, nor would the battle have
come to an end before one of them perforce had died. Enide, who was
watching them, was almost beside herself with grief. Whoever could
have seen her then, as she showed her great woe by wringing her hands,
tearing her hair and shedding tears, could have seen a loyal lady. And
any man would have been a vulgar wretch who saw and did not pity her.
And the knights still fight, knocking the jewels from the helmets and
dealing at each other fearful blows. From the third to the ninth hour
the battle continued so fierce that no one could in any wise make out
which was to have the better of it. Erec exerts himself and strives; he
brought his sword down upon his enemy's helmet, cleaving it to the inner
lining of mail and making him stagger; but he stood firmly and did not
fall. Then he attacked Erec in turn, and dealt him such a blow upon the
covering of his shield that his strong and precious sword broke when he
tried to pull it out. When he saw that his sword was broken, in a spite
he threw as far away as he could the part that remained in his hand. Now
he was afraid and must needs draw back; for any knight that lacks his
sword cannot do much execution in battle or assault. Erec pursues
him until he begs him, for God's sake, not to kill him. "Mercy, noble
knight," he cries, "be not so cruel and harsh toward me. Now that I am
left without my sword, you have the strength and the power to take my
life or make me your prisoner, for I have no means of defence." Erec
replies: "When thou thus dost petition me I fain would hear thee admit
outright whether thou art defeated and overcome. Thou shalt not again be
touched by me if thou dost surrender at my discretion." The knight was
slow to make reply. So, when Erec saw him hesitate, in order to further
dismay him, he again attacked him, rushing at him with drawn sword;
whereupon, thoroughly terrified, he cried: "Mercy, sire! Regard me as
your captive, since it cannot be otherwise." Erec answers: "More than
that is necessary. You shall not get off so easily as that. Tell me your
station and your name, and I in turn will tell you mine." "Sire," says
he, "you are right. I am king of this country. My liegemen are Irishmen,
and there is none who does not have to pay me rent. [129] My name
is Guivret the Little. I am very rich and powerful; for there is no
landholder whose lands touch mine in any direction who ever transgresses
my command and who does not do my pleasure. I have no neighbour who does
not fear me, however proud and bold he may be. But I greatly desire to
be your confidant and friend from this time on." Erec replies: "I, too,
can boast that I am a noble man. My name is Erec, son of King Lac. My
father is king of Farther Wales, and has many a rich city, fine hall,
and strong town; no king or emperor has more than he, save only King
Arthur. Him, of course, I except; for with him none can compare."
Guivret is greatly astonished at this, and says: "Sire, a great marvel
is this I hear. I was never so glad of anything as of your acquaintance.
You may put full trust in me! And should it please you to abide in my
country within my estates, I shall have you treated with great honour.
So long as you care to remain here, you shall be recognised as my lord.
We both have need of a physician, and I have a castle of mine near here,
not eight leagues away, nor even seven. I wish to take you thither with
me, and there we shall have our wounds tended." Erec replies: "I thank
you for what I have heard you say. However, I will not go, thank you.
But only so much I request of you, that if I should be in need, and
you should hear that I had need of aid, you would not then forget me."
"Sire" says he, "I promise you that never, so long as I am alive, shall
you have need of my help but that I shall go at once to aid you with all
the assistance I can command." "I have nothing more to ask of you," says
Erec; "you have promised me much. You are now my lord and friend, if
your deed is as good as your word." Then each kisses and embraces the
other. Never was there such an affectionate parting after such a fierce
battle; for from very affection and generosity each one cut off long,
wide strips from the bottom of his shirt and bound up the other's
wounds. When they had thus bandaged each other, they commended each
other to God.

