The Honeysuckle and the Hazel Tree "ch7"

7. The Reflection

(Le Lai de l’Ombre)

Jean Renart

	I do not intend to quit
	Poetry, and whet my wit
	On idleness and dull repose.
4	Nor do I resemble those
	Bunglers who can only write
	To ruin; I would bring to light
	Something in word and deed worthwhile,
8	And crass is he whose mocking smile
	Salutes me when I use my skill
	To rhyme a tale in which you will
	Detect no vulgar insolence.
12	No one but a fool consents
	To trade his talent for a joke;
	And if, behind my back they poke
	Fun at me, well, that’s all they know.
16	Never can this finger grow
	Long enough to equal this one,
	Any more than from a felon
	You can produce a worthy man.
20	But luck is more important than
	Noble lineage for birthright.
	Guillaume who tore apart the kite^[1]
	And burned the pieces down to bone,
24	If you recall the tale, has shown
	That what I say is true indeed;
	Many a man has greater need
	For luck than for money or a friend.
28	Friends die; and one quickly sees the end
	Of carelessly protected treasure,
	While he whose spending knows no measure
	Soon will see his wealth disperse:
32	When he wakes up at last to curse
	His folly, everything is lost.
	Afterwards he counts the cost
	And learns to practice moderation,
36	So that, with luck, his reputation
	May be restored without delay.
	Therefore I’ll compose this lai
	For Miles, the Bishop-elect, whose will^[2]
40	Commands it—to display my skill
	In a worthy poem, and do him honor.
	There’s nothing that could please me more
	Than to be challenged to employ
44	My wit on something I enjoy
	As much as rhyming a romance.
	They say good navigation lands
	Good rhymes; once in harbor, why resort
48	To quarreling with the waves—that’s sport
(48a)	For fools. But those who reach the port^[*]
	Of poetry are sure to win
	The praise of princes. I’ll begin
	What you are now to hear if they
52	Leave me alone to write my lai.

	Once there was a chevalier
	Who came from the Empire—let us say
	Between Lorraine and Germany.
56	I am sure you wouldn’t see
	His equal if you were to search
	From Châlons as far as Perche;
	Men of his quality are rare,
60	And one could very well compare
	This knight with Gawain. He could claim
	To have, no doubt, as great a name—
	But what it was I’ve never known.
64	This chevalier could call his own
	Valor and knightly courtesy.
	He seemed, for generosity,
	As if he’d wealth enough to burn.
68	Not boastful nor yet taciturn,
	Despite his fame throughout the land,
	He was not rich but could command
	Enough to live agreeably,
72	And he placed riches with a free
	Hand where there were none before.
	Solely on the strength of rumor
	Maidens and ladies prized him well;
76	Who could his advance repel,
	Should he earnestly appeal?
	Who’d discourage so ideal
	A knight, so fine and debonair!
80	Whatever any social affair
	Demanded, he did skillfully;
	But quite another man was he
	Than this, once on the battlefield—
84	His brave and wrathful strength would yield
	To none. Once in his helm arrayed,
	Well he knew how to parade
	His challenge to a host of foes.
88	So far his warlike ardor goes,
	This chevalier of whom I speak
	Wished there were in every week
	Twice the time for tournament!^[3]
92	Never, by the Lord’s consent,
	Was knight so valorous as he.
	Not like those who for poverty
	In winter summer clothes must wear,
96	He gave more squirrel fur and vair^[4]
	Than many ten-times-richer men,
	And every day he welcomed seven
	Good companions, rarely less.
100	Whatever his household might possess
	He was willing to give away.
	He enjoyed—quite rightly, I say—
	Falcon hunting when he could.
104	Rivaling Tristan, he was good
	At fencing, chess, and what you will.
	Long his desires did life fulfill,
	And he was loved by one and all.
108	He was handsome, very tall,
	Powerful and strong in grace,
	But his admirers gave first place
	To his valor—all a knight’s should be.

