Bulfinch's Mythology
KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS (Abridged)
MERLIN
Merlin was the son of no mortal father, but of an Incubus, one of
a class of beings not absolutely wicked, but far from good, who
inhabit the regions of the air. Merlin's mother was a virtuous
young woman, who, on the birth of her son, intrusted him to a
priest, who hurried him to the baptismal fount, and so saved him
from sharing the lot of his father, though he retained many marks
of his unearthly origin.
At this time Vortigern reigned in Britain. He was a usurper, who
had caused the death of his sovereign, Moines, and driven the two
brothers of the late king, whose names were Uther and Pendragon,
into banishment. Vortigern, who lived in constant fear of the
return of the rightful heirs of the kingdom, began to erect a
strong tower for defence. The edifice, when brought by the workmen
to a certain height, three times fell to the ground, without any
apparent cause. The king consulted his astrologers on this
wonderful event, and learned from them that it would be necessary
to bathe the corner-stone of the foundation with the blood of a
child born without a mortal father.
In search of such an infant, Vortigern sent his messengers all
over the kingdom, and they by accident discovered Merlin, whose
lineage seemed to point him out as the individual wanted. They
took him to the king; but Merlin, young as he was, explained to
the king the absurdity of attempting to rescue the fabric by such
means, for he told him the true cause of the instability of the
tower was its being placed over the den of two immense dragons,
whose combats shook the earth above them. The king ordered his
workmen to dig beneath the tower, and when they had done so they
discovered two enormous serpents, the one white as milk the other
red as fire. The multitude looked on with amazement, till the
serpents, slowly rising from their den, and expanding their
enormous folds, began the combat, when every one fled in terror,
except Merlin, who stood by clapping his hands and cheering on the
conflict. The red dragon was slain, and the white one, gliding
through a cleft in the rock, disappeared.
These animals typified, as Merlin afterwards explained, the
invasion of Uther and Pendragon, the rightful princes, who soon
after landed with a great army. Vortigern was defeated, and
afterwards burned alive in the castle he had taken such pains to
construct. On the death of Vortigern, Pendragon ascended the
throne. Merlin became his chief adviser, and often assisted the
king by his magical arts.
"Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts,
--Vivian.
Among other endowments, he had the power of transforming himself
into any shape he pleased. At one time he appeared as a dwarf, at
others as a damsel, a page, or even a greyhound or a stag. This
faculty he often employed for the service of the king, and
sometimes also for the diversion of the court and the sovereign.
Merlin continued to be a favorite counsellor through the reigns of
Pendragon, Uther, and Arthur, and at last disappeared from view,
and was no more found among men, through the treachery of his
mistress, Viviane, the Fairy, which happened in this wise.
Merlin, having become enamoured of the fair Viviane, the Lady of
the Lake, was weak enough to impart to her various important
secrets of his art, being impelled by fatal destiny, of which he
was at the same time fully aware. The lady, however, was not
content with his devotion, unbounded as it seems to have been, but
"cast about," the Romance tells us, how she might "detain him for
evermore," and one day addressed him in these terms: "Sir, I would
that we should make a fair place and a suitable, so contrived by
art and by cunning that it might never be undone, and that you and
I should be there in joy and solace." "My lady," said Merlin, "I
will do all this." "Sir," said she, "I would not have you do it,
but you shall teach me, and I will do it, and then it will be more
to my mind." "I grant you this," said Merlin. Then he began to
devise, and the damsel put it all in writing. And when he had
devised the whole, then had the damsel full great joy, and showed
him greater semblance of love than she had ever before made, and
they sojourned together a long while. At length it fell out that,
as they were going one day hand in hand through the forest of
Breceliande, they found a bush of white-thorn, which was laden
with flowers; and they seated themselves under the shade of this
white-thorn, upon the green grass, and Merlin laid his head upon
the damsel's lap, and fell asleep. Then the damsel rose, and made
a ring with her wimple round the bush, and round Merlin, and began
her enchantments, such as he himself had taught her; and nine
times she made the ring, and nine times she made the enchantment,
and then she went and sat down by him, and placed his head again
upon her lap.
". . .And a sleep
--Matthew Arnold.
And when he awoke, and looked round him, it seemed to him that he
was enclosed in the strongest tower in the world, and laid upon a
fair bed. Then said he to the dame: "My lady, you have deceived
me, unless you abide with me, for no one hath power to unmake this
tower but you alone." She then promised she would be often there,
and in this she held her covenant with him. And Merlin never went
out of that tower where his Mistress Viviane had enclosed him; but
she entered and went out again when she listed.
After this event Merlin was never more known to hold converse with
any mortal but Viviane, except on one occasion. Arthur, having for
some time missed him from his court, sent several of his knights
in search of him, and, among the number, Sir Gawain, who met with
a very unpleasant adventure while engaged in this quest. Happening
to pass a damsel on his road, and neglecting to salute her, she
revenged herself for his incivility by transforming him into a
hideous dwarf. He was bewailing aloud his evil fortune as he went
through the forest of Breceliande, when suddenly he heard the
voice of one groaning on his right hand; and, looking that way, he
could see nothing save a kind of smoke, which seemed like air, and
through which he could not pass. Merlin then addressed him from
out the smoke, and told him by what misadventure he was imprisoned
there. "Ah, sir!" he added, "you will never see me more, and that
grieves me, but I cannot remedy it; I shall never more speak to
you, nor to any other person, save only my mistress. But do thou
hasten to King Arthur, and charge him from me to undertake,
without delay, the quest of the Sacred Graal. The knight is
already born, and has received knighthood at his hands, who is
destined to accomplish this quest." And after this he comforted
Gawain under his transformation, assuring him that he should
speedily be disenchanted; and he predicted to him that he should
find the king at Carduel, in Wales, on his return, and that all
the other knights who had been on like quest would arrive there
the same day as himself. And all this came to pass as Merlin had
said.
Merlin is frequently introduced in the tales of chivalry, but it
is chiefly on great occasions, and at a period subsequent to his
death, or magical disappearance. In the romantic poems of Italy,
and in Spenser, Merlin is chiefly represented as a magical artist.
Spenser represents him as the artificer of the impenetrable shield
and other armor of Prince Arthur ("Faery Queene," Book I., Canto
vii.), and of a mirror, in which a damsel viewed her lover's
shade. The Fountain of Love, in the "Orlando Innamorata," is
described as his work; and in the poem of "Ariosto" we are told of
a hall adorned with prophetic paintings, which demons had executed
in a single night, under the direction of Merlin.
The following legend is from Spenser's "Faery Queene," Book III.,
Canto iii.:
CAER-MERDIN, OR CAERMARTHEN (IN WALES), MERLIN'S TOWER, AND THE
IMPRISONED FIENDS.
"Forthwith themselves disguising both, in straunge
"And if thou ever happen that same way
"But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,
"The cause some say is this. A little while
"In the mean time, through that false lady's train,
[Footnote: Buried under beare. Buried under something which
enclosed him like a coffin or bier.]
CHAPTER IV
ARTHUR
We shall begin our history of King Arthur by giving those
particulars of his life which appear to rest on historical
evidence; and then proceed to record those legends concerning him
which form the earliest portion of British literature.
Arthur was a prince of the tribe of Britons called Silures, whose
country was South Wales, the son of Uther, named Pendragon, a
title given to an elective sovereign, paramount over the many
kings of Britain. He appears to have commenced his martial career
about the year 500, and was raised to the Pendragonship about ten
years later. He is said to have gained twelve victories over the
Saxons. The most important of them was that of Badon, by some
supposed to be Bath, by others Berkshire. This was the last of his
battles with the Saxons, and checked their progress so
effectually, that Arthur experienced no more annoyance from them,
and reigned in peace, until the revolt of his nephew Modred,
twenty years later, which led to the fatal battle of Camlan, in
Cornwall, in 542. Modred was slain, and Arthur, mortally wounded,
was conveyed by sea to Glastonbury, where he died, and was buried.
Tradition preserved the memory of the place of his interment
within the abbey, as we are told by Giraldus Cambrensis, who was
present when the grave was opened by command of Henry II. about
1150, and saw the bones and sword of the monarch, and a leaden
cross let into his tombstone, with the inscription in rude Roman
letters, "Here lies buried the famous King Arthur, in the island
Avalonia." This story has been elegantly versified by Warton. A
popular traditional belief was long entertained among the Britons,
that Arthur was not dead, but had been carried off to be healed of
his wounds in Fairy-land, and that he would reappear to avenge his
countrymen and reinstate them in the sovereignty of Britain. In
Warton's "Ode" a bard relates to King Henry the traditional story
of Arthur's death, and closes with these lines.
"Yet in vain a paynim foe
There he reigns a mighty king,
After this narration another bard came forward who recited a
different story:
"When Arthur bowed his haughty crest,
[Footnote: Glastonbury Abbey, said to be founded by Joseph of
Arimathea, in a spot anciently called the island or valley of
Avalonia.
Tennyson, in his "Palace of Art," alludes to the legend of
Arthur's rescue by the Faery queen, thus:
"Or mythic Uther's deeply wounded son,
It must not be concealed that the very existence of Arthur has
been denied by some. Milton says of him: "As to Arthur, more
renowned in songs and romances than in true stories, who he was,
and whether ever any such reigned in Britain, hath been doubted
heretofore, and may again, with good reason." Modern critics,
however, admit that there was a prince of this name, and find
proof of it in the frequent mention of him in the writings of the
Welsh bards. But the Arthur of romance, according to Mr. Owen, a
Welsh scholar and antiquarian, is a mythological person. "Arthur,"
he says, "is the Great Bear, as the name literally implies
(Arctos, Arcturus), and perhaps this constellation, being so near
the pole, and visibly describing a circle in a small space, is the
origin of the famous Round Table."
KING ARTHUR
Constans, king of Britain, had three sons, Moines, Ambrosius,
otherwise called Uther, and Pendragon. Moines, soon after his
accession to the crown, was vanquished by the Saxons, in
consequence of the treachery of his seneschal, Vortigern, and
growing unpopular, through misfortune, he was killed by his
subjects, and the traitor Vortigern chosen in his place.
Vortigern was soon after defeated in a great battle by Uther and
Pendragon, the surviving brothers of Moines, and Pendragon
ascended the throne.
This prince had great confidence in the wisdom of Merlin, and made
him his chief adviser. About this time a dreadful war arose
between the Saxons and Britons. Merlin obliged the royal brothers
to swear fidelity to each other, but predicted that one of them
must fall in the first battle. The Saxons were routed, and
Pendragon, being slain, was succeeded by Uther, who now assumed in
addition to his own name the appellation of Pendragon.
Merlin still continued a favorite counsellor. At the request of
Uther he transported by magic art enormous stones from Ireland, to
form the sepulchre of Pendragon. These stones constitute the
monument now called Stonehenge, on Salisbury plain.
Merlin next proceeded to Carlisle to prepare the Round Table, at
which he seated an assemblage of the great nobles of the country.
The companions admitted to this high order were bound by oath to
assist each other at the hazard of their own lives, to attempt
singly the most perilous adventures, to lead, when necessary, a
life of monastic solitude, to fly to arms at the first summons,
and never to retire from battle till they had defeated the enemy,
unless night intervened and separated the combatants.
Soon after this institution, the king invited all his barons to
the celebration of a great festival, which he proposed holding
annually at Carlisle.
As the knights had obtained the sovereign's permission to bring
their ladies along with them, the beautiful Igerne accompanied her
husband, Gorlois, Duke of Tintadel, to one of these anniversaries.
The king became deeply enamoured of the duchess, and disclosed his
passion; but Igerne repelled his advances, and revealed his
solicitations to her husband. On hearing this, the duke instantly
removed from court with Igerne, and without taking leave of Uther.
The king complained to his council of this want of duty, and they
decided that the duke should be summoned to court, and, if
refractory, should be treated as a rebel. As he refused to obey
the citation, the king carried war into the estates of his vassal
and besieged him in the strong castle of Tintadel. Merlin
transformed the king into the likeness of Gorlois, and enabled him
to have many stolen interviews with Igerne. At length the duke was
killed in battle and the king espoused Igerne.
From this union sprang Arthur, who succeeded his father, Uther,
upon the throne.
ARTHUR CHOSEN KING
Arthur, though only fifteen years old at his father's death, was
elected king, at a general meeting of the nobles. It was not done
without opposition, for there were many ambitious competitors.
"For while he linger'd there
--Coming of Arthur.
But Bishop Brice, a person of great sanctity, on Christmas eve
addressed the assembly, and represented that it would well become
them, at that solemn season, to put up their prayers for some
token which should manifest the intentions of Providence
respecting their future sovereign. This was done, and with such
success, that the service was scarcely ended when a miraculous
stone was discovered before the church door, and in the stone was
firmly fixed a sword, with the following words engraven on its
hilt:
"I am hight Escalibore,
Bishop Brice, after exhorting the assembly to offer up their
thanksgiving for this signal miracle, proposed a law, that whoever
should be able to draw out the sword from the stone, should be
acknowledged as sovereign of the Britons; and his proposal was
decreed by general acclamation. The tributary kings of Uther, and
the most famous knights, successively put their strength to the
proof, but the miraculous sword resisted all their efforts. It
stood till Candlemas; it stood till Easter, and till Pentecost,
when the best knights in the kingdom usually assembled for the
annual tournament. Arthur, who was at that time serving in the
capacity of squire to his foster-brother, Sir Kay, attended his
master to the lists. Sir Kay fought with great valor and success,
but had the misfortune to break his sword, and sent Arthur to his
mother for a new one. Arthur hastened home, but did not find the
lady; but having observed near the church a sword, sticking in a
stone, he galloped to the place, drew out the sword with great
ease, and delivered it to his master. Sir Kay would willingly have
assumed to himself the distinction conferred by the possession of
the sword, but when, to confirm the doubters, the sword was
replaced in the stone he was utterly unable to withdraw it, and it
would yield a second time to no hand but Arthur's. Thus decisively
pointed out by Heaven as their king, Arthur was by general consent
proclaimed as such, and an early day appointed for his solemn
coronation.
Immediately after his election to the crown, Arthur found himself
opposed by eleven kings and one duke, who with a vast army were
actually encamped in the forest of Rockingham. By Merlin's advice
Arthur sent an embassy to Brittany, to solicit the aid of King Ban
and King Bohort, two of the best knights in the world. They
accepted the call, and with a powerful army crossed the sea,
landing at Portsmouth, where they were received with great
rejoicing. The rebel kings were still superior in numbers; but
Merlin, by a powerful enchantment, caused all their tents to fall
down at once, and in the confusion Arthur with his allies fell
upon them and totally routed them.
After defeating the rebels, Arthur took the field against the
Saxons. As they were too strong for him unaided, he sent an
embassy to Armorica, beseeching the assistance of Hoel, who soon
after brought over an army to his aid. The two kings joined their
forces, and sought the enemy, whom they met, and both sides
prepared for a decisive engagement. "Arthur himself," as Geoffrey
of Monmouth relates, "dressed in a breastplate worthy of so great
a king, places on his head a golden helmet engraved with the
semblance of a dragon. Over his shoulders he throws his shield
called Priwen, on which a picture of the Holy Virgin constantly
recalled her to his memory. Girt with Caliburn, a most excellent
sword, and fabricated in the isle of Avalon, he graces his right
hand with the lance named Ron. This was a long and broad spear,
well contrived for slaughter." After a severe conflict, Arthur,
calling on the name of the Virgin, rushes into the midst of his
enemies, and destroys multitudes of them with the formidable
Caliburn, and puts the rest to flight. Hoel, being detained by
sickness, took no part in this battle.
This is called the victory of Mount Badon, and, however disguised
by fable, it is regarded by historians as a real event.
The feats performed by Arthur at the battle of Badon Mount are
thus celebrated in Drayton's verse:
"They sung how he himself at Badon bore, that day,
--Song IV.
GUENEVER
Merlin had planned for Arthur a marriage with the daughter of King
Laodegan of Carmalide. By his advice Arthur paid a visit to the
court of that sovereign, attended only by Merlin and by thirty-
nine knights whom the magician had selected for that service. On
their arrival they found Laodegan and his peers sitting in
council, endeavoring, but with small prospect of success, to
devise means of resisting the impending attack of Ryence, king of
Ireland, who, with fifteen tributary kings and an almost
innumerable army, had nearly surrounded the city. Merlin, who
acted as leader of the band of British knights, announced them as
strangers, who came to offer the king their services in his wars;
but under the express condition that they should be at liberty to
conceal their names and quality until they should think proper to
divulge them. These terms were thought very strange, but were
thankfully accepted, and the strangers, after taking the usual
oath to the king, retired to the lodging which Merlin had prepared
for them.
A few days after this, the enemy, regardless of a truce into which
they had entered with King Laodegan, suddenly issued from their
camp and made an attempt to surprise the city. Cleodalis, the
king's general, assembled the royal forces with all possible
despatch. Arthur and his companions also flew to arms, and Merlin
appeared at their head, bearing a standard on which was emblazoned
a terrific dragon. Merlin advanced to the gate, and commanded the
porter to open it, which the porter refused to do, without the
king's order. Merlin thereupon took up the gate, with all its
appurtenances of locks, bars, bolts, etc., and directed his troops
to pass through, after which he replaced it in perfect order. He
then set spurs to his horse and dashed, at the head of his little
troop, into a body of two thousand pagans. The disparity of
numbers being so enormous, Merlin cast a spell upon the enemy, so
as to prevent their seeing the small number of their assailants;
notwithstanding which the British knights were hard pressed. But
the people of the city, who saw from the walls this unequal
contest, were ashamed of leaving the small body of strangers to
their fate, so they opened the gate and sallied forth. The numbers
were now more nearly equal, and Merlin revoked his spell, so that
the two armies encountered on fair terms. Where Arthur, Ban,
Bohort, and the rest fought the king's army had the advantage; but
in another part of the field the king himself was surrounded and
carried off by the enemy. The sad sight was seen by Guenever, the
fair daughter of the king, who stood on the city wall and looked
at the battle. She was in dreadful distress, tore her hair, and
swooned away.
