Erec et Enide.......................................................................................................................................................1

Chretien de Troyes ...................................................................................................................................1

INTRODUCTION...................................................................................................................................1

Part I .........................................................................................................................................................6

Part II.....................................................................................................................................................21

Part III....................................................................................................................................................36

Chretien 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 Chretien 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 Chretien'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

Such extravagant claims for Chretien'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

Chretien 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

heraldatarms (according to Gaston Paris, based on "Lancelot" 559194) 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 Chretien 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 eightsyllable rhyming couplets, treat respectively

of Erec and Enide, Cliges, Yvain, and Lancelot. Another poem, "Perceval le Gallois", was composed about

1175 for Philip, Count of Flanders, to whom Chretien 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 Chretien

wrote only the first 9000 verses, and because Miss Jessie L. Weston has given us an English version of

Wolfram's wellknown "Parzival", which tells substantially the same story, though in a different spirit. To

have included this poem, of which he wrote less than onethird, in the works of Chretien would have been

unjust to him. It is true the romance of "Lancelot" was not completed by Chretien, we are told, but the poem

is his in such large part that one would be overscrupulous 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 Chretien,

and since they have nothing to do with the Arthurian material, it seems reasonable to limit the present

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 AngloNorman poet Wace immediately afterward. Scholars have waged war over

the theories of transmission of the socalled 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. Chretien belonged to a generation of French poets who rook over a great mass of Celtic

folklore 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 twelfthcentury

"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

seventeenthcentury 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

What Chretien'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 Chretien, as it is in the case of the AngloNorman Beroul, who

wrote of Tristan about 1150. The material evidently was at hand and Chretien 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

A French narrative poet of the twelfth century had three categories of subjectmatter 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"). Chretien tells us in "Cliges" 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 folklore. 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 folklore that

polish and elegance which is peculiarly French, and which is inseparably associated with the Arthurtan

legends in all modern literature. Though Beroul, and perhaps other poets, had previously based romantic

poems upon individual Celtic heroes like Tristan, nevertheless to Chretien, 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 neverending series of amorous adventures and

dangerous quests. Rather than unqualifiedly attribute to Chretien 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 Chretien 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

And now let us consider the faults which a modern reader will not be slow to detect in Chretien'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,

Chretien 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 Chretien 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 firstclass 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 Chretien'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 "Cliges", 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 Chretien. 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 Chretien'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 Chretien 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

socalled AngloNorman theory which supposes the existence of lost AngloNorman romances in French as

the sources of Chretien 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 today 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

Chretien'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

openhanded, 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 Chretien, 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 Cliges for Fenice, fascinate the conventional Christian society of the twelfth

century and of the twentieth century alike, but thereis 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. Chretien well

knew the difference between right and wrong, between reason and passion, as the reader of "Cliges" may

learn for himself. Fenice was not Iseut, and she would not have her Cliges 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",

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 Chretien'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", "Cliges", "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 Chretien'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 Chretien. 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, Chretien 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. "Cliges" 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 Chretien's source, as he himself claims, was literary (cf. Gaston Paris in "Journal des Savants", 1902, pp.

641655). 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 rallyingpoint for courteous knights

of whatever extraction. The poem has been termed an "AntiTristan", because of its disparaging reference to

the love of Tristan and Iseut, which, it is generally supposed, had been narrated by Chretien 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 pseudohistorical 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 Chretien's art, if indeed it be his work.

A few words must be devoted to Chretien'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 lovemaking 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 sylabble 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 pseudohistorical

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

AngloNormans 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 iiterary 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 Chretien 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

selfeffacing 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

The student of the history of social and moral ideals will find much to interest him in Chretien's romances.

Mediaeval references show that he was held by his immediate successors, as he is held today when fairly

viewed, to have been a master of the art of storytelling. 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 Chretien and his contemporary craftsmen (see "Some Features of Style in

Early French Narrative Poetry, 11501170� in "Modern Philology", iii., 179209; iii., 513539; iv.,

655675). 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 Chretien 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

Aside from certain episodes of Chretien'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. "Cliges" contains the body

of Chretien'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 Chretien 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 "Cliges."

So we leave Chretien to speak across the ages for himself and his generation. He is to be read as a storyteller

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.

(Vv. 126.) 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 Chretien 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

(Vv. 2766.) 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, (2) 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 fight 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. Tomorrow morning we shall all gaily go to hunt

the White Stag in the forest of adventure. And very delightful this hunt will be."

(Vv. 67114.) 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. (3) 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 twentyfive 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

(Vv. 115124.) 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

(Vv. 125154.) 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

(Vv. 155274.) "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 vou 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. 275310.) 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

(Vv. 311341.) To the council came a great part of the best knights of the court. King Yder (4) 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

(Vv. 342392.) 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 (5). 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

sparrowhawks and moulting falcons; others were giving an airing to their tercels, (6) 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 (7)

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

(Vv. 393410.) 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

workroom doing I know not what. The lady came out with her daughter, who was dressed in a soft white

underrobe 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

(Vv. 411458.) 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. (8) 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. 459546) 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 manservant, 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. (9) 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

(Vv. 547690.) 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 tomorrow; for in

the presence of all the people there will be set upon a silver perch a sparrowhawk 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

triplewoven hauberk, (10) 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 tomorrow 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

(Vv. 691746.) 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),

(11) laces on his iron greaves, and makes them fast with thong of deerhide. 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 buttend, 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 sparrowhawk 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. 747862.) 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 sparrowhawk." 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 sparrowhawk, 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 sparrowhawk, 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 sparrowhawk. 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. 8631080.) 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

saddlebows 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 ladyloves." 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 waistband. 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 illbred 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 tomorrow 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. 10811170.) 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 (12) 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 o� him? Why have you mentioned him?" "Lady, because I have seen a knighterrant 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

(Vv. 11711243.) 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?"

"Tomorrow, 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

(Vv. 12441319.) 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 (13), 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 tonight, 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 tonight 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. (14) 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

(Vv. 13201352.) Erec thus addressed the vavasor: "Fair host, fair friend, fair sire! You have done me great

honour, and richly shall it be repaid you. Tomorrow 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. (15) 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. Tomorrow 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

(Vv. 13531478.) 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

(Vv. 14791690.) 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 greenishpurple 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 dressingroom 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

(Vv. 16911750.) 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. (16) 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, (17) 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; (18) he never had any care for truth.

(Vv. 17511844.) 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

(Vv. 18451914.) 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. (20) 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. 19152024.) 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 liegemen, 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. (21)

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 sparrowhawk, or some precious pigeonhawk, 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 halffoot 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 particoloured 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

(Vv. 20252068.) 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. (22) 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 merrymaking, each one contributing what he could to the entertainment: one jumps, another

tumbles, another does magic; there is storytelling, 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 merrymaking. 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. 20692134.) 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.

(23) 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 sparrowhawk 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 entranceway 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 newmade 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

(Vv. 21352292.) 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

breaststrap 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, (24) 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; (25) with him no one could be compared. But next after him, he prized Erec most, and

(Vv. 22932764.) 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 meadowland, with

vineyards and farms, with streams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths, and polite,

wellmannered 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 whitespotted

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 wellbred 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

pigeonhawk, another with a setterdog, 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 openhanded 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. (26) 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 wellshaped 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 illstarred." "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 triplewove; 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

(Vv. 27652924.) 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 goodfornothing 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 breaststrap 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. 29253085.) 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 collarbone. 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 hidingplace 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 saddlebow. 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

(Vv. 30863208.) 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 mouthpiece 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 lodgingplace. There they were received with

joy. The host with kindness welcomed them, and with joy and gladness made generous provision for their

(Vv. 32093458.) 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

singlehanded 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." (28) 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 lodgingplace, 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 spearlengths 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 swordplay 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 tomorrow 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

(Vv. 34593662.) 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

crossbow 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 darkblue 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. 36633930.) 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 o� 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 triplewoven 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 hillside,

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 irontipped 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 {t 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. (29) 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. 39314280.) 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. (30) 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. Tonight 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 buttend 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 lodgingplace. 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 tonight, 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 today. 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 topspeed 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; tomorrow, 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. (31) 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. 42814307.) 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

(Vv. 43084380.) 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 ro 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. 43814579.) 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. (32) 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 goodwill 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 saddlebow. 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. 45804778.) 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. (33) "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 ladylove. "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 crosswise. 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. 47794852.) 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 today 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

(Vv. 48534938.) 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 castleyard a stableboy in the act of leading his steed to the wateringplace, 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 saddlebows, 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. 49395058.) 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 waitingmaid. 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 menatarms 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 thickethedge. No wonder if he is dismayed. "Lady, do you stay here," he

says, "beside this thickethedge 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 had been in health. Now be generous and

courteous, and kindly let cease this battle which thou hast begun. For thy reputation would be no better for

having killed or captured a knight who has not the strength to rise, as thou canst see. For he has suffered so

many blows of arms that he is all covered with wounds" And he replies: "Fear not, lady! I see that loyally you

love your lord, and I commend you for it. Have no fear whatsoever of me or of my company. But tell me now

without concealment what is the name of your lord; for only advantage will you get from telling me.

