Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  ‘So help me God,’ the boy replied, ‘no one knows more about this than I do, because I often practised, hitting pads and shields at my mother’s house until I was weary from it.’

  ‘Then let’s return now to my lodgings,’ said the gentleman, ‘for there’s nothing more to do; and tonight you’ll have proper lodgings, regardless of any objection.’

  Then they went on side by side, and the boy said to his host: ‘Sir, my mother taught me never to go with any man or keep his company for long without asking his name. So if her advice was proper, I want to know your name.’

  ‘My good friend,’ said the gentleman, ‘I’m called Gornemant of Gohort.’11

  They continued on towards his lodgings, walking hand in hand. A squire came unsummoned to the bottom of the staircase carrying a short mantle. He hurried to dress the boy in it so that after the heat of exercise he should not catch a harmful cold. The gentleman had large and splendid lodgings and handsome servants. The meal was noble, well-prepared and splendidly laid out. The knights first washed, then sat down to eat; and the gentleman had the boy sit beside him and made him eat from the same bowl as himself. I’ll say no more about how many courses they had or what they were, only that they had plenty to eat and drink. I’ll say no more about the meal.

  After they had risen from table, the gentleman, who was most courteous, begged the boy seated beside him to stay for a month. Indeed, if he wished, he would gladly detain him a full year and meanwhile would teach him such things, if he were pleased to learn them, as he should know in time of need.

  And the boy responded afterwards: ‘Sir, I don’t know if I’m near the manor where my mother lives, but I pray God to guide me there so that I might behold her again; for I saw her fall in a faint at the head of the bridge in front of the gate, and I don’t know whether she’s alive or dead. I am well aware she fainted in grief at my departure, and for this reason until I know how she is I cannot tarry for long. So I must be on my way tomorrow at dawn.’

  The gentleman understood that there was no point insisting and kept his silence. Without further conversation they retired to rest, because the beds were already prepared.

  The gentleman arose early and came to the boy’s bed, where he found him still lying. He had a shift and linen underclothing brought there for the boy, and red-dyed hose and a cloak of violet silk which had been woven in India. He had them brought to him to wear, and said: ‘Friend, you will wear this clothing you see here, if you’ll heed my advice.’

  And the boy replied: ‘Good sir, surely you don’t mean that! Aren’t the clothes my mother made me better than any of these? And yet you want me to wear these!’

  ‘Young man,’ said the gentleman, ‘by my head, yours are worse! You assured me, dear friend, when I brought you here that you would heed my every command.’

  ‘And so I shall,’ said the boy, ‘I’ll never oppose you in anything at all.’

  He hesitated no longer in putting on the new clothes, and left aside those his mother had made for him. The gentleman leaned over and attached the boy’s right spur: custom once dictated that he who knighted another should attach his spur. There were many other squires present, and every one who could came to give him a hand with his armour. And the gentleman took the sword, girded it on him, and kissed him and said that in giving him the sword he had conferred on him the highest order that God had set forth and ordained: that is, the order of knighthood, which must be maintained without villainy.

  And he added: ‘Young man, remember that if you are ever compelled to go into combat with any knight, I want to beg one thing of you: if you gain the upper hand and he is no longer able to defend himself or hold out against you, you must grant him mercy rather than killing him outright. And be careful not to be too talkative or prone to gossip. Anyone who is too talkative soon discovers he has said something that brings him reproach; and the wise man says and declares: “He who talks too much commits a sin.” Therefore, young man, I warn you not to talk too much. And I beseech you, if you find a maiden or woman – be she damsel or lady – who is disconsolate in any way, to do right by consoling her if you know how to console her and are able to do so. And do not scorn another lesson I would teach you, for it must not be scorned: go gladly to church and pray to Him who made all things to have mercy on your soul and keep you a true Christian in this earthly life.’

  And the youth said to the gentleman: ‘May you be blessed, good sir, by all the popes of Rome, for I heard my mother say the same thing.’