(Vv. 3931-4280.) So thus they parted. Guivret takes his way back alone,
while Erec resumed his road, in dire need of plaster wherewith to heal
his wounds. He did not cease to travel until he came to a plain beside a
lofty forest all full of stags, hinds, deer, does, and other beasts,
and all sorts of game. Now King Arthur and the Queen and the best of his
barons had come there that very day. The King wished to spend three or
four days in the forest for pleasure and sport, and had commanded tents,
pavilions, and canopies to be brought. My lord Gawain had stepped into
the King's tent, all tired out by a long ride. In front of the tent a
white beech stood, and there he had left a shield of his, together with
his ashen lance. He left his steed, all saddled and bridled, fastened to
a branch by the rein. There the horse stood until Kay the seneschal came
by. [130] He came up quickly and, as if to beguile the time, took the
steed and mounted, without the interference of any one. He took the
lance and the shield, too, which were close by under the tree. Galloping
along on the steed, Kay rode along a valley until it came about by
chance that Erec met him. Now Erec recognised the seneschal, and he knew
the arms and the horse, but Kay did not recognise him, for he could not
be distinguished by his arms. So many blows of sword and lance had he
received upon his shield that all the painted design had disappeared
from it. And the lady, who did not wish to be seen or recognised by him,
shrewdly held her veil before her face, as if she were doing it because
of the sun's glare and the dust. Kay approached rapidly and straightway
seized Erec's rein, without so much as saluting him. Before he let him
move, he presumptuously asked him: "Knight," says he, "I wish to know
who you are and whence you come." "You must be mad to stop me thus,"
says Erec; "you shall not know that just now." And the other replies:
"Be not angry; I only ask it for your good. I can see and make out
clearly that you are wounded and hurt. If you will come along with me
you shall have a good lodging this night; I shall see that you are well
cared for, honoured and made comfortable: for you are in need of
rest. King Arthur and the Queen are close by here in a wood, lodged in
pavilions and tents. In all good faith, I advise you to come with me to
see the Queen and King, who will take much pleasure in you and will
show you great honour." Erec replies: "You say well; yet will I not
go thither for anything. You know not what my business is: I must yet
farther pursue my way. Now let me go; too long I stay. There is still
some daylight left." Kay makes answer: "You speak madness when you
decline to come. I trow you will repent of it. And however much it
may be against your will, you shall both go, as the priest goes to the
council, willy-nilly. To-night you will be badly served, if, unmindful
of my advice, you go there as strangers. Come now quickly, for I will
take you." At this word Erec's ire was roused. "Vassal," says he, "you
are mad to drag me thus after you by force. You have taken me quite off
my guard. I tell you you have committed an offence. For I thought to be
quite safe, and was not on my guard against you." Then he lays his hand
upon his sword and cries: "Hands off my bridle, vassal! Step aside. I
consider you proud and impudent. I shall strike you, be sure of that, if
you drag me longer after you. Leave me alone now." Then he lets him go,
and draws off across the field more than an acre's width; then turns
about and, as a man with evil intent, issues his challenge. Each
rushed at the other. But, because Kay was without armour, Erec acted
courteously and turned the point of his lance about and presented the
butt-end instead. Even so, he gave him such a blow high up on the broad
expanse of his shield that he caused it to wound him on the temple,
pinning his arm to his breast: all prone he throws him to the earth.
Then he went to catch the horse and hands him over by the bridle to
Enide. He was about to lead it away, when the wounded man with his
wonted flattery begs him to restore it courteously to him. With fair
words he flatters and wheedles him. "Vassal," says he, "so help me God,
that horse is not mine. Rather does it belong to that knight in whom
dwells the greatest prowess in the world, my lord Gawain the Bold. I
tell you so much on his behalf, in order that you may send it back to
him and thus win honour. So shall you be courteous and wise, and I shall
be your messenger." Erec makes answer: "Take the horse, vassal, and lead
it away. Since it belongs to my lord Gawain it is not meet that I should
appropriate it." Kay takes the horse, remounts, and coming to the royal
tent, tells the King the whole truth, keeping nothing back. And the King
summoned Gawain, saying: "Fair nephew Gawain, if ever you were true and
courteous, go quickly after him and ask him in winsome wise who he is
and what his business. And if you can influence him and bring him along
with you to us, take care not to fail to do so." Then Gawain mounts his
steed, two squires following after him. They soon made Erec out, but did
not recognise him. Gawain salutes him, and he Gawain: their greetings
were mutual. Then said my lord Gawain with his wonted openness: "Sire,"
says he, "King Arthur sends me along this way to encounter you. The
Queen and King send you their greeting, and beg you urgently to come and
spend some time with them (it may benefit you and cannot harm), as they
are close by." Erec replies: "I am greatly obliged to the King and Queen
and to you who are, it seems, both kind of heart and of gentle mien. I
am not in a vigorous state; rather do I bear wounds within my body: yet
will I not turn aside from my way to seek a lodging-place. So you need
not longer wait: I thank you, but you may be gone." Now Gawain was a man
of sense. He draws back and whispers in the ear of one of the squires,
bidding him go quickly and tell the King to take measures at once to
take down and lower his tents and come and set them up in the middle of
the road three or four leagues in advance of where they now are.
