CHAPTER VI. THE ORCHARD OF BRUNISSENDE.
Harassed, fatigued, and sore with many a bruise, Jaufry was sinking too for food and drink; and yet the want of sleep,—of all our wants the most imperious,—so weighed him down, he scarce could keep his seat. Still he went on a quarter of the night with limbs benumbed and eyelids partly closed, taking such course his charger pleased to lead.
Serene and lovely was the atmosphere, and by the light the stars in shining gave he by adventure a large orchard saw, shut in with marble walls and skirt with trees of umbrage such as earth scarce saw before. Flowers and fragrant herbs abounded there; and with each puff of wind there issued out a sweet and balmy breath like paradise. 'Twas thus that, as night fell, the birds for leagues around did hither flock, and perching on the leafy boughs, warbled their dulcet notes till matin prime.
This orchard appertained to a great dame known as fair Brunissende. Within the castle of Montbrun she lived; and father, mother, husband, had she none; fine was her court and rich, of breeding high; and knights and burghers, minstrels, jugglers from all countries, hither trooping came. The palace, built of hewn and massive stone whereon the sculptor had employed his art, was flanked with towers blackened o'er by time. 'Twas in the centre Brunissende was lodged; and to it seven gates a passage gave, whereof the keepers could each one lead forth a thousand men.
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Five hundred damsels waited her commands; but though 'twere rare to see such beauty met, yet Brunissende held empire over all in loveliness and grace: one might have sought throughout the realms of earth, and yet not found such high and gentle dame, or one so fine in form. Her eyes and her sweet face swept from the mind of those who gazed on her all thought of former charms. She was more fresh, more fair, more purely white than snow that lies upon the frosted dew, and rose that opens on a lily's breast. *
* Car plus es fresca e bella e blanca
Que neus gelada sus en branca
Ni que rosas ab flor de lis....
Que cant hom auria cercat,
Totas cellas que son nascudas.....
Non auria hom una trobada
Tan bella ni tan gen formada;
Que sos oueils e sa bella cara
Fai oblidar qui ben l'esgara
Totas cellas que vistas a.
Ms. fol. 36, w. 3062 and 3159.
But, ah, felicity did not attend her charms. Yielding to some deep grief, four times a day she sadly wept and mourned; and thrice she rose at night to mourn again. Her sole delight was listening to the notes of those sweet birds which filled her orchard near; which, when she had heard, she got some brief repose,—soon to awake again to weep and mourn; and all her vassals, of each age and sex, little and great, at that same hour of woe uttered the self-same moans, and shed like tears.
Arrived, as we already said, before her orchard fair, Jaufry got down; and seeing an open gate, he ventured in, removed the bridle from his charger's mouth, so that he grazed at ease, and his shield placing 'neath his weary head, his limbs outstretching on the flowery turf, he soon most soundly slept. Just then did Brunissende her footsteps take towards her chamber, followed by her maids. Surprised the birds no longer tuned their notes, she straightway bade the seneschal appear, to whom she said with wrath:
“Some creature surely must have passed the gates, and scared my gentle birds. Go, quickly find it out; and if perchance a man it prove to be, he must be hither brought, alive or dead.”
“Lady,” the seneschal at once replied, “I go with speed.”
Two squires preceding him, each with a lighted torch, his horse he mounted, and rode down in haste, and in the orchard found the weary knight, wrapt in profoundest sleep. He called him frequently, then shook him hard; but for a time in vain. His eyes at length with effort he unclosed, when, raising up his head,—
“Fair knight,” quoth he most courteously, “by thine attainments and thy gentle birth, I do entreat thee, in God's name, to let me here abide and sleep my fill.”
“Sleep must you now no more,” replied the chief, “but come before my lady; she'll not rest until avenged on him who scares her birds.”
Quoth Jaufry:
“God permit, thou shalt not take me off without a fight!”
The seneschal, on hearing such resolve, called to his squire to bring him out his arms. Meanwhile the son of Dovon slept again; so that the seneschal, when fall equipped, was forced a second time to wake him up, and roughly as at first.
“Knight,” exclaimed Jaufry, as he then arose, “'tis a great sin to trouble my repose, for I am wearied out; but since thou hast chosen to accept the fight, wilt thou allow me to sleep on in peace if I do thee unhorse?”
“By Heaven's faith, I swear't!” laughing, the other said.