112	She who of all has mastery,
	Love, seeing the time was right,
	Challenged him for the high delight
	He’d had from ladies on his way,
116	Never taking care to pay
	Tribute to Love when it was due,
	Nor would he give her homage through
	Humble service, and recognize
120	Himself a vassal in her eyes.
	But now the moment had arrived:
	She who will not be scorned contrived
	To make him so feel her strength and might
124	That Tristan in his dreadful plight—
	Even shorn to look insane—^[5]
	Suffered nothing like his pain,
	Until she decided to relent.
128	Once the unerring bow was bent,
	Straight to its goal the arrow came,
	The beauty and the sweet name
	Of a lady placed within his heart.
132	Now he must remain apart
	From all others for her sake.
	With many he was wont to make
	Division of his heart, true lover
136	To none; then let him discover
	He will henceforth wholly serve
	The one he now thinks must deserve
	For loveliness the ruby’s place.
140	Her wit, her very noble grace,
	The radiant beauty of her face
	He can’t, by any means, erase
	From his thoughts by day or night.
144	Nothing now gives him delight
	Save thinking of how fair she is.
	So well had Love selected his
	Conqueror, that just one sight
148	Of the lady had convinced the knight
	There was not one on earth her peer,
	And the memory he holds so dear
	Still offers conclusive evidence.^[6]
152	“I’ve been aloof,” the knight laments,
	“I’ve kept so carefully my reserve!
	God would by this vengeance serve
	Those who loved me without return.
156	To my sorrow did I spurn
	Men vanquished by Love’s mastery;
	Now that Love has conquered me,
	Whom she is determined to instruct,
160	No churl whose tooth was being plucked
	By a barber ever felt such pain!”^[7]
	All he wants to do is remain
	Alone to tell his woes and groan;
164	No one on earth has ever known
	The torment that for Love he suffers.
	“Alas!” he cries, “if I am hers,
	What if she will not be mine?
168	If she should hear me and decline,
	I couldn’t live another day.
	Whether I travel or I stay
	At home, no pleasure dulls my pain.
172	Perhaps I would do well to gain
	Favor with those who visit her;
	By this means has many a lover
	Come to joy from his despair.
176	Had she only placed a snare
	Around my neck, her slender arms!
	All night I dream about her charms,
	As if she were embracing me.
180	But morning to reality
	Wakes me from my great delight;
	I reach out as if I might
	Still touch her form that like a flame
184	Burns my body—but to claim
	A treasure, it must first be found,
	Alas; many have run aground
	Like me on this. There’s just one way;
188	I’ll go or send someone to pray
	Her mercy—my very life’s at stake—
	And beg her, before I die, to take
	Pity on my cruel torments
192	And, by her benevolence,
	Be savior of my life and mind.
	If she should let me die, she’d find
	Her court to be the less by one;
196	Surely from her heart must come
	Pity, and sweetness from her eyes.
	It seems to me it would be wise,
	After all, that I go and tell
200	Her myself—to have a thing done well . . .
	And who else would go so willingly?
	We are always told necessity
	And poverty can teach us best.
204	On these proverbs I will rest
	My case. There’s nothing to be done
	But tell her myself that in her prison
	My heart a willing captive lies;
208	And, before it wins love’s prize,
	Seeks no escape from harsh duress.
	Then she’ll have pity, and kindliness
	Should lead her to be merciful.”

212	He is now prepared for travel.
	Two of his companions he picks
	To go; their servants number six.
	More than this I need not say;
216	He rides, wrapped in his thoughts, and gay,
	Dreams of his purpose and his way,
	Leads his companions all astray
	From his thoughts and his intent—
220	They must not know what he meant
	By this unexpected journey.
	And so he rides on rapidly,
	Hiding his thoughts and his desire,
224	Until they see a distant spire,
	The castle that is her domain.
	The followers hear the knight exclaim,
	“Look how well that castle’s placed!”
228	Not because he chooses to waste
	His words on its thick walls or moat;
	He says this only in the hope
	They may be tempted so to praise,
232	For his delight, the gracious ways
	Of the lady he has come to see.
	And they reply, “How unworthy
	Of you! It’s an evil day indeed,
236	When a castle can precede
	In praise a lady second to none!
	You can be sure you’ll find not one
	In all the kingdom half so fair.”
240	“Watch out!” they say, “were she aware
	That you had so insulted her,
	Better if you fell prisoner
	To pagan Turks and went to Cairo!”
244	Then the knight, smiling, answers, “Oh!
	My lords, not so fast! I needn’t be
	Treated with such severity;
	This is no crime! I promise you
248	There’s nothing on earth I wouldn’t do
	To have this castle, just this one
	Alone. In Saladin’s darkest prison
	I’d gladly spend five or six years,
252	Could it be mine as it appears
	Now—my own to keep, with all
	That’s hidden there behind the wall.”
	They say, “You’d be fortunate indeed!”
256	They didn’t know enough to heed
	The double meaning in his words.
	The knight was happy when he heard
	His friends reply so suitably.
260	He asked if they would go to see
	The chatelaine. “It’s only right,”
	They answer. “Do you think a knight
	Should let so beautiful a lady
264	Cross his path while carelessly
	He turns away?” “It’s up to you,”
	He says. “I am quite willing to
	Go or not. You set the course!”
268	With that, each of them turns his horse
	Toward the castle, and on their way
	They shout, “Aux dames, chevaliers!”^[8]
	A war cry fit for their intent!