But Merlin, aware of what passed in every part of the field,
suddenly collected his knights, led them out of the battle,
intercepted the passage of the party who were carrying away the
king, charged them with irresistible impetuosity, cut in pieces or
dispersed the whole escort, and rescued the king. In the fight
Arthur encountered Caulang, a giant fifteen feet high, and the
fair Guenever, who had already began to feel a strong interest in
the handsome young stranger, trembled for the issue of the
contest. But Arthur, dealing a dreadful blow on the shoulder of
the monster, cut through his neck so that his head hung over on
one side, and in this condition his horse carried him about the
field, to the great horror and dismay of the Pagans. Guenever
could not refrain from expressing aloud her wish that the gentle
knight, who dealt with giants so dexterously, were destined to
become her husband, and the wish was echoed by her attendants. The
enemy soon turned their backs and fled with precipitation, closely
pursued by Laodegan and his allies.
After the battle Arthur was disarmed and conducted to the bath by
the princess Guenever, while his friends were attended by the
other ladies of the court. After the bath the knights were
conducted to a magnificent entertainment, at which they were
diligently served by the same fair attendants. Laodegan, more and
more anxious to know the name and quality of his generous
deliverers, and occasionally forming a secret wish that the chief
of his guests might be captivated by the charms of his daughter,
appeared silent and pensive, and was scarcely roused from his
reverie by the banters of his courtiers. Arthur, having had an
opportunity of explaining to Guenever his great esteem for her
merit, was in the joy of his heart, and was still further
delighted by hearing from Merlin the late exploits of Gawain at
London, by means of which his immediate return to his dominions
was rendered unnecessary, and he was left at liberty to protract
his stay at the court of Laodegan. Every day contributed to
increase the admiration of the whole court for the gallant
strangers, and the passion of Guenever for their chief; and when
at last Merlin announced to the king that the object of the visit
of the party was to procure a bride for their leader, Laodegan at
once presented Guenever to Arthur, telling him that, whatever
might be his rank, his merit was sufficient to entitle him to the
possession of the heiress of Carmalide.
"And could he find a woman in her womanhood
--Guinevere.
Arthur accepted the lady with the utmost gratitude, and Merlin
then proceeded to satisfy the king of the rank of his son-in-law;
upon which Laodegan, with all his barons, hastened to do homage to
their lawful sovereign, the successor of Uther Pendragon. The fair
Guenever was then solemnly betrothed to Arthur, and a magnificent
festival was proclaimed, which lasted seven days. At the end of
that time, the enemy appearing again with renewed force, it became
necessary to resume military operations. [Footnote: Guenever, the
name of Arthur's queen, also written Genievre and Geneura, is
familiar to all who are conversant with chivalric lore. It is to
her adventures, and those of her true knight, Sir Launcelot, that
Dante alludes in the beautiful episode of Francesca di Rimini.]
We must now relate what took place at and near London, while
Arthur was absent from his capital. At this very time a band of
young heroes were on their way to Arthur's court, for the purpose
of receiving knighthood from him. They were Gawain and his three
brothers, nephews of Arthur, sons of King Lot, and Galachin,
another nephew, son of King Nanters. King Lot had been one of the
rebel chiefs whom Arthur had defeated, but he now hoped by means
of the young men to be reconciled to his brother-in-law. He
equipped his sons and his nephew with the utmost magnificence,
giving them a splendid retinue of young men, sons of earls and
barons, all mounted on the best horses, with complete suits of
choice armor. They numbered in all seven hundred, but only nine
had yet received the order of knighthood; the rest were candidates
for that honor, and anxious to earn it by an early encounter with
the enemy. Gawain, the leader, was a knight of wonderful strength;
but what was most remarkable about him was that his strength was
greater at certain hours of the day than at others. From nine
o'clock till noon his strength was doubled, and so it was from
three to evensong; for the rest of the time it was less
remarkable, though at all times surpassing that of ordinary men.
After a march of three days they arrived in the vicinity of
London, where they expected to find Arthur and his court, and very
unexpectedly fell in with a large convoy belonging to the enemy,
consisting of numerous carts and wagons, all loaded with
provisions, and escorted by three thousand men, who had been
collecting spoil from all the country round. A single charge from
Gawain's impetuous cavalry was sufficient to disperse the escort
and recover the convoy, which was instantly despatched to London.
But before long a body of seven thousand fresh soldiers advanced
to the attack of the five princes and their little army. Gawain,
singling out a chief named Choas, of gigantic size, began the
battle by splitting him from the crown of the head to the breast.
Galachin encountered King Sanagran, who was also very huge, and
cut off his head. Agrivain and Gahariet also performed prodigies
of valor. Thus they kept the great army of assailants at bay,
though hard pressed, till of a sudden they perceived a strong body
of the citizens advancing from London, where the convoy which had
been recovered by Gawain had arrived, and informed the mayor and
citizens of the danger of their deliverer. The arrival of the
Londoners soon decided the contest. The enemy fled in all
directions, and Gawain and his friends, escorted by the grateful
citizens, entered London, and were received with acclamations.
CHAPTER V
ARTHUR (Continued)
After the great victory of Mount Badon, by which the Saxons were
for the time effectually put down, Arthur turned his arms against
the Scots and Picts, whom he routed at Lake Lomond, and compelled
to sue for mercy. He then went to York to keep his Christmas, and
employed himself in restoring the Christian churches which the
Pagans had rifled and overthrown. The following summer he
conquered Ireland, and then made a voyage with his fleet to
Iceland, which he also subdued. The kings of Gothland and of the
Orkneys came voluntarily and made their submission, promising to
pay tribute. Then he returned to Britain, where, having
established the kingdom, he dwelt twelve years in peace.
During this time he invited over to him all persons whatsoever
that were famous for valor in foreign nations, and augmented the
number of his domestics, and introduced such politeness into his
court as people of the remotest countries thought worthy of their
imitation. So that there was not a nobleman who thought himself of
any consideration unless his clothes and arms were made in the
same fashion as those of Arthur's knights.
Finding himself so powerful at home, Arthur began to form designs
for extending his power abroad. So, having prepared his fleet, he
first attempted Norway, that he might procure the crown of it for
Lot, his sister's husband. Arthur landed in Norway, fought a great
battle with the king of that country, defeated him, and pursued
the victory till he had reduced the whole country under his
dominion, and established Lot upon the throne. Then Arthur made a
voyage to Gaul and laid siege to the city of Paris. Gaul was at
that time a Roman province, and governed by Flollo, the Tribune.
When the siege of Paris had continued a month, and the people
began to suffer from famine, Flollo challenged Arthur to single
combat, proposing to decide the conquest of the province in that
way. Arthur gladly accepted the challenge, and slew his adversary
in the contest, upon which the citizens surrendered the city to
him. After the victory Arthur divided his army into two parts, one
of which he committed to the conduct of Hoel, whom he ordered to
march into Aquitaine, while he with the other part should endeavor
to subdue the other provinces. At the end of nine years, in which
time all the parts of Gaul were entirely reduced, Arthur returned
to Paris, where he kept his court, and, calling an assembly of the
clergy and people, established peace and the just administration
of the laws in that kingdom. Then he bestowed Normandy upon
Bedver, his butler, and the province of Andegavia upon Kay, his
steward, [Footnote: This name, in the French romances, is spelled
Queux, which means head cook. This would seem to imply that it was
a title, and not a name; yet the personage who bore it is never
mentioned by any other. He is the chief, if not the only, comic
character among the heroes of Arthur's court. He is the Seneschal
or Steward, his duties also embracing those of chief of the cooks.
In the romances, his general character is a compound of valor and
buffoonery, always ready to fight, and generally getting the worst
of the battle. He is also sarcastic and abusive in his remarks, by
which he often gets into trouble. Yet Arthur seems to have an
attachment to him, and often takes his advice, which is generally
wrong.] and several other provinces upon his great men that
attended him. And, having settled the peace of the cities and
countries, he returned back in the beginning of spring to Britain.
Upon the approach of the feast of Pentecost, Arthur, the better to
demonstrate his joy after such triumphant successes, and for the
more solemn observation of that festival, and reconciling the
minds of the princes that were now subject to him, resolved during
that season to hold a magnificent court, to place the crown upon
his head, and to invite all the kings and dukes under his
subjection to the solemnity. And he pitched upon Caerleon, the
City of Legions, as the proper place for his purpose. For, besides
its great wealth above the other cities, its situation upon the
river Usk, near the Severn sea, was most pleasant and fit for so
great a solemnity. For on one side it was washed by that noble
river, so that the kings and princes from the countries beyond the
seas might have the convenience of sailing up to it. On the other
side the beauty of the meadows and groves, and magnificence of the
royal palaces, with lofty gilded roofs that adorned it, made it
even rival the grandeur of Rome. It was also famous for two
churches, whereof one was adorned with a choir of virgins, who
devoted themselves wholly to the service of God, and the other
maintained a convent of priests. Besides, there was a college of
two hundred philosophers, who, being learned in astronomy and the
other arts, were diligent in observing the courses of the stars,
and gave Arthur true predictions of the events that would happen.
In this place, therefore, which afforded such delights, were
preparations made for the ensuing festival.
[Footnote: Several cities are allotted to King Arthur by the
romance-writers. The principal are Caerleon, Camelot, and
Carlisle.
Caerleon derives its name from its having been the station of one
of the legions, during the dominion of the Romans. It is called by
Latin writers Urbs Legionum, the City of Legions. The former word
being rendered into Welsh by Caer, meaning city, and the latter
contracted into lleon. The river Usk retains its name in modern
geography, and there is a town or city of Caerleon upon it, though
the city of Cardiff is thought to be the scene of Arthur's court.
Chester also bears in Welsh the name of Caerleon; for Chester,
derived from castra, Latin for camp, is the designation of
military headquarters.
Camelot is thought to be Winchester.
Shalott is Guilford.
Hamo's Port is Southampton.
Carlisle is the city still retaining that name, near the Scottish
border. But this name is also sometimes applied to other places,
which were, like itself, military stations.]
Ambassadors were then sent into several kingdoms, to invite to
court the princes both of Gaul and of the adjacent islands.
Accordingly there came Augusel, king of Albania, now Scotland,
Cadwallo, king of Venedotia, now North Wales, Sater, king of
Demetia, now South Wales; also the archbishops of the metropolitan
sees, London and York, and Dubricius, bishop of Caerleon, the City
of Legions. This prelate, who was primate of Britain, was so
eminent for his piety that he could cure any sick person by his
prayers. There were also the counts of the principal cities, and
many other worthies of no less dignity.
From the adjacent islands came Guillamurius, king of Ireland,
Gunfasius, king of the Orkneys, Malvasius, king of Iceland, Lot,
king of Norway, Bedver, the butler, Duke of Normandy, Kay, the
sewer, Duke of Andegavia; also the twelve peers of Gaul, and Hoel,
Duke of the Armorican Britons, with his nobility, who came with
such a train of mules, horses, and rich furniture as it is
difficult to describe. Besides these there remained no prince of
any consideration on this side of Spain who came not upon this
invitation. And no wonder, when Arthur's munificence, which was
celebrated over the whole world, made him beloved by all people.
When all were assembled upon the day of the solemnity the
archbishops were conducted to the palace, in order to place the
crown upon the king's head. Then Dubricius, inasmuch as the court
was held in his diocese, made himself ready to celebrate the
office. As soon as the king was invested with his royal
habiliments he was conducted in great pomp to the metropolitan
church, having four kings, viz., of Albania, Cornwall, Demetia,
and Venedotia, bearing four golden swords before him. On another
part was the queen, dressed out in her richest ornaments,
conducted by the archbishops and bishops to the Church of Virgins;
the four queens, also, of the kings last mentioned, bearing before
her four white doves, according to ancient custom. When the whole
procession was ended so transporting was the harmony of the
musical instruments and voices, whereof there was a vast variety
in both churches, that the knights who attended were in doubt
which to prefer, and therefore crowded from the one to the other
by turns, and were far from being tired of the solemnity, though
the whole day had been spent in it. At last, when divine service
was over at both churches, the king and queen put off their
crowns, and, putting on their lighter ornaments, went to the
banquet. When they had all taken their seats according to
precedence, Kay, the sewer, in rich robes of ermine, with a
thousand young noblemen all in like manner clothed in rich attire,
served up the dishes. From another part Bedver, the butler, was
followed by the same number of attendants, who waited with all
kinds of cups and drinking-vessels. And there was food and drink
in abundance, and everything was of the best kind, and served in
the best manner. For at that time Britain had arrived at such a
pitch of grandeur that in riches, luxury, and politeness it far
surpassed all other kingdoms.
As soon as the banquets were over they went into the fields
without the city to divert themselves with various sports, such as
shooting with bows and arrows, tossing the pike, casting of heavy
stones and rocks, playing at dice, and the like, and all these
inoffensively, and without quarrelling. In this manner were three
days spent, and after that they separated, and the kings and
noblemen departed to their several homes.
After this Arthur reigned five years in peace. Then came
ambassadors from Lucius Tiberius, Procurator under Leo, Emperor of
Rome, demanding tribute. But Arthur refused to pay tribute, and
prepared for war. As soon as the necessary dispositions were made
he committed the government of his kingdom to his nephew Modred
and to Queen Guenever, and marched with his army to Hamo's Port,
where the wind stood fair for him. The army crossed over in
safety, and landed at the mouth of the river Barba. And there they
pitched their tents to wait the arrival of the kings of the
islands.
As soon as all the forces were arrived Arthur marched forward to
Augustodunum, and encamped on the banks of the river Alba. Here
repeated battles were fought, in all which the Britons, under
their valiant leaders, Hoel, Duke of Armorica, and Gawain, nephew
to Arthur, had the advantage. At length Lucius Tiberius determined
to retreat, and wait for the Emperor Leo to join him with fresh
troops. But Arthur, anticipating this event, took possession of a
certain valley, and closed up the way of retreat to Lucius,
compelling him to fight a decisive battle, in which Arthur lost
some of the bravest of his knights and most faithful followers.
But on the other hand Lucius Tiberius was slain, and his army
totally defeated. The fugitives dispersed over the country, some
to the by-ways and woods, some to cities and towns, and all other
places where they could hope for safety.
Arthur stayed in those parts till the next winter was over, and
employed his time in restoring order and settling the government.
He then returned into England, and celebrated his victories with
great splendor.
Then the king stablished all his knights, and to them that were
not rich he gave lands, and charged them all never to do outrage
nor murder, and always to flee treason; also, by no means to be
cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asked mercy, upon pain of
forfeiture of their worship and lordship; and always to do ladies,
damosels, and gentlewomen service, upon pain of death. Also that
no man take battle in a wrongful quarrel, for no law, nor for any
world's goods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of the Table
Round, both old and young. And at every year were they sworn at
the high feast of Pentecost.
KING ARTHUR GETS A SWORD FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE
One day King Arthur rode forth, and on a sudden he was ware of
three churls chasing Merlin, to have slain him. And the king rode
unto them and bade them, "Flee, churls!" Then were they afraid
when they saw a knight, and fled. "O Merlin," said Arthur, "here
hadst thou been slain, for all thy crafts, had I not been by."
"Nay," said Merlin, "not so, for I could save myself if I would;
but thou art more near thy death than I am." So, as they went thus
talking, King Arthur perceived where sat a knight on horseback, as
if to guard the pass. "Sir knight," said Arthur, "for what cause
abidest thou here?" Then the knight said, "There may no knight
ride this way unless he just with me, for such is the custom of
the pass." "I will amend that custom," said the king. Then they
ran together, and they met so hard that their spears were
shivered. Then they drew their swords and fought a strong battle,
with many great strokes. But at length the sword of the knight
smote King Arthur's sword in two pieces. Then said the knight unto
Arthur, "Thou art in my power, whether to save thee or slay thee,
and unless thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt
die." "As for death," said King Arthur, "welcome be it when it
cometh; but to yield me unto thee as recreant, I will not." Then
he leapt upon the knight, and took him by the middle and threw him
down; but the knight was a passing strong man, and anon he brought
Arthur under him, and would have razed off his helm to slay him.
Then said Merlin, "Knight, hold thy hand, for this knight is a man
of more worship than thou art aware of." "Why, who is he?" said
the knight. "It is King Arthur." Then would he have slain him for
dread of his wrath, and lifted up his sword to slay him; and
therewith Merlin cast an enchantment on the knight, so that he
fell to the earth in a great sleep. Then Merlin took up King
Arthur, and set him on his horse. "Alas!" said Arthur, "what hast
thou done, Merlin? hast thou slain this good knight by thy
crafts?" "Care ye not," said Merlin; "he is wholer than ye be. He
is only asleep, and will wake in three hours."
Then the king and he departed, and went till they came to a
hermit, that was a good man and a great leech. So the hermit
searched all his wounds, and applied good salves; and the king was
there three days, and then were his wounds well amended, that he
might ride and go. So they departed, and as they rode Arthur said,
"I have no sword." "No matter," said Merlin; "hereby is a sword
that shall be yours." So they rode till they came to a lake, which
was a fair water and broad. And in the midst of the lake Arthur
was aware of an arm clothed in white samite, [Footnote: Samite, a
sort of silk stuff.] that held a fair sword in the hand. "Lo!"
said Merlin, "yonder is that sword that I spake of. It belongeth
to the Lady of the Lake, and, if she will, thou mayest take it;
but if she will not, it will not be in thy power to take it."
So Sir Arthur and Merlin alighted from their horses, and went into
a boat. And when they came to the sword that the hand held Sir
Arthur took it by the handle and took it to him, and the arm and
the hand went under the water.
Then they returned unto the land and rode forth. And Sir Arthur
looked on the sword and liked it right well.
So they rode unto Caerleon, whereof his knights were passing glad.
And when they heard of his adventures they marvelled that he would
jeopard his person so alone. But all men of worship said it was a
fine thing to be under such a chieftain as would put his person in
adventure as other poor knights did.
CHAPTER VI
SIR GAWAIN
Sir Gawain was nephew to King Arthur, by his sister Morgana,
married to Lot, king of Orkney, who was by Arthur made king of
Norway. Sir Gawain was one of the most famous knights of the Round
Table, and is characterized by the romancers as the SAGE and
COURTEOUS Gawain. To this Chaucer alludes in his "Squiere's Tale,"
where the strange knight "salueth" all the court
"With so high reverence and observance,
Gawain's brothers were Agrivain, Gahariet, and Gareth.