There the King must lodge to-night, if he wishes to meet and extend
hospitality to the best knight in truth whom he can ever hope to see;
but who will not go out of his way for a lodging at the bidding of any
one. The fellow went and gave his message. The King without delay causes
his tents to be taken down. Now they are lowered, the sumpters loaded,
and off they set. The King mounted Aubagu, and the Queen afterwards
mounted a white Norse palfrey. All this while, my lord Gawain did not
cease to detain Erec, until the latter said to him: "Yesterday I covered
more ground than I shall do to-day. Sire, you annoy me; let me go.
You have already disturbed a good part of my day." And my lord Gawain
answers him: "I should like to accompany you a little way, if you do not
object; for it is yet a long while until night. They spent so much time
in talking that all the tents were set up before them, and Erec sees
them, and perceives that his lodging is arranged for him. "Ah! Gawain,"
he says, "your shrewdness has outwitted me. By your great cunning you
have kept me here. Since it has turned out thus, I shall tell you my
name at once. Further concealment would be useless. I am Erec, who was
formerly your companion and friend." Gawain hears him and straightway
embraces him. He raised up his helmet and unlaced his mouthpiece.
Joyfully he clasps him in his embrace, while Erec embraces him in
turn. Then Gawain leaves him, saying, "Sire, this news will give great
pleasure to my lord; he and my lady will both be glad, and I must go
before to tell them of it. But first I must embrace and welcome and
speak comfortably to my lady Enide, your wife. My lady the Queen has a
great desire to see her. I heard her speak of her only yesterday." Then
he steps up to Enide and asks her how she is, if she is well and in good
case. She makes answer courteously: "Sire, I should have no cause for
grief, were I not in great distress for my lord; but as it is, I am in
dismay, for he has hardly a limb without a wound." Gawain replies: "This
grieves me much. It is perfectly evident from his face, which is all
pale and colourless. I could have wept myself when I saw him so pale
and wan, but my joy effaced my grief, for at sight of him I felt so glad
that I forgot all other pain. Now start and ride along slowly. I shall
ride ahead at top-speed to tell the Queen and the King that you are
following after me. I am sure that they will both be delighted when they
hear it." Then he goes, and comes to the King's tent. "Sire," he cries,
"now you and my lady must be glad, for here come Erec and his wife." The
King leaps to his feet with joy. "Upon my word!" he says, "right glad
I am. I could hear no news which could give me so much happiness." The
Queen and all the rest rejoice, and come out from the tents as fast as
they may. Even the King comes forth from his pavilion, and they met Erec
near at band. When Erec sees the King coming, he quickly dismounts,
and Enide too. The King embraces and meets them, and the Queen likewise
tenderly kisses and embraces them: there is no one that does not show
his joy. Right there, upon the spot, they took off Erec's armour; and
when they saw his wounds, their joy turned to sadness. The King draws a
deep sigh at the sight of them, and has a plaster brought which Morgan,
his sister, had made. This piaster, which Morgan had given to Arthur,
was of such sovereign virtue that no wound, whether on nerve or joint,
provided it were treated with the piaster once a day, could fail to be
completely cured and healed within a week. They brought to the King the
piaster which gave Erec great relief. When they had bathed, dried, and
bound up his wounds, the King leads him and Enide into his own royal
tent, saying that he intends, out of love for Erec, to tarry in the
forest a full fortnight, until he be completely restored to health.
For this Erec thanks the King, saying: "Fair sire, my wounds are not so
painful that I should desire to abandon my journey. No one could detain
me; to-morrow, without delay, I shall wish to get off in the morning, as
soon as I see the dawn." At this the King shook his head and said: "This
is a great mistake for you not to remain with us. I know that you are
far from well. Stay here, and you will do the right thing. It will be
a great pity and cause for grief if you die in this forest. Fair gentle
friend, stay here now until you are quite yourself again." Erec replies:
"Enough of this. I have undertaken this journey, and shall not tarry in
any wise." The King hears that he would by no means stay for prayer of
his; so he says no more about it, and commands the supper to be prepared
at once and the tables to be spread. The servants go to make their
preparations. It was a Saturday night; so they ate fish and fruit, pike
and perch, salmon and trout, and then pears both raw and cooked. [131]
Soon after supper they ordered the beds to be made ready. The King, who
held Erec dear, had him laid in a bed alone; for he did not wish that
any one should lie with him who might touch his wounds. That night he
was well lodged. In another bed close by lay Enide with the Queen under
a cover of ermine, and they all slept in great repose until the day
broke next morning.

