Marie de France "Lanval"

Christian Beck

4 Marie de France "Lanval"

The adventure of another lay,

Just as it happened, I’ll relay:

It tells of a very nice nobleman,

And it’s called Lanval in Breton.

King Arthur was staying at Carduel–

That King of valiant and courtly estate–

His borders there he guarded well

Against the Pict, against the Scot,

Who’d cross into Logres to devastate

The countryside often, and a lot.

He held court there at Pentecost,

The summer feast we call Whitsun,

Giving gifts of impressive cost

To every count and each baron

And all knights of the Round Table.

Never elsewhere so many, such able

Knights assembled! Women and land

He shared out with generous hand

To all but one who’d served. Lanval

He forgot: no man helped his recall.

For being brave and generous,

For his beauty and his prowess,

He was envied by all the court;

Those who claimed to hold him dear,

If Fortune had brought him up short,

Would not have shed a kindly tear.

A king’s son, he’d a noble lineage,

But now, far from his heritage,

He’d joined the household of the King.

He’d spent all the money he could bring

Already. The King gave him no more–

He gave just what Lanval asked for.

Now Lanval knows not what to do;

He’s very thoughtful, very sad.

My lords, I don’t astonish you:

A man alone, with no counsel–or bad–

A stranger in a strange land

Is sad, when no help’s at hand.

It was that year (I think I can say)

After St. John’s or Midsummer’s Day,

Some thirty knights–knighthood’s flower–

Went out to do some playing

In the orchard near the tower

Where Queen Guinevere was staying;

Among these knights was Gawain,

And his cousin, handsome Yvain.

Gawain said (valiant, frank and free,

The love of every man held he),

“In God’s name, my lords, we sin

Against Lanval, our companion,

So courtly and generous in everything–

And his father’s a wealthy king–

He should be here; we’ve done him wrong.”

Right away they all turned back;

To his hostel they followed the track,

And begged Lanval to come along.

At a window, framed in stone,

The Queen leaned out–not alone,

But with three ladies. Lo and behold,

She spotted the knights of the King’s household.

She recognized, and stared at, Lanval.

She gave one of her ladies a call.

She wants a group of maidens collected,

For beauty and manners they’re selected,

To stroll and play with the Queen

In the orchard, where the knights were seen.

Thirty girls she leads, or more.

Down the steps and out the door.

Here to meet them come the knights,

Greatly gladdened by such sights.

Hand-in-hand, their conversations

Are free of low-class intimations.

Lanval goes off all alone,

Far from the others; for his own

Friend he just can’t wait–not much–

For her kiss, her embrace, her touch.

Little he cares about others’ delight

When he can’t enjoy his own!

The Queen saw him go off alone,

And she headed straight for that knight.

She sat near him, she called him over,

She spoke as her heart would move her:

“Lanval, I really do respect you,

I really care, I really love,

And you can have all my love.

Tell me what you want! I expect you

Must be happy at what I say.

I’m offering to go all the way.”

“Lady,” he said, “Let me go!

I never thought to love you so!

I’ve served the King for many a day;

His faith in me I won’t betray.

Not for you, your love, or anything

Would I ever act against my King!”

The Queen’s heart filled with anger;

Furious, she spoke a slander:

“Lanval,” she said, “I think they’re right.

You don’t care much for such delight;

People have told me again and again

That women offer you no pleasure–

With a few well-schooled young men

You prefer to pass your leisure.

Peasant coward, faithless sinner,

My lord the King is hardly the winner

In letting your sort hang around;

He’s losing God’s own grace, I’ve found!”

Lanval is anguished by these lies;

Quickly the accused replies.

He says a thing, in that angry moment,

Of which he’ll many times repent.

“My lady: That job–don’t doubt it,

I wouldn’t know how to go about it.

But I do love–I alone love

A lady who’d win the prize

Over all women I’ve known of.

And I’ll tell you this, without disguise,

Just because you need to know:

Her serving maids, a poor or low

One, even, the poorest in her train,

Is better than you are, Lady Queen:

In beauty of body and of face,

In goodness and in well-bred grace.”

Away now went the Queen,

Up to her room, all crying.

Pain and anger drove her wild–

She’d been insulted and reviled.

Sick with it, she took to her bed.

Never would she get up, she said,

Unless the King her complaint oversaw,

And gave her justice according to law.

The King had just come home from the wood;

His day’s hunting had been good.

He went into the Queen’s chamber.

She cried out, loud, when first she

Saw him, fell at his feet, begged mercy,

Accused Lanval–he had shamed her!

He’d asked her for a love-affair,

She’d said no, with this result:

He’d offered her an ugly insult.

He boasted of a friend so fair,

So full of pride, breeding, honor,

That the chambermaid who waited on her–

The lowliest, poorest of the poor–

Compared to the Queen, was worth far more.

The King was angry, to the core.

His oath against Lanval he swore:

In court he’d prove he was no liar,

Or else he’d hang, or die by fire.

The lady rides in at the palace door,

Lovelier than any, since or before,

To come there. Up to the King she rides,

And dismounts, so she can be seen from all sides.

She drops her cloak upon the floor,

So that they all can see her more.

The King, well-bred and most polite,

Stands up to meet her, as is right.

The others, after they observe her,

Crowd up to honor her and serve her.

Once they’ve all tired out their eyes,

And praised her beauty to the skies,

She began to have her say there,

For she didn’t want to stay there:

O King, I have loved your vassal,

This one, here! I mean Lanval.

In your court he’s accused of crime.

I didn’t want him to have a bad time

For what he said; all along,

You know, the Queen was in the wrong;

He never asked anything of her.

As for his boasting of his lover,

If the law’s satisfied by what you see,

May your barons set him free!”

The King approves in advance

Any judgement the barons make.

They decide–and it doesn’t take

Long–Lanval’s made the perfect defense.

He is freed by their verdict,

And the maiden makes her exit.

The King can’t keep her there at all;

She has enough servants of her own.

There was set, outside the hall

A great dark marble mounting-stone,

For an armed knight to climb on his horse,

When from the castle he set his course.

Lanval had climbed up there to wait.

When the maiden came out the gate,

Lanval made his leap, at full speed,

Up behind her, onto her steed.

With her he’s gone to Avalon–

Or so say the poets in Breton–

To the fair island far away

She ravished that noble youth;

No-one can say any more with truth,

And I have no more to tell of this lay.

Source:

De France, Marie. “Sir Launfal.” Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet, Le Bisclaveret: Four Lais Rendered into English Prose from the French of Marie De France and Others. Trans. Jessie L. Weston. London: David Nutt, 1910. HathiTrust. 30-51. Web. 12 Apr. 2016. <http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015008318621>

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