Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  When the emperor was reminded of the potion that was so delightful to drink, with which Thessala deceived him, for the first time he realized and knew that he had never had pleasure with his wife except in dreams, which was a false pleasure. Then he swore that if he did not take vengeance for the shame and humiliation caused him by the traitor who had stolen away his wife, he would never again be happy in his life. ‘Quickly!’ he said. ‘To Pavia and from there to Germany! Look for him in every castle, town, and city. Whoever brings the two of them back captive will be dearer to me than any man alive. Now do your best and look for them high and low, near and far!’

  Then they set off with great commotion and spent all that day searching, but Cligés and Fenice had friends in the party who, had they discovered them, would have rather provided hiding places than bring them back to court. For a full fortnight they pursued them, but not without difficulty; for Thessala, their guide, kept them so secure by her enchantments and magic that they felt no fear or dread of all the emperor’s forces. Though they did not stop in any town or city, still they had all and more than they could wish for or request, for Thessala sought out, procured, and brought them all they desired. No longer were they followed or hunted, for everyone had turned back.

  But Cligés did not rest: he went to his great-uncle King Arthur, whom he located after some searching, and delivered him his complaint that his uncle the emperor, in order to disinherit him, had disloyally taken a wife he should not have taken, since he had sworn to Cligés’s father never to marry in his life. King Arthur said that he would take his fleet to Constantinople. He would fill a thousand ships with knights and three thousand with foot-soldiers, until no citadel, borough, town, or castle, no matter how high or mighty its walls, could withstand their assault. Cligés did not forget to thank the king for the help he offered him. The king sent for and summoned all the high barons of his land, and he had sailing ships and galleys, transports and barques requisitioned and equipped. He had a hundred ships filled and loaded with shields, lances, bucklers, and armour fit for knights. The king’s preparations were on such a grand scale that neither Caesar nor Alexander ever equalled them. All England and all Flanders, Normandy, France, and Brittany, and everyone as far as the Spanish passes, were convened and assembled.

  They were about to set sail when messengers arrived from Greece, who postponed the embarkation and detained the king and his people. Among the messengers who came was John that most trustworthy of men, who would never have been a witness or messenger of anything untrue or of which he was not certain. These messengers were high lords of Greece seeking Cligés.

  They searched for him and made inquiries until they found him at the king’s court, where they told him: ‘God save you, sire, on behalf of everyone in your empire! Greece is now yours and Constantinople, by the rights you have to them. Though you do not know it, your uncle died of the grief he suffered because he could not find you. His sorrow was so great that he lost his mind; he stopped eating and drinking and died insane. Dear sire, return with us, for all your barons have sent for you. They are eager to have you back and are calling for you because they wish to make you emperor.’

  Many of those assembled were happy to hear this news, but there were many who would gladly have left their homes behind and been happy to sail with the army for Greece. But the expedition was cancelled and the king dismissed his men; the army disbanded and the knights returned home. Meanwhile Cligés hastened to make preparations, for he wished to return to Greece without delay. Once he was ready, he took leave of the king and all his friends and set off, taking Fenice with him.

  They did not stop until they reached Greece, where they were given a joyful welcome befitting a new lord. Then they gave Cligés his sweetheart to be his wife, and the two of them were crowned. He had made his sweetheart his wife, but he called her sweetheart and lady; she lost nothing in marrying, since he loved her still as his sweetheart; and she, too, loved him as a lady should love her lover. Each day their love grew stronger. He never doubted her in any way or ever quarrelled with her over anything; she was never kept confined as many empresses since her have been. For since her days every emperor has been fearful of being deceived by his wife when he remembered how Fenice deceived Alis, first with the potion he drank, then later by that other ruse. Therefore every empress, whoever she is and regardless of her riches and nobility, is kept like a prisoner in Constantinople, for the emperor does not trust her when he recalls the story of Fenice. He keeps her confined each day to her chamber, more from fear than because he does not want her skin to darken,23 and allows no male to be with her unless he is a eunuch from childhood, since there is no fear or question that Love’s snares will trap such men.