  ‘You must never again claim, dear brother,’ continued the gentleman, ‘that your mother taught or instructed you. I don’t blame you at all for having said it until now; but henceforth, begging your pardon, I urge you to correct yourself. For if you continue to say that, people will take you for a fool. Therefore I urge you to refrain from saying that.’

  ‘Then what shall I say, good sir?’

  ‘You can say that the vavasour who attached your spur taught and instructed you.’

  And the boy promised that he would never again as long as he lived refer to the words of any other master than the vavasour himself, for he thought that that was good advice. The gentleman then blessed him, raising his hand high above him and saying: ‘Good sir, God save you! Be off, and may God guide your steps since it does not please you to delay.’

  The new knight left his host and was very impatient to reach his mother and find her alive and well. He set off into the deep forests, where he was more at home than in the open fields, and rode until he saw a strong and mighty castle. Outside its walls there was nothing but the sea, a river, and wasteland. He hastened towards the castle until he came before its gate; but he had to cross such a fragile bridge before passing through the gate that he thought it would barely hold him. The knight stepped on to the bridge and crossed it without enduring any injury, harm, or shame. He reached the gate but found it locked; he did not knock softly or whisper, but beat upon it so hard that immediately a thin and pale maiden came to the windows of the main hall and said: ‘Who is calling there?’

  The new knight looked up at the maiden and said: ‘Fair friend, I am a knight who begs you to let me enter and give me lodging for the night.’

  ‘Sir,’ she replied, ‘you shall have it, but you’ll not be pleased. None the less, we’ll prepare you the best lodgings we can.’

  Then the maiden withdrew and the new knight waiting at the gate was afraid they were keeping him too long, so he began to shout once more. Immediately arrived four men-at-arms bearing large battle-axes on their shoulders, and each with his sword girded on. They unbolted the gate and said: ‘Sir, come in.’

  Had the men-at-arms been in good health they would have been handsome indeed, but they were so weakened by famine and lengthy vigils that they were wondrously changed. And just as the knight had found the land wasted and impoverished outside the walls, he found things no better within: everywhere he went he saw the streets laid waste and the houses in ruins, for there was no man or woman to be seen. There were two churches in the town, which had both been abbeys; one for distraught nuns, the other for impoverished monks. He did not find the churches well-decorated or in good repair; rather, their walls were cracked and broken, their steeples were in ruins, and their doors were open by night as by day. No mill was grinding or oven baking anywhere within the castle walls, and there were no bread or cakes, nor anything at all one could sell to earn a penny. Thus he found the town desolate, without bread or pastry, without wine, cider, or beer.

  The four men-at-arms led him to a slate-roofed hall, where they helped him dismount and remove his armour. Immediately a squire descended the steps from the great hall, carrying a grey mantle; he placed it over the knight’s shoulders, and another squire led his horse to a stable where there was scarcely any grain, straw, or hay: there were no provisions in the castle. The others had him pass before them up the stairway leading to the magnificent great hall. Two gentlemen and a maiden came forward to greet him. The two men’s hair was
greying but not yet altogether white; they would have been vigorous and at the peak of their strength had it not been for their cares and hardships. And the maiden was more charming, more splendid, and more graceful than sparrow-hawk or parrot; her mantle and tunic were of rich black silk flecked with gold, and the edgings of crmine showed no signs of wear. The collar of her mantle was trimmed with black and grey sable, which was of perfect length and cut. And if ever before I have described the beauty God formed in a woman’s face or body, I should like to try a new description without varying at all from the truth: her hair flowed free and was so lustrous and blonde that anyone who saw it might mistake it, if that were possible, for strands of purest gold. Her forehead was white, high, and as smooth as if it had been moulded by hand or as if it had been carved from stone, ivory, or wood. Her eyes, under dark eyebrows widely spaced, were laughing and bright, shining and narrow. Her nose was straight and long, and the rosiness of the cheeks on her white face was more pleasing than vermilion on silver. God had made her an unsurpassed marvel to dazzle men’s hearts and minds; never since has He made her equal, nor had He ever before.