Whoever he be, tell me his name; then he shall go safe and unmolested. Neither he nor you have aught to

(Vv. 50595172.) Then Enide learns that she is safe, she answers him briefly in a word: "His name is Erec; I

ought not to lie, for I see you are honest and of good intent." Guivret, in his delight, dismounts and goes to

fall at Erec's feet, where he was lying on the ground. "My lord," he says, "I was going to seek for you, and

was on my way to Limors, where I expected to find you dead. It was told and recounted to me as true that

Count Oringle had carried off to Limors a knight who was mortally wounded, and that he wickedly intended

to marry a lady whom he had found in his company; but that she would have nothing to do with him. And I

was coming urgently to aid and deliver her. If he refused to hand over to me both the lady and you without

resistance, I should esteem myself of little worth if I left him a foot of earth to stand upon. Be sure that had I

not loved you dearly I should never have taken this upon myself. I am Guivret, your friend; but if I have done

you any hurt through my failure to recognise you, you surely ought to pardon me." At this Erec sat up, for he

could do no more, and said: "Rise up, my friend. Be absolved of the harm you have done me, since you did

not recognise me." Guivret gets up, and Erec tells him how he has killed the Count while he sat at meat, and

how he had gained possession again of his steed in front of the stable, and how the sergeants and the squires

had fled across the yard, crying: "Flee, flee, the corpse is chasing us;" then, how he came near being caught,

and how he escaped through the town and down the hill, carrying his wife on his horse's neck: all this

adventure of his he told him. Then Guivret said, "Sire, I have a castle here close by, which is well placed in a

healthful site. For your comfort and benefit I wish to take you there tomorrow and have your wounds cared

for. I have two charming and sprightly sisters who are skilful in the care of wounds: they will soon

completely cure you. (34) Tonight we shall let our company lodge here in the fields until morning; for I

think a little rest tonight will do you much good. My advice is that we spend the night here." Erec replies: "I

am in favour of doing so." So there they stayed and spent the night. They were not reluctant to prepare a

lodgingplace, but they found few accommodations, for the company was quite numerous. They lodge as

best they may among the bushes: Guivret had his tent set up, and ordered tinder to be kindled, that they might

have light and cheer. He has tapers taken out from the boxes, and they light them within the tent. Now Enide

no longer grieves, for all has turned out well. She strips her lord of his arms and clothes, and having washed

his wounds, she dried them and bound them up again; for she would let no one else touch him. Now Erec

knows no further reason to reproach her, for he has tried her well and found that she bears great love to him.

And Guivret, who treats them kindly, had a high, long bed constructed of quilted coverlids, laid upon grass

and reed, which they found in abundance. There they laid Erec and covered him up. Then Guivret opened a

box and took out two patties. "Friend," says he, "now try a little of these cold patties, and drink some wine

mixed with water. I have as much as six barrels of it, but undiluted it is not good for you; for you are injured

and covered with wounds. Fair sweet friend, now try to eat; for it will do you good. And my lady will eat

some too your wife who has been today in sore distress on your account. But you have received full

satisfaction for all that, and have escaped. So eat now, and I will eat too, fair friend." Then Guivret sat down

by Erec's side, and so did Enide who was much pleased by all that Guivret did. Both of them urge him to eat,

giving him wine mixed with water'; for unmixed it is too strong and heating. Erec ate as a sick man eats, and

drank a little all he dared. But he rested comfortably and slept all night; for on his account no noise or

(Vv. 51735366.) In the early morning they awoke, and prepared again to mount and ride. Erec was so

devoted to his own horse that he would ride no other. They gave to Enide a mule, for she had lost her palfrey.

But she was not concerned; to judge by her looks, she gave the matter no thought. She had a good mule with

an easy gait that bore her very comfortably. And it gave her great satisfaction that Erec was not cast down,

but rather assured them that he would recover completely. Before the third hour they reached Penevric, a

strong castle, well and handsomely situated. There dwelt the two sisters of Guivret; for the place was

agreeable enough. Guivret escorted Erec to a delightful, airy room in a remote part of the castle. His sisters, at

his request, exerted themselves to cure Erec; and Erec placed himself in their hands, for they inspired him

with perfect confidence. First, they removed the dead flesh, then applied plaster and lint, devoting to his care

all their skill, like women who knew their business well. Again and again they washed his wounds and

applied the plaster. Four times or more each day they made him eat and drink, allowing him, however, no

garlic or pepper. But whoever might go in or out Enide was always with him, being more than any one else

concerned. Guivret often came in to ask and inquire if he wanted anything. He was well kept and well served,

and everything that he wished was willingly done. But the damsels cheerfully and gladly showed such

devotion in caring for him that by the end of a fortnight he felt no hurt or pain. Then, to bring his colour back,

they began to give him baths. There was no need to instruct the damsels, for they understood the treatment

well. When he was able to walk about. Guivret had two loose gowns made of two different kinds of silk, one

trimmed with ermine, the other with vair. One was of a dark purple colour, and the other striped, sent to him

as a present by a cousin of his from Scotland. Enide had the purple gown trimmed with ermine, which was

very precious, while Erec had the striped stuff with the fur, which was no less valuable. Now Erec was strong

and well, cured and recovered. Now that Enide was very happy and had everything she desired, her great

beauty returned to her; for her great distress had affected her so much that she was very pale and wan. Now

she was embraced and kissed, now she was blessed with all good things, now she had her joy and pleasures;

for unadorned they lie in bed and each enfolds and kisses the other; nothing gives them so much joy. They

have had so much pain and sorrow, he for her, and she for him, that now they have their satisfaction. Each

vies in seeking to please the other. Of their further sport I must not speak. Now they have so welded their

love and forgotten their grief that they scarcely remember it any more. But now they must go on their way; so

they asked his leave to depart from Guivret, in whom they had found a friend indeed; for he had honoured

and served them in every way. When he came to take leave, Erec said: "Sire, I do not wish to delay longer my

departure for my own land. Order everything to be prepared and collected, in order that I may have all I need.

I shall wish to start tomorrow morning, as soon as it is day. I have stayed so long with you that I feel strong

and vigorous. God grant, if it please Him, that I may live to meet you again somewhere, when I may be able

in my turn to serve and honour you. Unless I am captured or detained, I do not expect to tarry anywhere until

I reach the court of King Arthur, whom I hope to find either at Robais or Carduel." To which Guivret makes

prompt reply, "Sire, you shall not go off alone! For I myself shall go with you and shall take companions with

us, if it be your pleasure." Erec accedes to this advice, and says that, in accordance with his plans, he wishes

the journey to be begun. That night they make preparations for their journey, not wishing to delay there

longer. They all make ready and prepare. In the early morning, when they awake, the saddles are placed upon

the steeds. Before he leaves, Erec goes to bid farewell to the damsels in their rooms; and Enide (who was

glad and full of joy) thither follows him. When their preparations for departure were made, they took their

leave of the damsels. Erec, who was very courteous, in taking leave of them, thanks them for his health and

life, and pledges to them his service. Then he took one of them by the hand she who was the nearer to him

and Enide took the other's hand: hand in hand they came up from the bedroom into the castle hall. Guivret

urges them to mount at once without delay. Enide thinks the time will never come for them to mount. They

bring around to the block for her a goodtempered palfrey, a soft stepper, handsome and well shaped. The

palfrey was of fine appearance and a good mount: it was no less valuable than her own which had stayed

behind at Limors. That other one was dappled, this one was sorrel; but the head was of another colour: it was

marked in such a way that one cheek was all white, while the other was raven black. Between the two colours

there was a line, greener than a grapevine leaf, which separated the white from the black. Of the bridle,

breaststrap, and saddle I can surely say that the workmanship was rich and handsome. All the breast strap

and bridle was of gold set with emeralds. The saddle was decorated in another style, covered with a precious

purple cloth. The saddlebows were of ivory, on which was carved the story of how Aeneas came from Troy,

how at Carthage with great joy Dido received him to her bed, how Aeneas deceived her, and how for him she

killed herself, how Aeneas conquered Laurentum and all Lombardy, of which he was king all his life. (35)

Cunning was the workmanship and well carved, all decorated with fine gold. A skilful craftsman, who made

it spent more than seven years in carving it, without touching any other piece of work. I do not know whether

he sold it; but he ought to have obtained a good price for it. Now that Enide was presented with this palfrey,

she was well compensated for the loss of her own. The palfrey, thus richly apparelled, was given to her and

she mounted it gladly; then the gentlemen and squires quickly mounted too. For their pleasure and sport

Guivret caused to be taken with them rich falcons, both young and moulted, many a tercel and

(Vv. 53675446.) (36) They rode straight on from morn till eve more than thirty Welsh leagues, and then

came to the towers of a stronghold, rich and fair, girt all about with a new wall. And all around, beneath this

wall, ran a very deep stream, roaring rushing like a storm. Erec stops to look at it, and ask and find out if any

one could truly tell him who was the lord of this town. "Friend," said he to his kind companion, "could you

tell me the name of this town, and whose it is? Tell me if it belongs to a count or a king. Since you have

brought me here, tell me, if you know." "Sire," he says, "I know very well, and will tell you the truth about it.