SIR GAWAIN'S MARRIAGE
Once upon a time King Arthur held his court in merry Carlisle,
when a damsel came before him and craved a boon. It was for
vengeance upon a caitiff knight, who had made her lover captive
and despoiled her of her lands. King Arthur commanded to bring him
his sword, Excalibar, and to saddle his steed, and rode forth
without delay to right the lady's wrong. Ere long he reached the
castle of the grim baron, and challenged him to the conflict. But
the castle stood on magic ground, and the spell was such that no
knight could tread thereon but straight his courage fell and his
strength decayed. King Arthur felt the charm, and before a blow
was struck, his sturdy limbs lost their strength, and his head
grew faint. He was fain to yield himself prisoner to the churlish
knight, who refused to release him except upon condition that he
should return at the end of a year, and bring a true answer to the
question, "What thing is it which women most desire?" or in
default thereof surrender himself and his lands. King Arthur
accepted the terms, and gave his oath to return at the time
appointed. During the year the king rode east, and he rode west,
and inquired of all whom he met what thing it is which all women
most desire. Some told him riches; some, pomp and state; some,
mirth; some, flattery; and some, a gallant knight. But in the
diversity of answers he could find no sure dependence. The year
was well-nigh spent, when one day, as he rode thoughtfully through
a forest, he saw sitting beneath a tree a lady of such hideous
aspect that he turned away his eyes, and when she greeted him in
seemly sort, made no answer. "What wight art thou," the lady said,
"that will not speak to me? It may chance that I may resolve thy
doubts, though I be not fair of aspect." "If thou wilt do so,"
said King Arthur, "choose what reward thou wilt, thou grim lady,
and it shall be given thee." "Swear me this upon thy faith," she
said, and Arthur swore it. Then the lady told him the secret, and
demanded her reward, which was that the king should find some fair
and courtly knight to be her husband.
King Arthur hastened to the grim baron's castle and told him one
by one all the answers which he had received from his various
advisers, except the last, and not one was admitted as the true
one. "Now yield thee, Arthur," the giant said, "for thou hast not
paid thy ransom, and thou and thy lands are forfeited to me." Then
King Arthur said:
"Yet hold thy hand, thou proud baron,
"It was my sister that told thee this," the churlish baron
exclaimed. "Vengeance light on her! I will some time or other do
her as ill a turn."
King Arthur rode homeward, but not light of heart, for he
remembered the promise he was under to the loathly lady to--give
her one of his young and gallant knights for a husband. He told
his grief to Sir Gawain, his nephew, and he replied, "Be not sad,
my lord, for I will marry the loathly lady." King Arthur replied:
"Now nay, now nay, good Sir Gawaine,
But Gawain persisted, and the king at last, with sorrow of heart,
consented that Gawain should be his ransom. So one day the king
and his knights rode to the forest, met the loathly lady, and
brought her to the court. Sir Gawain stood the scoffs and jeers of
his companions as he best might, and the marriage was solemnized,
but not with the usual festivities. Chaucer tells us:
"... There was no joye ne feste at alle;
[Footnote: N'AS is NOT WAS, contracted; in modern phrase, THERE
WAS NOT. MOCHEL SORWE is much sorrow; MORWE is MORROW.]
When night came, and they were alone together, Sir Gawain could
not conceal his aversion; and the lady asked him why he sighed so
heavily, and turned away his face. He candidly confessed it was on
account of three things, her age, her ugliness, and her low
degree. The lady, not at all offended, replied with excellent
arguments to all his objections. She showed him that with age is
discretion, with ugliness security from rivals, and that all true
gentility depends, not upon the accident of birth, but upon the
character of the individual.
Sir Gawain made no reply; but, turning his eyes on his bride, what
was his amazement to perceive that she wore no longer the unseemly
aspect that had so distressed him. She then told him that the form
she had worn was not her true form, but a disguise imposed upon
her by a wicked enchanter, and that she was condemned to wear it
until two things should happen: one, that she should obtain some
young and gallant knight to be her husband. This having been done,
one-half of the charm was removed. She was now at liberty to wear
her true form for half the time, and she bade him choose whether
he would have her fair by day, and ugly by night, or the reverse.
Sir Gawain would fain have had her look her best by night, when he
alone would see her, and show her repulsive visage, if at all, to
others. But she reminded him how much more pleasant it would be to
her to wear her best looks in the throng of knights and ladies by
day. Sir Gawain yielded, and gave up his will to hers. This alone
was wanting to dissolve the charm. The lovely lady now with joy
assured him that she should change no more, but as she now was, so
would she remain by night as well as by day.
"Sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheek,
The dissolution of the charm which had held the lady also released
her brother, the "grim baron," for he too had been implicated in
it. He ceased to be a churlish oppressor, and became a gallant and
generous knight as any at Arthur's court.
CHAPTER VIII
LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE
King Ban, of Brittany, the faithful ally of Arthur was attacked by
his enemy Claudas, and after a long war saw himself reduced to the
possession of a single fortress, where he was besieged by his
enemy. In this extremity he determined to solicit the assistance
of Arthur, and escaped in a dark night, with his wife Helen and
his infant son Launcelot, leaving his castle in the hands of his
seneschal, who immediately surrendered the place to Claudas. The
flames of his burning citadel reached the eyes of the unfortunate
monarch during his flight and he expired with grief. The wretched
Helen, leaving her child on the brink of a lake, flew to receive
the last sighs of her husband, and on returning perceived the
little Launcelot in the arms of a nymph, who, on the approach of
the queen, threw herself into the lake with the child. This nymph
was Viviane, mistress of the enchanter Merlin, better known by the
name of the Lady of the Lake. Launcelot received his appellation
from having been educated at the court of this enchantress, whose
palace was situated in the midst, not of a real, but, like the
appearance which deceives the African traveller, of an imaginary
lake, whose deluding resemblance served as a barrier to her
residence. Here she dwelt not alone, but in the midst of a
numerous retinue, and a splendid court of knights and damsels.
The queen, after her double loss, retired to a convent, where she
was joined by the widow of Bohort, for this good king had died of
grief on hearing of the death of his brother Ban. His two sons,
Lionel and Bohort, were rescued by a faithful knight, and arrived
in the shape of greyhounds at the palace of the lake, where,
having resumed their natural form, they were educated along with
their cousin Launcelot.
The fairy, when her pupil had attained the age of eighteen,
conveyed him to the court of Arthur for the purpose of demanding
his admission to the honor of knighthood; and at the first
appearance of the youthful candidate the graces of his person,
which were not inferior to his courage and skill in arms, made an
instantaneous and indelible impression on the heart of Guenever,
while her charms inspired him with an equally ardent and constant
passion. The mutual attachment of these lovers exerted, from that
time forth, an influence over the whole history of Arthur. For the
sake of Guenever, Launcelot achieved the conquest of
Northumberland, defeated Gallehaut, King of the Marches, who
afterwards became his most faithful friend and ally, exposed
himself in numberless encounters, and brought hosts of prisoners
to the feet of his sovereign.
SIR LAUNCELOT
After King Arthur was come from Rome into England all the knights
of the Table Round resorted unto him and made him many justs and
tournaments. And in especial Sir Launcelot of the Lake in all
tournaments and justs and deeds of arms, both for life and death,
passed all other knights, and was never overcome, except it were
by treason or enchantment; and he increased marvellously in
worship, wherefore Queen Guenever had him in great favor, above
all other knights. And for certain he loved the queen again above
all other ladies; and for her he did many deeds of arms, and saved
her from peril, through his noble chivalry. Thus Sir Launcelot
rested him long with play and game, and then he thought to prove
himself in strange adventures; so he bade his nephew, Sir Lionel,
to make him ready,-- "for we two will seek adventures." So they
mounted on their horses, armed at all sights, and rode into a
forest, and so into a deep plain. And the weather was hot about
noon, and Sir Launcelot had great desire to sleep. Then Sir Lionel
espied a great apple-tree that stood by a hedge, and he said:
"Brother, yonder is a fair shadow--there may we rest us and our
horses." "It is well said," replied Sir Launcelot. So they there
alighted, and Sir Launcelot laid him down, and his helm under his
head, and soon was asleep passing fast. And Sir Lionel waked while
he slept. And presently there came three knights riding as fast as
ever they might ride, and there followed them but one knight. And
Sir Lionel thought he never saw so great a knight before. So
within a while this great knight overtook one of those knights,
and smote him so that he fell to the earth. Then he rode to the
second knight and smote him, and so he did to the third knight.
Then he alighted down and bound all the three knights fast with
their own bridles. When Sir Lionel saw him do thus, he thought to
assay him, and made him ready silently, not to awake Sir
Launcelot, and rode after the strong knight, and bade him turn.
And the other smote Sir Lionel so hard that horse and man fell to
the earth; and then he alighted down and bound Sir Lionel, and
threw him across his own horse; and so he served them all four,
and rode with them away to his own castle. And when he came there
he put them in a deep prison, in which were many more knights in
great distress.
Now while Sir Launcelot lay under the apple-tree sleeping, there
came by him four queens of great estate. And that the heat should
not grieve them, there rode four knights about them, and bare a
cloth of green silk on four spears, betwixt them and the sun. And
the queens rode on four white mules.
Thus as they rode they heard by them a great horse grimly neigh.
Then they were aware of a sleeping knight, that lay all armed
under an apple-tree; and as the queens looked on his face, they
knew it was Sir Launcelot. Then they began to strive for that
knight, and each one said she would have him for her love. "We
will not strive," said Morgane le Fay, that was King Arthur's
sister, "for I will put an enchantment upon him, that he shall not
wake for six hours, and we will take him away to my castle; and
then when he is surely within my hold, I will take the enchantment
from him, and then let him choose which of us he will have for his
love." So the enchantment was cast upon Sir Launcelot. And then
they laid him upon his shield, and bare him so on horseback
between two knights, and brought him unto the castle and laid him
in a chamber, and at night they sent him his supper. And on the
morning came early those four queens, richly dight, and bade him
good morning, and he them again. "Sir knight," they said, "thou
must understand thou art our prisoner; and we know thee well, that
thou art Sir Launcelot of the Lake, King Ban's son, and that thou
art the noblest knight living. And we know well that there can no
lady have thy love but one, and that is Queen Guenever; and now
thou shalt lose her for ever, and she thee; and therefore it
behooveth thee now to choose one of us. I am the Queen Morgane le
Fay, and here is the Queen of North Wales, and the Queen of
Eastland, and the Queen of the Isles. Now choose one of us which
thou wilt have, for if thou choose not, in this prison thou shalt
die." "This is a hard case," said Sir Launcelot, "that either I
must die, or else choose one of you; yet had I liever to die in
this prison with worship, than to have one of you for my paramour,
for ye be false enchantresses." "Well," said the queens, "is this
your answer, that ye will refuse us." "Yea, on my life it is,"
said Sir Launcelot. Then they departed, making great sorrow.
Then at noon came a damsel unto him with his dinner, and asked
him, "What cheer?" "Truly, fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot,
"never so ill." "Sir," said she, "if you will be ruled by me, I
will help you out of this distress. If ye will promise me to help
my father on Tuesday next, who hath made a tournament betwixt him
and the king of North Wales; for last Tuesday my father lost the
field." "Fair maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "tell me what is your
father's name, and then will I give you an answer." "Sir knight,"
she said, "my father is King Bagdemagus." "I know him well," said
Sir Launcelot, "for a noble king and a good knight; and, by the
faith of my body, I will be ready to do your father and you
service at that day."
So she departed, and came on the next morning early and found him
ready, and brought him out of twelve locks, and brought him to his
own horse, and lightly he saddled him, and so rode forth.
And on the Tuesday next he came to a little wood where the
tournament should be. And there were scaffolds and holds, that
lords and ladies might look on, and give the prize. Then came into
the field the king of North Wales, with eightscore helms, and King
Badgemagus came with fourscore helms. And then they couched their
spears, and came together with a great dash, and there were
overthrown at the first encounter twelve of King Bagdemagus's
party and six of the king of North Wales's party, and King
Bagdemagus's party had the worse.
With that came Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and thrust in with his
spear in the thickest of the press; and he smote down five knights
ere he held his hand; and he smote down the king of North Wales,
and he brake his thigh in that fall. And then the knights of the
king of North Wales would just no more; and so the gree was given
to King Bagdemagus.
And Sir Launcelot rode forth with King Bagdemagus unto his castle;
and there he had passing good cheer, both with the king and with
his daughter. And on the morn he took his leave, and told the king
he would go and seek his brother, Sir Lionel, that went from him
when he slept. So he departed, and by adventure he came to the
same forest where he was taken sleeping. And in the highway he met
a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and they saluted each other.
"Fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "know ye in this country any
adventures?" "Sir knight," said the damsel, "here are adventures
near at hand, if thou durst pursue them." "Why should I not prove
adventures?" said Sir Launcelot, "since for that cause came I
hither." "Sir," said she, "hereby dwelleth a knight that will not
be overmatched for any man I know, except thou overmatch him. His
name is Sir Turquine, and, as I understand, he is a deadly enemy
of King Arthur, and he has in his prison good knights of Arthur's
court, threescore and more, that he hath won with his own hands."
"Damsel," said Launcelot, "I pray you bring me unto this knight."
So she told him, "Hereby, within this mile, is his castle, and by
it on the left hand is a ford for horses to drink of, and over
that ford there groweth a fair tree, and on that tree hang many
shields that good knights wielded aforetime, that are now
prisoners; and on the tree hangeth a basin of copper and latten,
and if thou strike upon that basin thou shalt hear tidings." And
Sir Launcelot departed, and rode as the damsel had shown him, and
shortly he came to the ford, and the tree where hung the shields
and the basin. And among the shields he saw Sir Lionel's and Sir
Hector's shields, besides many others of knights that he knew.
Then Sir Launcelot struck on the basin with the butt of his spear;
and long he did so, but he saw no man. And at length he was ware
of a great knight that drove a horse before him, and across the
horse there lay an armed knight bounden. And as they came near,
Sir Launcelot thought he should know the captive knight. Then Sir
Launcelot saw that it was Sir Gaheris, Sir Gawain's brother, a
knight of the Table Round. "Now, fair knight," said Sir Launcelot,
"put that wounded knight off the horse, and let him rest awhile,
and let us two prove our strength. For, as it is told me, thou
hast done great despite and shame unto knights of the Round Table,
therefore now defend thee." "If thou be of the Table Round," said
Sir Turquine, "I defy thee and all thy fellowship." "That is
overmuch said," said Sir Launcelot.
Then they put their spears in the rests, and came together with
their horses as fast as they might run. And each smote the other
in the middle of their shields, so that their horses fell under
them, and the knights were both staggered; and as soon as they
could clear their horses they drew out their swords and came
together eagerly, and each gave the other many strong strokes, for
neither shield nor harness might withstand their strokes. So
within a while both had grimly wounds, and bled grievously. Then
at the last they were breathless both, and stood leaning upon
their swords. "Now, fellow," said Sir Turquine, "thou art the
stoutest man that ever I met with, and best breathed; and so be it
thou be not the knight that I hate above all other knights, the
knight that slew my brother, Sir Carados, I will gladly accord
with thee; and for thy love I will deliver all the prisoners that
I have."
"What knight is he that thou hatest so above others?" "Truly,"
said Sir Turquine, "his name is Sir Launcelot of the Lake." "I am
Sir Launcelot of the Lake, King Ban's son of Benwick, and very
knight of the Table Round; and now I defy thee do thy best." "Ah!"
said Sir Turquine, "Launcelot, thou art to me the most welcome
that ever was knight; for we shall never part till the one of us
be dead." And then they hurtled together like two wild bulls,
rashing and lashing with their swords and shields, so that
sometimes they fell, as it were, headlong. Thus they fought two
hours and more, till the ground where they fought was all
bepurpled with blood.
Then at the last Sir Turquine waxed sore faint, and gave somewhat
aback, and bare his shield full low for weariness. That spied Sir
Launcelot, and leapt then upon him fiercely as a lion, and took
him by the beaver of his helmet, and drew him down on his knees.
And he raised off his helm, and smote his neck in sunder.
And Sir Gaheris, when he saw Sir Turquine slain, said, "Fair lord,
I pray you tell me your name, for this day I say ye are the best
knight in the world, for ye have slain this day in my sight the
mightiest man and the best knight except you that ever I saw."
"Sir, my name is Sir Launcelot du Lac, that ought to help you of
right for King Arthur's sake, and in especial for Sir Gawain's
sake, your own dear brother. Now I pray you, that ye go into
yonder castle, and set free all the prisoners ye find there, for I
am sure ye shall find there many knights of the Table Round, and
especially my brother Sir Lionel. I pray you greet them all from
me, and tell them I bid them take there such stuff as they find;
and tell my brother to go unto the court and abide me there, for
by the feast of Pentecost I think to be there; but at this time I
may not stop, for I have adventures on hand." So he departed, and
Sir Gaheris rode into the castle, and took the keys from the
porter, and hastily opened the prison door and let out all the
prisoners. There was Sir Kay, Sir Brandeles, and Sir Galynde, Sir
Bryan, and Sir Alyduke, Sir Hector de Marys, and Sir Lionel, and
many more. And when they saw Sir Gaheris they all thanked him, for
they thought, because he was wounded, that he had slain Sir
Turquine. "Not so," said Sir Gaheris; "it was Sir Launcelot that
slew him, right worshipfully; I saw it with mine eyes."
Sir Launcelot rode till at nightfall he came to a fair castle, and
therein he found an old gentlewoman, who lodged him with good-
will, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse. And when
time was, his host brought him to a fair chamber over the gate to
his bed. Then Sir Launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by
him, and went to bed, and anon he fell asleep. And soon after,
there came one on horseback and knocked at the gate in great
haste; and when Sir Launcelot heard this, he arose and looked out
of the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights riding after
that one man, and all three lashed on him with their swords, and
that one knight turned on them knightly again and defended
himself. "Truly," said Sir Launcelot, "yonder one knight will I
help, for it is shame to see three knights on one." Then he took
his harness and went out at the window by a sheet down to the four
knights; and he said aloud, "Turn you knights unto me, and leave
your fighting with that knight." Then the knights left Sir Kay,
for it was he they were upon, and turned unto Sir Launcelot, and
struck many great strokes at Sir Launcelot, and assailed him on
every side. Then Sir Kay addressed him to help Sir Launcelot, but
he said, "Nay, sir, I will none of your help; let me alone with
them." So Sir Kay suffered him to do his will, and stood one side.
And within six strokes Sir Launcelot had stricken them down.