272	So, at a gallop, off they went,
	And soon were at the fortress. They found
	A new courtyard, ringed around
	By moats and a palisade—the best
276	Defensive walls. Across his chest
	The knight had pulled his cloak aside
	To show his fine silk tunic, dyed
	Scarlet, rich with squirrel fur
280	And ermine. All three wore similar
	Attire: white pleated shirts, blue flowers
	In the garlands on their heads, their spurs
	Glittering with gold inlay.
284	In summer, I think, there’s no way
	For anyone to be better dressed.
	They did not stop at all but pressed
	On till they reached the outer stairs.
288	Their servants, trained in these affairs,
	Jumped down and went at once to hold
	Their stirrups. Before he could be told,
	The seneschal saw them in the court
292	And hurried from his lodge to report
	The news to the fair chatelaine;
	The knight who had arrived just then
	Bore a name well known to her.
296	She blushed, but it was not in anger;
	She was only surprised. Her maids
	Had just arranged her hair in braids.
	Instantly, from the crimson pillows
300	Where she was sitting, she arose,
	Beautiful in all her grace.
	Then her servants set in place
	Over her shoulders a samite cloak;
304	Her beauty, of which so many spoke,
	Was Nature’s great gift. Even before
	She’d gone as far as her chamber’s door,
	Her guests, who were in too much haste
308	To let the least time go to waste,
	Had already come to find her there.
	Her welcome made them well aware
	That she was glad to have their visit,
312	And they were the more convinced of it
	Because she had been on her way
	To greet them. The lady wore that day
	A white tunic; more than six feet
316	Its train extended, as her feet
	Trod the fine rushes on the floor.
	“You are welcome here, my lord,”
	She says, “and your companions too.”
320	I hope she has no cause to rue
	This day, and may her joy be long!
	The knight’s companions were not wrong:
	This was no lady to pass by!
324	They marvel, all of them, and sigh,
	So beautiful is the one they greet.
	Now she leads the knight to a seat,
	Laughing as she takes his hand;
328	He has part of what he’d planned,
	When he is seated next to her.
	His friends, knowing what is proper,
	Withdraw, at their own request,
332	To sit along a copper-bound chest
	With two of her companions and chat,
	Inquiring about this and that.
	Meanwhile the noble knight, of their
336	Cooperation unaware,
	Is thinking of his own affair;
	For the courteous, debonair
	Lady in such a skillful way
340	Answers whatever he may say
	That he can well believe her wise.
	Time and again he turns his eyes
	Toward the beauty of her face,
344	Finding nothing to disgrace
	His first impression. The evidence
	Rewards his heart for confidence;
	He sees her close at hand, and this
348	Confirms his memory’s fair promise,
	So truly beautiful is she.

	“Dearest, most sweet and lovely lady,”
	He says, “for whom by Love’s command
352	I have put aside and banned
	All others from my thoughts, what drew
	Me here was this: to offer you
	In faithful homage whatever power,
356	Whatever strength is mine—so prosper
	My joy! There is nothing I love
	As much as you—by God above
	I swear it, may He save my soul!
360	You, and you alone, control
	My fate; with all my heart I pray
	That graciousness and pity may
	Incline your favor to my need.
364	For piety may also lead
	Those who pray to intercede
	For those who only serve the creed
	Of Love in perfect loyalty!”
368	“On my soul! My lord,” says she,
	“What does this mean? I don’t know
	How you come to be speaking so!”
	He answers, “Lady, all you heard
372	Is true indeed; your slightest word
	Commands me always—in your power
	Am I.” When he promised her
	His fealty and love, a rush
376	Of color filled her cheeks. The blush
	Didn’t mean her wit could be despised:
	“My lord, I would be most surprised
	If it could in fact be true
380	That any man who looked like you
	Was pining for love. No one could
	Believe this! And if they should,
	Handsome as you are, your fame
384	Would suffer for it! More shame
	To you if your dissembling tries,
	By throwing dust into my eyes,^[9]
	To make what’s false pass undetected.”
388	Fairly have her words deflected
	His charge, caused all his hopes to fail—
	Or that, at least, is how the tale
	Was told to me. She leads him now
392	On a tight rein; this he has to allow,
	For no one on earth could please him more.
	Whoever treated him so before
	Would have known vengeance swift and sure!
396	Her hold on him is so secure
	He doesn’t even dare to be
	Reproachful, but resumes his plea:
	“My lady, don’t leave me in despair!
400	I’ve made you very well aware
	How much your love would mean to me.
	Why do your harsh words disagree
	With the welcome that I saw appear
404	In your lovely eyes when I came here—
	They had more pleasant things to say!
	And, believe me, their display
	Of courtesy was only right,
408	For, since first they saw the light,
	They’ve seen no one who would do
	Homage in fealty to you,
	As faithfully serve you, as would I.
412	Sweet lady, tell me you will try—
	For a year and a half let me serve
	As your own knight, and when I deserve
	Better, grant me the name of friend!
416	In much less time than that you’ll mend
	My ways, make me so valorous
	At arms, at home so courteous
	That by your influence I may,
420	If God is willing, learn the way
	To win a lover’s sweet reward!”
	“I see that idle dreams, my lord,
	Please you well. I only meant,
424	By welcoming you thus, a pleasant
	Courtesy and nothing more.
	I’m sorry if you took it for
	Something I did not intend.
428	Certainly I could not pretend
	Or ever wish to be impolite;
	But this is the way it happens quite
	Often—when a noble lady
432	Welcomes a knight with courtesy,
	Treating him as an honored guest,
	He takes for granted all the rest,
	All that he desires to do.
436	This is proved indeed by you—
	That’s just the attitude I met.^[10]
	You might, with better luck, have set
	A pigeon snare outside my door!
440	Even if the trial you asked me for
	Should be three years long, never again
	Would you have the welcome you had then;
	No matter what tributes you designed,
444	Never again would I be as kind
	As I was a little while ago.
	Men should be careful not to go
	Boasting before the prize is theirs!”

