Here is the translation of the Roman de Tristan et Iseult of 1900 by Joseph Bedier. Here is the eighth part: The Leap of the Chapel.
The Leap of the Chapel
Through the city, in the dark night, the news runs: Tristan and the queen have been seized; the king wants to kill them. Rich bourgeois and common people, all cry.
« Hélas ! Nous devons bien pleurer ! Tristan, hardi baron, mourrez-vous donc par si laide traîtrise ? Et vous, reine franche, reine honorée, en quelle terre naîtra jamais fille de roi si belle, si chère ? C’est donc là, nain bossu, l’œuvre de tes devinailles ? Qu’il ne voie jamais la face de Dieu, celui qui, t’ayant trouvé, n’enfoncera pas son épieu dans ton corps ! Tristan, bel ami cher, quand le Morholt, venu pour ravir nos enfants, prit terre sur ce rivage, nul de nos barons n’osa s’armer contre lui, et tous se taisaient, pareils à des muets. Mais vous, Tristan, vous avez fait le combat pour nous tous, hommes de Cornwall, and you have slain the Morholt; and he will grieve you with a spear with which you almost died for us. Today, in remembrance of these things, should we consent to your death? »
The complaints, the cries, rise by the city; all run to the palace. But such is the king's wrath that there is not so strong and so proud a baron who dares to risk a single word to bend him.
The day is approaching, the night is going away. Before the sun has risen, Marc rides out of town, to the place where he used to hold his plaids and judge. He commands that a pit be dug in the earth and that there are gnarled and sharp branches and white and black thorns torn up with their roots.
At prime time, he shouts a ban by the country to immediately summon the men of Cornwall. They assemble with great noise: no one who cries, except the dwarf of Tintagel. Then the king spoke to them thus:
“Lords, I had this pyre of thorns erected for Tristan and for the queen, for they have forfeited. "
But they all cried out to him:
“Judgment, king! judgment first, evades it and pleads it! Killing them without judgment is shame and a crime. King, respite and thank you for them! "
Marc replied in his anger:
"No, no respite, no thank you, no plaid, no judgment!" By this Lord who created the world, if no one still dares to ask me for such a thing, he will be the first to burn on this brazier! "
He orders that the fire be lit and that we go and fetch the castle Tristan first.
The thorns blaze, all are silent, the king waits.
The valets have run to the bedroom where the lovers are closely guarded. They drag Tristan away by his hands tied with ropes. By God! it was villainous to hinder him thus! He weeps under the affront; but what are his tears for? They take him away shamefully; and the queen exclaims, almost mad with anguish:
“To be killed, friend, so that you could be saved, that would be great joy! "
The guards and Tristan descend outside the city, towards the stake. But, behind them, a horseman rushes forward, joins them, jumps down from the still running steed: it's Dinas, the good seneschal. At the sound of the adventure, he was coming from his castle in Lidan, and the foam, the sweat and the blood were streaming down the sides of his horse:
« Fils, je me hâte vers le plaid du roi. Dieu m’accordera peut-être d’y ouvrir tel conseil qui vous aidera tous deux ; déjà il me permet du moins de te servir par une menue courtoisie. Amis, dit-il aux valets, je veux que vous le meniez sans ces entraves, — et Dinas trancha les cordes honteuses ; — s’il essayait de fuir, ne tenez-vous pas vos épées ? »
He kisses Tristan on the lips, gets back in the saddle, and his horse wins.
Now listen how the Lord God is full of pity. He, who does not want the death of the sinner, he gratefully received the tears and the clamor of the poor people who begged him for the tortured lovers. Near the road where Tristan passed, at the top of a rock and facing the north wind, a chapel stood on the sea.
The wall of the bedside was placed flush with a cliff, high, stony, with sharp escarpments; in the apse, on the precipice, was a glass roof, the skillful work of a saint. Tristan said to those leading him:
« Seigneurs, voyez cette chapelle ; permettez que j’y entre. Ma mort est prochaine, je prierai Dieu qu’il ait merci de moi, qui l’ai tant offensé. Seigneurs, la chapelle n’a d’autre issue que celle-ci ; chacun de vous tient son épée ; vous savez bien que je ne puis passer que par cette porte, et quand j’aurai prié Dieu, il faudra bien que je me remette entre vos mains ! »
One of the guards says:
“We may well allow it. "
They let him in. He runs through the chapel, crosses the choir, reaches the glass roof of the apse, grabs the window, opens it and rushes forward… Rather this fall than death at the stake, in front of such and such an assembly!