Jaufry then hastened to his horse's side; replaced the bit, and tightly drew the girths. Mounted, he galloped at the seneschal; who, having drawn him back a space, on rushing drove his lance at Jaufry's shield, but never harmed the knight. He, on the contrary, with happy stroke unhorsed the seneschal; who, full of shame, with head bowed down, and slow and thoughtful step, regained the castle and his lady's room.
“What is't,” asked Brunissende, “that there doth lurk?”
“A knight all armed, whose peer the world not holds, sleeping so soundly he would scarce awake.”
“Why broughtst thou him not here? I wish him hither led; for, with God's help, no food shall pass these lips till that bold knight be hanged.”
“Lady,” replied the seneschal, “he would not come; nor could I wake him up.”
“Indeed,” quoth she; “then bid the tocsin sound, and rouse me up my knights.”
The seneschal obeyed; the sound was heard, and straightway flocking came five hundred knights. The hall they entered, where their lady stood with spite and anger pale.
“Barons,” she said, “a bold and wicked knight my grounds hath passed, and will not quit the walls; now if his head pay not this insolence, I never will hold land or honour more.”
“Lady,” replied a tall and proper knight of great renown,—Simon the Red by name,—“I will go seek him out, if such your wish; and trust, alive or dead, to bring him here.”
“So be it,” said Brunissende.
Added the seneschal:
“My troth, good friend, I bid thee shield thyself. He can most sturdily defend his sconce; and brave indeed I'll hold the happy knight who takes it off by force.”
Simon, without a word, went on his way, and Jaufry found still sleeping; rudely he cried:
“Up, up, sir knight; arouse!”
Jaufry, who moved not more than any rock, received from Simon then so strong a kick, it woke him up in haste.
“Nathless, thou promisedst to let me sleep,” he then exclaimed; “and 'tis a villain's act to break thy faith, when thus I'm overcome.”
“Come, speak then to my lady,” Simon said; “or I by force must take thee to the hall.”
“We first will see who's strongest,—thou or I,” said Jaufry in low tone; when, springing on his horse, he ran at Simon, who like haste displayed.
Bold Simon's lance was split on Jaufry's shield; but he was borne by that of his brave foe so swift to earth, it nearly cost his life. Jaufry ran up, as though to make it sure, when loud he called for grace.
“Wilt thou annoy me further in my sleep, if I do grant it?”
“No, lord, I promise thee.”
“Go, then,” said Jaufry, who again lay down, and quick reclosed his eyes.
Simon the Red, with flush upon his face and shame at heart, slowly retraced his steps. Certes, did he make but half the noise he made on setting out; so that the seneschal, who watched him come, could not withhold his smiles.
“Lady,” he said, “behold your champion; but with him comes no knight. I'd wage my spurs, like me, he has taken oath.”
“Maugre this pleasantry,” the dame replied, “ere I have rest, this naughty knight shall hang.”
Hearing the words, one of the keepers of the seven gates descended to the orchard; but soon his troop returned, bearing him faint and bleeding on his shield. At such a spectacle, fair Brunissende could scarce contain her rage,—
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“What! have I round me naught but coward folk,” she loudly cried, “and knights without a heart? Go fifty; if it need, go thrice that number still; but bring this vassal, or no more return!”
At this reproach, the knights rushed off in troop, and to the garden hied with dash and din. When there, they Jaufry seized,—some by the arm, and others by the leg; while some his shoulders held, and some his head, and brought him thus into that lordly hall without his being able to stir limb. On seeing them arrive, the dame impatient came with hasty step and bade them set him free. They loosed their hold, and Jaufry stood upright; nor could he think, as round his glance was thrown, 'twas sport that brought him 'mong such iron folk. Tall and well-shaped, his natural manly grace, set off with hauberk rich and burnished casque, struck Brunissende, who eyed him curiously.
“'Tis you,” at length she said, “who all this ill have wrought.”
“Fair lady,” he replied, “so far am I from doing what you say, or causing you annoy, I would defend you with my utmost strength 'gainst all of mother born.”
“In that you say not truth; for you erewhile have so misused my knight, that he may chance to die.”
“I own it, lady fair, but he was in the wrong; having by oath engaged to let me sleep, he thrice returned to wake me up, and struck me with his lance. Still, had I known him feoffee to you, never on him had risen this knightly hand, e'en for a greater cause.”
“No matter! I can see,” replied the dame, “we 'll find in you,—and that ere morning sun,—a proper subject for the cord, or worse.”
Whilst thus she spoke, Jaufry regarded her; and ne'er had tired admiring her brow, her neck, her fair and sweet fresh face, her rosy mouth, and blue and loving eyes.