448	So badly now the poor knight fares
	He doesn’t know what to do or say!
	“Lady, at least there’s no way
	For me to be worse off than before.
452	The pity that I’m asking for
	Must be somewhere in your heart; I know
	That Love always, however slow,
	Grants the true lover victory.
456	I have gone rudderless to sea
	As Tristan did to live or die^[11]
	As Fate intends, though always I
	Have been sole master of my will.
460	And now I’ve been tormented until
	Either you must save me tonight
	Or I shall never see the light
	Of morning again, so grieved
464	Is my heart, which without my leave
	Has given itself in trust to you.”
	Then, laughing a little, “That will do!”
	She says. “Never have I heard
468	The like! Now, not another word,
	Since I see that you are serious—
	Truly, by Saint Nicholas,
	I thought it was just a harmless joke.”
472	“You wrong me. Even if you spoke
	Not of yourself but of some poor
	Abandoned peasant girl, be sure
	I could never be accused of this!”
476	But nothing that the knight can promise
	Or say has brought him any closer
	At all to having joy of her.
	It seems there is nothing to be done.
480	In his despair his face turns crimson,
	His eyes overflow with his heart’s tears,
	So that the red and white appear
	Mixed together on his cheeks.
484	The chatelaine no longer seeks
	To disavow her own heart’s counsel;
	Secretly she knows quite well
	The knight has often found his way
488	Into her thoughts before this day.
	To weep with him would do her good.
	In truth, she can’t believe he should
	Suffer so much unhappiness.
492	“My honor, sir, would be the less
	If I should offer love’s reward
	To any but my noble lord,
	Who serves me well and honors me.”
496	“Ha! lady, fortunate is he!
	With this he should be well content!
	I promise, if you’d just consent
	For love’s sake to be generous,
500	No one would think the worse of us
	Who likes to sing or read of love,
	But you’d be honored far above
	All others in your time; love me
504	And you will show such charity
	As those who seek the Holy Land.”
	“My lord, you make me understand
	That it is wrong for me to stay
508	And listen to you. There is no way
	For you to make my heart concede
	What you are asking; though you plead
	Forever, it would be in vain.”
512	“Ah, lady!” he cries, “then I am slain!
	I beg you—deny what you have said!
	Do me this courtesy instead:
	Grant me at least a token, something
516	Of yours to keep, a belt or ring,
	Or else accept the gift of one.
	No service that ever knight has done
	To please a lady, though I lose
520	My soul for it, will I refuse
	To do for you—and this I swear.
	Your face, so sweet it is, and fair,
	Claims my perfect fealty;
524	Whatever strength there is in me
	Is yours, and in your hands my fate.”
	She says, “I have no wish to rate
	The honor if I’m denied the pleasure.^[12]
528	Your valor has in no small measure
	Been praised, and long before this day.
	You would only be led astray
	If I allowed this to continue
532	Though you hadn’t won my heart. I’d do
	Then a kindness that would be
	The opposite of courtesy,
	And rightly could be called unjust.”
536	“Lady, to ease my pain, you must
	Give me a different reply.
	Remember, if you let me die
	For lack of love, on your soul lies
540	The guilt; your lovely, candid eyes
	Will bring me to a cruel grave.
	Now you must murder me, or save—
	Set my fate upon its course.
544	Most beautiful lady, you are the source
	Of all things dear to me; take care!”