Then they all cried, "Sir knight, we yield us unto you." "As to
that," said Sir Launcelot, "I will not take your yielding unto me.
If so be ye will yield you unto Sir Kay the Seneschal, I will save
your lives, but else not." "Fair knight," then they said, "we will
do as thou commandest us." "Then shall ye," said Sir Launcelot,
"on Whitsunday next, go unto the court of King Arthur, and there
shall ye yield you unto Queen Guenever, and say that Sir Kay sent
you thither to be her prisoners." "Sir," they said, "it shall be
done, by the faith of our bodies;" and then they swore, every
knight upon his sword. And so Sir Launcelot suffered them to
depart.
On the morn Sir Launcelot rose early and left Sir Kay sleeping;
and Sir Launcelot took Sir Kay's armor, and his shield, and armed
him, and went to the stable and took his horse, and so he
departed. Then soon after arose Sir Kay, and missed Sir Launcelot.
And then he espied that he had taken his armor and his horse.
"Now, by my faith, I know well," said Sir Kay, "that he will
grieve some of King Arthur's knights, for they will deem that it
is I, and will be bold to meet him. But by cause of his armor I am
sure I shall ride in peace." Then Sir Kay thanked his host and
departed.
Sir Launcelot rode in a deep forest, and there he saw four
knights, under an oak, and they were of Arthur's court. There was
Sir Sagramour le Desirus, and Hector de Marys, and Sir Gawain, and
Sir Uwaine. As they spied Sir Launcelot they judged by his arms it
had been Sir Kay. "Now, by my faith," said Sir Sagramour, "I will
prove Sir Kay's might;" and got his spear in his hand, and came
towards Sir Launcelot. Therewith Sir Launcelot couched his spear
against him, and smote Sir Sagramour so sore that horse and man
fell both to the earth. Then said Sir Hector, "Now shall ye see
what I may do with him." But he fared worse than Sir Sagramour,
for Sir Launcelot's spear went through his shoulder and bare him
from his horse to the ground. "By my faith," said Sir Uwaine,
"yonder is a strong knight, and I fear he hath slain Sir Kay, and
taken his armor." And therewith Sir Uwaine took his spear in hand,
and rode toward Sir Launcelot; and Sir Launcelot met him on the
plain and gave him such a buffet that he was staggered, and wist
not where he was. "Now see I well," said Sir Gawain, "that I must
encounter with that knight." Then he adjusted his shield, and took
a good spear in his hand, and Sir Launcelot knew him well. Then
they let run their horses with all their mights, and each knight
smote the other in the middle of his shield. But Sir Gawain's
spear broke, and Sir Launcelot charged so sore upon him that his
horse fell over backward. Then Sir Launcelot passed by smiling
with himself, and he said, "Good luck be with him that made this
spear, for never came a better into my hand." Then the four
knights went each to the other and comforted one another. "What
say ye to this adventure," said Sir Gawain, "that one spear hath
felled us all four?" "I dare lay my head it is Sir Launcelot,"
said Sir Hector; "I know it by his riding."
And Sir Launcelot rode through many strange countries, till by
fortune he came to a fair castle; and as he passed beyond the
castle he thought he heard two bells ring. And then he perceived
how a falcon came flying over his head, toward a high elm; and she
had long lunys [Footnote: LUNYS, the string with which the falcon
is held.] about her feet, and she flew unto the elm to take her
perch, and the lunys got entangled in the bough; and when she
would have taken her flight, she hung by the legs fast, and Sir
Launcelot saw how she hung, and beheld the fair falcon entangled,
and he was sorry for her. Then came a lady out of the castle and
cried aloud, "O Launcelot, Launcelot, as thou art the flower of
all knights, help me to get my hawk; for if my hawk be lost, my
lord will slay me, he is so hasty." "What is your lord's name?"
said Sir Launcelot. "His name is Sir Phelot, a knight that
belongeth to the king of North Wales." "Well, fair lady, since ye
know my name, and require me of knighthood to help you, I will do
what I may to get your hawk; and yet in truth I am an ill climber,
and the tree is passing high, and few boughs to help me." And
therewith Sir Launcelot alighted and tied his horse to the tree,
and prayed the lady to unarm him. And when he was unarmed, he put
off his jerkin, and with might and force he clomb up to the
falcon, and tied the lunys to a rotten bough, and threw the hawk
down with it; and the lady got the hawk in her hand. Then suddenly
there came out of the castle her husband, all armed, and with his
naked sword in his hand, and said, "O Knight Launcelot, now have I
got thee as I would," and stood at the boll of the tree to slay
him. "Ah, lady!" said Sir Launcelot, "why have ye betrayed me?"
"She hath done," said Sir Phelot, "but as I commanded her; and
therefore there is none other way but thine hour is come, and thou
must die." "That were shame unto thee," said Sir Launcelot; "thou
an armed knight to slay a naked man by treason." "Thou gettest
none other grace," said Sir Phelot, "and therefore help thyself if
thou canst." "Alas!" said Sir Launcelot, "that ever a knight
should die weaponless!" And therewith he turned his eyes upward
and downward; and over his head he saw a big bough leafless, and
he brake it off from the trunk. And then he came lower, and
watched how his own horse stood; and suddenly he leapt on the
further side of his horse from the knight. Then Sir Phelot lashed
at him eagerly, meaning to have slain him. But Sir Launcelot put
away the stroke, with the big bough, and smote Sir Phelot
therewith on the side of the head, so that he fell down in a swoon
to the ground. Then Sir Launcelot took his sword out of his hand
and struck his head from the body. Then said the lady, "Alas! why
hast thou slain my husband?" "I am not the cause," said Sir
Launcelot, "for with falsehood ye would have slain me, and now it
is fallen on yourselves." Thereupon Sir Launcelot got all his
armor, and put it upon him hastily, for fear of more resort, for
the knight's castle was so nigh. And as soon as he might, he took
his horse and departed, and thanked God he had escaped that
adventure.
And two days before the feast of Pentecost, Sir Launcelot came
home; and the king and all the court were passing glad of his
coming. And when Sir Gawain, Sir Uwaine, Sir Sagramour, and Sir
Hector de Marys saw Sir Launcelot in Sir Kay's armor then they
wist well it was he that smote them down, all with one spear. Then
there was laughing and merriment among them; and from time to time
came all the knights that Sir Turquine had prisoners, and they all
honored and worshipped Sir Launcelot. Then Sir Gaheris said, "I
saw all the battle from the beginning to the end," and he told
King Arthur all how it was. Then Sir Kay told the king how Sir
Launcelot had rescued him, and how he "made the knights yield to
me, and not to him." And there they were, all three, and confirmed
it all "And, by my faith," said Sir Kay, "because Sir Launcelot
took my harness and left me his, I rode in peace, and no man would
have to do with me."
And so at that time Sir Launcelot had the greatest name of any
knight of the world, and most was he honored of high and low.
CHAPTER X
THE LADY OF SHALOTT
King Arthur proclaimed a solemn tournament to be held at
Winchester. The king, not less impatient than his knights for this
festival, set off some days before to superintend the
preparations, leaving the queen with her court at Camelot. Sir
Launcelot, under pretence of indisposition, remained behind also.
His intention was to attend the tournament--in disguise; and
having communicated his project to Guenever, he mounted his horse,
set off without any attendant, and, counterfeiting the feebleness
of age, took the most unfrequented road to Winchester, and passed
unnoticed as an old knight who was going to be a spectator of the
sports. Even Arthur and Gawain, who happened to behold him from
the windows of a castle under which he passed, were the dupes of
his disguise. But an accident betrayed him. His horse happened to
stumble, and the hero, forgetting for a moment his assumed
character, recovered the animal with a strength and agility so
peculiar to himself, that they instantly recognized the inimitable
Launcelot. They suffered him, however, to proceed on his journey
without interruption, convinced that his extraordinary feats of
arms must discover him at the approaching festival.
In the evening Launcelot was magnificently entertained as a
stranger knight at the neighboring castle of Shalott. The lord of
this castle had a daughter of exquisite beauty, and two sons
lately received into the order of knighthood, one of whom was at
that time ill in bed, and thereby prevented from attending the
tournament, for which both brothers had long made preparation.
Launcelot offered to attend the other, if he were permitted to
borrow the armor of the invalid, and the lord of Shalott, without
knowing the name of his guest, being satisfied from his appearance
that his son could not have a better assistant in arms, most
thankfully accepted the offer. In the meantime the young lady, who
had been much struck by the first appearance of the stranger
knight, continued to survey him with increased attention, and,
before the conclusion of supper, became so deeply enamoured of
him, that after frequent changes of color, and other symptoms
which Sir Launcelot could not possibly mistake, she was obliged to
retire to her chamber, and seek relief in tears. Sir Launcelot
hastened to convey to her, by means of her brother, the
information that his heart was already disposed of, but that it
would be his pride and pleasure to act as her knight at the
approaching tournament. The lady, obliged to be satisfied with
that courtesy, presented him her scarf to be worn at the
tournament.
Launcelot set off in the morning with the young knight, who, on
their approaching Winchester, carried him to the castle of a lady,
sister to the lord of Shalott, by whom they were hospitably
entertained. The next day they put on their armor, which was
perfectly plain and without any device, as was usual to youths
during the first year of knighthood, their shields being only
painted red, as some color was necessary to enable them to be
recognized by their attendants. Launcelot wore on his crest the
scarf of the maid of Shalott, and, thus equipped, proceeded to the
tournament, where the knights were divided into two companies, the
one commanded by Sir Galehaut, the other by King Arthur. Having
surveyed the combat for a short time from without the lists, and
observed that Sir Galehaut's party began to give way, they joined
the press and attacked the royal knights, the young man choosing
such adversaries as were suited to his strength, while his
companion selected the principal champions of the Round Table, and
successively overthrew Gawain, Bohort, and Lionel. The
astonishment of the spectators was extreme, for it was thought
that no one but Launcelot could possess such invincible force; yet
the favor on his crest seemed to preclude the possibility of his
being thus disguised, for Launcelot had never been known to wear
the badge of any but his sovereign lady. At length Sir Hector,
Launcelot's brother, engaged him, and, after a dreadful combat,
wounded him dangerously in the head, but was himself completely
stunned by a blow on the helmet, and felled to the ground; after
which the conqueror rode off at full speed, attended by his
companion.
They returned to the castle of Shalott, where Launcelot was
attended with the greatest care by the good earl, by his two sons,
and, above all, by his fair daughter, whose medical skill probably
much hastened the period of his recovery. His health was almost
completely restored, when Sir Hector, Sir Bohort, and Sir Lionel,
who, after the return of the court to Camelot, had undertaken the
quest of their relation, discovered him walking on the walls of
the castle. Their meeting was very joyful; they passed three days
in the castle amidst constant festivities, and bantered each other
on the events of the tournament. Launcelot, though he began by
vowing vengeance against the author of his wound, yet ended by
declaring that he felt rewarded for the pain by the pride he took
in witnessing his brother's extraordinary prowess. He then
dismissed them with a message to the queen, promising to follow
immediately, it being necessary that he should first take a formal
leave of his kind hosts, as well as of the fair maid of Shalott.
The young lady, after vainly attempting to detain him by her tears
and solicitations, saw him depart without leaving her any ground
for hope.
It was early summer when the tournament took place; but some
months had passed since Launcelot's departure, and winter was now
near at hand. The health and strength of the Lady of Shalott had
gradually sunk, and she felt that she could not live apart from
the object of her affections. She left the castle, and descending
to the river's brink placed herself in a boat, which she loosed
from its moorings, and suffered to bear her down the current
toward Camelot.
One morning, as Arthur and Sir Lionel looked from the window of
the tower, the walls of which were washed by a river, they
descried a boat richly ornamented, and covered with an awning of
cloth of gold, which appeared to be floating down the stream
without any human guidance. It struck the shore while they watched
it, and they hastened down to examine it. Beneath the awning they
discovered the dead body of a beautiful woman, in whose features
Sir Lionel easily recognized the lovely maid of Shalott. Pursuing
their search, they discovered a purse richly embroidered with gold
and jewels, and within the purse a letter, which Arthur opened,
and found addressed to himself and all the knights of the Round
Table, stating that Launcelot of the Lake, the most accomplished
of knights and most beautiful of men, but at the same time the
most cruel and inflexible, had by his rigor produced the death of
the wretched maiden, whose love was no less invincible than his
cruelty. The king immediately gave orders for the interment of the
lady with all the honors suited to her rank, at the same time
explaining to the knights the history of her affection for
Launcelot, which moved the compassion and regret of all.
Tennyson has chosen the story of the "Lady of Shalott" for the
subject of a poem. The catastrophe is told thus:
"Under tower and balcony,
"Who is this? and what is here?
All the knights at Camelot.
CHAPTER XI
QUEEN GUENEVER'S PERIL
It happened at this time that Queen Guenever was thrown into great
peril of her life. A certain squire who was in her immediate
service, having some cause of animosity to Sir Gawain, determined
to destroy him by poison, at a public entertainment. For this
purpose he concealed the poison in an apple of fine appearance,
which he placed on the top of several others, and put the dish
before the queen, hoping that, as Sir Gawain was the knight of
greatest dignity, she would present the apple to him. But it
happened that a Scottish knight of high distinction, who arrived
on that day, was seated next to the queen, and to him as a
stranger she presented the apple, which he had no sooner eaten
than he was seized with dreadful pain, and fell senseless. The
whole court was, of course, thrown into confusion; the knights
rose from table, darting looks of indignation at the wretched
queen, whose tears and protestations were unable to remove their
suspicions. In spite of all that could be done the knight died,
and nothing remained but to order a magnificent funeral and
monument for him, which was done.
Some time after Sir Mador, brother of the murdered knight, arrived
at Arthur's court in quest of him. While hunting in the forest he
by chance came to the spot where the monument was erected, read
the inscription, and returned to court determined on immediate and
signal vengeance. He rode into the hall, loudly accused the queen
of treason, and insisted on her being given up for punishment,
unless she should find by a certain day a knight hardy enough to
risk his life in support of her innocence. Arthur, powerful as he
was, did not dare to deny the appeal, but was compelled with a
heavy heart to accept it, and Mador sternly took his departure,
leaving the royal couple plunged in terror and anxiety.
During all this time Launcelot was absent, and no one knew where
he was. He fled in anger from his fair mistress, upon being
reproached by her with his passion for the Lady of Shalott, which
she had hastily inferred from his wearing her scarf at the
tournament. He took up his abode with a hermit in the forest, and
resolved to think no more of the cruel beauty, whose conduct he
thought must flow from a wish to get rid of him. Yet calm
reflection had somewhat cooled his indignation, and he had begun
to wish, though hardly able to hope, for a reconciliation when the
news of Sir Mador's challenge fortunately reached his ears. The
intelligence revived his spirits, and he began to prepare with the
utmost cheerfulness for a contest which, if successful, would
insure him at once the affection of his mistress and the gratitude
of his sovereign.
The sad fate of the Lady of Shalott had ere this completely
acquitted Launcelot in the queen's mind of all suspicion of his
fidelity, and she lamented most grievously her foolish quarrel
with him, which now, at her time of need, deprived her of her most
efficient champion.
As the day appointed by Sir Mador was fast approaching, it became
necessary that she should procure a champion for her defence; and
she successively adjured Sir Hector, Sir Lionel, Sir Bohort, and
Sir Gawain to undertake the battle. She fell on her knees before
them, called heaven to witness her innocence of the crime alleged
against her, but was sternly answered by all that they could not
fight to maintain the innocence of one whose act, and the fatal
consequence of it, they had seen with their own eyes. She retired,
therefore, dejected and disconsolate; but the sight of the fatal
pile on which, if guilty, she was doomed to be burned, exciting
her to fresh effort, she again repaired to Sir Bohort, threw
herself at his feet, and piteously calling on him for mercy, fell
into a swoon. The brave knight was not proof against this. He
raised her up, and hastily promised that he would undertake her
cause, if no other or better champion should present himself. He
then summoned his friends, and told them his resolution; and as a
mortal combat with Sir Mador was a most fearful enterprise, they
agreed to accompany him in the morning to the hermitage in the
forest, where he proposed to receive absolution from the hermit,
and to make his peace with Heaven before he entered the lists. As
they approached the hermitage, they espied a knight riding in the
forest, whom they at once recognized as Sir Launcelot. Overjoyed
at the meeting, they quickly, in answer to his questions,
confirmed the news of the queen's imminent danger, and received
his instructions to return to court, to comfort her as well as
they could, but to say nothing of his intention of undertaking her
defence, which he meant to do in tne character of an unknown
adventurer.
On their return to the castle they found that mass was finished,
and had scarcely time to speak to the queen before they were
summoned into the hall to dinner. A general gloom was spread over
the countenances of all the guests. Arthur himself was unable to
conceal his dejection, and the wretched Guenever, motionless and
bathed in tears, sat in trembling expectation of Sir Mador's
appearance. Nor was it long ere he stalked into the hall, and with
a voice of thunder, rendered more impressive by the general
silence, demanded instant justice on the guilty party. Arthur
replied with dignity, that little of the day was yet spent, and
that perhaps a champion might yet be found capable of satisfying
his thirst for battle. Sir Bohort now rose from table, and shortly
returning in complete armor, resumed his place, after receiving
the embraces and thanks of the king, who now began to resume some
degree of confidence. Sir Mador, growing impatient, again repeated
his denunciations of vengeance, and insisted that the combat
should no longer be postponed.
In the height of the debate there came riding into the hall a
knight mounted on a black steed, and clad in black armor, with his
visor down, and lance in hand. "Sir," said the king, "is it your
will to alight and partake of our cheer?" "Nay, sir," he replied;
"I come to save a lady's life. The queen hath ill bestowed her
favors, and honored many a knight, that in her hour of need she
should have none to take her part. Thou that darest accuse her of
treachery, stand forth, for to-day shalt thou need all thy might."
Sir Mador, though surprised, was not appalled by the stern
challenge and formidable appearance of his antagonist, but
prepared for the encounter. At the first shock both were unhorsed.