The name of the town is Brandigant, and it is so strong and fine that it fears neither king nor emperor. If

France, and all of England, and all who live from here to Liege were ranged about to lay a siege, they would

never take it in their lives; for the isle on which the town stands stretches away four leagues or more, and

within the enclosure grows all that a rich town needs: fruit and wheat and wine are found; and of wood and

water there is no lack. It fears no assault on any side, nor could anything reduce it to starvation. King Evrain

had it fortified, and he has possessed it all his days unmolested, and will possess it all his life. But not

because he feared any one did he thus fortify it; but the town is more pleasing so. For if it had no wall or

tower, but only the stream that encircles it, it would still be so secure and strong that it would have no fear of

the whole world." "God!" said Erec, "what great wealth! Let us go and see the fortress, and we shall take

lodging in the town, for I wish to stop here." "Sire," said the other in great distress, "were it not to disappoint

you, we should not stop here. In the town there is a dangerous passage." "Dangerous?" says Erec; "do you

know about it? Whatever it be, tell us about it; for very gladly would I know." "Sire," says he, "I should fear

that you might suffer some harm there. I know there is so much boldness and excellence in your heart that,

were I to tell you what I know of the perilous and hard adventure, you would wish to enter in. I have often

heard the story, and more than seven years have passed since any one that went in quest of the adventure has

come back from the town; yet, proud, bold knights have come hither from many a land. Sire, do not treat this

as a jest: for you will never learn the secret from me until you shall have promised me, by the love you have

sworn to me, that never by you will be undertaken this adventure, from which no one escapes without

(Vv. 54475492.) Now Erec hears what pleases him, and begs Guivret not to be grieved, saying: "Ah, fair

sweet friend, permit that our lodging be made in the town, and do not be disturbed. It is time to halt for the

night, and so I trust that it will not displease you; for if any honour comes to us here you ought to be very

glad. I appeal to you conceding the adventure that you tell me just the name of it, and I'll not insist upon the

rest." "Sire." he says, "I cannot be silent and refuse the information you desire. The name is very fair to say,

but the execution is very hard: for no one can come from it alive. The adventure, upon my word, is called `the

Joy of the Court.'" "God! there can be nothing but good in joy," says Erec; "I go to seek it. Don't go now and

discourage me about this or anything else, fair gentle friend; but let us have our lodgings taken, for great good

may come to us of this. Nothing could restrain me from going to seek the Joy." "Sire," says he, "God grant

your prayer, that you may find joy and return without mishap. I clearly see that we must go in. Since

otherwise it may not be, let us go in. Our lodging is secured; for no knight of high degree, as I have heard it

said and told, can enter this castle with intent to lodge here but that King Evrain offers to shelter him. So

gentle and courteous is the King that he has given notice to all his townsmen, appealing to their love for him,

that any gentleman from afar should not find lodging in their houses, so that he himself may do honour to all

(Vv. 54935668.) (37) Thus they proceed toward the castle, passing the list and the drawbridge; and when

they passed the listingplace, the people who were gathered in the streets in crowds see Erec in all his beauty,

and apparently they think and believe that all the others are in his train. Marvelling much, they stare at him;

the whole town was stirred and moved, as they take counsel and discuss about him. Even the maidens at their

song leave off their singing and desist, as all together they look at him; and because of his great beauty they

cross themselves, and marvellously they pity him. One to another whispers low: "Alas! This knight, who is

passing, is on his way to the `Joy of the Court.' He will be sorry before he returns; no one ever came from

another land to claim the `Joy of the Court' who did not receive shame and harm, and leave his head there as

a forfeit." Then, that he may hear their words, they cryaloud: "God defend thee, knight, from harm; for thou

art wondrously handsome, and thy beauty is greatly to be pitied, for tomorrow we shall see it quenched.

Tomorrow thy death is come; tomorrow thou shalt surely die if God does not guard and defend thee." Erec

hears and understands that they are speaking of him through the lower town: more than two thousand pitied

him; but nothing causes him dismay. He passes on without delay, bowing gaily to men and women alike. And

they all salute him too; and most of them swear with anxiety, fearing more than he does himself, for his

shame and for his hurt. The mere sight of his countenance, his great beauty and his bearing, has so won to

him the hearts of all, that knights, ladies, and maids alike fear his harm. King Evrain hears the news that men

were arriving at his court who brought with them a numerous train, and by his harness it appeared that their

leader was a count or king. King Evrain comes down the street to meet them, and saluting them he cries:

"Welcome to this company, both to the master and all his suite. Welcome, gentlemen! Dismount." They

dismounted, and there were plenty to receive and take their horses. Nor was King Evrain backward when he

saw Enide coming; but he straightway saluted her and ran to help her to dismount. Taking her white and

tender hand, he led her up into the palace, as was required by courtesy, and honoured her in every way he

could, for he knew right well what he ought to do, without nonsense and without malice. He ordered a

chamber to be scented with incense, myrrh, and aloes. When they entered, they all complimented King

Evrain on its fine appearance. Hand in hand they enter the room, the King escorting them and taking great

pleasure in them. But why should I describe to you the paintings and the silken draperies with which the

room was decorated? I should only waste time in folly, and I do not wish to waste it, but rather to hasten on a

little; for he who travels the straight road passes him who turns aside; therefore I do not wish to tarry. When

the time and hour arrived, the King orders supper to be prepared; but I do not wish to stop over that if I can

find some more direct way. That night they had in abundance all that heart desires and craves: birds, venison,

and fruit, and wines of different sorts. But better than all is a happy cheer! For of all dishes the sweetest is a

joyful countenance and a happy face. They were very richly served until Erec suddenly left off eating and

drinking, and began speaking of what rested most upon his heart: he remembered `the Joy', and began a

conversation about it in which King Evrain joined. "Sire" says he, "it is time now to tell you what I intend,

and why I have come here. Too long I have refrained from speech, and now can no longer conceal my object.

I ask you for `the Joy' of the Court, for I covet nothing else so much. Grant it to me, whatever it be, if you are

in control of it." "In truth, fair friend." the King replies, "I hear you speak great nonsense. This is a very

parlous thing, which has caused sorrow to many a worthy man; you yourself will eventually be killed and

undone if you will not heed my counsel. But if you were willing to take my word, I should advise you to

desist from soliciting so grievous a thing in which you would never succeed. Speak of it no more! Hold your

peace! It would be imprudent on your part not to follow my advice. I am not at all surprised that you desire

honour and fame; but if I should see you harmed or injured in your body I should be distressed at heart. And

know well that I have seen many a man ruined who solicited this joy. They were never any the better for it,

but rather did they all die and perish. Before tomorrow's evening come you may expect a like reward. If you

wish to strive for the Joy, you shall do so, though it grieve me sore. It is something from which you are free

to retreat and draw back if you wish to work your welfare. Therefore I tell you, for I should commit treachery

and do you wrong were I not to tell you all the truth." Erec hears him and admits that the King with reason

counsels him. But the greater the wonder and the more perilous the adventure, the more he covets it and

yearns for it, saying: "Sire, I can tell you that I find you a worthy and a loyal man, and I can put no blame on

you. I wish to undertake {his boon, however it may fall out with me. The die is cast, for I shall never draw

back from anything I have undertaken without exerting all my strength before I quit the field." "I know that

well," the King replied; "you are acting against my will. You shall have the Joy which you desire. But I am in

great despair; for I greatly fear you will be undone. But now be assured that you shall have what you desire.

If you come out of it happily, you will have won such great honour that never did man win greater; and may

(Vv. 56695738.) All that night they talked of it, until the beds were prepared and they went to rest. In the

morning, when it was daylight, Erec, who was on the watch, saw the clear dawn and the sun, and quickly

rising, clothed himself. Enide again is in distress, very sad and ill at ease; all night she is greatly disquieted

with the solicitude and fear which she felt for her lord, who is about to expose himself to great peril. But

nevertheless he equips himself, for no one can make him change his mind. For his equipment the King sent

him, when he arose, arms which he put to good use. Erec did not refuse them, for his own were worn and

impaired and in bad state. He gladly accepted the arms and had himself equipped with them in the hall. When

he was armed, he descends the steps and finds his horse saddled and the King who had mounted. Every one

in the castle and in the houses of the town hastened to mount. In all the town there remained neither man nor

woman, erect or deformed, great or small, weak or strong, who is able to go and does not do so. When they

start, there is a great noise and clamour in all the streets; for those of high and low degree alike cry out: "Alas,

alas! oh knight, the Joy that thou wishest to win has betrayed thee, and thou goest to win but grief and death."

And there is not one but says: "God curse this joy! which has been the death of so many gentlemen. Today it

will wreak the worst woe that it has ever yet wrought." Erec hears well and notes that up and down they said

of him: "Alas, alas, illstarred wert thou, fair, gentle, skilful knight! Surely it would not be just that thy life

should end so soon, or that harm should come to wound and injure thee." He hears clearly the words and what

they said; but notwithstanding, he passes on without lowering his head, and without the bearing of a craven.