	His speech was courteous and fair;
	The lady silently considered
548	That not unwillingly she heard
	His plea, and that she did feel pity.
	She can suspect no falsity
	Now in all his tears and sighs,
552	But these are caused by Love, who tries
	Him so hard. She is in fact inclined
	To think that she could never find
	A friend so debonair should she
556	Refuse him; now she wonders only
	Why he had never spoken before.
	But then Reason comes to the fore,
	Arguing, on the other side,
560	That she would do better still to hide
	Her weakness—or regret it later.
	While he worried, seeing her
	Far away and deep in thought,
564	He was by Love’s counsel taught—
	Love, who time and again displays
	The subtle cunning of her ways—
	How a victory might be won.
568	And so, while the lovely one
	Was still rapt in her pondering,
	The chevalier took off his ring,
	Slipped it gently onto her finger,
572	And, inspired not to linger,
	Spoke abruptly; her surprise
	Gave her no chance to realize
	That he had given her the ring.
576	Sure that she had noticed nothing,
	“Lady,” he tells her, “I must leave.
	Remember what I’ve said; believe
	That you command my life and heart.”

580	With that the chevalier departs;
	His two companions quickly follow.
	No one but the knight can know
	Why he left in so much haste.
584	Sighing he was, as he retraced
	His steps; he found his horse and mounted
	Pensively. Says the one who counted
	Most, if he’s to know joy again,
588	“Has he really gone? What happened then?
	This knight has certainly no peer
	For courtesy! I thought a year
	Would seem to him not a single day,
592	If he were but allowed to stay;
	And now he has gone away, contented.
	Ah! And what if I had relented,
	Yielded to him in word or deed!
596	Since counterfeit can so mislead,
	Take no one on earth as he appears!
	If I had really, by those tears
	And lying sighs, been taken in,
600	On my soul, I swear he’d win
	His triumph when the price was low.
	Could anyone in the world be so
	Clever at lies and trickery?”
604	And at that very moment she
	Looked at her hand, and saw the ring.
	Every drop of blood went rushing
	Down to her very toes! Never
608	Had anything astonished her
	So much, or seemed to her so strange.
	Her color in an instant changed
	From crimson to a pallid white.
612	“God help me!” she says; “can I be right?”
	Isn’t this the ring he wore?
	Unless my mind fails me, once before
	I saw it—on his hand! I know
616	I did, a little while ago!
	Why has he given it to me?
	Because I never would agree,
	He has assumed a lover’s part.
620	He’s a past master of this art;
	I wonder where he went to school!
	How did he do it? What a fool
	I must have been, completely blind—
624	Otherwise he could never find
	A way of giving me his ring!
	And now that he has done this thing,
	He’ll claim that he has won my love.
628	Is it really true? Am I his love?
	No! He’d say so quite in vain.
	I’ll have him come back, and I’ll explain—
	Somehow he must be made to see—
632	I’ll tell him I can never be
	His friend, unless he takes it back.
	In this, I’m sure, he won’t lack
	Courtesy, if he fears my anger.”

636	She ordered a servant sent to her
	Ready to ride—they must not waste
	A moment. Very soon, in haste,
	A squire appeared. She said, “Please go
640	After that knight. If you’re not slow
	I’m sure you can overtake him. Say
	He must, if he cares for me, obey
	My will, and instantly return.
644	There’s something of very great concern
	To him about which I would speak.”
	“My lady, I’ll do my best to seek
	The knight and carry out your orders.”
648	So he gallops off and spurs
	After the chevalier, in torment
	For love of the very one who sent
	The squire to find him. He was no more
652	Than a league away from her before
	The messenger came to turn him back.
	No one could say he showed a lack
	Of willingness—he had good cause
656	To thank his stars. Nor did he pause
	To ask any questions; he preferred
	To believe that the ring offered
	Only an excuse to summon
660	Him back, and that the true reason
	Must certainly be her desire
	To see him again. En route her squire
	Became acquainted with the knight.
664	God! But the future now seemed bright—
	Except for the tormenting thought
	That she might, after all, have sought
	To give him back his ring. He vows
668	To see himself, before he allows
	That to happen, a monk at Cîteaux!^[13]
	“I can’t believe she’ll treat me so
	Harshly for what I did.” He rides
672	Onward, and soon his pleasure hides
	The thought that troubled him before.
	Now he has come back to the door
	By which he’d left the lady’s fortress.