They then drew their swords, and commenced a combat which lasted
from noon till evening, when Sir Mador, whose strength began to
fail, was felled to the ground by Launcelot, and compelled to sue
for mercy. The victor, whose arm was already raised to terminate
the life of his opponent, instantly dropped his sword, courteously
lifted up the fainting Sir Mador, frankly confessing that he had
never before encountered so formidable an enemy. The other, with
similar courtesy, solemnly renounced all further projects of
vengeance for his brother's death; and the two knights, now become
fast friends, embraced each other with the greatest cordiality. In
the meantime Arthur, having recognized Sir Launcelot, whose helmet
was now unlaced, rushed down into the lists, followed by all his
knights, to welcome and thank his deliverer. Guenever swooned with
joy, and the place of combat suddenly exhibited a scene of the
most tumultuous delight.
The general satisfaction was still further increased by the
discovery of the real culprit. Having accidentally incurred some
suspicion, he confessed his crime, and was publicly punished in
the presence of Sir Mador.
The court now returned to the castle, which, with the title of "La
Joyeuse Garde" bestowed upon it in memory of the happy event, was
conferred on Sir Launcelot by Arthur, as a memorial of his
gratitude.
CHAPTER XII
TRISTRAM AND ISOUDE
Meliadus was king of Leonois, or Lionesse, a country famous in the
annals of romance, which adjoined the kingdom of Cornwall, but has
now disappeared from the map, having been, it is said, overwhelmed
by the ocean. Meliadus was married to Isabella, sister of Mark,
king of Cornwall. A fairy fell in love with him, and drew him away
by enchantment while he was engaged in hunting. His queen set out
in quest of him, but was taken ill on her journey, and died,
leaving an infant son, whom, from the melancholy circumstances of
his birth, she called Tristram.
Gouvernail, the queen's squire, who had accompanied her, took
charge of the child, and restored him to his father, who had at
length burst the enchantments of the fairy, and returned home.
Meliadus after seven years married again, and the new queen, being
jealous of the influence of Tristram with his father, laid plots
for his life, which were discovered by Gouvernail, who in
consequence fled with the boy to the court of the king of France,
where Tristram was kindly received, and grew up improving in every
gallant and knightly accomplishment, adding to his skill in arms
the arts of music and of chess. In particular, he devoted himself
to the chase and to all woodland sports, so that he became
distinguished above all other chevaliers of the court for his
knowledge of all that relates to hunting. No wonder that Belinda,
the king's daughter, fell in love with him; but as he did not
return her passion, she, in a sudden impulse of anger, excited her
father against him, and he was banished the kingdom. The princess
soon repented of her act, and in despair destroyed herself, having
first written a most tender letter to Tristram, sending him at the
same time a beautiful and sagacious dog, of which she was very
fond, desiring him to keep it as a memorial of her. Meliadus was
now dead, and as his queen, Tristram's stepmother, held the
throne, Gouvernail was afraid to carry his pupil to his native
country, and took him to Cornwall, to his uncle Mark, who gave him
a kind reception.
King Mark resided at the castle of Tintadel, already mentioned in
the history of Uther and Igerne. In this court Tristram became
distinguished in all the exercises incumbent on a knight; nor was
it long before he had an opportunity of practically employing his
valor and skill. Moraunt, a celebrated champion, brother to the
queen of Ireland, arrived at the court, to demand tribute of King
Mark. The knights of Cornwall are in ill repute in romance for
their cowardice, and they exhibited it on this occasion. King Mark
could find no champion who dared to encounter the Irish knight,
till his nephew Tristram, who had not yet received the honors of
knighthood, craved to be admitted to the order, offering at the
same time to fight the battle of Cornwall against the Irish
champion. King Mark assented with reluctance; Tristram received
the accolade, which conferred knighthood upon him, and the place
and time were assigned for the encounter.
Without attempting to give the details of this famous combat, the
first and one of the most glorious of Tristram's exploits, we
shall only say that the young knight, though severely wounded,
cleft the head of Moraunt, leaving a portion of his sword in the
wound. Moraunt, half dead with his wound and the disgrace of his
defeat, hastened to hide himself in his ship, sailed away with all
speed for Ireland, and died soon after arriving in his own
country.
The kingdom of Cornwall was thus delivered from its tribute.
Tristram, weakened by loss of blood, fell senseless. His friends
flew to his assistance. They dressed his wounds, which in general
healed readily; but the lance of Moraunt was poisoned, and one
wound which it made yielded to no remedies, but grew worse day by
day. The surgeons could do no more. Tristram asked permission of
his uncle to depart, and seek for aid in the kingdom of Loegria
(England). With his consent he embarked, and after tossing for
many days on the sea, was driven by the winds to the coast of
Ireland. He landed, full of joy and gratitude that he had escaped
the peril of the sea; took his rote,[Footnote: A musical
instrument.] and began to play. It was a summer evening, and the
king of Ireland and his daughter, the beautiful Isoude, were at a
window which overlooked the sea. The strange harper was sent for,
and conveyed to the palace, where, finding that he was in Ireland,
whose champion he had lately slain, he concealed his name, and
called himself Tramtris. The queen undertook his cure, and by a
medicated bath gradually restored him to health. His skill in
music and in games occasioned his being frequently called to
court, and he became the instructor of the princess Isoude in
minstrelsy and poetry, who profited so well under his care, that
she soon had no equal in the kingdom, except her instructor.
At this time a tournament was held, at which many knights of the
Round Table, and others, were present. On the first day a Saracen
prince, named Palamedes, obtained the advantage over all. They
brought him to the court, and gave him a feast, at which Tristram,
just recovering from his wound, was present. The fair Isoude
appeared on this occasion in all her charms. Palamedes could not
behold them without emotion, and made no effort to conceal his
love. Tristram perceived it, and the pain he felt from jealousy
taught him how dear the fair Isoude had already become to him.
Next day the tournament was renewed. Tristram, still feeble from
his wound, rose during the night, took his arms, and concealed
them in a forest near the place of the contest, and, after it had
begun, mingled with the combatants. He overthrew all that
encountered him, in particular Palamedes, whom he brought to the
ground with a stroke of his lance, and then fought him hand to
hand, bearing off the prize of the tourney. But his exertions
caused his wound to reopen; he bled fast, and in this sad state,
yet in triumph, they bore him to the palace. The fair Isoude
devoted herself to his relief with an interest which grew more
vivid day by day; and her skilful care soon restored him to
health.
It happened one day that a damsel of the court, entering the
closet where Tristram's arms were deposited, perceived that a part
of the sword had been broken off. It occurred to her that the
missing portion was like that which was left in the skull of
Moraunt, the Irish champion. She imparted her thought to the
queen, who compared the fragment taken from her brother's wound
with the sword of Tristram, and was satisfied that it was part of
the same, and that the weapon of Tristram was that which reft her
brother's life. She laid her griefs and resentment before the
king, who satisfied himself with his own eyes of the truth of her
suspicions. Tristram was cited before the whole court, and
reproached with having dared to present himself before them after
having slain their kinsman. He acknowledged that he had fought
with Moraunt to settle the claim for tribute, and said that it was
by force of winds and waves alone that he was thrown on their
coast. The queen demanded vengeance for the death of her brother;
the fair Isoude trembled and grew pale, but a murmur rose from all
the assembly that the life of one so handsome and so brave should
not be taken for such a cause, and generosity finally triumphed
over resentment in the mind of the king. Tristram was dismissed in
safety, but commanded to leave the kingdom without delay, and
never to return thither under pain of death Tristram went back,
with restored health, to Cornwall.
King Mark made his nephew give him a minute recital of his
adventures. Tristram told him all minutely; but when he came to
speak of the fair Isoude he described her charms with a warmth and
energy such as none but a lover could display. King Mark was
fascinated with the description, and, choosing a favorable time,
demanded a boon[Footnote: "Good faith was the very corner-stone of
chivalry. Whenever a knight's word was pledged (it mattered not
how rashly) it was to be redeemed at any price. Hence the sacred
obligation of the boon granted by a knight to his suppliant.
Instances without number occur in romance, in which a knight, by
rashly granting an indefinite boon, was obliged to do or suffer
something extremely to his prejudice. But it is not in romance
alone that we find such singular instances of adherence to an
indefinite promise. The history of the times presents authentic
transactions equally embarrassing and absurd"--SCOTT, note to Sir
Tristram.] of his nephew, who readily granted it. The king made
him swear upon the holy reliques that he would fulfil his
commands. Then Mark directed him to go to Ireland, and obtain for
him the fair Isoude to be queen of Cornwall.
Tristram believed it was certain death for him to return to
Ireland; and how could he act as ambassador for his uncle in such
a cause? Yet, bound by his oath, he hesitated not for an instant.
He only took the precaution to change his armor. He embarked for
Ireland; but a tempest drove him to the coast of England, near
Camelot, where King Arthur was holding his court, attended by the
knights of the Round Table, and many others, the most illustrious
in the world.
Tristram kept himself unknown. He took part in many justs; he
fought many combats, in which he covered himself with glory. One
day he saw among those recently arrived the king of Ireland,
father of the fair Isoude. This prince, accused of treason against
his liege sovereign, Arthur, came to Camelot to free himself from
the charge. Blaanor, one of the most redoubtable warriors of the
Round Table, was his accuser, and Argius, the king, had neither
youthful vigor nor strength to encounter him. He must therefore
seek a champion to sustain his innocence. But the knights of the
Round Table were not at liberty to fight against one another,
unless in a quarrel of their own. Argius heard of the great renown
of the unknown knight; he also was witness of his exploits. He
sought him, and conjured him to adopt his defence, and on his oath
declared that he was innocent of the crime of which he was
accused. Tristram readily consented, and made himself known to the
king, who on his part promised to reward his exertions, if
successful, with whatever gift he might ask.
Tristram fought with Blaanor, and overthrew him, and held his life
in his power. The fallen warrior called on him to use his right of
conquest, and strike the fatal blow. "God forbid," said Tristram,
"that I should take the life of so brave a knight!" He raised him
up and restored him to his friends. The judges of the field
decided that the king of Ireland was acquitted of the charge
against him, and they led Tristram in triumph to his tent. King
Argius, full of gratitude, conjured Tristram to accompany him to
his kingdom. They departed together, and arrived in Ireland; and
the queen, forgetting her resentment for her brother's death,
exhibited to the preserver of her husband's life nothing but
gratitude and good-will.
How happy a moment for Isoude, who knew that her father had
promised his deliverer whatever boon he might ask! But the unhappy
Tristram gazed on her with despair, at the thought of the cruel
oath which bound him. His magnanimous soul subdued the force of
his love. He revealed the oath which he had taken, and with
trembling voice demanded the fair Isoude for his uncle.
Argius consented, and soon all was prepared for the departure of
Isoude. Brengwain, her favorite maid of honor, was to accompany
her. On the day of departure the queen took aside this devoted
attendant, and told her that she had observed that her daughter
and Tristram were attached to one another, and that to avert the
bad effects of this inclination she had procured from a powerful
fairy a potent philter (love-draught), which she directed
Brengwain to administer to Isoude and to King Mark on the evening
of their marriage.
Isoude and Tristram embarked together. A favorable wind filled the
sails, and promised them a fortunate voyage. The lovers gazed upon
one another, and could not repress their sighs. Love seemed to
light up all his fires on their lips, as in their hearts. The day
was warm; they suffered from thirst. Isoude first complained.
Tristram descried the bottle containing the love-draught, which
Brengwain had been so imprudent as to leave in sight. He took it,
gave some of it to the charming Isoude, and drank the remainder
himself. The dog Houdain licked the cup. The ship arrived in
Cornwall, and Isoude was married to King Mark, The old monarch was
delighted with his bride, and his gratitude to Tristram was
unbounded. He loaded him with honors, and made him chamberlain of
his palace, thus giving him access to the queen at all times.
In the midst of the festivities of the court which followed the
royal marriage, an unknown minstrel one day presented himself,
bearing a harp of peculiar construction. He excited the curiosity
of King Mark by refusing to play upon it till he should grant him
a boon. The king having promised to grant his request, the
minstrel, who was none other than the Saracen knight, Sir
Palamedes, the lover of the fair Isoude, sung to the harp a lay,
in which he demanded Isoude as the promised gift. King Mark could
not by the laws of knighthood withhold the boon. The lady was
mounted on her horse, and led away by her triumphant lover.
Tristram, it is needless to say, was absent at the time, and did
not return until their departure. When he heard what had taken
place he seized his rote, and hastened to the shore, where Isoude
and her new master had already embarked. Tristram played upon his
rote, and the sound reached the ears of Isoude, who became so
deeply affected, that Sir Palamedes was induced to return with her
to land, that they might see the unknown musician. Tristram
watched his opportunity, seized the lady's horse by the bridle,
and plunged with her into the forest, tauntingly informing his
rival that "what he had got by the harp he had lost by the rote."
Palamedes pursued, and a combat was about to commence, the result
of which must have been fatal to one or other of these gallant
knights; but Isoude stepped between them, and, addressing
Palamedes, said, "You tell me that you love me; you will not then
deny me the request I am about to make?" "Lady," he replied, "I
will perform your bidding." "Leave, then," said she, "this
contest, and repair to King Arthur's court, and salute Queen
Guenever from me; tell her that there are in the world but two
ladies, herself and I, and two lovers, hers and mine; and come
thou not in future in any place where I am." Palamedes burst into
tears. "Ah, lady," said he, "I will obey you; but I beseech you
that you will not for ever steel your heart against me."
"Palamedes," she replied, "may I never taste of joy again if I
ever quit my first love." Palamedes then went his way. The lovers
remained a week in concealment, after which Tristram restored
Isoude to her husband, advising him in future to reward minstrels
in some other way.
The king showed much gratitude to Tristram, but in the bottom of
his heart he cherished bitter jealousy of him. One day Tristram
and Isoude were alone together in her private chamber. A base and
cowardly knight of the court, named Andret, spied them through a
keyhole. They sat at a table of chess, but were not attending to
the game. Andret brought the king, having first raised his
suspicions, and placed him so as to watch their motions. The king
saw enough to confirm his suspicions, and he burst into the
apartment with his sword drawn, and had nearly slain Tristram
before he was put on his guard. But Tristram avoided the blow,
drew his sword, and drove before him the cowardly monarch, chasing
him through all the apartments of the palace, giving him frequent
blows with the flat of his sword, while he cried in vain to his
knights to save him. They were not inclined, or did not dare, to
interpose in his behalf.
A proof of the great popularity of the tale of Sir Tristram is the
fact that the Italian poets, Boiardo and Ariosto, have founded
upon it the idea of the two enchanted fountains, which produced
the opposite effects of love and hatred. Boiardo thus describes
the fountain of hatred:
"Fair was that fountain, sculptured all of gold,
'But ne'er the warrior's evil fate allowed
CHAPTER XIII
TRISTRAM AND ISOUDE (Continued)
After this affair Tristram was banished from the kingdom, and
Isoude shut up in a tower, which stood on the bank of a river.
Tristram could not resolve to depart without some further
communication with his beloved; so he concealed himself in the
forest, till at last he contrived to attract her attention, by
means of twigs which he curiously peeled, and sent down the stream
under her window. By this means many secret interviews were
obtained. Tristram dwelt in the forest, sustaining himself by
game, which the dog Houdain ran down for him; for this faithful
animal was unequalled in the chase, and knew so well his master's
wish for concealment, that, in the pursuit of his game, he never
barked. At length Tristram departed, but left Houdain with Isoude,
as a remembrancer of him.
Sir Tristram wandered through various countries, achieving the
most perilous enterprises, and covering himself with glory, yet
unhappy at the separation from his beloved Isoude. At length King
Mark's territory was invaded by a neighboring chieftain, and he
was forced to summon his nephew to his aid. Tristram obeyed the
call, put himself at the head of his uncle's vassals, and drove
the enemy out of the country. Mark was full of gratitude, and
Tristram, restored to favor and to the society of his beloved
Isoude, seemed at the summit of happiness. But a sad reverse was
at hand.
Tristram had brought with him a friend named Pheredin, son of the
king of Brittany. This young knight saw Queen Isoude, and could
not resist her charms. Knowing the love of his friend for the
queen, and that that love was returned, Pheredin concealed his
own, until his health failed, and he feared he was drawing near
his end. He then wrote to the beautiful queen that he was dying
for love of her.
The gentle Isoude, in a moment of pity for the friend of Tristram,
returned him an answer so kind and compassionate that it restored
him to life. A few days afterwards Tristram found this letter. The
most terrible jealousy took possession of his soul; he would have
slain Pheredin, who with difficulty made his escape. Then Tristram
mounted his horse, and rode to the forest, where for ten days he
took no rest nor food. At length he was found by a damsel lying
almost dead by the brink of a fountain. She recognized him, and
tried in vain to rouse his attention. At last recollecting his
love for music she went and got her harp, and played thereon.
Tristram was roused from his reverie; tears flowed; he breathed
more freely; he took the harp from the maiden, and sung this lay,
with a voice broken with sobs:
"Sweet I sang in former days,
"Charming love, delicious power,
"In death's hour I beg of thee,
"On my gravestone passers-by
Tristram, having finished his lay, wrote it off and gave it to the
damsel, conjuring her to present it to the queen.
Meanwhile Queen Isoude was inconsolable at the absence of
Tristram. She discovered that it was caused by the fatal letter
which she had written to Pheredin. Innocent, but in despair at the
sad effects of her letter, she wrote another to Pheredin, charging
him never to see her again. The unhappy lover obeyed this cruel
decree. He plunged into the forest, and died of grief and love in
a hermit's cell.
Isoude passed her days in lamenting the absence and unknown fate
of Tristram. One day her jealous husband, having entered her
chamber unperceived, overheard her singing the following lay:
"My voice to piteous wail is bent,
"Ah, Tristram' far away from me,
The king hearing these words burst forth in a rage; but Isoude was
too wretched to fear his violence. "You have heard me," she said;
"I confess it all. I love Tristram, and always shall love him.
Without doubt he is dead, and died for me. I no longer wish to
live. The blow that shall finish my misery will be most welcome."
The king was moved at the distress of the fair Isoude, and perhaps
the idea of Tristram's death tended to allay his wrath. He left
the queen in charge of her women, commanding them to take especial
care lest her despair should lead her to do harm to herself.
Tristram meanwhile, distracted as he was, rendered a most
important service to the shepherds by slaying a gigantic robber
named Taullas, who was in the habit of plundering their flocks and
rifling their cottages. The shepherds, in their gratitude to
Tristram, bore him in triumph to King Mark to have him bestow on
him a suitable reward. No wonder Mark failed to recognize in the
half-clad, wild man, before him his nephew Tristram; but grateful
for the service the unknown had rendered he ordered him to be well
taken care of, and gave him in charge to the queen and her women.