Whoever may speak, he longs to see and know and understand why they are all in such distress, anxiety, and

woe. The King leads him without the town into a garden that stood near by; and all the people follow after,

praying that from this trial God may grant him a happy issue. But it is not meet that I should pass on, from

weariness and exhaustion of tongue, without telling you the whole truth about the garden, according as the

(Vv. 57395826.) (38) The garden had around it no wall or fence except of air: yet, by a spell, the garden was

on all sides so shut in by the air that nothing could enter there any more than if the garden were enclosed in

iron, unless it flew in over the top. And all through the summer and the winter, too, there were flowers and

ripe fruits there; and the fruit was of such a nature that it could be eaten inside; the danger consisted in

carrying it out; for whoever should wish to carry out a little would never be able to find the gate, and never

could issue from the garden until he had restored the fruit to its place. And there is no flying bird under

heaven, pleasing to man, but it sings there to delight and to gladden him, and can be heard there in numbers

of every kind. And the earth, however far it stretch, bears no spice or root of use in making medicine, but it

had been planted there, and was to be found in abundance. Through a narrow entrance the people entered

King Evrain and all the rest. Erec went riding, lance in rest, into the middle of the garden, greatly delighting

in the song of the birds which were singing there; they put him in mind of his Joy the thing he most was

longing for. But he saw a wondrous thing, which might arouse fear in the bravest warrior of all whom we

know, be it Thiebaut the Esclavon, (39) or Ospinel, or Fernagu. For before them, on sharpened stakes, there

stood bright and shining helmets, and each one had beneath the rim a man's head. But at the end there stood a

stake where as yet there was nothing but a horn. (40) He knows not what this signifies, yet draws not back a

step for that; rather does he ask the King, who was beside him at the right, what this can be. The King speaks

and explains to him: "Friend," he says, "do you know the meaning of this thing that you see here? You must

be in great terror of it, if you care at all for your own body; for this single stake which stands apart, where you

see this horn hung up, has been waiting a very long time, but we know not for whom, whether for you or

someone else. Take care lest thy head be set up there; for such is the purpose of the stake. I had warned you

well of that before you came here. I do not expect that you will escape hence, but that you will be killed and

rent apart. For this much we know, that the stake awaits your head. And if it turns out that it be placed there,

as the matter stands agreed, as soon as thy head is fixed upon it another stake will be set up beside it which

will await the arrival of some one else I know not when or whom. I will tell you nothing of the horn; but

never has any one been able to blow it. (41) However, he who shall succeed in blowing it his fame and

honour will grow until it distance all those of his country, and he shall find such renown that all will come to

do him honour, and will hold him to be the best of them all. Now there is no more of this matter. Have your

men withdraw; for `the Joy' will soon arrive, and will make you sorry, I suspect."

(Vv. 58276410.) Meanwhile King Evrain leaves his side, and Erec stoops over before Enide, whose heart

was in great distress, although she held her peace; for grief on lips is of no account unless it also touch the

heart. And he who well knew her heart, said to her: "Fair sister dear, gentle, loyal, and prudent lady, I am

acquainted with your thoughts. You are in fear, I see that well, and yet you do not know for what; but there is

no reason for your dismay until you shall see that my shield is shattered and that my body is wounded, and

until you see the meshes of my bright hauberk covered with blood, and my helmet broken and smashed, and

me defeated and weary, so that I can no longer defend myself, but must beg and sue for mercy against my

will; then you may lament, but now you have begun too soon. Gentle lady, as yet you know not what this is

to be; no more do I. You are troubled without cause. But know this truly: if there were in me only so much

courage as your love inspires, truly I should not fear to face any man alive. But I am foolish to vaunt myself;

yet I say it not from any pride, but because I wish to comfort you. So comfort yourself, and let it be! I cannot

longer tarry here, nor can you go along with me; for, as the King has ordered, I must not take you beyond this

point." Then he kisses her and commends her to God, and she him. But she is much chagrined that she cannot

follow and escort him, until she may learn and see what this adventure is to be, and how he will conduct

himself. But since she must stay behind and cannot follow him, she remains sorrowful and grieving. And he

went off alone down a path, without companion of any sort, until he came to a silver couch with a cover of

goldembroidered cloth, beneath the shade of a sycamore; and on the bed a maiden of comely body and

lovely face, completely endowed with all beauty, was seated all alone. I intended to say no more of her; but

whoever could consider well all her attire and her beauty might well say that never did Lavinia of Laurentum,

who was so fair and comely, possess the quarter of her beauty. Erec draws near to her, wishing to see her

more closely, and the onlookers go and sit down under the trees in the orchard. Then behold, there comes a

knight armed with vermilion arms, and he was wondrous tall; and if he were not so immeasurably tall, under

the heavens there would be none fairer than he; but, as every one averred, he was a foot taller than any knight

he knew. Before Erec caught sight of him, he cried out: "Vassal, vassal! You are mad, upon my life, thus to

approach my damsel. I should say you are not worthy to draw near her. You will pay dearly for your

presumption, by my head! Stand back!" And Erec stops and looks at him, and the other, too, stood still.

Neither made advance until Erec had replied all that he wished to say to him. "Friend," he says, "one can

speak folly as well as good sense. Threaten as much as you please, and I will keep silence; for in threatening

there is no sense. Do you know why? A man sometimes thinks he has won the game who afterward loses it.

So he is manifestly a fool who is too presumptuous and who threatens too much. If there are some who flee

there are plenty who chase, but I do not fear you so much that I am going to run away yet. I am ready to make

such defence, if there is any who wishes to offer me battle, that he will have to do his uttermost, or otherwise

he cannot escape." "Nay," quoth he, "so help me God! know that you shall have the battle, for I defy and

challenge you." And you may know, upon my word, that then the reins were not held in. The lances they had

were not light, but were big and square; nor were they planed smooth, but were rough and strong. Upon the

shields with mighty strength they smote each other with their sharp weapons, so that a fathom of each lance

passes through the gleaming shields. But neither touches the other's flesh, nor was either lance cracked; each

one, as quickly as he could, draws back his lance, and both rushing together, return to the fray. One against

the other rides, and so fiercely they smite each other that both lances break and the horses fall beneath them.

But they, being seated on their steeds, sustain no harm; so they quickly rise, for they were strong and lithe.

They stand on foot in the middle of the garden, and straightway attack each other with their green swords of

German steel, and deal great wicked blows upon their bright and gleaming helmets, so that they hew them

into bits, and their eyes shoot out flame. No greater efforts can be made than those they make in striving and

toiling to injure and wound each other. Both fiercely smite with the gilded pommel and the cutting edge.

Such havoc did they inflict upon each other's teeth, cheeks, nose, hands, arms, and the rest, upon temples,

neck, and throat that their bones all ache. They are very sore and very tired; yet they do not desist, but rather

only strive the more. Sweat, and the blood which flows down with it, dim their eves, so that they can hardly

see a thing; and very often they missed their blows, like men who did not see to wield their swords upon each

other. They can scarcely harm each other now; yet, they do not desist at all from exercising all their strength.

Because their eyes are so blinded that they completely lose their sight, they let their shields fall to the ground,

and seize each other angrily. Each pulls and drags the other, so that they fall upon their knees. Thus, long

they fight until the hour of noon is past, and the big knight is so exhausted that his breath quite fails him. Erec

has him at his mercy, and pulls and drags so that he breaks all the lacing of his helmet, and forces him over at

his feet. He falls over upon his face against Erec's breast, and has not strength to rise again. Though it

distresses him, he has to say and own: "I cannot deny it, you have beaten me; but much it goes against my

will. And yet you may be of such degree and fame that only credit will redound to me; and insistently I would

request, if it may be in any way, that I might know your name, and he thereby somewhat comforted. If a

better man has defeated me, I shall be glad, I promise you; but if it has so fallen out that a baser man than I

has worsted me, then I must feel great grief indeed." "Friend, dost thou wish to know my name?" says Erec;

"Well, I shall tell thee ere I leave here; but it will be upon condition that thou tell me now why thou art in this

garden. Concerning that I will know all what is thy name and what the Joy; for I am very anxious to hear the

truth from beginning to end of it." "Sire," says he, "fearlessly I will tell you all you wish to know." Erec no

more withholds his name, but says: "Didst thou ever hear of King Lac and of his son Erec?" "Yea, sire, I

knew him well; for I was at his father's court for many a day before I was knighted, and, if he had had his

will, I should never have left him for anything." "Then thou oughtest to know me well, if thou weft ever with

me at the court of my father, the King." "Then, upon my faith, it has turned out well. Now hear who has

detained me so long in this garden. I will tell the truth in accordance with your injunction, whatever it may

cost me. That damsel who yonder sits, loved me from childhood and I loved her. It pleased us both, and our

love grew and increased, until she asked a boon of me, but did not tell me what it was. Who would deny his

mistress aught? There is no lover but would surely do all his sweetheart's pleasure without default or guile,

whenever he can in any way. I agreed to her desire; but when I had agreed, she would have it, too, that I

should swear. I would have done more than that for her, but she took me at my word. I made her a promise,

without knowing what. Time passed until I was made a knight. King Evrain, whose nephew I am, dubbed me

a knight in the presence of many honourable men in this very garden where we are. My lady, who is sitting

there, at once recalled to me my word, and said that I had promised her that I would never go forth from here

until there should come some knight who should conquer me by trial of arms. It was right that I should

remain, for rather than break my word, I should never have pledged it. Since I knew the good there was in

her, I could nor reveal or show to the one whom I hold most dear that in all this I was displeased; for if she

had noticed it, she would have withdrawn her heart, and I would not have had it so for anything that might

happen. Thus my lady thought to detain me here for a long stay; she did not think that there would ever enter

this garden any vassal who could conquer me. In this way she intended to keep me absolutely shut up with

her all the days of my life. And I should have committed an offence if I had had resort to guile and not

defeated all those against whom I could prevail; such escape would have been a shame. And I dare to assure

you that I have no friend so dear that I would have feigned at all in fighting with him. Never did I weary of

arms, nor did I ever refuse to fight. You have surely seen the helmets of those whom I have defeated and put

to death; but the guilt of it is not mine, when one considers it aright. I could not help myself, unless I were

willing to be false and recreant and disloyal. Now I have told you the truth, and be assured that it is no small

honour which you have gained. You have given great joy to the court of my uncle and my friends; for now I

shall be released from here; and because all those who are at the court will have joy of it, therefore those who

awaited the joy called it `Joy of the Court'. They have awaited it so long that now it will be granted them by

you who have won it by your fight. You have defeated and bewitched my prowess and my chivalry. Now it is

right that I tell you my name, if you would know it. I am called Mabonagrain; but I am not remembered by

that name in any land where I have been, save only in this region; for never, when I was a squire, did I tell or

make known my name. Sire, you knew the truth concerning all that you asked me. But I must still tell you

that there is in this garden a horn which I doubt not you have seen. I cannot issue forth from here until you

have blown the horn; but then you will have released me, and then the Joy will begin. Whoever shall hear and

give it heed no hindrance will detain him, when he shall hear the sound of the horn, from coming

straightway to the court. Rise up, sire! Go quickly now! Go take the horn right joyfully; for you have no

further cause to wait; so do that which you must do." Now Erec rose, and the other rises with him, and both

approach the horn. Erec takes it and blows it, putting into it all his strength, so that the sound of it reaches far.