676	The chatelaine, in great distress,
	Fighting her own desires, now
	Leaves her chamber and, walking down
	The long stairs slowly, one by one,
680	Plans what should be said and done
	To reprove the chevalier coming
	Into the outer court; his ring
	Still shines on her finger. “This knight
684	May possibly refuse, in spite
	Of all I can say; I might not make
	Him do my will. So I’d best not take
	The bull by the horns. I’ll see^[14]
688	First that we talk in privacy
	Beside the well. That way, if he
	Shows me the least discourtesy,
	I’ll end the matter then and there.
692	But how? I won’t solve this affair
	Just by dropping it on the ground.
	Where then? It never must be found.
	In the well! Thus, as if it were
696	A passing dream, I won’t suffer
	From what could, perhaps, be said of me.
	Haven’t I lived honorably
	For a long time now with my own lord?
700	If this one thinks that I’ll reward
	His show of gallantry, his sighs,
	That he can carry off the prize
	Of my love on one single visit—
704	He wouldn’t have overworked his wit
	To win, if that were proven true!”^[15]

	Just then the chevalier, who knew
	Nothing about all this, appeared.
708	He dismounted, and as if he feared
	Nothing, confident and gay,
	Ran to greet her just the way
	Knights with ladies have always done.
712	Neither his friends nor anyone
	From the household comes to interfere.
	“I greet the lady without peer,
	To whom I belong, now and always!”
716	But she is not bowled over by praise,^[16]
	Nor willing to take him at his word;
	Many things has the lady heard
	Today that touched her, close to her heart.
720	“Sir,” she says, leading him apart,
	“Let us sit here beside the well
	And talk.” What evil ever befell
	A man after so kind a greeting!
724	Now he is sure, thanks to his ring,
	That he is on the way to success.
	His confidence will grow much less
	Before his hopes begin to prosper!
728	As he goes to sit down next to her,
	He hears something which disagrees
	With his delight: “My lord, if you please,
	There is something I don’t understand:
732	I have your ring, here in my hand;
	Why have you given it to me?”
	He says, “Sweet lady, it will be
	There on your finger when I go.
736	I promise you, I want you to know—
	You must believe that this is true—
	The ring is magnified in value,
	Having been yours. If you please,
740	This summer all my enemies
	Will be, not to their joy, aware
	That you have granted me your fair
	Love, as mine belongs to you.”
744	“In God’s name, sir! That isn’t true!”
	She says, “You have it entirely wrong!
	I’ll never leave this house as long
	As I live, if you should dare presume
748	To boast about my love to plume
	Your pride! Not for anything on earth!
	All that you have tried is worth
	Nothing; you’re very far off the track!
752	Here! I want you to take back
	The ring you gave to me in vain.
	Woe betide you if you claim
	My love because I wore it once!”
756	Now he grieves who thought he had won;
	He who had conquered all laments:
	“My fame will do a harsh penance
	If what I heard is really true.
760	Never did any joy I knew
	So quickly turn to bitter pain.”
	“Surely, my lord, you can’t complain
	That any dishonor would be found
764	In you for this. We are not bound
	By ties of love or lineage;
	I will commit no sacrilege
	If I return the ring to you.
768	And there is nothing you can do
	But take it back. I can’t allow
	Your tribute if I disavow
	Your love, as I am sure I must.”
772	“God!” he says, “were I to thrust
	A knife blade deep into my thigh,
	It wouldn’t inflict such pain as I
	Feel from these words. It is no great
776	Triumph to annihilate
	An enemy who is on the ground!
	By my heart’s passion I am bound
	And made to suffer cruel torment;
780	Any woman must repent
	Who tries to make me take it back.
	No! Let God forever rack
	My soul if I agree to this!
784	One thing I can surely promise
	Is that when I’ve left here, on your hand
	The ring will be, at your command
	My heart—and in your service none
788	Will rival my heart and ring as one.”
	The lady says, “Now you abuse
	My patience! Take care; or you will lose
	Whatever friendship I may still
792	Offer you, if against my will
	You make me angry by insisting.
	I say you must take back the ring.”
	“Never!” “You will! Unless, of course,
796	Your arguments should turn to force,
	And try to make my will defer
	To yours, as if indeed you were
	More than my master and my lord.
800	Here!” “What you ask I can’t afford.”
	“Take it!” “Never will I agree.”
	“Then do you hope to conquer me
	By force?” “No, lady, that’s not true;
804	God help me, I’ve no power to do
	Anything of the kind, alas!
	But boorishness and grief would pass
	Away forever, I am sure,
808	If you would give me hope to cure
	My pain, not drive me to defeat.”
	“My lord,” she answers, “you could beat
	Your head on stone to more avail;
812	By no means can you prevail
	On me, as you know very well.”
	“To please you I must learn to tell
	Ingenious stories like Renart.^[17]
816	Were I to hang, it would be far
	Better than to accept the ring!
	Why must we go on quarreling?
	You know by now I won’t agree.”
820	“My words, as far as I can see,
	Do nothing more than make you stubborn.
	You won’t allow me to return
	The ring, no matter what I say.
824	Now by your promise to obey
	My commands in everything,
	I charge you to take back the ring,
	And by the faith you owe to Love.”