Under such care Tristram rapidly recovered his serenity and his
health, so that the romancer tells us he became handsomer than
ever. King Mark's jealousy revived with Tristram's health and good
looks, and, in spite of his debt of gratitude so lately increased,
he again banished him from the court.
Sir Tristram left Cornwall, and proceeded into the land of Loegria
(England) in quest of adventures. One day he entered a wide
forest. The sound of a little bell showed him that some inhabitant
was near. He followed the sound, and found a hermit, who informed
him that he was in the forest of Arnantes, belonging to the fairy
Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, who, smitten with love for King
Arthur, had found means to entice him to this forest, where by
enchantments she held him a prisoner, having deprived him of all
memory of who and what he was. The hermit informed him that all
the knights of the Round Table were out in search of the king, and
that he (Tristram) was now in the scene of the most grand and
important adventures.
This was enough to animate Tristram in the search. He had not
wandered far before he encountered a knight of Arthur's court, who
proved to be Sir Kay the Seneschal, who demanded of him whence he
came. Tristram answering, "From Cornwall," Sir Kay did not let
slip the opportunity of a joke at the expense of the Cornish
knight. Tristram chose to leave him in his error, and even
confirmed him in it; for meeting some other knights Tristram
declined to just with them. They spent the night together at an
abbey, where Tristram submitted patiently to all their jokes. The
Seneschal gave the word to his companions that they should set out
early next day, and intercept the Cornish knight on his way, and
enjoy the amusement of seeing his fright when they should insist
on running a tilt with him. Tristram next morning found himself
alone; he put on his armor, and set out to continue his quest. He
soon saw before him the Seneschal and the three knights, who
barred the way, and insisted on a just. Tristram excused himself a
long time; at last he reluctantly took his stand. He encountered
them, one after the other, and overthrew them all four, man and
horse, and then rode off, bidding them not to forget their friend
the knight of Cornwall.
Tristram had not ridden far when he met a damsel, who cried out,
"Ah, my lord! hasten forward, and prevent a horrid treason!"
Tristram flew to her assistance, and soon reached a spot where he
beheld a knight, whom three others had borne to the ground, and
were unlacing his helmet in order to cut off his head.
Tristram flew to the rescue, and slew with one stroke of his lance
one of the assailants. The knight, recovering his feet, sacrificed
another to his vengeance, and the third made his escape. The
rescued knight then raised the visor of his helmet, and a long
white beard fell down upon his breast. The majesty and venerable
air of this knight made Tristram suspect that it was none other
than Arthur himself, and the prince confirmed his conjecture.
Tristram would have knelt before him, but Arthur received him in
his arms, and inquired his name and country; but Tristram declined
to disclose them, on the plea that he was now on a quest requiring
secrecy. At this moment the damsel who had brought Tristram to the
rescue darted forward, and, seizing the king's hand, drew from his
finger a ring, the gift of the fairy, and by that act dissolved
the enchantment. Arthur, having recovered his reason and his
memory, offered to Tristram to attach him to his court, and to
confer honors and dignities upon him; but Tristram declined all,
and only consented to accompany him till he should see him safe in
the hands of his knights. Soon after, Hector de Marys rode up, and
saluted the king, who on his part introduced him to Tristram as
one of the bravest of his knights. Tristram took leave of the king
and his faithful follower, and continued his quest.
We cannot follow Tristram through all the adventures which filled
this epoch of his history. Suffice it to say, he fulfilled on all
occasions the duty of a true knight, rescuing the oppressed,
redressing wrongs, abolishing evil customs, and suppressing
injustice, thus by constant action endeavoring to lighten the
pains of absence from her he loved. In the meantime Isoude,
separated from her dear Tristram, passed her days in languor and
regret. At length she could no longer resist the desire to hear
some news of her lover. She wrote a letter, and sent it by one of
her damsels, niece of her faithful Brengwain. One day Tristram,
weary with his exertions, had dismounted and laid himself down by
the side of a fountain and fallen asleep. The damsel of Queen
Isoude arrived at the same fountain, and recognized Passebreul,
the horse of Tristram, and presently perceived his master asleep.
He was thin and pale, showing evident marks of the pain he
suffered in separation from his beloved. She awakened him, and
gave him the letter which she bore, and Tristram enjoyed the
pleasure, so sweet to a lover, of hearing from and talking about
the object of his affections. He prayed the damsel to postpone her
return till after the magnificent tournament which Arthur had
proclaimed should have taken place, and conducted her to the
castle of Persides, a brave and loyal knight, who received her
with great consideration.
Tristram conducted the damsel of Queen Isoude to the tournament,
and had her placed in the balcony among the ladies of the queen.
"He glanced and saw the stately galleries,
--The Last Tournament.
He then joined the tourney. Nothing could exceed his strength and
valor. Launcelot admired him, and by a secret presentiment
declined to dispute the honor of the day with a knight so gallant
and so skilful. Arthur descended from the balcony to greet the
conqueror; but the modest and devoted Tristram, content with
having borne off the prize in the sight of the messenger of
Isoude, made his escape with her, and disappeared.
The next day the tourney recommenced. Tristram assumed different
armor, that he might not be known; but he was soon detected by the
terrible blows that he gave, Arthur and Guenever had no doubt that
it was the same knight who had borne off the prize of the day
before. Arthur's gallant spirit was roused. After Launcelot of the
Lake and Sir Gawain he was accounted the best knight of the Round
Table. He went privately and armed himself, and came into the
tourney in undistinguished armor. He ran a just with Tristram,
whom he shook in his seat; but Tristram, who did not know him,
threw him out of the saddle. Arthur recovered himself, and content
with having made proof of the stranger knight bade Launcelot
finish the adventure, and vindicate the honor of the Round Table.
Sir Launcelot, at the bidding of the monarch, assailed Tristram,
whose lance was already broken in former encounters. But the law
of this sort of combat was that the knight after having broken his
lance must fight with his sword, and must not refuse to meet with
his shield the lance of his antagonist. Tristram met Launcelot's
charge upon his shield, which that terrible lance could not fail
to pierce. It inflicted a wound upon Tristram's side, and,
breaking, left the iron in the wound. But Tristram also with his
sword smote so vigorously on Launcelot's casque that he cleft it,
and wounded his head. The wound was not deep, but the blood flowed
into his eyes, and blinded him for a moment, and Tristram, who
thought himself mortally wounded, retired from the field.
Launcelot declared to the king that he had never received such a
blow in his life before.
Tristram hastened to Gouvernail, his squire, who drew forth the
iron, bound up the wound, and gave him immediate ease. Tristram
after the tournament kept retired in his tent, but Arthur, with
the consent of all the knights of the Round Table, decreed him the
honors of the second day. But it was no longer a secret that the
victor of the two days was the same individual, and Gouvernail,
being questioned, confirmed the suspicions of Launcelot and Arthur
that it was no other than Sir Tristram of Leonais, the nephew of
the king of Cornwall.
King Arthur, who desired to reward his distinguished valor, and
knew that his Uncle Mark had ungratefully banished him, would have
eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to attach Tristram to
his court,--all the knights of the Round Table declaring with
acclamation that it would be impossible to find a more worthy
companion. But Tristram had already departed in search of
adventures, and the damsel of Queen Isoude returned to her
mistress.
CHAPTER XIV
SIR TRISTRAM'S BATTLE WITH SIR LAUNCELOT
Sir Tristram rode through a forest and saw ten men fighting, and
one man did battle against nine. So he rode to the knights and
cried to them, bidding them cease their battle, for they did
themselves great shame, so many knights to fight against one. Then
answered the master of the knights (his name was Sir Breuse sans
Pitie, who was at that time the most villanous knight living):
"Sir knight, what have ye to do to meddle with us? If ye be wise
depart on your way as you came, for this knight shall not escape
us." "That were pity," said Sir Tristram, "that so good a knight
should be slain so cowardly; therefore I warn you I will succor
him with all my puissance."
Then Sir Tristram alighted off his horse, because they were on
foot, that they should not slay his horse. And he smote on the
right hand and on the left so vigorously that well-nigh at every
stroke he struck down a knight. At last they fled, with Breuse
sans Pitie, into the tower, and shut Sir Tristram without the
gate. Then Sir Tristram returned back to the rescued knight, and
found him sitting under a tree, sore wounded. "Fair knight," said
he, "how is it with you?" "Sir knight," said Sir Palamedes, for he
it was, "I thank you of your great goodness, for ye have rescued
me from death." "What is your name?" said Sir Tristram. He said,
"My name is Sir Palamedes." "Say ye so?" said Sir Tristram; "now
know that thou art the man in the world that I most hate;
therefore make thee ready, for I will do battle with thee." "What
is your name?" said Sir Palamedes. "My name is Sir Tristram, your
mortal enemy." "It may be so," said Sir Palamedes; "but you have
done overmuch for me this day, that I should fight with you.
Moreover, it will be no honor for you to have to do with me, for
you are fresh and I am wounded. Therefore, if you will needs have
to do with me, assign me a day, and I shall meet you without
fail." "You say well, "said Sir Tristram; "now I assign you to
meet me in the meadow by the river of Camelot, where Merlin set
the monument." So they were agreed. Then they departed and took
their ways diverse. Sir Tristram passed through a great forest
into a plain, till he came to a priory, and there he reposed him
with a good man six days.
Then departed Sir Tristram, and rode straight into Camelot to the
monument of Merlin, and there he looked about him for Sir
Palamedes. And he perceived a seemly knight, who came riding
against him all in white, with a covered shield. When he came nigh
Sir Tristram said aloud, "Welcome, sir knight, and well and truly
have you kept your promise." Then they made ready their shields
and spears, and came together with all the might of their horses,
so fiercely, that both the horses and the knights fell to the
earth. And as soon as they might they quitted their horses, and
struck together with bright swords as men of might, and each
wounded the other wonderfully sore, so that the blood ran out upon
the grass. Thus they fought for the space of four hours and never
one would speak to the other one word. Then at last spake the
white knight, and said, "Sir, thou fightest wonderful well, as
ever I saw knight; therefore, if it please you, tell me your
name." "Why dost thou ask my name?" said Sir Tristram; "art thou
not Sir Palamedes?" "No, fair knight," said he, "I am Sir
Launcelot of the Lake." "Alas!" said Sir Tristram, "what have I
done? for you are the man of the world that I love best." "Fair
knight," said Sir Launcelot, "tell me your name." "Truly," said
he, "my name is Sir Tristram de Lionesse." "Alas! alas!" said Sir
Launcelot, "what adventure has befallen me!" And therewith Sir
Launcelot kneeled down and yielded him up his sword; and Sir
Tristram kneeled down and yielded him up his sword; and so either
gave other the degree. And then they both went to the stone, and
sat them down upon it and took off their helms and each kissed the
other a hundred times. And then anon they rode toward Camelot, and
on the way they met with Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris, that had made
promise to Arthur never to come again to the court till they had
brought Sir Tristram with them.
"Return again," said Sir Launcelot, "for your quest is done; for I
have met with Sir Tristram. Lo, here he is in his own person."
Then was Sir Gawain glad, and said to Sir Tristram, "Ye are
welcome." With this came King Arthur, and when he wist there was
Sir Tristram, he ran unto him, and took him by the hand, and said,
"Sir Tristram, ye are as welcome as any knight that ever came to
this court." Then Sir Tristram told the king how he came thither
for to have had to do with Sir Palamedes, and how he had rescued
him from Sir Breuse sans Pitie and the nine knights. Then King
Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand, and went to the Table Round,
and Queen Guenever came, and many ladies with her, and all the
ladies said with one voice, "Welcome, Sir Tristram." "Welcome,"
said the knights. "Welcome," said Arthur, "for one of the best of
knights, and the gentlest of the world, and the man of most
worship; for of all manner of hunting thou bearest the prize, and
of all measures of blowing thou art the beginning, and of all the
terms of hunting and hawking ye are the inventor, and of all
instruments of music ye are the best skilled; therefore, gentle
knight," said Arthur, "ye are welcome to this court." And then
King Arthur made Sir Tristram knight of the Table Round with great
nobley and feasting as can be thought.
CHAPTER XV
THE ROUND TABLE
The famous enchanter, Merlin, had exerted all his skill in
fabricating the Round Table. Of the seats which surrounded it he
had constructed thirteen, in memory of the thirteen Apostles.
Twelve of these seats only could be occupied, and they only by
knights of the highest fame; the thirteenth represented the seat
of the traitor Judas. It remained always empty. It was called the
PERILOUS SEAT, ever since a rash and haughty Saracen knight had
dared to place himself in it, when the earth opened and swallowed
him up.
"In our great hall there stood a vacant chair,
--The Holy Grail.
A magic power wrote upon each seat the name of the knight who was
entitled to sit in it. No one could succeed to a vacant seat
unless he surpassed in valor and glorious deeds the knight who had
occupied it before him; without this qualification he would be
violently repelled by a hidden force. Thus proof was made of all
those who presented themselves to replace any companions of the
order who had fallen.
One of the principal seats, that of Moraunt of Ireland, had been
vacant ten years, and his name still remained over it ever since
the time when that distinguished champion fell beneath the sword
of Sir Tristram. Arthur now took Tristram by the hand and led him
to that seat. Immediately the most melodious sounds were heard,
and exquisite perfumes filled the place; the name of Moraunt
disappeared, and that of Tristram blazed forth in light. The rare
modesty of Tristram had now to be subjected to a severe task; for
the clerks charged with the duty of preserving the annals of the
Round Table attended, and he was required by the law of his order
to declare what feats of arms he had accomplished to entitle him
to take that seat. This ceremony being ended, Tristram received
the congratulations of all his companions. Sir Launcelot and
Guenever took the occasion to speak to him of the fair Isoude, and
to express their wish that some happy chance might bring her to
the kingdom of Loegria.
While Tristram was thus honored and caressed at the court of King
Arthur, the most gloomy and malignant jealousy harassed the soul
of Mark. He could not look upon Isoude without remembering that
she loved Tristram, and the good fortune of his nephew goaded him
to thoughts of vengeance. He at last resolved to go disguised into
the kingdom of Loegria, attack Tristram by stealth, and put him to
death. He took with him two knights, brought up in his court, who
he thought were devoted to him; and, not willing to leave Isoude
behind, named two of her maidens to attend her, together with her
faithful Brengwain, and made them accompany him.
Having arrived in the neighborhood of Camelot, Mark imparted his
plan to his two knights, but they rejected it with horror; nay,
more, they declared that they would no longer remain in his
service; and left him, giving him reason to suppose that they
should repair to the court to accuse him before Arthur. It was
necessary for Mark to meet and rebut their accusation; so, leaving
Isoude in an abbey, he pursued his way alone to Camelot.
Mark had not ridden far when he encountered a party of knights of
Arthur's court, and would have avoided them, for he knew their
habit of challenging to a just every stranger knight whom they
met. But it was too late. They had seen his armor, and recognized
him as a Cornish knight, and at once resolved to have some sport
with him. It happened they had with them Daguenet, King Arthur's
fool, who, though deformed and weak of body, was not wanting in
courage. The knights as Mark approached laid their plan that
Daguenet should personate Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and challenge
the Cornish knight. They equipped him in armor belonging to one of
their number who was ill, and sent him forward to the cross-road
to defy the strange knight. Mark, who saw that his antagonist was
by no means formidable in appearance, was not disinclined to the
combat; but when the dwarf rode towards him, calling out that he
was Sir Launcelot of the Lake, his fears prevailed, he put spurs
to his horse, and rode away at full speed, pursued by the shouts
and laughter of the party.
Meanwhile Isoude, remaining at the abbey with her faithful
Brengwain, found her only amusement in walking occasionally in a
forest adjoining the abbey. There, on the brink of a fountain
girdled with trees, she thought of her love, and sometimes joined
her voice and her harp in lays reviving the memory of its pains or
pleasures. One day the caitiff knight, Breuse the Pitiless, heard
her voice, concealed himself, and drew near. She sang:
"Sweet silence, shadowy bower, and verdant lair,
"Within these woods, by nature's hand arrayed,
"What doth my knight the while? to him is given
Breuse the Pitiless, who like most other caitiffs had felt the
weight of Tristram's arm, and hated him accordingly, at hearing
his name breathed forth by the beautiful songstress, impelled by a
double impulse, rushed forth from his concealment and laid hands
on his victim. Isoude fainted, and Brengwain filled the air with
her shrieks. Breuse carried Isoude to the place where he had left
his horse; but the animal had got away from his bridle, and was at
some distance. He was obliged to lay down his fair burden, and go
in pursuit of his horse. Just then a knight came up, drawn by the
cries of Brengwain, and demanded the cause of her distress. She
could not speak, but pointed to her mistress lying insensible on
the ground.
Breuse had by this time returned, and the cries of Brengwain,
renewed at seeing him, sufficiently showed the stranger the cause
of the distress. Tristram spurred his horse towards Breuse, who,
not unprepared, ran to the encounter. Breuse was unhorsed, and lay
motionless, pretending to be dead; but when the stranger knight
left him to attend to the distressed damsels, he mounted his
horse, and made his escape.
The knight now approached Isoude, gently raised her head, drew
aside the golden hair which covered her countenance, gazed thereon
for an instant, uttered a cry, and fell back insensible. Brengwain
came; her cares soon restored her mistress to life, and they then
turned their attention to the fallen warrior. They raised his
visor, and discovered the countenance of Sir Tristram. Isoude
threw herself on the body of her lover, and bedewed his face with
her tears. Their warmth revived the knight, and Tristram on
awaking found himself in the arms of his dear Isoude.
It was the law of the Round Table that each knight after his
admission should pass the next ten days in quest of adventures,
during which time his companions might meet him in disguised armor
and try their strength with him. Tristram had now been out seven
days, and in that time had encountered many of the best knights of
the Round Table, and acquitted himself with honor. During the
remaining three days, Isoude remained at the abbey, under his
protection, and then set out with her maidens, escorted by Sir
Tristram, to rejoin King Mark at the court of Camelot.
This happy journey was one of the brightest epochs in the lives of
Tristram and Isoude. He celebrated it by a lay upon the harp in a
peculiar measure, to which the French give the name of Triolet.
