t this comb
belonged to the Queen. And you may take my word that those are strands
of the Queen's hair which you see to be so fair and light and radiant,
and which are clinging in the teeth of the comb; they surely never grew
anywhere else." Then the knight replied: "Upon my word, there are plenty
of queens and kings; what queen do you mean?" And she answered: "In
truth, fair sire, it is of King Arthur's wife I speak." When he
hears that, he has not strength to keep from bowing his head over
his saddle-bow. And when the damsel sees him thus, she is amazed and
terrified, thinking he is about to fall. Do not blame her for her fear,
for she thought him in a faint. He might as well have swooned, so near
was he to doing so; for in his heart he felt such grief that for a long
time he lost his colour and power of speech. And the damsel dismounts,
and runs as quickly as possible to support and succour him; for she
would not have wished for anything to see him fall. When he saw her, he
felt ashamed, and said: "Why do you need to bear me aid?" You must not
suppose that the damsel told him why; for he would have been ashamed
and distressed, and it would have annoyed and troubled him, if she had
confessed to him the truth. So she took good care not to tell the truth,
but tactfully answered him: "Sire, I dismounted to get the comb; for
I was so anxious to hold it in my hand that I could not longer wait."
Willing that she should have the comb, he gives it to her, first pulling
out the hair so carefully that he tears none of it. Never will the eye
of man see anything receive such honour as when he begins to adore these
tresses. A hundred thousand times he raises them to his eyes and mouth,
to his forehead and face: he manifests his joy in every way, considering
himself rich and happy now. He lays them in his bosom near his heart,
between the shirt and the flesh. He would not exchange them for a
cartload of emeralds and carbuncles, nor does he think that any sore
or illness can afflict him now; he holds in contempt essence of pearl,
treacle, and the cure for pleurisy; [411] even for St. Martin and St.
James he has no need; for he has such confidence in this hair that he
requires no other aid. But what was this hair like? If I tell the truth
about it, you will think I am a mad teller of lies. When the mart is
full at the yearly fair of St. Denis, [412] and when the goods are
most abundantly displayed, even then the knight would not take a