828	He does not miss the meaning of
	Her words; either he yields to her
	Or else she will no doubt consider
	All his vows but empty lies.
832	“Oh, God!” he says, “which way lies
	The lesser evil? If I leave
	The ring with her, she won’t believe
	My love. It would be to no avail.
836	Lovers and pastry cooks both fail
	When they press too hard what they embrace!^[18]
	Protest would only mean disgrace.
	She claims the obedience I swore
840	And the ring cannot be placed before
	Honor; I’ll have to take it back.
	Otherwise I’ll appear to lack
	The courtesy that I should show
844	The lady to whom by right I owe
	This tribute of my love for her.
	Even when it is on my finger,
	It will be my lady’s nonetheless.
848	I am indeed dishonored unless
	I do whatever she may choose
	To ask; no lover can refuse
	Faithful obedience to his lady.
852	No one can say he serves Love truly
	Who leaves what he can do undone.
	So I must, for this same reason,
	Yield to all that she commands
856	And place myself wholly in her hands,
	Inclining my own will to hers.”
	He does not speak her name but defers^[19]
	To her wish: “Lady, I will take
860	The ring, if you will let me make
	One condition: that I am free
	To do with it what pleases me.
	I will have joy remembering
864	You wore it once.” She says, “The ring
	Is yours, to give away or keep.”
	Don’t think that rusty or asleep
	Were the wits of that most valiant knight.
868	He had hope enough to feel delight
	As he took the ring back thoughtfully
	And said, looking at it sweetly,
	“Lady, you have been very kind!
872	The gold has not turned black, I find,
	Since it came from such a lovely hand!”
	She smiled, believing that he planned
	To put it on his finger again.
876	But he did something better, and then
	Was granted joy, as I shall tell.
	He leaned his elbow on the well,
	Which was no more than nine feet deep,
880	And there below him he could see
	In the water, glittering and clear,
	The image of someone who was dear
	To him above all else on earth.
884	He said, “This ring may be of worth
	To someone; I won’t take it away,
	But my sweet lady here today
	Shall have it, next to you the one
888	I love best.” “But how could she have come?
	I thought that we were quite alone!”
	“Soon, I promise, you shall be shown
	How courteous she is, and fair.”
892	“But where, in God’s name?” “Look down there!
	Don’t you see your reflection waiting?”
	The chevalier held up the ring:
	“It is for you to keep, sweet friend!
896	My lady refused me in the end,
	But you will not disappoint me so.”
	As soon as the ring fell, the shadow
	Vanished in the rippled waters.
900	Then the knight said, “It is hers.
	By this means the ring restores
	My pride, for something that is yours
	Received it; and this does me honor.
904	I only wish there were a door
	Down there in the well. She’d come here,
	And I’d give the one I hold dear
	The thanks from me that she deserves.”

908	Now, by God, his courtesy serves
	To lead the knight to happiness.
	Nothing could ever more impress
	Or give more pleasure to the lady.
912	Restored to joy, she ardently^[20]
	Lifts her eyes to meet his own.
	Many times it has been shown
	That courtesy wins a sweet reward.
916	“I have behaved so cruelly toward
	This knight; now love begins to sway
	My heart. For ever since the day
	Of Adam’s fall, no one has been
920	So gallant, nor will be again.
	Who would have imagined such a thing?
	Since he gave my reflection the ring
	For love of me, I’m sure that I
924	Cannot and really shouldn’t deny
	His valor the gift of my true love.
	And why delay? Worthy above
	All others to have love’s victory
928	Is the peerless knight whose gallantry
	Conquered my heart with a little ring.”
	You may be sure he finds no sting
	In her words when she says, “My sweet friend,
932	Not a moment more can I defend
	My heart against your courtesy
	And the way that you have honored me,
	Sending your ring to my reflection.
936	Now, with all my heart’s affection,
	I’ll give you one of mine. Take it so.
	I think you’ll like it as much, although
	It cannot compare in worth to yours.”
940	The knight says, “If they made me lord
	Of the whole empire, less were my joy.”

	The two beside the well enjoy
	Much of love’s pleasure then and there.
944	From all the kisses that they share
	They feel the sweetness in their hearts.
	Their eyes do not fail to play their parts—
	And that’s the very least one can say!
948	In all those games that hands may play
	Their mastery is now complete.
	What they must save for when they meet
	More privately will suit them well.