(Vv. 4281-4307.) Next day, as soon as it is dawn. Erec arises, dresses,
commands his horses to be saddled, and orders his arms to be brought to
him. The valets run and bring them to him. Again the King and all the
knights urge him to remain; but entreaty is of no avail, for he will not
stay for anything. Then you might have seen them all weep and show such
grief as if they already saw him dead. He puts on his arms, and Enide
arises. All the knights are sore distressed, for they think they will
never see them more. They follow them out from the tents, and send for
their own horses, that they may escort and accompany them. Erec said to
them: "Be not angry! but you shall not accompany me a single step. I'll
thank you if you'll stay behind!" His horse was brought to him, and he
mounts without delay. Taking his shield and lance, he commends them all
to God, and they in turn wish Erec well. Then Enide mounts, and they
ride away.

(Vv. 4308-4380.) Entering a forest, they rode on without halting till
hour of prime. While they thus traversed the wood, they heard in the
distance the cry of a damsel in great distress. When Erec heard the cry,
he felt sure from the sound that it was the voice of one in trouble and
in need of help. Straightway calling Enide, he says: "Lady, there is
some maiden who goes through the wood calling aloud. I take it that she
is in need of aid and succour. I am going to hasten in that direction
and see what her trouble is. Do you dismount and await me here, while
I go yonder." "Gladly, sire," she says. Leaving her alone, he makes his
way until he found the damsel, who was going through the wood, lamenting
her lover whom two giants had taken and were leading away with very
cruel treatment. The maiden was rending her garments, and tearing her
hair and her tender crimson face. Erec sees her and, wondering greatly,
begs her to tell him why she cries and weeps so sore. The maiden cries
and sighs again, then sobbing, says: "Fair sire, it is no wonder if I
grieve, for I wish I were dead. I neither love nor prize my life, for my
lover has been led away prisoner by two wicked and cruel giants who are
his mortal enemies. God! what shall I do? Woe is me! deprived of the
best knight alive, the most noble and the most courteous. And now he
is in great peril of death. This very day, and without cause, they will
bring him to some vile death. Noble knight, for God's sake, I beg you to
succour my lover, if now you can lend him any aid. You will not have to
run far, for they must still be close by." "Damsel," says Erec, "I will
follow them, since you request it, and rest assured that I shall do all
within my power: either I shall be taken prisoner along with him, or
I shall restore him to you safe and sound. If the giants let him live
until I can find him, I intend to measure my strength with theirs."
"Noble knight," the maiden said, "I shall always be your servant if you
restore to me my lover. Now go in God's name, and make haste, I beseech
you." "Which way lies their path?" "This way, my lord. Here is the path
with the footprints." Then Erec started at a gallop, and told her to
await him there. The maid commends him to the Lord, and prays God very
fervently that He should give him force by His command to discomfit
those who intend evil toward her lover.

(Vv. 4381-4579.) Erec went off along the trail, spurring his horse in
pursuit of the giants. He followed in pursuit of them until he caught
sight of them before they emerged from the wood; he saw the knight with
bare limbs mounted naked on a nag, his hands and feet bound as if he
were arrested for highway robbery. The giants had no lances, shields or
whetted swords; but they both had clubs and scourges, with which they
were beating him so cruelly that already they had cut the skin on his
back to the bone. Down his sides and flanks the blood ran, so that the
nag was all covered with blood down to the belly. [132] Erec came along
alone after them. He was very sad and distressed about the knight whom
he saw them treat so spitefully. Between two woods in an open field he
came up with them, and asks: "My lords," says he, "for what crime do you
treat this man so ill and lead him along like a common thief? You are
treating him too cruelly. You are driving him just as if he had been
caught stealing. It is a monstrous insult to strip a knight naked, and
then bind him and beat him so shamefully. Hand him over to me, I beg of
you with all good-will and courtesy. I have no wish to demand him of you
forcibly." "Vassal," they say, "what business is this of yours? You must
be mad to make any demand of us. If you do not like it, try and improve
matters." Erec replies: "Indeed, I like it not, and you shall not lead
him away so easily. Since you have left the matter in my hands, I say
whoever can get possession of him let him keep him. Take your positions.