"Journeying on from break of day,
They arrived at Camelot, where Sir Launcelot received them most
cordially. Isoude was introduced to King Arthur and Queen
Guenever, who welcomed her as a sister. As King Mark was held in
arrest under the accusation of the two Cornish knights, Queen
Isoude could not rejoin her husband, and Sir Launcelot placed his
castle of La Joyeuse Garde at the disposal of his friends, who
there took up their abode.
King Mark, who found himself obliged to confess the truth of the
charge against him, or to clear himself by combat with his
accusers, preferred the former, and King Arthur, as his crime had
not been perpetrated, remitted the penalty, only enjoining upon
him, under pain of his signal displeasure, to lay aside all
thoughts of vengeance against his nephew. In the presence of the
king and his court all parties were formally reconciled; Mark and
his queen departed for their home, and Tristram remained at
Arthur's court.
CHAPTER XVIII
PERCEVAL
The father and two elder brothers of Perceval had fallen in battle
or tournaments, and hence, as the last hope of his family, his
mother retired with him into a solitary region, where he was
brought up in total ignorance of arms and chivalry. He was allowed
no weapon but "a lyttel Scots spere," which was the only thing of
all "her lordes faire gere" that his mother carried to the wood
with her. In the use of this he became so skilful, that he could
kill with it not only the animals of the chase for the table, but
even birds on the wing. At length, however, Perceval was roused to
a desire of military renown by seeing in the forest five knights
who were in complete armor. He said to his mother, "Mother, what
are those yonder?" "They are angels, my son," said she. "By my
faith, I will go and become an angel with them." And Perceval went
to the road and met them. "Tell me, good lad," said one of them,
"sawest thou a knight pass this way either today or yesterday?" "I
know not," said he, "what a knight is." "Such an one as I am,"
said the knight. "If thou wilt tell me what I ask thee, I will
tell thee what thou askest me." "Gladly will I do so," said Sir
Owain, for that was the knight's name. "What is this?" demanded
Perceval, touching the saddle. "It is a saddle," said Owain. Then
he asked about all the accoutrements which he saw upon the men and
the horses, and about the arms, and what they were for, and how
they were used. And Sir Owain showed him all those things fully.
And Perceval in return gave him such information as he had
Then Perceval returned to his mother, and said to her, "Mother,
those were not angels, but honorable knights." Then his mother
swooned away. And Perceval went to the place where they kept the
horses that carried firewood and provisions for the castle, and he
took a bony, piebald horse, which seemed to him the strongest of
them. And he pressed a pack into the form of a saddle, and with
twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had seen upon the
horses. When he came again to his mother, the countess had
recovered from her swoon. "My son," said she, "desirest thou to
ride forth?" "Yes, with thy leave," said he. "Go forward, then,"
she said, "to the court of Arthur, where there are the best and
the noblest and the most bountiful of men, and tell him thou art
Perceval, the son of Pelenore, and ask of him to bestow knighthood
on thee. And whenever thou seest a church, repeat there thy pater-
noster; and if thou see meat and drink, and hast need of them,
thou mayest take them. If thou hear an outcry of one in distress,
proceed toward it, especially if it be the cry of a woman, and
render her what service thou canst. If thou see a fair jewel, win
it, for thus shalt thou acquire fame; yet freely give it to
another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise. If thou see a fair
woman, pay court to her, for thus thou wilt obtain love."
After this discourse Perceval mounted the horse and taking a
number of sharp-pointed sticks in his hand he rode forth. And he
rode far in the woody wilderness without food or drink. At last he
came to an opening in the wood where he saw a tent, and as he
thought it might be a church he said his pater-noster to it. And
he went towards it; and the door of the tent was open. And
Perceval dismounted and entered the tent. In the tent he found a
maiden sitting, with a golden frontlet on her forehead and a gold
ring on her hand. And Perceval said, "Maiden, I salute you, for my
mother told me whenever I met a lady I must respectfully salute
her." Perceiving in one corner of the tent some food, two flasks
full of wine, and some boar's flesh roasted, he said, "My mother
told me, whenever I saw meat and drink to take it." And he ate
greedily, for he was very hungry. The maiden said, "Sir, thou
hadst best go quickly from here, for fear that my friends should
come, and evil should befall you." But Perceval said, "My mother
told me wheresoever I saw a fair jewel to take it," and he took
the gold ring from her finger, and put it on his own; and he gave
the maiden his own ring in exchange for hers; then he mounted his
horse and rode away.
Perceval journeyed on till he arrived at Arthur's court. And it so
happened that just at that time an uncourteous knight had offered
Queen Guenever a gross insult. For when her page was serving the
queen with a golden goblet, this knight struck the arm of the page
and dashed the wine in the queen's face and over her stomacher.
Then he said, "If any have boldness to avenge this insult to
Guenever, let him follow me to the meadow." So the knight took his
horse and rode to the meadow, carrying away the golden goblet. And
all the household hung down their heads and no one offered to
follow the knight to take vengeance upon him. For it seemed to
them that no one would have ventured on so daring an outrage
unless he possessed such powers, through magic or charms, that
none could be able to punish him. Just then, behold, Perceval
entered the hall upon the bony, piebald horse, with his uncouth
trappings. In the centre of the hall stood Kay the Seneschal.
"Tell me, tall man," said Perceval, "is that Arthur yonder?" "What
wouldst thou with Arthur?" asked Kay. "My mother told me to go to
Arthur and receive knighthood from him." "By my faith," said he,
"thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and with arms." Then
all the household began to jeer and laugh at him. But there was a
certain damsel who had been a whole year at Arthur's court, and
had never been known to smile. And the king's fool [Footnote: A
fool was a common appendage of the courts of those days when this
romance was written. A fool was the ornament held in next
estimation to a dwarf. He wore a white dress with a yellow bonnet,
and carried a bell or bawble in his hand. Though called a fool,
his words were often weighed and remembered as if there were a
sort of oracular meaning in them.] had said that this damsel would
not smile till she had seen him who would be the flower of
chivalry. Now this damsel came up to Perceval and told him,
smiling, that if he lived he would be one of the bravest and best
of knights. "Truly," said Kay, "thou art ill taught to remain a
year at Arthur's court, with choice of society, and smile on no
one, and now before the face of Arthur and all his knights to call
such a man as this the flower of knighthood;" and he gave her a
box on the ear, that she fell senseless to the ground. Then said
Kay to Perceval, "Go after the knight who went hence to the
meadow, overthrow him and recover the golden goblet, and possess
thyself of his horse and arms, and thou shalt have knighthood." "I
will do so, tall man," said Perceval. So he turned his horse's
head toward the meadow. And when he came there, the knight was
riding up and down, proud of his strength and valor and noble
mien. "Tell me," said the knight, "didst thou see any one coming
after me from the court?" "The tall man that was there," said
Perceval, "told me to come and overthrow thee, and to take from
thee the goblet and thy horse and armor for myself." "Silence!"
said the knight; "go back to the court, and tell Arthur either to
come himself, or to send some other to fight with me; and unless
he do so quickly, I will not wait for him." "By my faith," said
Perceval, "choose thou whether it shall be willingly or
unwillingly, for I will have the horse and the arms and the
goblet." Upon this the knight ran at him furiously, and struck him
a violent blow with the shaft of his spear, between the neck and
the shoulder. "Ha, ha, lad!" said Perceval, "my mother's servants
were not used to play with me in this wise; so thus will I play
with thee." And he threw at him one of his sharp-pointed sticks,
and it struck him in the eye, and came out at the back of his
head, so that he fell down lifeless.
"Verily," said Sir Owain, the son of Urien, to Kay the Seneschal,
"thou wast ill-advised to send that madman after the knight, for
he must either be overthrown or flee, and either way it will be a
disgrace to Arthur and his warriors; therefore will I go to see
what has befallen him." So Sir Owain went to the meadow, and he
found Perceval trying in vain to get the dead knight's armor off,
in order to clothe himself with it. Sir Owain unfastened the
armor, and helped Perceval to put it on, and taught him how to put
his foot in the stirrup, and use the spur; for Perceval had never
used stirrup nor spur, but rode without saddle, and urged on his
horse with a stick. Then Owain would have had him return to the
court to receive the praise that was his due; but Perceval said,
"I will not come to the court till I have encountered the tall man
that is there, to revenge the injury he did to the maiden. But
take thou the goblet to Queen Guenever, and tell King Arthur that,
wherever I am, I will be his vassal, and will do him what profit
and service I can." And Sir Owain went back to the court, and
related all these things to Arthur and Guenever, and to all the
household.
And Perceval rode forward. And he came to a lake on the side of
which was a fair castle, and on the border of the lake he saw a
hoary-headed man sitting upon a velvet cushion, and his attendants
were fishing in the lake. When the hoary-headed man beheld
Perceval approaching, he arose and went into the castle. Perceval
rode to the castle, and the door was open, and he entered the
hall. And the hoary-headed man received Perceval courteously, and
asked him to sit by him on the cushion. When it was time the
tables were set, and they went to meat. And when they had finished
their meat the hoary-headed man asked Perceval if he knew how to
fight with the sword "I know not," said Perceval, "but were I to
be taught, doubtless I should." And the hoary-headed man said to
him, "I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother; I am called King
Pecheur.[Footnote: The word means both FISHER and SINNER.] Thou
shalt remain with me a space, in order to learn the manners and
customs of different countries, and courtesy and noble bearing.
And this do thou remember, if thou seest aught to cause thy
wonder, ask not the meaning of it; if no one has the courtesy to
inform thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me
that am thy teacher." While Perceval and his uncle discoursed
together, Perceval beheld two youths enter the hall bearing a
golden cup and a spear of mighty size, with blood dropping from
its point to the ground. And when all the company saw this they
began to weep and lament. But for all that, the man did not break
off his discourse with Perceval. And as he did not tell him the
meaning of what he saw, he forebore to ask him concerning it. Now
the cup that Perceval saw was the Sangreal, and the spear the
sacred spear; and afterwards King Pecheur removed with those
sacred relics into a far country.
One evening Perceval entered a valley, and came to a hermit's
cell; and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the
night. And in the morning he arose, and when he went forth,
behold! a shower of snow had fallen in the night, and a hawk had
killed a wild-fowl in front of the cell. And the noise of the
horse had scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted on the bird.
And Perceval stood and compared the blackness of the raven and the
whiteness of the snow and the redness of the blood to the hair of
the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to
her skin, which was whiter than the snow, and to the two red spots
upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow.
Now Arthur and his household were in search of Perceval, and by
chance they came that way. "Know ye," said Arthur, "who is the
knight with the long spear that stands by the brook up yonder?"
"Lord," said one of them, "I will go and learn who he is." So the
youth came to the place where Perceval was, and asked him what he
did thus, and who he was. But Perceval was so intent upon his
thought that he gave him no answer. Then the youth thrust at
Perceval with his lance; and Perceval turned upon him, and struck
him to the ground. And when the youth returned to the king, and
told how rudely he had been treated, Sir Kay said, "I will go
myself." And when he greeted Perceval, and got no answer, he spoke
to him rudely and angrily. And Perceval thrust at him with his
lance, and cast him down so that he broke his arm and his
shoulder-blade. And while he lay thus stunned his horse returned
back at a wild and prancing pace.
Then said Sir Gawain, surnamed the Golden-Tongued, because he was
the most courteous knight in Arthur's court: "It is not fitting
that any should disturb an honorable knight from his thought
unadvisedly; for either he is pondering some damage that he has
sustained, or he is thinking of the lady whom best he loves. If it
seem well to thee, lord, I will go and see if this knight has
changed from his thought, and if he has, I will ask him
courteously to come and visit thee."
And Perceval was resting on the shaft of his spear, pondering the
same thought, and Sir Gawain came to him, and said: "If I thought
it would be as agreeable to thee as it would be to me, I would
converse with thee. I have also a message from Arthur unto thee,
to pray thee to come and visit him. And two men have been before
on this errand." "That is true," said Perceval; "and uncourteously
they came. They attacked me, and I was annoyed thereat" Then he
told him the thought that occupied his mind, and Gawain said,
"This was not an ungentle thought, and I should marvel if it were
pleasant for thee to be drawn from it." Then said Perceval, "Tell
me, is Sir Kay in Arthur's court?" "He is," said Gawain; "and
truly he is the knight who fought with thee last." "Verily," said
Perceval, "I am not sorry to have thus avenged the insult to the
smiling maiden. "Then Perceval told him his name, and said, "Who
art thou?" And he replied, "I am Gawain." "I am right glad to meet
thee," said Perceval, "for I have everywhere heard of thy prowess
and uprightness; and I solicit thy fellowship." "Thou shalt have
it, by my faith; and grant me thine," said he. "Gladly will I do
so," answered Perceval.
So they went together to Arthur, and saluted him.
"Behold, lord," said Gawain, "him whom thou hast sought so long."
"Welcome unto thee, chieftain," said Arthur. And hereupon there
came the queen and her handmaidens, and Perceval saluted them. And
they were rejoiced to see him, and bade him welcome. And Arthur
did him great honor and respect and they returned towards
Caerleon.
CHAPTER XIX
THE SANGREAL, OR HOLY GRAAL
The Sangreal was the cup from which our Saviour drank at his last
supper. He was supposed to have given it to Joseph of Arimathea,
who carried it to Europe, together with the spear with which the
soldier pierced the Saviour's side. From generation to generation,
one of the descendants of Joseph of Arimathea had been devoted to
the guardianship of these precious relics; but on the sole
condition of leading a life of purity in thought, word, and deed.
For a long time the Sangreal was visible to all pilgrims, and its
presence conferred blessings upon the land in which it was
preserved. But at length one of those holy men to whom its
guardianship had descended so far forgot the obligation of his
sacred office as to look with unhallowed eye upon a young female
pilgrim whose robe was accidentally loosened as she knelt before
him. The sacred lance instantly punished his frailty,
spontaneously falling upon him, and inflicting a deep wound. The
marvellous wound could by no means be healed, and the guardian of
the Sangreal was ever after called "Le Roi Pescheur,"--The Sinner
King. The Sangreal withdrew its visible presence from the crowds
who came to worship, and an iron age succeeded to the happiness
which its presence had diffused among the tribes of Britain.
"But then the times
--The Holy Grail.
We have told in the history of Merlin how that great prophet and
enchanter sent a message to King Arthur by Sir Gawain, directing
him to undertake the recovery of the Sangreal, informing him at
the same time that the knight who should accomplish that sacred
quest was already born, and of a suitable age to enter upon it.
Sir Gawain delivered his message, and the king was anxiously
revolving in his mind how best to achieve the enterprise, when, at
the vigil of Pentecost, all the fellowship of the Round Table
being met together at Camelot, as they sat at meat, suddenly there
was heard a clap of thunder, and then a bright light burst forth,
and every knight, as he looked on his fellow, saw him, in seeming,
fairer than ever before. All the hall was filled with sweet odors,
and every knight had such meat and drink as he best loved. Then
there entered into the hall the Holy Graal, covered with white
samite, so that none could see it, and it passed through the hall
suddenly, and disappeared. During this time no one spoke a word,
but when they had recovered breath to speak King Arthur said,
"Certainly we ought greatly to thank the Lord for what he hath
showed us this day." Then Sir Gawain rose up, and made a vow that
for twelve months and a day he would seek the Sangreal, and not
return till he had seen it, if so he might speed. When they of the
Round Table heard Sir Gawain say so, they arose, the most part of
them, and vowed the same. When King Arthur heard this, he was
greatly displeased, for he knew well that they might not gainsay
their vows. "Alas!" said he to Sir Gawain, "you have nigh slain me
with the vow and promise that ye have made, for ye have bereft me
of the fairest fellowship that ever were seen together in any
realm of the world; for when they shall depart hence, I am sure
that all shall never meet more in this world."
SIR GALAHAD
At that time there entered the hall a good old man, and with him
he brought a young knight, and these words he said: "Peace be with
you, fair lords." Then the old man said unto King Arthur, "Sir, I
bring you here a young knight that is of kings' lineage, and of
the kindred of Joseph of Arimathea, being the son of Dame Elaine,
the daughter of King Pelles, king of the foreign country." Now the
name of the young knight was Sir Galahad, and he was the son of
Sir Launcelot du Lac; but he had dwelt with his mother, at the
court of King Pelles, his grandfather, till now he was old enough
to bear arms, and his mother had sent him in the charge of a holy
hermit to King Arthur's court. Then Sir Launcelot beheld his son,
and had great joy of him. And Sir Bohort told his fellows, "Upon
my life, this young knight shall come to great worship." The noise
was great in all the court, so that it came to the queen. And she
said, "I would fain see him, for he must needs be a noble knight,
for so is his father." And the queen and her ladies all said that
he resembled much unto his father; and he was seemly and demure as
a dove, with all manner of good features, that in the whole world
men might not find his match. And King Arthur said, "God make him
a good man, for beauty faileth him not, as any that liveth."
Then the hermit led the young knight to the Siege Perilous; and he
lifted up the cloth, and found there letters that said, "This is
the seat of Sir Galahad, the good knight;" and he made him sit in
that seat. And all the knights of the Round Table marvelled
greatly at Sir Galahad, seeing him sit securely in that seat, and
said, "This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for
there never sat one before in that seat without being mischieved."
On the next day the king said, "Now, at this quest of the Sangreal
shall all ye of the Round Table depart, and never shall I see you
again altogether; therefore I will that ye all repair to the
meadow of Camelot, for to just and tourney yet once more before ye
depart." But all the meaning of the king was to see Sir Galahad
proved. So then were they all assembled in the meadow. Then Sir
Galahad, by request of the king and queen, put on his harness and
his helm, but shield would he take none for any prayer of the
king. And the queen was in a tower, with all her ladies, to behold
that tournament. Then Sir Galahad rode into the midst of the
meadow; and there he began to break spears marvellously, so that
all men had wonder of him, for he surmounted all knights that
encountered with him, except two, Sir Launcelot and Sir Perceval.
"So many knights, that all the people cried,
--Sir Galahad
Then the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight, and
presented him to the queen; and she said, "Never two men resembled
one another more than he and Sir Launcelot, and therefore it is no
marvel that he is like him in prowess."
Then the king and the queen went to the minster, and the knights
followed them. And after the service was done they put on their
helms and departed, and there was great sorrow. They rode through
the streets of Camelot, and there was weeping of the rich and
poor; and the king turned away, and might not speak for weeping.