952	But Jehan Renart is not to tell
	Or even think further of these two.
	If he has nothing else to do
	Let him find another tale to write.
956	Since their desires and Love unite,
	Surely there needn’t be a text
	For the sport that will be coming next.
	All they have to do is try it—
960	And let the rest of us keep quiet!
	Here I’ll hand over this account
	To raconteurs who know how to count.^[21]

[1] 48a In his edition of Le Lai de l’ombre (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1948), John Orr adds this line, which appears in other manuscripts of the poem, in order to suggest the meaning of an otherwise obscure passage; hence the triple rhyme. See also Margaret Winters’s edition (Birmingham, Alabama: Summa Publications, Inc., 1986), 79.

Notes

1. Line 22 In Jean Renart’s L’Escoufle (The Kite), the destruction of this bird both avenges the unhappiness caused by Guillaume’s earlier encounter with it and allows his return to good fortune.

2. Line 39 The Old French refers to L’Eslit, usually identified as Miles de Nanteuil, bishop of Beauvais, to whom Jean Renart dedicated Guillaume de Dole.

3. Line 90–91 The text says literally that the knight wished that there were two Mondays in every week (that being the usual day for a tournament to begin).

4. Line 96 Vair was fur from the belly of the squirrel, often used with the darker fur from the back. In the earliest versions of the tale, Cinderella’s slipper must have been made of vair, which in time came to be understood as verre (glass).

5. Line 125 Tristan once succeeded in visiting Iseut by disguising himself as a madman. The story is told in the Folie Tristan.

6. Line 146–51 Scholars have been uncertain about the meaning of this passage, but the general idea is that the knight, having fallen in love with the lady at first sight, now evokes the memory of her beauty to justify his emotions.

7. Line 161 Winters, in her edition of the poem, notes that this is the oldest French reference to barbers as surgeon-dentists (82–83).

8. Line 270 “To the ladies, knights!” This variation on the traditional war cry “To arms!” also occurs in Guillaume de Dole.

9. Line 386 The Old French reads, literally, “by drawing a feather across my eyes.” A similar expression is used in Guillaume de Dole.

10. Line 422–37 In a variant to this passage, women are reproached for being flirtatious; Sarah Kay concurs with this opinion (“Two Readings of the Lai de l’Ombre,” Modern Language Review 85 [1980]: 523). I find the passage reminiscent of one in Chrétien de Troyes’s Yvain, in which knights are considered to lack sophistication when they mistake warm greetings from ladies for an expression of love (ed. Wendelin Foerster [Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1952], lines 2459–63).

11. Line 457 Tristan, near death from a wound, has himself placed in a rudderless boat; the sea takes him to Ireland, where he is cured by Iseut and her mother.

12. Line 527 “Pleasure” translates preu, which here means something like “profit” or “advantage.” The knight’s service to her, his displays of valor in her honor, would give her no pleasure, since she does not love him.

13. Line 669 Cîteaux was the founding house of the austere Cistercian order.

14. Line 686–87 The Old French reads literally, “So I won’t go and take him by his beautiful hair.”

15. Line 700–705 The apparent incoherence of the text at this point may be intended to express the lady’s state of mind.

16. Line 716 Literally, “she didn’t receive a fist blow close to her ear.” Guillaume de Dole contains a similar expression.

17. Line 815 “Renart” refers to Renard the Fox, whose eloquence won him many a prize. Jean Renart alludes to him several times in Guillaume de Dole, and in ways that suggest a reference to himself as well. Renart might, of course, have been his pseudonym.

18. Line 836–37 The proverb translated says that one shouldn’t press so hard on a crust of bread that the soft part underneath jumps out.

19. Line 858 This line, considered by both Orr (59) and Winters (94) to be merely padding, seems to me a complement to lines 62–63, in which the author claims not to know the knight’s name. Here Jean Renart uses a pretext to point out that the lady is not to be named either.

20. Line 912 The Old French says that she is toz reverdis, all green again (like the trees in springtime).

21. Line 962 The mysterious final line reads, “Contez, vos qui savez de nombre.” Lewis Thomas elucidates the connection between relating stories and numbers: “An account is in one sense a tale, a narrative; so is the recounting of a story. Both derive from count, which is in its first sense a numbering of items in a set, a reckoning. To count is also an affirmation: I count myself lucky.…Latin produced computare, to calculate, compute together, and this became Old French cunter,conter, and Old English count, a reckoning. The words account and recount, with their meaning of narrating tales, seem to have carried this sense simultaneously.” Et Cetera, Et Cetera:Notes of a Word-Watcher (New York: Penguin Books, 1990), 41–42; I am grateful to Helen Ranney, M.D., for making me aware of Thomas’s work on etymology.