I challenge you. You shall not take him any farther before some blows
have been dealt." "Vassal," they reply, "you are mad, indeed, to wish
to measure your strength with us. If you were four instead of one,
you would have no more strength against us than one lamb against two
wolves." "I do not know how it will turn out," Erec replies; "if the sky
fails and the earth melts, then many a lark will be caught. Many a man
boasts loudly who is of little worth. On guard now, for I am going
to attack you." The giants were strong and fierce, and held in their
clenched hands their big clubs tipped with iron. Erec went at them lance
in rest. He fears neither of them, in spite of their menace and their
pride, and strikes the foremost of them through the eye so deep into the
brain that the blood and brains spurt out at the back of his neck; that
one lies dead and his heart stops beating. When the other saw him dead,
he had reason to be sorely grieved. Furious, he went to avenge him: with
both hands he raised his club on high and thought to strike him squarely
upon his unprotected head: but Erec watched the blow, and received it on
his shield. Even so, the giant landed such a blow that it quite stunned
him, and almost made him fall to earth from his steed. Erec covers
himself with his shield and the giant, recovering himself, thinks to
strike again quickly upon his head. But Erec had drawn his sword, and
attacked him with such fierceness that the giant was severely handled:
he strikes him so hard upon the neck that he splits him down to the
saddle-bow. He scatters his bowels upon the earth, and the body falls
full length, split in two halves. The knight weeps with joy and,
worshipping, praises God who has sent him this aid. Then Erec unbound
him, made him dress and arm himself, and mount one of the horses; the
other he made him lead with his right hand, and asks him who he is. And
he replied: "Noble knight, thou art my liege lord. I wish to regard
thee as my lord, as by right I ought to do, for thou hast saved my life,
which but now would have been cut off from my body with great torment
and cruelty. What chance, fair gentle sire, in God's name, guided thee
hither to me, to free me by thy courage from the hands of my enemies?
Sire, I wish to do thee homage. Henceforth, I shall always accompany
thee and serve thee as my lord." Erec sees that he is disposed to serve
him gladly, if he may, and says: "Friend, for your service I have no
desire; but you must know that I came hither to succour you at the
instance of your lady, whom I found sorrowing in this wood. Because of
you, she grieves and moans; for full of sorrow is her heart. I wish to
present you to her now. As soon as I have reunited you with her, I shall
continue my way alone; for you have no call to go with me. I have no
need cf your company; but I fain would know your name." "Sire," says he,
"as you wish. Since you desire to know my name, it must not be kept from
you. My name is Cadoc of Tabriol: know that thus I am called. But since
I must part from you. I should like to know, if it may be, who you are
and of what land, where I may sometime find and search for you, when
I shall go a way from here." Erec replies: "Friend, that I will never
confide to you. Never speak of it again; but if you wish to find it out
and do me honour in any wise go quickly now without delay to my lord,
King Arthur, who with might and main is hunting the stag in yonder wood,
as I take it, not five short leagues from here. Go thither quickly and
take him word that you are sent to him as a gift by him whom yesterday
within his tent he joyfully received and lodged. And be careful not to
conceal from him from what peril I set free both your life and body. I
am dearly cherished at the court, and if you present yourself in my name
you will do me a service and honour. There you shall ask who I am; but
you cannot know it otherwise." "Sire," says Cadoc, "I will follow your
bidding in all respects. You need never have any fear that I do not go
with a glad heart. I shall tell the King the full truth regarding
the battle which you have fought on my behalf." Thus speaking, they
continued their way until they came to the maiden where Erec had left
her. The damsel's joy knew no bounds when she saw coming her lover whom
she never thought to see again. Taking him by the hand, Erec presents
him to her with the words: "Grieve no longer, demoiselle! Behold your
lover glad and joyous." And she with prudence makes reply: "Sire, by
right you have won us both. Yours we should be, to serve and honour. But
who could ever repay half the debt we owe you?" Erec makes answer: "My
gentle lady, no recompense do I ask of you. To God I now commend you
both, for too long, methinks, I have tarried here." Then he turns his
horse about, and rides away as fast as he can. Cadoc of Tabriol with his
damsel rides off in another direction; and soon he told the news to King
Arthur and the Queen.

