CHAPTER 6

This month The Bestiary presents an anachronism: a 13th century horse story, or anyway a 13th century story in which figures, more than decoratively, a horse. Le Vair Palefroi (the Vair Palfrey —and I'll only write that once) was written in Old French by one Huon le Roi, also known as Huon de Cambrai or le Roi de Cambrai or Huon le Roi de Cambrai or just, for our purposes, Huon. The oldest surviving manuscript of Huon's charming—but not, according to more than one professor at Paris IV, so highly rated tale—dates to l'extreme fin of the 13th century and was executed by a copyist from somewhere in the middle of the northern part of what is now called France. Huon's version of the story, it is probably relevant to note, is neither the first nor the last. Exacting readers of the paraphrase that follows (with a working knowledge of ancien francais at their disposal) may wish to consult the original, which Editions Champions, Paris maintains in print. Readers who are more interested in war horses than in palfreys might find a bit of their blood thirst quenched by taking a look at Hans Baldung's 15th century woodcut Fighting Horses or at Dürer's Apocalypse series.


Laird Hunt

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Le Vair Palefroi

Li palefrois s'en va la voie
De la quele ne se desvoie,
Quar maintes foiz i ot este,
Et en yver et en este.

I

A young man with a beautiful horse is in love with a young woman who lives near the center of a forest behind a high, circular wall. The wall has cracks in it. The young man rides his beautiful horse as close as he can to one of them. I can see you, the young woman says. Yes, the young man says. No, says the young woman's Father who is very old and very rich. The young man starts to leave. Sad. Even if you are not rich your Uncle is rich and friends with my Father, suggests the young woman as the young man is riding away. He rides away. Uncle, he says, you are rich and I love the young woman and you are friends with her Father. How much do you love the young woman? asks the Uncle. As much as the bird the bough and the bough the tree, says the young man. What does the tree love? asks the Uncle. The wind, says the young man. What does the wind love? asks the Uncle. Nothing, says the young man. The Uncle nods. I will do what I can, he says. The young man leaves on his horse for a tournament. Happy.

II

The Uncle and the Father are very old. Once they were young and jousted in the forests and fought with swords in the fields. Once it was morning in the Middle Ages and they wore young womens' sleeves on their glittering armor and galloped against each other. How they galloped. We are young, they said. Now they were old, but did not say it. Listen, said the Father. The young woman tore at her clothes and ran from the room.

III

The young man won the tournament and went home on his horse to his house. He was very happy and very young. The Father and the Uncle arranged the wedding. They were very old and all their friends were old. There were no old women in the forest. They had all gone off to live in the West. What? said the young man. We need your horse for the wedding, said the rider who had appeared at the young man's door. We need your horse for the wedding so that the beautiful young woman will have a beautiful horse. What? said the young man tearing at his hair which was long and lovely in the morning wind. But the young man was a young knight so the rider on his horse and the morning wind on the young man's beautiful horse rode away. The young man tore at his hair. He told his servants that if they sang that evening or any evening ever he would kill them.

IV

Then it was night. The wedding was to occur in a ruined chapel just as dawn became day. It was night but the moon was full and all the old men who were to escort the young woman to the wedding became confused because they thought it was dawn and that the wedding in the ruined chapel was to occur in just a few moments when it was day. So they saddled their horses. They put the beautiful young woman on the young man's beautiful horse, but the young man wasn't there.

V

Through the forest they rode. All the old men. And the young woman. And some of the old men spoke and some of the old men slept. We are old she is young, some of them said. Some of them slept. The young woman did not sleep. The moonlight was very bright and the forest was very silver. The forest was very silver and the beautiful horse was gold and silver and turquoise and black and finally the young woman slept. She slept. Then she woke and was alone on the horse and was riding down a silver path through the silver woods. I am scared, she thought. Beautiful horse I am scared, she said. The horse walked. He could not talk. He walked.

VI

The old men were still sleeping and talking and moving through the trees. They arrived at the ruined chapel and wondered about the dawn. We were wrong, they thought, the birds were not singing it was night. We were wrong and now the young woman is gone and now birds are singing so it is day. It was day. The beautiful horse walked over a bridge. Who is there? said the bridge keeper. I am, said the young woman. The old men were riding through the forest. Soon they were lost. They galloped. They had been knights once but now they were lost. The old men galloped. Hello, said the young man. I am here, said the young woman. I can see you, said the young man.

VII

It was day now and the forest was no longer silver and the Uncle stood waiting in the ruined chapel . He was waiting. The Father was not waiting. He was asleep. He was dreaming. In the dream it was raining in the West and the old old woman smiled. Then he woke and went away.