Greatly did Enide rejoice when she heard the note, and Guivret was greatly delighted too. The King is glad,

and so are his people; there is not one who is not well suited and pleased at this. No one ceases or leaves off

from making merry and from song. Erec could boast that day, for never was such rejoicing made; it could not

be described or related by mouth of man, but I will tell you the sum of it briefly and with few words. The

news spreads through the country that thus the affair has turned out. Then there was no holding back from

coming to the court. All the people hasten thither in confusion, some on foot and some on horse, without

waiting for each other. And those who were in the garden hastened to remove Erec's arms, and in emulation

they all sang a song about the Joy; and the ladies made up a lay which they called `the Lay of Joy', (42) but

the lay is not well known. Erec was well sated with joy and well served to his heart's desire; but she who sat

on the silver couch was not a bit pleased. The joy which she saw was not at all to her taste. But many people

have to keep still and look on at what gives them pain. Enide acted graciously; because she saw her sitting

pensive, alone on the couch, she felt moved to go and speak with her and tell her about her affairs and about

herself, and to strive, if possible, to make her tell in return about herself, if it did not cause her too great

distress. Enide thought to go alone, wishing to take no one with her, but some of the most noble and fairest

dames and damsels followed her out of affection to bear her company, and also to comfort her to whom the

joy brings great chagrin; for she assumed that now her lover would be no longer with her so much as he had

been, inasmuch as he desired to leave the garden. However disappointing it may be, no one can prevent his

going away, for the hour and the time have come. Therefore the tears ran down her face from her eyes. Much

more than I can say was she grieving and distressed; nevertheless she sat up straight. But she does not care so

much for any of those who try to comfort her that she ceases her moan. Enide salutes her kindly; but for a

while the other could not reply a word, being prevented by the sighs and sobs which torment and distress her.

Some time it was before the damsel returned her salutation, and when she had looked at her and examined her

for a while, it seemed that she had seen and known her before. But not being very certain of it, she was not

slow to inquire from whence she was, of what country, and where her lord was born; she inquires who they

both are. Enide replies briefly and tells her the truth, saying: "I am the niece of the Count who holds sway

over Lalut, the daughter of his own sister; at Lalut I was born and brought up." The other cannot help smiling,

without hearing more, for she is so delighted that she forgets her sorrow. Her heart leaps with joy which she

cannot conceal. She runs and embraces Enide, saying: "I am your cousin! This is the very truth, and you are

my father's niece; for he and your father are brothers. But I suspect that you do not know and have never

heard how I came into this country. The Count, your uncle, was at war, and to him there came to fight for pay

knights of many lands. Thus, fair cousin, it came about, that with these hireling knights there came one who

was the nephew of the king of Brandigan. He was with my father almost a year. That was, I think, twelve

years ago, and I was still but a little child. He was very handsome and attractive. There we had an

understanding between us that pleased us both. I never had any wish but his, until at last he began to love me

and promised and swore to me that he would always be my lover, and that he would bring me here; that

pleased us both alike. He could not wait, and I was longing to come hither with him; so we both came away,

and no one knew of it but ourselves. In those days you and I were both young and little girls. I have told you

the truth; so now tell me in turn, as I have told you, all about your lover, and by what adventure he won you."

"Fair cousin, he married me in such a way that my father knew all about it, and my mother was greatly

pleased. All our relatives knew it and rejoiced over it, as they should do. Even the Count was glad. For he is

so good a knight that better cannot be found, and he does not need to prove his honour and knighthood, and

he is of very gentle birth: I do not think that any can be his equal. He loves me much, and I love him more,

and our love cannot be greater. Never yet could I withhold my love from him, nor should I do so. For is not

my lord the son of a king? For did he not take me when I was poor and naked? Through him has such honour

come to me that never was any such vouchsafed to a poor helpless girl. And if it please you, I will tell you

without lying how I came to be thus raised up; for never will I be slow to tell the story." Then she told and

related to her how Erec came to Lalut; for she had no desire to conceal it. She told her the adventure word for

word, without omission. But I pass over it now, because he who tells a story twice makes his tale now

tiresome. While they were thus conversing, one lady slipped away alone, who sent and told it all to the

gentlemen, in order to increase and heighten their pleasure too. All those who heard it rejoiced at this news.

And when Mabonagrain knew it he was delighted for his sweetheart because now she was comforted. And

she who bore them quickly the news made them all happy in a short space. Even the King was glad for it;

although he was very happy before, yet now he is still happier, and shows Erec great honour. Enide leads

away her fair cousin, fairer than Helen, more graceful and charming. Now Erec and Mabonagrain, Guivret

and King Evrain, and all the others run to meet them and salute them and do them honour, for no one is

grudging or holds back. Mabonagrain makes much of Enide, and she of him. Erec and Guivret, for their part,

rejoice over the damsel as they all kiss and embrace each other. They propose to return to the castle, for they

have stayed too long in the garden. They are all prepared to go out; so they sally forth joyfully, kissing each

other on the way. All go out after the King, but before they reached the castle, the nobles were assembled

from all the country around, and all those who knew of the Joy, and who could do so, came hither. Great was

the gathering and the press. Every one, high and low, rich and poor, strives to see Erec. Each thrusts himself

before the other, and they all salute him and bow before him, saying constantly: "May God save him through

whom joy and gladness come to our court! God save the most blessed man whom God has ever brought into

being!" Thus they bring him to the court, and strive to show their glee as their hearts dictate. Breton zithers,

harps, and viols sound, fiddles, psalteries, and other stringed instruments, and all kinds of music that one

could name or mention. But I wish to conclude the matter briefly without too long delay. The King honours

him to the extent of his power, as do all the others ungrudgingly. There is no one who does not gladly offer to

do his service. Three whole days the Joy lasted, before Erec could get away. On the fourth he would no

longer tarry for any reason they could urge. There was a great crowd to accompany him and a very great

press when it came to taking leave. If he had wished to reply to each one, he would not have been able in half

a day to return the salutations individually. The nobles he salutes and embraces; the others he commends to

God in a word, and salutes them. Enide, for her part, is not silent when she takes leave of the nobles. She

salutes them all by name, and they in turn do the like. Before she goes, she kisses her cousin very tenderly

(Vv. 64116509.) They go off and the others return. Erec and Guivret do not tarry, but keep joyfully on their

way, until they came in nine days to Robais, where they were told the King was. The day before he had been

bled privately in his apartments; with him he had only five hundred nobles of his household. Never before at

any time was the King found so alone, and he was much distressed that he had no more numerous suite at his

court. At that time a messenger comes running, whom they had sent ahead to apprise the King of their

approach. This man came in before the assembly, found the King and all his people, and saluting him

correctly, said: "I am a messenger of Erec and of Guivret the Little." Then he told him how they were coming

to see him at his court. The King replies: "Let them be welcome, as valiant and gallant gentlemen! Nowhere

do I know of any better than they two. By their presence my court will be much enhanced." Then he sent for

the Queen and told her the news. The others have their horses saddled to go and meet the gentlemen. In such

haste are they to mount that they did not put on their spurs. I ought to state briefly that the crowd of common

people, including squires, cooks, and butlers, had already entered the town to prepare for the lodgings. The

main party came after, and had already drawn so near that they had entered the town. Now the two parties

have met each other, and salute and kiss each other. They come to the lodgings and make themselves

comfortable, removing their hose and making their toilet by donning their rich robes. When they were

completely decked out, they took their way to the court. They come to court, where the King sees them, and

the Queen, who is beside herself with impatience to see Erec and Enide. The King makes them take seats

beside him, kisses Erec and Guivret; about Enide's neck he throws his arms and kisses her repeatedly, in his

great joy. Nor is the Queen slow in embracing Erec and Enide. One might well rejoice to see her now so full

of joy. Every one enters with spirit into the merrymaking. Then the King causes silence to be made, and

appeals to Erec and asks news of his adventures. When the noise had ceased, Erec began his story, telling him

of his adventures, without forgetting any detail. Do you think now that I shall tell you what motive he had

had in starting out? Nay, for you know the whole truth about this and the rest, as I have revealed it to you. To

tell the story again would burden me; for the tale is not short, that any one should wish to begin it afresh and

reembelish it, as he told and related it: of the three knights whom he defeated, and then of the five, and then

of the Count who strove to do him harm, and then of the two giants all in order, one after the other, he told

him of his adventures up to the point where he met Count Oringle of Limors. "Many a danger have you gone

through, fair gentle friend," said the King to him; "now tarry in this country at my court, as you are wont to

do." "Sire, since you wish it, I shall remain very gladly three or four years entire. But ask Guivret to remain

here too a request in which I would fain join." The King prays him to remain, and he consents to stay. So they