(Vv. 4580-4778.) Erec continues to ride at great speed to the place
where Enide was awaiting him in great concern, thinking that surely he
had completely deserted her. And he, too, was in great fear lest some
one, finding her alone, might have carried her off. So he made all haste
to return. But the heat of the day was such, and his arms caused him
such distress, that his wounds broke open and burst the bandages. His
wounds never stopped bleeding before he came directly to the spot where
Enide was waiting for him. She espied him and rejoiced: but she did not
realise or know the pain from which he was suffering; for all his body
was bathed in blood, and his heart hardly had strength to beat. As he
was descending a hill he fell suddenly over upon his horse's neck. As he
tried to straighten up, he lost his saddle and stirrups, falling, as if
lifeless, in a faint. Then began such heavy grief, when Enide saw him
fall to earth. Full of fear at the sight of him, she runs toward him
like one who makes no concealment of her grief. Aloud she cries, and
wrings her hands: not a shred of her robe remains untorn across her
breast. She begins to tear her hair and lacerate her tender face. [133]
"Ah God!" she cries, "fair gentle Lord, why dost Thou let me thus live
on? Come Death, and kill me hastily!" With these words she faints upon
his body. When she recovered, she said to herself reproachfully: "Woe is
me, wretched Enide; I am the murderer of my lord, in having killed
him by my speech. My lord would still be now alive, if I in my mad
presumption had not spoken the word which engaged him in this adventure.
Silence never harmed any one, but speech often worketh woe. The truth of
this I have tried and proved in more ways than one." Beside her lord she
took her seat, holding his head upon her lap. Then she begins her dole
anew. "Alas," she says, "my lord, unhappy thou, thou who never hadst a
peer; for in thee was beauty seen and prowess was made manifest; wisdom
had given thee its heart, and largess set a crown upon thee, without
which no one is esteemed. But what did I say? A grievous mistake I made
in uttering the word which has killed my lord--that fatal poisoned word
for which I must justly be reproached; and I recognise and admit that
no one is guilty but myself; I alone must be blamed for this." Then
fainting she falls upon the ground, and when she later sat up again, she
only moans again the more: "God, what shall I do, and why live on? Why
does Death delay and hesitate to come and seize me without respite?
Truly, Death holds me in great contempt! Since Death does not deign to
take my life, I must myself perforce achieve the vengeance for my sinful
deed. Thus shall I die in spite of Death, who will not heed my call for
aid. Yet, I cannot die through mere desire, nor would complaining avail
me aught. The sword, which my lord had gilded on, ought by right to
avenge his death. I will not longer consume myself in distress, in
prayer, and vain desire." She draws the sword forth from its sheath and
begins to consider it. God, who is full of mercy, caused her to delay
a little; and while she passes in review her sorrow and her misfortune,
behold there comes riding apace a Count with numerous suite, who from
afar had heard the lady's loud outcry. God did not wish to desert her;
for now she would have killed herself, had she not been surprised by
those who took away from her the sword and thrust it back into its
sheath. The Count then dismounted from his horse and began to inquire
of her concerning the knight, and whether she was his wife or his
lady-love. "Both one and the other, sire," she says, "my sorrow is such
as I cannot tell. Woe is me that I am not dead." And the Count begins
to comfort her: "Lady," he says, "by the Lord, I pray you, to take some
pity on yourself! It is meet that you should mourn, but it is no use to
be disconsolate; for you may yet rise to high estate. Do not sink into
apathy, but comfort yourself; that will be wise, and God will give you
joy again. Your wondrous beauty holds good fortune in store for you; for
I will take you as my wife, and make you a countess and dame of rank:
this ought to bring you much consolation. And I shall have the body
removed and laid away with great honour. Leave off now this grief of
yours which in your frenzy you display." And she replies: "Sire, begone!
For God's sake, let me be! You can accomplish nothing here. Nothing that
one could say or do could ever make me glad again." At this the Count
drew back and said: "Let us make a bier, whereon to carry away this body
with the lady to the town of Limors. There the body shall be interred.
Then will I espouse the lady, whether or not she give consent: for never
did I see any one so fair, nor desire any as I do her. Happy I am to
have met with her. Now make quickly and without delay a proper bier for
this dead knight. Halt not for the trouble, nor from sloth." Then some
of his men draw out their swords and soon cut two saplings, upon which
they laid branches cross-wise. Upon this litter they laid Erec down;
then hitched two horses to it. Enide rides alongside, not ceasing to
make lament, and often fainting and falling back; but the horsemen hold
her tight, and try to support her with their arms, and raise her up and
comfort her. All the way to Limors they escort the body, until they come
to the palace of the Count. All the people follow up after them--ladies,
knights, and townspeople. In the middle off the hall upon a dais they
stretched the body out full length, with his lance and shield alongside.