  HERE ENDS CHRÉTIEN’S WORK

  THE KNIGHT OF THE CART (LANCELOT)

  SINCE my lady of Champagne1 wishes me to begin a romance, I shall do so most willingly, like one who is entirely at her service in anything he can undertake in this world. I say this without flattery, though another might begin his story with the desire to flatter her, he might say (and I would agree) that she is the lady who surpasses all women who are alive, just as the zephyr that blows in May or April surpasses the other winds.2 Certainly I am not one intent upon flattering his lady. Will I say, ‘As the polished gem eclipses the pearl and the sard, the countess eclipses queens’? Indeed not; I’ll say nothing of the sort, though it is true in spite of me. I will say, however, that her command has more importance in this work than any thought or effort I might put into it.

  Chrétien begins his book about the Knight of the Cart; the subject matter and meaning are furnished and given him by the countess, and he strives carefully to add nothing but his effort and careful attention.3 Now he begins his story.

  On a certain Ascension Day King Arthur was in the region near Caerleon and held his court at Camelot,4 splendidly and luxuriantly as befitted a king. After the meal the king did not stir from among his companions. There were many barons present in the hall, and the queen was among them, as were, I believe, a great number of beautiful courtly ladies, skilful at conversing in French. And Kay, who had overseen the feast, was eating with those who had served. While Kay was still at table, there appeared before them a knight who had come to court splendidly equipped and fully armed for battle. The knight came forward in his splendid armour to where the king was seated among his barons. Instead of the customary greeting, he declared:

  ‘King Arthur, I hold imprisoned knights, ladies and maidens from your land and household. I do not bring you news of them because I intend to return them to you; rather, I want to inform you that you have neither wealth nor power enough to ensure their release. And know you well that you will die before you are able to come to their aid.’

  The king replied that he must accept this, since he could not change it for the better, but that it grieved him deeply.

  Then the knight made as if to leave: he turned and strode from the king until he reached the door of the great hall. But before descending the stairs, he stopped and proffered this challenge:

  ‘Sir, if at your court there is even one knight in whom you have faith enough to dare entrust the queen to accompany her into these woods where I am going, I give my oath that I will await him there and will deliver all the prisoners who are captive in my land – if he is able to win the queen from me and bring her back to you.’

  Many there in the palace heard this, and all the court was in turmoil. Kay, who was eating with the servants, also heard this challenge. He left his meal, came directly to the king, and spoke to him in indignation: ‘My king, I have served you well, in good faith and loyally. But now I take my leave; I shall go away and serve you no more; I’ve neither the will nor desire to serve you any longer.’

  The king was saddened by what he heard; but when he was able to reply, he said to him at once: ‘Are you serious, or just joking?’

  ‘Good king,’ replied Kay, ‘I’ve no need to joke – I’m taking my leave in all seriousness. I
ask no further wages or recompense for my service; I have firmly resolved to depart without delay.’

  ‘Is it out of anger or spite that you wish to leave?’ asked the king. ‘Sir seneschal, remain at court as you have in the past, and be assured that there’s nothing I have in all this world that I’d not give you at once to keep you here.’

  ‘Sir,’ he replied, ‘no need for that. For each day’s stay I wouldn’t take a measure of purest gold.’

  In desperation King Arthur went to his queen and asked: ‘My lady, have you no idea what the seneschal wants from me? He has asked for leave and says that he will quit my court. I don’t know why. But what he wouldn’t do for me, he’ll do at once if you beg him. Go to him, my dear lady; though he deign not stay for my sake, pray him to stay for yours and fall at his feet if necessary, for I would never again be happy if I were to lose his company.’