  When the new knight saw her he greeted her and she, and the two knights with her, returned his greetings. The damsel took him courteously by the hand and said: ‘Good sir, your lodgings tonight certainly won’t be suited to a gentleman. If I were to tell you all of our sad circumstances, it is possible you would think that I did it discourteously to induce you to leave. But if it pleases you, come with me and accept the lodgings such as they are, and may God grant you better tomorrow.’

  So she led him by the hand into a private room, which was long and wide and beautiful. They sat down together on an embroidered coverlet of samite which was spread upon a bed. Four knights, then five and six, came into the room and sat down all in a group, saying nothing. They observed the knight who sat silently beside their lady. He refrained from speaking because he recalled the lesson the gentleman had given him; meanwhile the six knights whispered at length among themselves.

  ‘Heavens,’ they all said, ‘I wonder if this knight is mute. It would be a real pity, for no more handsome knight was ever born: how good he looks beside my lady, and she, too, at his side. He is so handsome and she so beautiful that, if they were not both silent, no knight or lady was ever more suited to the other; for it appears that the two of them were destined by God for each other, since He’s brought them here together.’

  Everyone in the room there was conversing in this manner, and the damsel kept waiting for him to speak of anything at all, until she clearly understood that he would not speak a word to her unless she addressed him first. So she said most courteously: ‘Sir, where did you come from today?’

  ‘My lady,’ he replied, ‘I spent last night in a gentleman’s castle, where I had fine and noble lodgings – he has five strong and excellent towers, one large one, and four small. I cannot describe it all in detail, nor do I know the name of the castle, but I do know for a fact that the gentleman is called Gornemant of Gohort.’

  ‘Ah! dear friend,’ said the maiden, ‘your words are welcome and courteously spoken. May the Lord God reward you for calling him a gentleman. You never spoke a truer word, for he is a worthy gentleman, by Saint Richier, this I can assure you; and know that I am his niece, though I’ve not seen him for a long while. And know also indeed that, since you left your home, you will not have met a finer gentleman, of this I’m sure. He welcomed you happily and joyfully, as is possible only for a noble and courteous gentleman who is powerful, rich, and prosperous. But here there are no more than five crumbs, which another uncle – a prior, a very holy and religious man – sent to me to eat this night, and a little cask full of brandy. There’s no other food herein, except a roe-buck that one of my servants killed this morning with an arrow.’

  Then she ordered the tables to be set; they were, and everyone sat down to supper. There was little to eat, but it was consumed with hearty appetites. After eating they went their separate ways. Those who had kept watch the night before remained within to sleep, while those who were to keep watch over the castle that night went to their posts: fifty men-at-arms and knights kept watch that night. The others made every effort to make their guest feel comfortable: the man who was in charge of his bed brought him white sheets, an expensive coverlet, and a pillow for his head. That night the knight had all the comfort and delight one could hope for in a bed, except the pleasure of a maiden’s company, if he pleased, or a lady’s, had it been permitted. But he knew nothing of these pleasures and never thought of them at all, so he promptly fell asleep, having not a care in the world.

  But his hostess, shut in her chamber, did not rest. While he slept peacefully she pondered, for she could offer no defence against an imminent attack. She tossed and turned constantly, restless and upset. Finally she put on a short mantle of red silk over her shift and bravely and courageously started on her mission, which was not an idle one, for she was determined to go to her guest and tell him a part of her troubles. She arose from her bed and left her chamber; she was so frightened that all her limbs were trembling and her body was bathed in perspiration. Weeping, she left her room and came, still weeping and sighing, to the bed where the knight was asleep. She knelt down and leaned over him, weeping now so copiously that her tears dampened his entire face; she dared do nothing more. She wept so much that he awakened, astounded and amazed at finding his face all damp, and beheld her kneeling beside his bed, embracing him tightly around the neck. But he was courteous enough to take her in his arms at once and draw her to him.