The hall is full, the crowd is dense. Each one is anxious to inquire
what is this trouble, what marvel here. Meanwhile the Count takes
counsel with his barons privily. "My lords," he says, "upon the spot I
wish to espouse this lady here. We can plainly judge by her beauty
and prudent mien that she is of very gentle rank. Her beauty and noble
bearing show that the honour of a kingdom or empire might well be
bestowed upon her. I shall never suffer disgrace through her; rather I
think to win more honour. Have my chaplain summoned now, and do you go
and fetch the lady. The half of all my land I will give her as her dower
if she will comply with my desire." Then they bade the chaplain come,
in accordance with the Count's command, and the dame they brought there,
too, and made her marry him perforce; for she flatly refused to give
consent. But in spite of all, the Count married her in accordance with
his wish. And when he had married her, the constable at once had the
tables set in the palace, and had the food prepared; for already it was
time for the evening meal.

(Vv. 4779-4852.) After vespers, that day in May, Enide was in sore
distress, nor did her grief cease to trouble her. And the Count urged
her mildly by prayer and threat to make her peace and be consoled, and
he made her sit down upon a chair, though it was against her will. In
spite of her, they made her take a seat and placed the table in front of
her. The Count takes his place on the other side, almost beside himself
with rage to find that he cannot comfort her. "Lady," he says, "you must
now leave off this grief and banish it. You can have full trust in
me, that honour and riches will be yours. You must surely realise that
mourning will not revive the dead; for no one ever saw such a thing come
about. Remember now, though poor you were, that great riches are within
your reach. Once you were poor; rich now you will be. Fortune has
not been stingy toward you, in bestowing upon you the honour of being
henceforth hailed as Countess. It is true that your lord is dead. If
you grieve and lament because of this, do you think that I am surprised?
Nay. But I am giving you the best advice I know how to give. In that I
have married you, you ought to be content. Take care you do not anger
me! Eat now, as I bid you do." And she replies: "Not I, my lord. In
faith, as long as I live I will neither eat nor drink unless I first
see my lord eat who is lying on yonder dais" "Lady, that can never be.
People will think that you are mad when you talk such great nonsense.
You will receive a poor reward if you give occasion to-day for further
reproof." To this she vouchsafed no reply, holding his threats in slight
esteem, and the Count strikes her upon the face. At this she shrieks,
and the barons present blame the Count. "Hold, sire!" they cry to the
Count; "you ought to be ashamed of having struck this lady because she
will not eat. You have done a very ugly deed. If this lady is distressed
because of her lord whom she now sees dead, no one should say that she
is wrong." "Keep silence, all." the Count replies; "the dame is mine and
I am hers, and I will do with her as I please." At this she could not
hold her peace, but swears she will never be his. And the Count springs
up and strikes her again, and she cries out aloud. "Ha! wretch," she
says, "I care not what thou say to me, or what thou do! I fear not thy
blows, nor yet thy threats. Beat me and strike me, as thou wilt. I shall
never heed thy power so much as to do thy bidding more or less, even
were thou with thy hands fight now to snatch out my eyes or flay me
alive."

(Vv. 4853-4938.) In the midst of these words and disputes Erec recovered
from his swoon, like a man who awakes from sleep. No wonder that he was
amazed at the crowd of people he saw around. But great was his grief
and great his woe when he heard the voice of his wife. He stepped to the
floor from off the dais and quickly drew his sword. Wrath and the love
he bore his wife gave him courage. He runs thither where he sees her,
and strikes the Count squarely upon the head, so that he beats out
his brains and, knocking in his forehead, leaves him senseless and
speechless; his blood and brains flow out. The knights spring from the
tables, persuaded that it is the devil who had made his way among them
there. Of young or old there none remains, for all were thrown in great
dismay. Each one tries to outrun the other in beating a hasty retreat.