(Vv. 65106712.) Erec stayed at court, together with Guivret and Enide, until the death of his father, the

king, who was an old man and full of years. The messengers then started out: the nobles who went to seek

him, and who were the greatest men of the land, sought and searched for him until they found him at Tintagel

three weeks before Christmas; they told him the truth what had happened to his old, whitehaired father, and

how he now was dead and gone. This grieved Erec much more than he showed before the people. But sorrow

is not seemly in a king, nor does it become a king to mourn. There at Tintagel where he was, he caused vigils

for the dead and Masses to be sung; he promised and kept his promises, as he had vowed to the religious

houses and churches; he did well all that he ought to do: he chose out more than one hundred and sixtynine

of the wretched poor, and clothed them all in new garments. To the poor clerks and priors he gave, as was

right, black copes and warm linings to wear beneath. For God's sake he did great good to all: to those who

were in need he distributed more than a barrel of small coins. When he had shared his wealth, he then did a

very wise thing in receiving his land from the King's hand; and then he begged the King to crown him at his

court. The King bade him quickly be prepared; for they shall both be crowned, he together with his wife, at

the approaching Christmastide; and he added: "You must go hence to Nantes in Brittany; there you shall

carry a royal ensign with crown on head and sceptre in hand; this gift and privilege I bestow upon you." Erec

thanked the King, and said that that was a noble gift. At Christmas the King assembles all his nobles,

summoning them individually and commanding them to come to Nantes. He summoned them all, and none

stayed behind. Erec, too, sent word to many of his followers, and summoned them to come thither; but more

came than he had bidden, to serve him and do him honour. I cannot tell you or relate who each one was, and

what his name; but whoever came or did not come, the father and mother of my lady Enide were not

forgotten. Her father was sent for first of all, and he came to court in handsome style, like a great lord and a

chatelain. There was no great crowd of chaplains or of silly, gaping yokels, but of excellent knights and of

people well equipped. Each day they made a long day's journey, and rode on each day with great joy and

great display, until on Christmas eve they came to the city of Nantes. They made no halt until they entered

the great hall where the King and his courtiers were. Erec and Enide see them, and you may know how glad

they were. To meet them they quickly make their way, and salute and embrace them, speaking to them

tenderly and showing their delight as they should. When they had rejoiced together, taking each other by the

hand, they all four came before the King, saluting him and likewise the Queen, who was sitting by his side.

Taking his host by the hand, Erec said: "Sire, behold my good host, my kind friend, who did me such honour

that he made me master in his own house. Before he knew anything about me, he lodged me well and

handsomely. All that he had he made over to me, and even his daughter he bestowed upon me, without the

advice or counsel of any one." "And this lady with him," the King inquires, "who is she?" Erec does not

conceal the truth: "Sire," says he, "of this lady I may say that she is the mother of my wife." "Is she her

mother?" "Yes, truly, sire." "Certainly, I may then well say that fair and comely should be the flower born of

so fair a stem, and better the fruit one picks; for sweet is the smell of what springs from good. Fair is Enide

and fair she should be in all reason and by right; for her mother is a very handsome lady, and her father is a

goodly knight. Nor does she in aught belie them; for she descends and inherits directly from them both in

many respects." Then the King ceases and sits down, bidding them be seated too. They do not disobey his

command, but straightway take seats. Now is Enide filled with joy when she sees her father and mother, for a

very long time had passed since she had seen them. Her happiness now is greatly increased, for she was

delighted and happy, and she showed it all she could, but she could not make such demonstration but that her

joy was yet greater. But I wish to say no more of that, for my heart draws me toward the court which was

now assembled in force. From many a different country there were counts and dukes and kings, Normans,

Bretons. Scotch, and Irish: from England and Cornwall there was a very rich gathering of nobles; for from

Wales to Anjou, in Maine and in Poitou, there was no knight of importance, nor lady of quality, but the best

and the most elegant were at the court at Nantes, as the King had bidden them. Now hear, if you will, the

great joy and grandeur, the display and the wealth, that was exhibited at the court. Before the hour of nones

had sounded, King Arthur dubbed four hundred knights or more all sons of counts and of kings. To each one

he gave three horses and two pairs of suits, in order that his court may make a better showing. Puissant and

lavish was the King; for the mantles he bestowed were not of serge, nor of rabbitskins, nor of cheap brown

fur, but of heavy silk and ermine, of spotted fur and flowered silks, bordered with heavy and stiff gold braid.

Alexander, who conquered so much that he subdued the whole world, and who was so lavish and rich,

compared with him was poor and mean. Caesar, the Emperor of Rome, and all the kings whose names you

hear in stories and in epic songs, did not distribute at any feast so much as Arthur gave on the day that he

crowned Erec; nor would Caesar and Alexander dare to spend so much as he spent at the court. The raiment

was taken from the chests and spread about freely through the halls; one could take what he would, without

restraint. In the midst of the court, upon a rug, stood thirty bushels of bright sterlings; (43) for since the time

of Merlin until that day sterlings had currency throughout Britain. There all helped themselves, each one

carrying away that night all that he wanted to his lodgingplace. At nine o'clock on Christmas day, all came

together again at court. The great joy that is drawing near for him had completely filched Erec's heart away.

The tongue and the mouth of no man, however skilful, could describe the third, or the fourth, or the fifth part

of the display which marked his coronation. So it is a mad enterprise I undertake in wishing to attempt to

describe it. But since I must make the effort, come what may, I shall not fail to relate a part of it, as best I

(Vv. 67136809.) The King had two thrones of white ivory, well constructed and new, of one pattern and

style. He who made them beyond a doubt was a very skilled and cunning craftsman. For so precisely did he

make the two alike in height, in breadth, and in ornamentation, that you could nor look at them from every

side to distinguish one from the other and find in one aught that was not in the other. There was no part of

wood, but all of gold and fine ivory. Well were they carved with great skill, for the two corresponding sides

of each bore the representation of a leopard, and the other two a dragon's shape. A knight named Bruiant of

the Isles had made a gift and present of them to King Arthur and the Queen. King Arthur sat upon the one,

and upon the other he made Erec sit, who was robed in watered silk. As we read in the story, we find the

description of the robe, and in order that no one may say that I lie, I quote as my authority Macrobius, (44)

who devoted himself to the description of it. Macrobius instructs me how to describe, according as I have

found it in the book, the workmanship and the figures of the cloth. Four fairies had made it with great skill

and mastery. (45) One represented there geometry, how it estimates and measures the extent of the heavens

and the earth, so that nothing is lacking there; and then the depth and the height, and the width, and the

length; then it estimates, besides, how broad and deep the sea is, and thus measures the whole world. Such

was the work of the first fairy. And the second devoted her effort to the portrayal of arithmetic, and she strove

hard to represent clearly how it wisely enumerates the days and the hours of time, and the water of the sea

drop by drop, and then all the sand, and the stars one by one, knowing well how to tell the truth, and how

many leaves there are in the woods: such is the skill of arithmetic that numbers have never deceived her, nor

will she ever be in error when she wishes to apply her sense to them. The third design was that of music, with

which all merriment finds itself in accord, songs and harmonies, and sounds of string: of harp, of Breton

violin, and of viol. This piece of work was good and fine; for upon it were portrayed all the instruments and

all the pastimes. The fourth, who next performed her task, executed a most excellent work; for the best of the

arts she there portrayed. She undertook astronomy, which accomplishes so many marvels and draws

inspiration from the stars, the moon, and the sun. Nowhere else does it seek counsel concerning aught which

it has to do. They give it good and sure advice. Concerning whatever inquiry it make of them, whether in the

past or in the future, they give it information without falsehood and without deception. This work was

portrayed on the stuff of which Erec's robe was made, all worked and woven with thread of gold. The fur

lining that was sewed within, belonged to some strange beasts whose heads are all white, and whose necks

are as black as mulberries, and which have red backs and green bellies, and dark blue tail. These beasts live in

India and they are called "barbiolets". They eat nothing but spices, cinnamon, and fresh cloves. What shall I

tell you of the mantle? It was very rich and fine and handsome; it had four stones in the tassels two

chrysolites on one side, and two amethysts on the other, which were mounted in gold.