  He said to her: ‘Sweet lady, what’s the matter? What has brought you here?’

  ‘Ah, gentle knight, have pity on me! In the name of God and His Son, I beg you not to despise me for having come here, or for being nearly naked. I meant no folly, no wickedness or evil, for there is nothing living in this world so sorrowful or distraught that I am not more sorrowful still. Nothing I have is pleasing to me, for I am constantly plagued by troubles. I am so miserable that I’ll not live to see another night beyond this one, nor another day beyond tomorrow: I’ll kill myself instead. Of three hundred and ten knights who garrisoned this castle there are but fifty left, for Anguingueron, a most evil knight and seneschal of Clamadeu of the Isles, has led away, killed, and imprisoned forty-eight of them.12 I’m as grief-stricken about those in prison as those he killed, for I know they’ll die there since they can never escape. So many noble men have died for my sake that it is right that I should suffer.

  ‘Anguingueron has laid siege to this castle for an entire winter and summer without respite, and every day his army expands, while ours dwindles and our supplies are depleted to the point that there is now not enough left here to feed a bee. We are now in such a state that tomorrow, without God’s help, this castle, which can no longer be defended, will be surrendered to him with myself as his prisoner. But truly, before he takes me alive, I’ll kill myself; then he’ll have me dead and I’ll not care if he carries me off. Clamadeu, who hopes to have me, will not possess my body until it’s devoid of life and soul for I keep in one of my jewellery boxes a knife of flawless steel that I intend to plunge into my body. This is all I had to tell you. Now I’ll go back and let you rest.’

  The new knight will soon be able to win glory if he has the courage: she had come to shed tears over his face for no other reason, in spite of what she pretended, than to inspire in him the desire to undertake the battle, if he dared, to defend her and her lands.

  And he said to her: ‘Dear friend, be cheerful tonight: take comfort, weep no more, draw close to me here, and wipe the tears from your eyes. Tomorrow God will grant you a better day, if He pleases, than you have predicted. Lie down in this bed beside me, it’s wide enough for both of us: you won’t leave me again today.’

  She said: ‘If it pleases you, I shall stay.’

  And he kissed her and held her tightly in his arms. He placed her gently and comfortably beneath the coverlet, and she let him kiss her, and I do n
ot believe it displeased her. Thus they lay side by side with lips touching all night long, until morning came and day dawned. He brought her so much comfort that night that they slept with lips pressed to lips and arm in arm until day broke. At dawn the maiden returned to her own chamber. Without servant or chambermaid she dressed and prepared herself, awakening no one. Those who had kept watch at night came and woke up the others as soon as they saw the light of day, rousing them from their beds. They all arose without delay.

  And the maiden returned immediately to her knight and addressed him courteously: ‘Sir, may God grant you a good day today! I truly believe that you’ll not stay a long while here. There can be no question of your staying; and I’ll not think any the worse of you if you go–it would not be gracious of me to be upset by your departure, for we have brought you no comfort and shown you no honour here. And I pray to God that He prepare you better lodgings, with more bread, wine, salt and other good things than there are here.’

  And he said: ‘Beautiful lady, I’ll not look for any other lodgings today. First, if I can, I’ll bring peace throughout your lands. If I discover your enemy outside, it will cause me distress if he remains there any longer to torment you in any way. But if I defeat and kill him, in recompense I ask that your love be given to me; I’ll accept no other payment.’

  The maiden replied becomingly: ‘Sir, you’ve just requested a pitiful thing of little value. But you’d think me proud if it were denied you, so therefore I don’t wish to refuse you. And yet don’t declare that you would go forth to die for me on condition that I become your sweetheart, as that would be most unfortunate: you are not strong or old enough, I assure you, ever to hold your own in skirmish or battle against a knight so strong and tall, and so hardened by combat, as the one awaiting you out there.’