  The king sent his queen to the seneschal. She went and found him with the other barons; when she came before him, she said: ‘Sir Kay, I’m most upset at what I’ve heard said of you – I’ll tell you straight out. I’ve been informed, and it saddens me, that you wish to leave the king’s service. What gave you this idea? What feelings compel you? I no longer see in you the wise and courtly knight that once I knew. I want to urge you to remain: Kay, I beg of you – stay!’

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘and it please you, but I could never stay.’

  The queen once again implored him, as did all the knights around her. Kay replied that she was wasting her efforts asking for what would not be granted. Then the queen, in all her majesty, fell down at his feet. Kay begged her to rise, but she replied that she would not do so; she would never again rise until he had granted her wish. At that Kay promised her that he would remain, but only if the king and the queen herself would grant in advance what he was about to request.5

  ‘Kay,’ said she, ‘no matter what it may be, both he and I will grant it. Now come and we’ll tell him that on this condition you’ll remain.’

  Kay accompanied the queen, and together they approached the king. ‘My lord,’ said the queen, ‘with much effort I have retained Kay. But I bring him to you with the assurance that you will do whatever he is about to ask.’

  The king was overwhelmed with joy and promised to grant Kay’s request, no matter what he might demand.

  ‘My lord,’ said Kay, ‘know then what I want and the nature of the gift that you have promised me; I consider myself most fortunate to obtain it with your blessing: you have agreed to entrust to me the queen whom I see here before me, and we shall go after the knight who is awaiting us in the forest.’

  Though it saddened the king, he entrusted her to Kay, for never was he known to break his word; but his anger and pain were written clearly on his face. The queen was also very upset, and all those in the household insisted that Kay’s request was proud, rash, and foolhardy.

  Arthur took his queen by the hand and said to her: ‘My lady, there is no way to prevent your going with Kay.’

  ‘Now trust her to me,’ Kay insisted, ‘and don’t be afraid of anything, for I’ll bring her back quite happy and safe.’

  The king handed her over to Kay, who led her away. The members of the court followed after the two of them; not a soul remained unmoved. You must know that the seneschal was fully armed. His horse was brought to the middle of the courtyard. Beside it was a palfrey, as befitted a queen: it was neither restive nor high-spirited.

  Weak, sad, and sighing, the queen approached the palfrey; she mounted, then said beneath her breath so as not to be heard: ‘Ah! My beloved,6 if you knew, I don’t believe you’d ever let Kay lead me even a single step away.’ (She thought she had spoken in a whisper, yet she was overheard by Count Guinable, who was near her as she mounted.)

  As she was led away by Kay, every man and woman who was present at court and saw this lamented as if she were already lying dead in her coffin; no one thought she would ever return alive. In his rashness the seneschal led her towards where the knight was waiting; yet no one was troubled enough to attempt to follow him until my lord Gawain said publicly to his uncle the king: ‘My lord, it surprises me that you have done such a foolish thing. However, if you will accept my advice, you and I, with any others who might wish to come, should hurry after them while they are yet near. I myself cannot refrain from setting out at once in pursuit. It would be unseemly if we didn’t follow them at least until we know what will become of the queen and how well Kay will acquit himself.’

  ‘Let us be off, dear nephew,’ said the king. ‘Your words are nobly spoken. Since you have proposed this course, order our horses to be brought forth, bridled and saddled and ready to mount.’

  The horses were led out immediately, saddled and fully equipped. The king mounted first, my lord Gawain after him, then the others as quickly as they could. Everyone wanted to be among the party, and each went as it pleased him: some with armour, and many unarmed. My lord Gawain was armed for battle and had ordered two squires to accompany him, leading in hand two warhorses. As they were nearing the forest, they recognized Kay’s horse coming out and saw that both reins were broken from the bridle. The horse was riderless, its stirrup-leathers stained with blood; the rear part of its saddle was broken and in pieces. Everyone was upset by this; they nudged one another and exchanged comprehending glances. My lord Gawain was riding well in advance of the others; it was not long before he saw a knight approaching slowly on a horse that was sore and tired, breathing hard and lathered in sweat. The knight greeted my lord Gawain first, and my lord Gawain then returned his greeting. The knight, who recognized my lord Gawain, stopped and said:

  ‘My lord, do you not see how my horse is bathed in sweat and in such state that he is no longer of use to me? And I believe these two warhorses are yours. Now I beg you, with the promise to return you the service and favour, to let me have one or the other at your choice, either as a loan or gift.’

