There in the middle the goodhearted Lanzelet pitched his pavilion. The workmanship was so extraordinary that Solomon and Darius, and the rich king Augustus whom all the earth served, would never have been able to pay the price of such a pavilion, as I shall make clear to you. Whoever was so fortunate as to enter it had good health for the rest of his life; and
at the very same time, the friend of whom he was most fond would appear
to him. The upper part was a mirror, equally flawless outside and in. It never got a scratch, not even one the breadth of a hair, from either missile or blow. The roof was fashioned in this way: it was surmounted by an admirable golden ball, on top of which was mounted a most magnificent eagle of gold. Nothing that is appropriate to a masterpiece was forgotten in that eagle, except for one thing: it did not fly. It perched as if it were alive; it hovered like a bird. Its ornamentation was not spare. Two faultless carbuncles served as its eyes; because of them one could see at night as if the sun were shining. Also its mouth was fashioned in such a way that it gaped wide when one pulled a chain. Inside it was all hollow, and it sang admirably well a strange melody. Its tongue was an abeston, an extremely hot stone that burns eternally once set alight. It also illuminates the surrounding land and retains its blue-violet brilliance better than a great candle. Such was the top of the pavilion. The lower part was lavishly decorated with pearls. It had four sides. It was tall and wide. One side was of samite, just as green as grass, with many a scene most ingeniously worked into it, and was of far better cloth than any brocade from Greece. The second side was of rich triblat silk, shimmering brown, as we are told, on which red images in the likenesses of birds and beasts were worked with great artistry. The pavilion stood firm against every kind of weather. The seam with which the samite and the triblat silk were sewn together was of gold. It is not my imagination, when I tell you that the third side was of red barracan, which glistened far and wide against the greenest meadow of clover. He who was permitted to enter it could never feel sorrow, but enjoyed the greatest measure of happiness. Indeed, one must truly say it was an earthly paradise. The fourth side was of white fish hair, woven with great care by the hands of Wild Women. Nowhere was there any cloth comparable to this, more wondrous by far than ferran, with the nap not too long. The entrance was wonderful; a child would not believe his own father if he described it to him. The door was a golden lattice bearing inscriptions, none of which I can make out, except for one, which began, Quid non audet amor—“What risk does Love not dare to
undertake?”—The second inscription was, or so I believe, “Love is an enduring madness.” Since I have been recounting them, that was followed by: “Love has driven out measure; they cannot exist together.” No one who deceived worthy people could enter this pavilion.

I have failed to mention the tent pole: so boorish people will think, who do not believe my story. Nevertheless, I tell you that it was far greener than grass, shiny, smooth, and straight, the color of emerald. Its diameter might have been as little as two spans; its length was two spear shafts, but it grew longer if one wished it. The tent pegs that belonged to it were of gold; the ropes were braided of fine, corded silk. You must not fail to mark my words here: wherever one seam overlapped another, and they were gathered together, a moulding was placed over it. That I should not forget. I will relate
how it was embellished. On it were worked in gold, with the skill of a master artisan, strange creatures, fish, sea monsters, animals, birds, and men. All this was on it, wrought with wondrous cunning, engraved and embossed. When the wind came blowing in, everything began to move together as if about to set forth on a journey. Each sang after its fashion and accompanied the
eagle, which screamed above. I will say no more of the pavilion, except for one peculiarity it possessed. When one folded it up, it became so compact that a damsel could easily carry it in her hands. She could never find fault with the marvelous sounds of the pavilion. This is not a fabrication; it is the truth, and not a falsehood. When the pavilion was taken down it weighed nothing at all; but when one set it up, it was just as it should be, just as its possessor wished it, both as tall and as wide.

Lanzelet