But know, lords, that God thanked him beautifully; the wind gets caught in his clothes, lifts him up, places him on a large stone at the foot of the rock. The people of Cornwall still call this stone the “Tristan Leap”.
And in front of the church the others were still waiting for him. But for nothing, because it is now God who has taken him into his care. He flees: loose sand crumbles under his feet. He falls, turns around, sees the pyre in the distance: the flame roars, the smoke rises. He flees.
The sword girdled, bridle down, Gorvenal had escaped from the city: the king would have had it burned in place of his lord. He joined Tristan on the moor, and Tristan cried out:
" Master ! God granted me His thanks. Ah! puny, what's the use? If I don't have Iseut, nothing is worth me. Why didn't I rather shattered in my fall! I escaped, Iseut, and they will kill you. They burn it for me; for her I will die too. "
Gorvenal said to him:
“Handsome sire, take comfort, do not listen to anger. See this thick bush, enclosed by a wide ditch; let's hide there: many people pass on this road; they will inform us, and, if we burn Iseut, son, I swear by God, the son of Mary, never to sleep under a roof until the day when we have avenged her.
- Handsome master, I don't have my sword.
- Here it is, I brought it to you.
- Good, master; I no longer fear anything, for God.
- Son, I still have something under my head that will make you happy: this strong and light hauberk, which can be of use to you.
- Give, handsome master. By this God in whom I believe, I will now deliver my friend.
- No, do not hurry, said Gorvenal. God doubtless reserves you some surer revenge. Remember that it is beyond your power to approach the stake; the citizens surround him and fear the king: such would like your deliverance, which will strike you first. Son, we say well: Madness is not prowess ... Wait ... "
However, when Tristan had rushed from the cliff, a poor man of the small class saw him get up and run away. He had run to Tintagel and slipped into Iseut's room:
“Queen, don't cry any more. Your friend escaped!
— Dieu, dit-elle, en soit remercié ! Maintenant, qu’ils me lient ou me délient, qu’ils m’épargnent ou qu’ils me tuent, je n’en ai plus souci ! »
However, the felons had so cruelly tightened the cords of his wrists that blood spurted out. But smiling, she said:
"If I wept for this suffering, when in his goodness God has just snatched my friend from these felons, of course, I would hardly be worth! "
When news reached the king that Tristan had escaped through the glass roof, he turned white with anger and commanded his men to bring Iseut to him.
We train him; outside the room, on the threshold, she appears; she holds out her delicate hands, from which blood flows. A clamor rises through the street: “O God, have mercy on her! Frank queen, honored queen, what mourning has thrown on this earth those who have delivered you! Curse on them! "
The queen is dragged to the pyre of thorns, which blazes. Then Dinas, lord of Lidan, let himself fall at the feet of the king:
« Sire, écoute-moi ; je t’ai servi longuement, sans vilenie, en loyauté, sans en retirer nul profit : car il n’est pas un pauvre homme, ni un orphelin, ni une vieille femme, qui me donnerait un denier de ta sénéchaussée, que j’ai tenue toute ma vie. En récompense, accorde-moi que tu recevras la reine à merci. Tu veux la brûler sans jugement : c’est forfaire, puisqu’elle ne reconnaît pas le crime dont tu l’accuses. Songes-y, d’ailleurs. Si tu brûles son corps, il n’y aura plus de sûreté sur ta terre : Tristan s’est échappé ; il connaît bien les plaines, les bois, les gués, les passages, et il est hardi. Certes, tu es son oncle, et il ne s’attaquera pas à toi ; mais tous les barons, tes vassaux, qu’il pourra surprendre, il les tuera. »
And the four felons turn pale to hear it: they can already see Tristan lying in wait, watching them.