  Gawain replied: ‘Choose whichever of the two you prefer.’

  But the unknown knight, who was in desperate need, did not take the time to choose the better, or the more handsome, or the larger, rather, he leapt upon the one that was nearest him, and rode off full speed. And the horse he had been riding fell dead, for that day it had been overridden and exhausted, and had suffered much. The knight galloped straight away back into the forest, and my lord Gawain followed after him in hot pursuit until he reached the bottom of a hill.

  After he had ridden a great distance, Gawain came upon the warhorse that he had given the knight. It was now dead. Gawain saw that the ground had been much trampled by many horses and strewn with many fragments of shields and lances. There were clear signs that a pitched battle had been waged there between many knights; Gawain was bitterly disappointed not to have been present. He did not tarry long, but passed quickly beyond until by chance he again caught sight of that same knight, now alone and on foot, although still fully armed – with helmet laced, shield strung from his neck, and sword girded. He had overtaken a cart.

  In those days carts were used as pillories are now; where each large town now has three thousand or more carts, in those times they had but one. Like our pillories, that cart was for all criminals alike, for all traitors and murderers, for all those who had lost trials by combat, and for all those who had stolen another’s possessions by larceny or snatched them by force on the highways. The guilty person was taken and made to mount in the cart and was led through every street; he had lost all his feudal rights and was never again heard at court, nor invited or honoured there. Since in those days carts were so dreadful, the saying first arose: ‘Whenever you see a cart and cross its path, make the sign of the cross and remember God, so that evil will not befall you.’

  The knight, on foot and without his lance, hurried after the cart and saw, sitting on its shaft, a dwarf who held a driver’s long switch in his hand. The knight said to the dwarf: ‘Dwarf, in the name of God, tell me if you’ve seen my lady the queen pass by this way?’

&
nbsp; The vile, low-born dwarf would give him no information; instead he said: ‘If you want to get into this cart I’m driving, by tomorrow you’ll know what has become of the queen.’

  The dwarf immediately continued on his way, without slowing down even an instant for the knight, who hesitated but two steps before climbing in. He would regret this moment of hesitation and be accursed and shamed for it; he would come to consider himself ill-used. But Reason, who does not follow Love’s command, told him to beware of getting in, and admonished and counselled him not to do anything for which he might incur disgrace or reproach. Reason, who dared tell him this, spoke from the lips, not from the heart; but Love, who held sway within his heart, urged and commanded him to climb into the cart at once. Because Love ordered and wished it, he jumped in; since Love ruled his action, the disgrace did not matter.

  My lord Gawain quickly spurred on after the cart and was astonished to find the knight seated in it. Then he said: ‘Dwarf, if you know anything about the queen, tell me.’

  ‘If you think as little of yourself as this knight sitting here,’ the dwarf answered, ‘then get in beside him and I’ll drive you along after her.’

  When my lord Gawain heard this, he thought it was madness and said that he would not get in because it would be a very poor bargain to trade a horse for a cart.

  ‘But go wherever you will and I will follow after.’

  So they set off on their way – the one on horseback, the two others riding the cart, and all taking the same path. Towards the hour of vespers they came to a fortified town that, I want you to know, was very elegant and beautiful. All three entered through a gate. The people marvelled at the knight who was being transported in the dwarf’s cart. They did not hide their feelings, but all – rich and poor, young and old – mocked him loudly as he was borne through the streets; the knight heard many a vile and scornful word at his expense.