Soon they were all clear of the palace, and cry aloud, both weak and
strong: "Flee, flee, here comes the corpse!" At the door the press is
great: each one strives to make his escape, and pushes and shoves as
best he may. He who is last in the surging throng would fain get into
the foremost line. Thus they make good their escape in flight, for one
dares not stand upon another's going. Erec ran to seize his shield,
hanging it about his neck by the strap, while Enide lays hands upon the
lance. Then they step out into the courtyard. There is no one so bold as
to offer resistance; for they did not believe it could be a man who had
thus expelled them, but a devil or some enemy who had entered the
dead body. Erec pursues them as they flee, and finds outside in
the castle-yard a stable-boy in the act of leading his steed to the
watering-place, all equipped with bridle and saddle. This chance
encounter pleased Erec well: as he steps up quickly to the horse, the
boy in fear straightway yields him up. Erec takes his seat between the
saddle-bows, while Enide, seizing the stirrup, springs up on to the
horse's neck, as Erec, who bade her mount, commanded and instructed her
to do. The horse bears them both away; and finding open the town gate,
they make their escape without detention. In the town there was great
anxiety about the Count who had been killed; but there is no one,
however brave, who follows Erec to take revenge. At his table the Count
was slain; while Erec, who bears his wife away, embraces and kisses and
gives her cheer. In his arms he clasps her against his heart, and
says: "Sweet sister mine, my proof of you has been complete! Be no more
concerned in any wise, for I love you now more than ever I did before;
and I am certain and rest assured that you love me with a perfect love.
From this time on for evermore, I offer myself to do your will just as
I used to do before. And if you have spoken ill of me, I pardon you
and call you quit of both the offence and the word you spoke." Then he
kisses her again and clasps her tight. Now Enide is not ill at ease when
her lord clasps and kisses her and tells her again that he loves her
still. Rapidly through the night they ride, and they are very glad that
the moon shines bright.

(Vv. 4939-5058.) Meanwhile, the news has travelled fast, and there is
nothing else so quick. The news had reached Guivret the Little that a
knight wounded with arms had been found dead in the forest, and that
with him was a lady making moan, and so wondrous fair that Iseut would
have seemed her waiting-maid. Count Oringle of Limors had found them
both, and had caused the corpse to be borne away, and wished himself to
espouse the lady; but she refused him. When Guivret heard this news,
he was by no means pleased; for at once the thought of Erec occurred to
him. It came into his heart and mind to go and seek out the lady, and
to have the body honourably interred, if it should turn out to be he.
He assembled a thousand men-at-arms and knights to take the town. If the
Count would not surrender of his own accord the body and the lady, he
would put all to fire and flame. In the moonlight shining clear he led
his men on toward Limors, with helmets laced, in hauberks clad, and from
their necks the shields were hung. Thus, under arms, they all advanced
until nearly midnight, when Erec espied them. Now he expects to be
ensnared or killed or captured inevitably. He makes Enide dismount
beside a thicket-hedge. No wonder if he is dismayed. "Lady, do you stay
here," he says, "beside this thicket-hedge a while, until these people
shall have passed. I do not wish them to catch sight of you, for I do
not know what manner of people they are, nor of what they go in search.
I trust we may not attract their attention. But I see nowhere any place
where we could take refuge, should they wish to injure us. I know not
if any harm may come to me, but not from fear shall I fail to sally out
against them. And if any one assails me, I shall not fail to joust with
him. Yet, I am so sore and weary that it is no wonder if I grieve. Now
to meet them I must go, and do you stay quiet here. Take care that no
one see you, until they shall have left you far behind." Behold now
Guivret, with lance outstretched, who espied him from afar. They did not
recognise each other, for the moon had gone behind the shadow of a
dark cloud. Erec was weak and exhausted, and his antagonist was quite
recovered from his wounds and blows. Now Erec will be far from wise if
he does not promptly make himself known. He steps out from the hedge.
And Guivret spurs toward him without speaking to him at all, nor does
Erec utter a word to him: he thought he could do more than he could.
Whoever tries to run farther than he is able must perforce give up or
take a rest. They clash against each other; but the fight was unequal,
for one was weak and the other strong. Guivret strikes him with such
force that he carries him down to earth from his horse's back. Enide,
who was in hiding, when she sees her lord on the ground, expects to be
killed and badly used. Springing forth from the hedge, she runs to help
her lord. If she grieved before, now her anguish is greater. Coming up
to Guivret, she seized his horse's rein, and then said: "Cursed be thou,
knight! For thou hast attacked a weak and exhausted man, who is in
pain and mortally wounded, with such injustice that thou canst not find
reason for thy deed. If thou hadst been alone and helpless, thou wouldst
have rued this attack, provided my lord h

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