“King,” said the seneschal, “if it is true that I have served you well all my life, deliver Iseut to me; I will answer for her as her guard and her guarantor. "
But the king took Dinas by the hand and swore by the name of the saints that he would do immediate justice.
Then Dinas got up:
“King, I return to Lidan and renounce your service. "
Iseut smiled sadly at him. He climbs on his steed and goes away, grim and gloomy, his forehead lowered.
Iseut is standing before the flame. The crowd around them cries out, curses the king, curses the traitors. Tears run down her face. She is dressed in a narrow gray bliaut, through which runs a fine thread of gold; a thread of gold is braided in her hair, which falls to her feet. Who could see her so beautiful without taking pity on her would have the heart of a felon. God ! how closely linked are his arms!
Or, cent lépreux, déformés, la chair rongée et toute blanchâtre, accourus sur leurs béquilles au claquement des crécelles, se pressaient devant le bûcher, et, sous leurs paupières enflées leurs yeux sanglants jouissaient du spectacle.
Yvain, the most hideous of the sick, cried out to the king in a shrill voice;
“Sire, you want to throw your wife into this blaze; it is good justice, but too brief. This great fire will have quickly burned it, this great wind will quickly have dispersed its ashes. And, when that flame falls shortly, his pain will be over. Do you want me to teach you worse punishment, so that she lives, but with great disgrace, and always wishing for death? King, do you want it? "
The king replied:
"Yes, life for her, but to great dishonor and worse than death ... Who will teach me such a torment, I will love him better.
— Sire, je dirai donc brièvement ma pensée. Vois, j’ai là cent compagnons. Donne-nous Iseut, et qu’elle nous soit commune ! Le mal attise nos désirs. Donne-la à tes lépreux, jamais dame n’aura fait pire fin. Vois, nos haillons sont collés à nos plaies, qui suintent. Elle qui, près de toi, se plaisait aux riches étoffes fourrées de vair, aux joyaux, aux salles parées de marbre, elle qui jouissait des bons vins, de l’honneur, de la joie, quand elle verra la cour de tes lépreux, quand il lui faudra entrer sous nos taudis bas et coucher avec nous, alors Iseut la Belle, la Blonde, reconnaîtra son péché et regrettera ce beau feu d’épines ! »
The king hears it, gets up, and remains motionless for a long time. Finally, he runs to the queen and grabs her by the hand. She shouts:
"Please, sire, burn me instead, burn me!" "
The king the book. Yvain takes her and the hundred patients crowd around her. To hear them cry and yelp, all hearts melt with pity; but Yvain is happy; Iseult leaves, Yvain takes her away. Out of the city descends the hideous procession.
They took the road where Tristan was ambushed. Gorvenal shouts:
"Son, what will you do? Here is your friend! "
Tristan pushes his horse out of the thicket:
“Yvain, you have kept him company long enough; leave her now, if you want to live! "
But Yvain unhooks his coat.
“Bold, companions! To your sticks! On your crutches! Now is the time to show off your prowess! "
So it was nice to see the lepers throw back their clevises, stand on their sick feet, breathe, cry, brandish their crutches: one threatens and the other grumbles. But Tristan was loath to beat them; the storytellers claim that Tristan killed Yvain: that is to say villainy; no, he was too brave to kill such a breed. But Gorvenal having pulled up a strong oak shoot, hit it on the skull of Ivan; black blood gushed out and flowed to his misshapen feet.
Tristan reprit la reine : désormais, elle ne sent plus nul mal. Il trancha les cordes de ses bras, et quittant la plaine, ils s’enfoncèrent dans la forêt du Morois. Là, dans les grands bois, Tristan se sent en sûreté comme derrière la muraille d’un fort château.
When the sun set, they all three stopped at the foot of a mountain; fear had wearied the queen; she rested her head on Tristan's body and fell asleep.
In the morning, Gorvenal stole from a forester his bow and two well-fletched and barbed arrows and gave them to Tristan, the good archer, who surprised a deer and killed it. Gorvenal made a heap of dry branches, beat the gun, let out the spark and lit a large fire to cook the venison; Tristan cut branches, built a hut and covered it with leaves; Iseut strewn it with thick grass.
Then, deep in the wild forest, began for the fugitives the harsh life, yet loved.