(Vv. 68106946.) As yet Enide had not come to the palace. When the King sees that she delays, he bids

Gawain go quickly to bring her and the Queen. Gawain hastens and was not slow, and with him King

Cadoalant and the generous King of Galloway. Guivret the Little accompanies them, followed by Yder the

son of Nut. So many of the other nobles ran thither to escort the two ladies that they would have sufficed to

overcome a host; for there were more than a thousand of them. The Queen had made her best effort to adorn

Enide. Into the palace they brought her the courteous Gawain escorting her on one side, and on the other the

generous King of Galloway, who loved her dearly on account of Erec who was his nephew. When they came

to the palace, King Arthur came quickly toward them, and courteously seated Enide beside Erec; for he

wished to do her great honour. Now he orders to be brought forth from his treasure two massive crowns of

fine gold. As soon as he had spoken and given the command, without delay the crowns were brought before

him, all sparkling with carbuncles, of which there were four in each. The light of the moon is nothing

compared with the light which the least of the carbuncles could shed. Because of the radiance which they

shed, all those who were in the palace were so dazzled that for a moment they could see nothing; and even

the King was amazed, and yet filled with satisfaction, when he saw them to be so clear and bright. He had

one of them held by two damsels, and the other by two gentlemen. Then he bade the bishops and priors and

the abbots of the Church step forward and anoint the new King, as the Christian practice is. Now all the

prelates, young and old, came forward; for at the court there were a great number of bishops and abbots. The

Bishop of Nantes himself, who was a very worthy and saintly man, anointed the new King in a very holy and

becoming manner, and placed the crown upon his head. King Arthur had a sceptre brought which was very

fine. Listen to the description of the sceptre, which was clearer than a pane of glass, all of one solid emerald,

fully as large as your fist. I dare to tell you in very truth that in all the world there is no manner of fish, or of

wild behest, or of man, or of flying bird that was not worked and chiselled upon it with its proper figure. The

sceptre was handed to the King, who looked at it with amazement; then he put it without delay into King

Erec's right hand; and now he was King as he ought to be. Then he crowned Enide in turn. Now the bells ring

for Mass, and they go to the main church to hear the Mass and service; they go to pray at the cathedral. You

would have seen weeping with joy the father of Queen Enide and her mother, Carsenefide. In truth this was

her mother's name, and her father's name was Liconal. Very happy were they both. When they came to the

cathedral, the procession came out from the church with relics and treasures to meet them. Crosses and

prayerbooks and censers and reliquaries, with all the holy relics, of which there were many in the church,

were all brought out to meet them; nor was there any lack of chants made. Never were seen so many kings,

counts, dukes, and nobles together at a Mass, and the press was so great and thick that the church was

completely filled. No lowborn man could enter there, but only ladies and knights. Outside the door of the

church a great number still remained, so many were there come together who could not get inside the church.

When they had heard all the Mass they returned to the palace. It was all prepared and decorated: tables set

and cloths spread five hundred tables and more were there; but I do not wish to make you believe a thing

which does not seem true. It would seem too great a lie were I to say that five hundred tables were set in rows

in one palace, so I will not say it; rather were there five hails so filled with them that with great difficulty

could one make his way among the tables. At each table there was in truth a king or a duke or a count; and

full a hundred knights were seated at each table. A thousand knights served the bread, and a thousand served

the wine, and a thousand the meat all of them dressed in fresh fur robes of ermine. All are served with

divers dishes. Even if I did not see them, I might still be able to tell you about them; but I must attend to

something else than to tell you what they had to eat. They had enough, without wanting more; joyfully and

(Vv. 69476958.) When this celebration was concluded, the King dismissed the assemblage of kings, dukes,

and counts, of which the number was immense, and of the other humble folk who had come to the festival.

He rewarded them liberally with horses, arms and silver, cloths and brocades of many kinds, because of his

generosity, and because of Erec whom he loved so much. Here the story ends at last.

(1) A Welsh version, "Geraint the Son of Erbin", included in Lady Charlotte Guest's translation of "The

Mabinogion" (London, 183849; a modern edition will be found in Everyman Library, London, 1906), tells

the same story as "Erec et Enide" with some variations. This Welsh version has also been translated into

modern French by J. Loth ("Les Mabinogion", Paris, 1889), where it may be consulted with the greatest

confidence. The relation of the Welsh prose to the French poem is a moot point. Cf. E. Philipot in "Romania",

XXV. 258294, and earlier, K. Othmer, "Ueber das Verhaltnis Chrestiens Erec und Enide zu dem

Mabinogion des rothen Buch von Hergest" (Koln, 1889); G. Paris in "Romania", XIX. 157, and id. XX.

148166. (2) We frequently read in the romances of a hunt at Easter (F.). As here, so in "Fergus" (ed. Martin,

Halle, 1872), p. 2 f., the knights hunt a white stag, which Perceval finally slays, but there is no mention of the

ceremony of the bestowal of a kiss. (3) Chretien nowhere gives any description of the nature of the Round

Table. With him, it is an institution. Layamon in "Brut" and Wace in "Le Roman de Brut" are more specific

in their accounts of this remarkable piece of furniture. From their descriptions, and from other sources in

Welsh and Irish literature, it is reasonable to suppose that the Round Table had a place in primitive Celtic

folklore. Cf. L.F. Mott, "The Round Table" in "Pub. of the Modern Language Association of America", XX.

231264; A.C.L. Brown, "The Round Table before Wace" in "Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and

Literature", vii. 183205 (Boston, 1900); Miss J.L Weston, "A Hitherto Unconsidered Aspect of the Round

Table" in "Melanges de philologie romane offerts a M. Wilmotte", ii. 883894, 2 vols. (Paris, 1910). (4)

There exists a romance devoted to Yder, of which G. Paris printed a resume in "Hist. Litt. de la France",

XXX., and which has been recently edited by Heinrich Gelzer: "Der altfranzosische Yderroman" (Dresden,

1913). There are apparently three different knight of this name in the old French romances (F.). (5) The word

"chastel" (from "castellum") is usually to be translated as "town" or strong place within fortifications. Only

where it plainly refers to a detached building will the word "castle" be used. (6) A "tercel" is a species of

falcon, of which the male bird is onethird smaller than the female. (7) A "vavasor" (from "vassus

vassallorum") was a low order of vassal, but a freeman. The vavasors are spoken of with respect in the old

French romances, as being of honourable character, though not of high birth. (8) The numerous references to

the story of King Mark, Tristan, and Iseut in the extant poems of Chretien support his own statement, made at

the outset of "Cliges", that he himself composed a poem on the nephew and wife of the King of Cornwall.

We have fragments of poems on Tristan by the AngloNorman poets Beroul and Thomas, who were

contemporaries of Chretien. Foerster's hypothesis that the lost "Tristan" of Chretien antedated "Erec" is

doubtless correct. That the poet later treated of the love of Cliges and Fenice as a sort of literary atonement

for the inevitable moral laxity of Tristan and Iseut has been held by some, and the theory is acceptable in

view of the references to be met later in "Cliges". For the contrary opinion of Gaston Paris see "Journal des

Savants" (1902), p. 297 f. (9) In the Mabinogi "Geraint the Son of Erbin", the host explains that he had

wrongfully deprived his nephew of his possessions, and that in revenge the nephew had later taken all his

uncle's property, including an earldom and this town. See Guest, "The Mabinogion". (10) The hauberk was a

long shirt of mail reaching to the knees, worn by knights in combat. The helmet, and the "coiffe" beneath it,

protected the head; the "ventail" of linked meshes was worn across the lower part of the face, and was

attached on each side of the neck to the "coiffe", so that it protected the throat; the greaves covered the legs.

The body of the knight was thus well protected against blow of sword or lance. Cf. Vv.711 f. (11) This

passage seems to imply that charms and enchantments were sometimes used when a knight was armed (F.).

(12) The "loges", so often mentioned in old French romances, were either windowbalconies or architectural

points of vantage commanding some pleasing prospect. The conventional translation in the old English

romances is "bower". (13) Tristan killed Morholt, the uncle of Iseut, when he came to claim tribute form

King Mark (cf. Bedier, "Le Roman de Tristan", etc., i. 85 f., 2 vols., Paris, 1902). The combat took place on

an island, unnamed in the original text (id. i. 84), but later identified with St. Samson's Isle, one of the Scilly

Isles. (14) The same act of feeding a huntingbird with a plover's wing is mentioned in "Le Roman de

Thebes", 385758 (ed. "Anciens Textes"). (15) For such figurative expressions used to complement the

negative, cf. Gustav Dreyling, "Die Ausdruckweise der ubertriebenen Verkleinerung im altfranzosischen

Karlsepos", in Stengel's "Ausgaben und Abhandlungen", No. 82 (Marsburg, 1888); W.W. Comfort in

"Modern Language Notes" (Baltimore, February 1908). (16) Chretien in his later romances will avoid

compiling such a prosaic bluebook as is found in this passage, though similar lists of knights occur in the

old English romances as late as Malory, though of some of them but little is known. Unfortunately, we have

for the old French romances no such complete work as that furnished for the epic poems by E. Langois,

"Table des noms propres de toute nature compris dans les chansons de geste" (Paris, 1904). (17) The only

mention by Chretien of this son of Arthur, whose role is absolutely insignificant in the Arthurian romances.

(18) What was this drinkingcup, and who sent it to Arthur? We have "Le Lai du cor" (ed. Wulff, Lund,

1888), which tells how a certain King Mangount of Moraine sent a magic drinkingcup to Arthur. No one

could drink of this cup without spilling the contents if he were a cuckold. Drinking from this cup was, then,

one of the many current tests of chastity. Further light may be thrown on the passage in our text by the

English poem "The Cokwold's Daunce" (in C.H. Hartshorne's "Ancient Metrical Ballads", London, 1829),

where Arthur is described as a cuckold himself and as having always by him a horn (cup) which he delights

in trying on his knights as a test of their ladies' chastity. For bibliography see T.P. Cross, "Notes on the

ChastityTesting Horns and Mantle" in "Modern Philology", x. 289299. (19) A unique instance of such a

division of the material in Chretien's poems (F.). (20) OutreGales=EstreGales (v.3883)=ExtraGalliam.