“Lady,” quoth he, love gliding o'er his soul, “do with me what you will; for with no other arms than that rich robe, you would have vanquished me with greater ease than ten knights clad in mail. If, 'gainst my knowledge, I have caused you pain, wreak now your own revenge; and never 'gainst you shall uprise my sword, or lance or shield be used.”
Hearing him reason thus so courteously, the dame forgets her wrath. Love with his golden shaft hath pierced her heart, and now she pardons all. Those lips still bear a menace to the ear; but those sweet eyes belie't.
Grown bold, the knight, who still did on her gaze, begged her to grant a boon.
“Let me,” he said, “but slumber at my ease; then do what justice bids. Fear not that I shall hence seek means to fly; for, Heaven preserve me, you have somehow gained such power o'er my soul, that you alone are better guard than are ten hundred of your men with arms in hand.”
Fair Brunissende retired with a sigh, leaving for sole adieu a look so sweet, that, spite of his dull sense, it filled his heart with joy. Meantime the seneschal, whose care it was, bade the attendants then prepare a couch in middle of the hall: he there conducted Jaufry, and then asked his name and country.
“I'm of King Arthur's court,” quoth Dovon's son; “now prithee ask no more, but, in God's name, let me in quiet rest.”
Full armed as he then was, he laid him down, and sleep his eyelids closed. Not so fair Brunissende. Love in her chamber had renewed the assault, and banished sleep away; and thus she mused, until the city-watch gave forth the accustomed sound. At that trumpet's call, each in the castle and the city rose; and all at once gave loose to tears and groans. High dames and damsels, Brunissende in chief, clasping their hands in sign of deepest woe, beat their fair breasts and face; while the knights who guarded Jaufry made such dreadful din, it woke him up, and made him ask the cause.
All at the word rushed forward to the couch, and struck with lance and sword and iron mace. Well 'twas for him his hauberk was of proof; for the blows came just like to a storm of hail. Nor did they cease, thinking the knight was dead, until the doleful cries had died away. Then each resumed his post, and silence fell o'er all. Again, at mid of night, those cries uprose; but Jaufry, whom no sleep again had blessed, and whose cleared thoughts were fixed on Brunissende, took careful note to guard his curious tongue; holding his breath, he said within himself:
“Certes are these men no folk of flesh and blood, but demons hither sent to pester earth. With Heaven's help, to-morrow's blessed sun shan't light upon me here.”
Persuaded he was dead after that storm of blows, the knights relaxed their watch, and slumbered at their posts; Jaufry then seized the chance, and noiselessly uprose. With shield and lance in hand, he left the castle-halls on tip of toe; by good luck found his horse, and mounting quick, at fullest speed set out. Had he but dreamt the love fair Brunissende conceived, not all her men-at-arms would from Montbrun have chased him but with slaughter. Little deemed he, as hill and dale he crossed with breathless speed, she at that hour was in her fancy musing how she might make him hers.
Who shall depict, as rose the sun next mom, fair Brunissende's dismay, when, of the first who to the hall came down, she heard of Jaufry's flight? As one deprived of sense, those hundred knights she loudly did accuse of treason to their faith; their negligence she banned; and to the seneschal in wrath exclaimed, that, if he found not Jaufry, he should by fire or cord full surely die, even if torments yet unheard were hers.
Whilst that this scene was passing at Montbrun, Jaufry already was well on his road. And shortly after rising of the sun, he met a neatherd, driving of a car laden with bread and wine and other things. This man invited him, by holy charity, to eat with him; and used such kindly words, that Jaufry yielded to his hearty wish, frankly avowing that for three whole days he had not tasted food. The neatherd therefore took his shield and lance, drew from his car good wheaten bread and wine, two roasted capons, three grilled partridges, and part of a wild-boar; then, spreading on the turf beneath a leafy tree a fair white cloth, a brook just bubbling by, he served the knight, and paid him great respect.
When they had eat their fill, and in their thirst emptied two bowls of wine, Jaufry prepared to go, thanking the neatherd for his welcome meal. This man was vassal to fair Brunissende, the lady of high worth; and as the knight was turning to depart, he drew the charger's rein and gently said:
“Good friend, one thing I fain would ask of you, which I had half-forgot: why do the people of this fair domain so weep and loudly moan?”
“Ah, rascal, wretch, thou traitor, and thou fool!” exclaimed the neatherd, bursting forth with rage, “thy wretched life shall answer for those words.”
With all his strength he then at Jaufry cast the pond'rous axe he bore, which struck his shield and brought out fire and flame. The knight spurred on his horse and got clear off; but mid a storm of stones. The neatherd then, enraged at missing him, shivered his car to bits, and with his axe struck both his oxen dead. *
* Cervantes has wittily parodied this adventure by that of
the braying of the ass, which sets two villages of La Mancha
at strife with each other (Aventura del rebuzno, parte ii.
lib. vi. cap. xxv.).
In ignorance of the cause of all this rage, Jaufry at length relaxed his horse's speed; still as he went exclaiming, that he'd hold as naught all that he yet had done till he had met a creature who could tell the reason of that wailing. Busied with such-like thoughts and the remembrance of fair Brunissende, he rode the live-long day, spite of fatigue and heat. When daylight waned, two youths well-horsed, with falcon on the fist, and hounds and terriers running at their feet, came up to him; and after slight discourse, invited him to share their evening meal,—and that so courteously, he could not make denial. The three young men then gaily went along, talking of love and battle's iron strife; when, as 'twas sunset, rose again that cry, at which the youths like madmen howled and wept.
“Good youths,” quoth Jaufry, with astonishment, “what means this grief? What heard you, sirs, I pray; and why such noise?”
“Why? ask'st thou, foolish, treacherous serf? that word shall cost thy life!”
And as one cast at him his startled bird, the other plucked his cap from off his head and threw it madly 'gainst bold Jaufry's shield. Their fury and hard words finished as ceased that cry; when, quickly following the wond'ring knight, with honeyed phrase they charmed away his wrath, and to their habitation led the way.
This was a châtelet of graceful form, girded by lofty walls and outer fosse, through which a living stream for ever ran. Beside the bridge there sat an aged knight, listing a minstrel's song,—The Lay of the Two Lovers. * It was the father of the two young men: beholding Jaufry, he in haste arose, and came to give him welcome; saying, with joyful tone: **
* Of Marie of France.
** This knight in Cervantes' hands is the nobleman clad in
green (Cavaliero vestido en gavan de pano fino verde, parte
ii. lib. v. cap. xvi.).
“I am beholden, lord, to those who've brought you: seven long years have flown since stranger-guest hath this my threshold crossed whose aspect pleased me so: God save you, sir!”
Thus speaking, by the arm the knight escorted Jaufry to the hall, where the two youths removed his armour bright. Soon there came in a damsel fair, of fresh and smiling look, who brought him a rich mantle, which when he had put on, she, on a cushion placed beside him, sat. Then they discoursed on various pleasant things until 'twas time for water to be brought. A well-bred page did pour it o'er his hands, while the fair damsel held the ready bowl; at which Sir Jaufry said:
“Maiden, I'll not this kindly act refuse; for should you e'er need service at my hands, whate'er the hour or place, you may full surely call me to your aid.”
They then at table sat; and when the meal was o'er, the cloth removed, the damsel went the couches to prepare, and left her father and the knight alone. The old man asked his name, and wept for joy to learn the son of Dovon was his guest,—his ancient friend in arms. He would have fain a month detained him there; but Jaufry cleverly excuses made, and at the point of day he in his saddle found himself again. The maid had given him his shield and lance, and he his leave was then about to take, when it occurred to him to ask his host about that wailing cry. Scarcely, however, was the question put when the old man and his two sons alike assailed him with hard names: they called him knave and wretch and villain's son; they hair in that unseemly rage.
Jaufry by dint of spur escaped their wrath; and wond'ring saw them on each other turn their fitful ire, and tear their clothes to rags. Their fury spent, they called him back again; and Jaufry, wishing to have news of Taulat, consented to return. As it fell out, no man could give him more. The aged knight well knew that champion fierce, and in these terms did tell him what he sought:
“Follow,” he said, “all day this very road; it leads across a tract of desert space, where ne'er are found or house or town, or bread or wine, or man of mother born. If you should wish in passing to repose, naught but the turf can be your host or tent. Go onward thus until to-morrow's sun. Before the noon you will have reached a plain, wherein is set a high and rugged mount. There, at its foot, a castle you'll behold, pleasant and finely built; and round its moats a crowd of tents and huts, where harbour knights and lords of high descent. Pass stoutly on, nor speak a word to man; go to the castle without stop or stay, whatever tried to strike at him with sturdy dubs, and tore their may befall, and enter boldly in, leaving without your lance, and eke your shield. There will you find two dames,—one old, one young,—who watch a wounded knight. Go to the ancient dame, and to her say, that Augier de Cliart sends you there, that she may tell you why the people groan, and give you news of Taulat.”