(21) Such fanciful descriptions of men and lands are common in the French epic poems, where they are

usually applied to the Saracens (F.). Cf. W.w. Comfort, "The Saracens in Christian Poetry" in "The Dublin

Review", July 1911; J. Malsch, "Die Charakteristik der Volker im altfranzosischen nationalen Epos"

(Heidelberg, 1912). (22) With what seems to us mistaken taste, Chretien frequently thus delays mentioning

the name of his leading charecters. The father and mother of Enide remain anonymous until the end of this

poem. The reader will remark other instances of this peculiarity in "Yvain" and "Lancelot". (23) The maid

Brangien was substituted for Iseut, the bride, upon the first night after her marriage with Mark. Similar

traditions are associated with the marriage of Arthur and Guinevere, and of Pepin and Berte aus grans pies,

the parents of Charlemagne. Adenet le Roi toward the end of the 13th century is the author of the most artistic

treatments of Berte's history (ed. A. Scheler, Bruxelles, 1874). Cf. W.W. Comfort, "Adenet le Roi: The End

of a Literary Era" in "The Quarterly Review", April 1913. (24) The reading "Sanson" (=Samson) is Foerster's

most recent (1904) suggestion to replace the word "lion" which stands in all the MSS. Solomon's name has

always been syonymous with wisdom, and Alexander's generosity was proverbial in the Middle Ages. For

Alexander, cf. Paul Meyer, "Alexandre le Grand dans la litterature francaise du moyen age", 2 vols. (Paris,

1886), vol ii., pp. 372376, and Paget Toynbee, "Dante Studies and Researches" (London, 1902), p. 144. (25)

Of Arthur's several nephews, Gawain is represented by Chretien as peerless in respect of courage and

courtesy. In the English romances his character steadily deteriorates. (26) This sentence contains the motive

for all the action in the sequel. The same situation is threatened in "Yvain", but there Gawain rescues the hero

from the lethargy, ignoble in the eyes of a feudal audience, into which he was falling. Cf. also "Marques de

Rome" ("Lit. Verein in Stuttgart", Tubingen, 1889), p. 36, where the Empress of Rome thus incites her

husband to the chase: "Toz jors cropez vos a Postel; vos n'estes point chevalereus, si come vos deussiez estre,

si juenes hom come vos estes"; also J. Gower, "Le Mirour de l'omme, 22, 813 ff.: "Rois est des femmes trop

decu, Qant plus les ayme que son dieu, Dont laist honour pour foldelit: Cil Rois ne serra pas cremu, Q'ensi

voet laisser sou escu Et querre le bataille ou lit." (27) This brusque command, implying so sudden a change in

Erec's attitude toward his wife, initiates a long series of tests of Enide's devotion, which fill the rest of the

romance. Why did Erec treat his wife with such severity? In the Mabinogi of "Geraint the Son of Erbin", it is

plain that jealousy was the hero's motive. The reader of "Erec" may judge whether, as we believe, the hero's

sudden resolve is not rather that of a man piqued at being justly reproved by his wife for a delinquency he had

not himself remarked; irate at his wife's imputation, and fearful of having forfeited her respect, he starts out to

redeem his reputation in her eyes, and to maker her retract any insinuation she had made. Erec is simply

angry with himself, but he expends his wrath upon his defenceless wife until he is reassured of her love and

respect for him. (28) The situation here is a common one. Parallels will be found in the "Voyage de

Charlemagne", in the first tale of the "Arabian Nights", in the poem "Biterolf and Dietlieb", and in the

English ballad of "King Arthur and King Cornwall". Professor Child, in his "English and Scotch Ballads",

indexes the ballads in his collection, which present this motive, under the following caption: "King who

regards himself as the richest, most magnificent, etc., in the world, is told that there is one who outstrips him,

and undertakes to see for himself whether this is so, threatening death to the person who has affirmed his

inferiority in case this is disproved." (29) The presence of the Irish in this connection is explained by G. Paris

in "Romania", xx. 149. (30) Kay the Seneschal appears here for the first time in Chretien's poems with the

character which he regularly ascribes to him. Readers of Arthurian romance are all familiar with Sir Kay;

they will find that in Chretien, the seneschal, in addition to his undeniable qualities of bravery and frankness,

has less pleasing traits; he is foolhardy, tactless, mean, and a disparager of others' merit. He figures

prominently in "Yvain" and "Lancelot". His poetic history has not yet been written. His role in the German

romances has been touched upon by Dr. Friedrich Sachse, "Ueber den Ritter Kei" (Berlin, 1860). (31) No

meat was eaten because it was the eve of Sunday. (32) In the French epic poems and romances of adventure

alike it is customary for giants and all manner of rustic boors to carry clubs, the arms of knighthood being

appropriate for such ignoble creatures. Other instances of this convention will be remarked in the text. (33)

There follows and excellent example of an old French lament for the dead. Such a wail was known in old

French as a "regret", a word which has lost its specific meaning in English. (34) Many examples will be met

of women skilled in the practice of medicine and surgery. On the subject, cf. A. Hertel, "Versauberte

Oertlichkeiten und Gegenstande in der altfranzosschen Dichtung" (Hanover, 1908); Georg Manheimer,

"Etwas liber die Aerzte im alten Frankreich" in "Romanische Forschungen", vi. 581614. (35) The reference

here and in v.5891 is probably suggested by the "Roman d'Eneas", which tells the same story as Virgil's

"Aeneid", in old French eightsyllable rhymed couplets, and which is dated by the most recent scholarship

1160 circ. Cf. F.M. Warren in "Modern Philology", iii. 179209; iii. 513539; iv. 655675. Also M.

Wilmotte, "L'Evolution du roman francais aux environs de 1150" (Paris, 1903). Scenes from classical and

medieval romance were for a long time favourite subject of portrayal upon cloths and tapestries, as well as of

illuminations for manuscripts. (36) Various conjectures have been advanced concerning the significance of

this strange adventure and its mysterious name "La Joie de la cour". It is a quite extraneous episode, and

Tennyson in his artistic use of our hero and heroine in the Idyl of "Geraint and Enid" did well to omit it.

Chretien's explanation, a little farther on, of "La Joie de la cour" is lame and unsatisfactory, as if he himself

did not understand the significance of the matter upon which he was working. Cf. E. Philipot in "Romania",

xxv. 258294; K. Othmer, "Ueber das Verhaltnis Chrestiens Erec und Enide zu dem Mabinogion des rothen

Buch von Hergest" (Bonn, 1889); G. Paris in "Romania", xx. 152 f. (37) The following description of Erec's

reception is repeated with variations at the time of Yvain's entrance in the "Chastel de Pesme Avanture"

("Yvain", 5107 f.) (F.). (38) For such conventional mediaeval descriptions of otherworld castles, palaces,

and landscapes, cf. O.M. Johnston in "Ztsch fur romanische Philologie", xxxii. 705710. (39) Tiebaut li

Esclavon, frequently mentioned in the epic poems, was a Saracen king, the first husband of Guibourne, who

later married the Christian hero Guillaume d'Orange. Opinel was also a Saracen, mentioned in "Gaufrey", p.

132, and the hero of a lost epic poem (see G. Paris, "Historie poetique de Charlemagne", p. 127). Fernagu

was another Saracen king, killed in a famous encounter by Roland, "Otinel", p. 9 (F.). For further references

to these characters, see E. Langlois, "Table des noms propres de toute nature compris dans les chansons de

geste" (Paris, 1904). (40) There is a similar picket fence topped with helmets in the "Las de la Mule sanz

frain", v. 433 (ed. By R.T. Hill, Baltimore, 1911). (41) For such magic horns, cf. A. Hertel, "Verzauberte

Oertlichkeiten", etc. (Hanover, 1908). (42) In fact, nothing is known of this "lai", if, indeed, it ever existed.

For a recent definition of "lai", se L. Foulet in "Ztsch. fur romanische Philologie", xxxii. 161 f. (43) The

sterling was the English silver penny, 240 of which equalled 1 Pound Sterling of silver of 5760 grains 925

fine. It is early described as "denarius Angliae qui vocatur sterlingus" ("Ency. Brit"). (44) Macrobus was a

Neoplatonic philosopher and Latin grammarian of the early part of the 5th century A.D. He is best known as

the author of the "Saturnalia" and of a commentary upon Cicero's "Somnium Scipionis" in that author's "De

republica". It is this latter work that is probably in the mind of Chretien, as well as of Gower, who refers to

him in his "Mirour l'omme", and of Jean de Meun, the author of the second part of the "Roman de la Rose".

(45) For fairies and their handiwork in the Middle Ages, cf. L.F.A. Maury, "Les Fees du moyen age" (Paris,

1843); Keightley, "Fairy Mythology" (London, 1860); Lucy A. Paton, "Studies in the Fairy Mythology of

Arthurian Romance", Radcliffe Monograph (Boston, 1903); D.B. Easter, "The Magic Elements in the romans