And so they departed, and every knight took the way that him best
liked.
Sir Galahad rode forth without shield, and rode four days, and
found no adventure. And on the fourth day he came to a white
abbey; and there he was received with great reverence, and led to
a chamber. He met there two knights, King Bagdemagus and Sir
Uwaine, and they made of him great solace. "Sirs," said Sir
Galahad, "what adventure brought you hither?" "Sir," said they,
"it is told us that within this place is a shield, which no man
may bear unless he be worthy; and if one unworthy should attempt
to bear it, it shall surely do him a mischief." Then King
Bagdemagus said, "I fear not to bear it, and that shall ye see to-
morrow."
So on the morrow they arose, and heard mass; then King Bagdemagus
asked where the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind
an altar, where the shield hung, as white as snow; but in the
midst there was a red cross. Then King Bagdemagus took the shield,
and bare it out of the minster; and he said to Sir Galahad, "If it
please you, abide here till ye know how I shall speed."
Then King Bagdemagus and his squire rode forth: and when they had
ridden a mile or two, they saw a goodly knight come towards them,
in white armor, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse
might run, with his spear in the rest; and King Bagdemagus
directed his spear against him, and broke it upon the white
knight, but the other struck him so hard that he broke the mails,
and thrust him through the right shoulder, for the shield covered
him not, and so he bare him from his horse. Then the white knight
turned his horse and rode away.
Then the squire went to King Bagdemagus, and asked him whether he
were sore wounded or not. "I am sore wounded," said he, "and full
hardly shall I escape death." Then the squire set him on his
horse, and brought him to an abbey; and there he was taken down
softly, and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked
to, for he lay there long, and hardly escaped with his life. And
the squire brought the shield back to the abbey.
The next day Sir Galahad took the shield, and within a while he
came to the hermitage, where he met the white knight, and each
saluted the other courteously. "Sir," said Sir Galahad, "can you
tell me the marvel of the shield?" "Sir," said the white knight,
"that shield belonged of old to the gentle knight, Joseph of
Arimathea; and when he came to die he said, 'Never shall man bear
this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the time
that Sir Galahad the good knight bear it, the last of my lineage,
the which shall do many marvellous deeds.'" And then the white
knight vanished away.
SIR GAWAIN
After Sir Gawain departed, he rode many days, both toward and
forward, and at last he came to the abbey where Sir Galahad took
the white shield. And they told Sir Gawain of the marvellous
adventure that Sir Galahad had done. "Truly," said Sir Gawain, "I
am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for, if I may
meet with him, I will not part from him lightly, that I may
partake with him all the marvellous adventures which he shall
achieve." "Sir," said one of the monks, "he will not be of your
fellowship." "Why?" said Sir Gawain. "Sir," said he, "because ye
be sinful, and he is blissful." Then said the monk, "Sir Gawain,
thou must do penance for thy sins." "Sir, what penance shall I
do?" "Such as I will show," said the good man. "Nay," said Sir
Gawain, "I will do no penance, for we knights adventurous often
suffer great woe and pain." "Well," said the good man; and he held
his peace. And Sir Gawain departed.
Now it happened, not long after this, that Sir Gawain and Sir
Hector rode together, and they came to a castle where was a great
tournament. And Sir Gawain and Sir Hector joined themselves to the
party that seemed the weaker, and they drove before them the other
party. Then suddenly came into the lists a knight, bearing a white
shield with a red cross, and by adventure he came by Sir Gawain,
and he smote him so hard that he clave his helm and wounded his
head, so that Sir Gawain fell to the earth. When Sir Hector saw
that, he knew that the knight with the white shield was Sir
Galahad, and he thought it no wisdom to abide him, and also for
natural love, that he was his uncle. Then Sir Galahad retired
privily, so that none knew where he had gone. And Sir Hector
raised up Sir Gawain, and said, "Sir, me seemeth your quest is
done." "It is done," said Sir Gawain; "I shall seek no further."
Then Gawain was borne into the castle, and unarmed, and laid in a
rich bed, and a leech found to search his wound. And Sir Gawain
and Sir Hector abode together, for Sir Hector would not away till
Sir Gawain were whole.
CHAPTER XX
THE SANGREAL (Continued)
SIR LAUNCELOT
Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and
held no path but as wild adventure lee him.
"My golden spurs now bring to me,
Shall never a bed for me be spread,
--Lowell's Holy Grail.
And at last he came to a stone cross. Then Sir Launcelot looked
round him, and saw an old chapel. So he tied his horse to a tree,
and put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree; and then he went
into the chapel, and looked through a place where the wall was
broken. And within he saw a fair altar, full richly arrayed with
cloth of silk; and there stood a fair candlestick, which bare six
great candles, and the candlestick was of silver. When Sir
Launcelot saw this sight, he had a great wish to enter the chapel,
but he could find no place where he might enter. Then was he
passing heavy and dismayed. And he returned and came again to his
horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him
pasture; and unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid
him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross.
And as he lay, half waking and half sleeping, he saw come by him
two palfreys, both fair and white, which bare a litter, on which
lay a sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross, he there abode
still. And Sir Launcelot heard him say, "O sweet Lord, when shall
this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me
whereby I shall be healed?" And thus a great while complained the
knight, and Sir Launcelot heard it. Then Sir Launcelot saw the
candlestick, with the lighted tapers, come before the cross, but
he could see nobody that brought it. Also there came a salver of
silver and the holy vessel of the Sangreal; and therewithal the
sick knight sat him upright, and held up both his hands, and said,
"Fair, sweet Lord, which is here within the holy vessel, take heed
to me, that I may be whole of this great malady." And therewith,
upon his hands and upon his knees, he went so nigh that he touched
the holy vessel and kissed it. And anon he was whole. Then the
holy vessel went into the chapel again, with the candlestick and
the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not what became of it.
Then the sick knight rose up and kissed the cross; and anon his
squire brought him his arms and asked his lord how he did. "I
thank God right heartily," said he, "for, through the holy vessel,
I am healed. But I have great marvel of this sleeping knight, who
hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that the
holy vessel hath been here present." "I dare it right well say,"
said the squire, "that this same knight is stained with some
manner of deadly sin, whereof he was never confessed." So they
departed.
Then anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set himself upright, and
bethought him of what he had seen and whether it were dreams or
not. And he was passing heavy, and wist not what to do. And he
said: "My sin and my wretchedness hath brought me into great
dishonor. For when I sought worldly adventures and worldly
desires, I ever achieved them, and had the better in every place,
and never was I discomfited in any quarrel, were it right or
wrong. And now I take upon me the adventure of holy things, I see
and understand that mine old sin hindereth me, so that I had no
power to stir nor to speak when the holy blood appeared before
me." So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls of
the air sing. Then was he somewhat comforted.
Then he departed from the cross into the forest. And there he
found a hermitage, and a hermit therein, who was going to mass. So
when mass was done Sir Launcelot called the hermit to him, and
prayed him for charity to hear his confession. "With a good will,"
said the good man. And then he told that good man all his life,
and how he had loved a queen unmeasurably many years. "And all my
great deeds of arms that I have done I did the most part for the
queen's sake, and for her sake would I do battle, were it right or
wrong, and never did I battle all only for God's sake, but for to
win worship, and to cause me to be better beloved; and little or
naught I thanked God for it. I pray you counsel me."
"I will counsel you," said the hermit, "if ye will insure me that
ye will never come in that queen's fellowship as much as ye may
forbear." And then Sir Launcelot promised the hermit, by his
faith, that he would no more come in her company. "Look that your
heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and I shall
insure you that ye shall have more worship than ever ye had."
Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penance as he might
do, and he assailed Sir Launcelot and made him abide with him all
that day. And Sir Launcelot repented him greatly.
SIR PERCEVAL
Sir Perceval departed and rode till the hour of noon; and he met
in a valley about twenty men of arms. And when they saw Sir
Perceval, they asked him whence he was; and he answered: "Of the
court of King Arthur." Then they cried all at once, "Slay him."
But Sir Perceval smote the first to the earth, and his horse upon
him. Then seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once,
and the remnant slew his horse, so that he fell to the earth. So
had they slain him or taken him, had not the good knight Sir
Galahad, with the red cross, come there by adventure. And when he
saw all the knights upon one, he cried out, "Save me that knight's
life." Then he rode toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his
horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the
foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was
broken, he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand
and on the left, that it was marvel to see; and at every stroke he
smote down one, or put him to rebuke, so that they would fight no
more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them.
And when Sir Perceval saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow
that his horse was slain. And he wist well it was Sir Galahad.
Then he cried aloud, "Ah, fair knight, abide, and suffer me to do
thanks unto thee; for right well have ye done for me." But Sir
Galahad rode so fast that at last he passed out of his sight. When
Sir Perceval saw that he would not turn, he said, "Now am I a very
wretch, and most unhappy above all other knights." So in his
sorrow he abode all that day till it was night; and then he was
faint, and laid him down and slept till midnight; and then he
awaked and saw before him a woman, who said unto him, "Sir
Perceval, what dost thou here?" He answered, "I do neither good,
nor great ill." "If thou wilt promise me," said she, "that thou
wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I will lend thee my own
horse, which shall bear thee whither thou wilt." Sir Perceval was
glad of her proffer, and insured her to fulfil all her desire.
"Then abide me here, and I will go fetch you a horse." And so she
soon came again, and brought a horse with her that was inky black.
When Perceval beheld that horse he marvelled, it was so great and
so well apparelled. And he leapt upon him and took no heed of
himself. And he thrust him with his spurs, and within an hour and
less he bare him four days' journey thence, until he came to a
rough water, which roared, and his horse would have borne him into
it. And when Sir Perceval came nigh the brim and saw the water so
boisterous he doubted to overpass it. And then he made the sign of
the cross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged, he
shook off Sir Perceval, and went into the water crying and
roaring; and it seemed unto him that the water burned. Then Sir
Perceval perceived it was a fiend that would have brought him unto
his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed our
Lord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all
that night till it was day. Then he saw that he was in a wild
place, that was closed with the sea nigh all about. And Sir
Perceval looked forth over the sea, and saw a ship come sailing
towards him; and it came and stood still under the rock. And when
Sir Perceval saw this, he hied him thither, and found the ship
covered with silk; and therein was a lady of great beauty, and
clothed so richly that none might be better.
And when she saw Sir Perceval, she saluted him, and Sir Perceval
returned her salutation. Then he asked her of her country and her
lineage. And she said, "I am a gentlewoman that am disinherited,
and was once the richest woman of the world." "Damsel," said Sir
Perceval, "who hath disinherited you? for I have great pity of
you." "Sir," said she, "my enemy is a great and powerful lord, and
aforetime he made much of me, so that of his favor and of my
beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to have had. Also I
said a word that pleased him not. So he drove me from his company
and from mine heritage. Therefore I know no good knight nor good
man, but I get him on my side if I may. And for that I know that
thou art a good knight, I beseech thee to help me."
Then Sir Perceval promised her all the help that he might, and she
thanked him.
And at that time the weather was hot, and she called to her a
gentlewoman, and bade her bring forth a pavilion. And she did so,
and pitched it upon the gravel. "Sir," said she, "now may ye rest
you in this heat of the day." Then he thanked her, and she put off
his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. Then he
awoke, and asked her if she had any meat, and she said yea, and so
there was set upon the table all manner of meats that he could
think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he
drank, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he ought to
be. With that he beheld the lady, and he thought she was the
fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Perceval proffered
her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused
him in a manner, for the cause he should be the more ardent on
her, and ever he ceased not to pray her of love. And when she saw
him well enchafed, then she said, "Sir Perceval, wit you well I
shall not give ye my love, unless you swear from henceforth you
will be my true servant, and do no thing but that I shall command
you. Will you insure me this, as ye be a true knight?" "Yea," said
he, "fair lady, by the faith of my body." And as he said this, by
adventure and grace, he saw his sword lie on the ground naked, in
whose pommel was a red cross, and the sign of the crucifix
thereon. Then he made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and
therewith the pavilion shrivelled up, and changed into a smoke and
a black cloud. And the damsel cried aloud, and hasted into the
ship, and so she went with the wind roaring and yelling that it
seemed all the water burned after her. Then Sir Perceval made
great sorrow, and called himself a wretch, saying, "How nigh was I
lost!" Then he took his arms, and departed thence.
CHAPTER XXI
THE SANGREAL (Continued)
SIR BOHORT
When Sir Boliort departed from Camelot he met with a religious
man, riding upon an ass; and Sir Bohort saluted him. "What are
ye?" said the good man. "Sir," said Sir Bohort, "I am a knight
that fain would be counselled in the quest of the Sangreal." So
rode they both together till they came to a hermitage; and there
he prayed Sir Bohort to dwell that night with him. So he alighted,
and put away his armor, and prayed him that he might be confessed.
And they went both into the chapel, and there he was clean
confessed. And they ate bread and drank water together. "Now,"
said the good man, "I pray thee that thou eat none other till thou
sit at the table where the Sangreal shall be." "Sir," said Sir
Bohort, "but how know ye that I shall sit there?" "Yea," said the
good man, "that I know well; but there shall be few of your
fellows with you." Then said Sir Bohort, "I agree me thereto" And
the good man when he had heard his confession found him in so pure
a life and so stable that he marvelled thereof.
On the morrow, as soon as the day appeared, Sir Bohort departed
thence, and rode into a forest unto the hour of midday. And there
befell him a marvellous adventure. For he met, at the parting of
two ways, two knights that led Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked,
bound upon a strong hackney, and his hands bound before his
breast; and each of them held in his hand thorns wherewith they
went beating him, so that he was all bloody before and behind; but
he said never a word, but, as he was great of heart, he suffered
all that they did to him as though he had felt none anguish. Sir
Bohort prepared to rescue his brother. But he looked on the other
side of him, and saw a knight dragging along a fair gentlewoman,
who cried out, "Saint Mary! succor your maid!" And when she saw
Sir Bohort, she called to him, and said, "By the faith that ye owe
to knighthood, help me!" When Sir Bohort heard her say thus he had
such sorrow that he wist not what to do. "For if I let my brother
be he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth; and
if I help not the maid I am shamed for ever." Then lift he up his
eyes and said, weeping, "Fair Lord, whose liegeman I am, keep Sir
Lionel, my brother, that none of these knights slay him, and for
pity of you, and our Lady's sake, I shall succor this maid."
Then he cried out to the knight, "Sir knight, lay your hand off
that maid, or else ye be but dead." Then the knight set down the
maid, and took his shield, and drew out his sword. And Sir Bohort
smote him so hard that it went through his shield and habergeon,
on the left shoulder, and he fell down to the earth. Then came Sir
Bohort to the maid, "Ye be delivered of this knight this time."
"Now," said she, "I pray you lead me there where this knight took
me." "I shall gladly do it," said Sir Bohort. So he took the horse
of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon it, and
brought her there where she desired to be. And there he found
twelve knights seeking after her; and when she told them how Sir
Bohort had delivered her, they made great joy, and besought him to
come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcomed.
"Truly," said Sir Bohort, "that may not be; for I have a great
adventure to do." So he commended them to God and departed.
Then Sir Bohort rode after Sir Lionel, his brother, by the trace
of their horses. Thus he rode seeking, a great while. Then he
overtook a man clothed in a religious clothing, who said, "Sir
Knight, what seek ye?" "Sir," said Sir Bohort, "I seek my brother,
that I saw within a little space beaten of two knights." "Ah, Sir
Bohort, tiouble not thyself to seek for him, for truly he is
dead." Then he showed him a new-slain body, lying in a thick bush;
and it seemed him that it was the body of Sir Lionel. And then he
made such sorrow that he fell to the ground in a swoon, and lay
there long. And when he came to himself again, he said, "Fair
brother, since the fellowship of you and me is sundered, shall I
never have joy again; and now He that I have taken for my Master,
He be my help!" And when he had said thus he took up the body in
his arms, and put it upon the horse. And then he said to the man,
"Canst thou tell me the way to some chapel, where I may bury this
body?" "Come on," said the man, "here is one fast by." And so they
rode till they saw a fair tower, and beside it a chapel. Then they
alighted both, and put the body into a tomb of marble.
Then Sir Bohort commended the good man unto God, and departed. And
he rode all that day, and harbored with an old lady. And on the
morrow he rode unto the castle in a valley, and there he met with
a yeoman. "Tell me," said Sir Bohort, "knowest thou of any
adventure?" "Sir," said he, "here shall be, under this castle, a
great and marvellous tournament." Then Sir Bohort thought to be
there, if he might meet with any of the fellowship that were in
quest of the Sangreal; so he turned to a hermitage that was on the
border of the forest. And when he was come hither, he found there
Sir Lionel his brother, who sat all armed at the entry of the
chapel door. And when Sir Bohort saw him, he had great joy, and he
alighted off his horse, and said. "Fair brother, when came ye
hither?" As soon as Sir Lionel saw him he said, "Ah, Sir Bohort,
make ye no false show, for, as for you, I might have been slain,
for ye left me in peril of death to go succor a gentlewoman; and
for that misdeed I now assure you but death, for ye have right
well deserved it." When Sir Bohort perceived his brother's wrath
he kneeled down to the earth and cried him mercy, holding up both
his hands, and prayed him to forgive him. "Nay," said Sir Lionel,
"thou shalt have but death for it, if I have the upper hand;
therefore leap upon thy horse and keep thyself, and if thou do not
I will run upon thee there as thou standest on foot, and so the
shame shall be mine, and the harm thine, but of that I reck not."
When Sir Bohort saw that he must fight with his brother or else
die, he wist not what to do. Then his heart counselled him not so
to do, inasmuch as Sir Lionel was his elder brother, wherefore he
ought to bear him reverence. Yet kneeled he down before Sir
Lionel's horse's feet, and said, "Fair brother, have mercy upon me
and slay me not." But Sir Lionel cared not, for the fiend had
brought him in such a will that he should slay him. When he saw
that Sir Bohort would not rise to give him battle, he rushed over
him, so that he smote him with his horse's feet to the earth, and
hurt him sore, that he swooned of distress. When Sir Lionel saw
this he alighted from his horse for to have smitten off his head;
and so he took him by the helm, and would have rent it from his
head. But it happened that Sir Colgrevance, a knight of the Round
Table, came at that time thither, as it was our Lord's will; and
then he beheld how Sir Lionel would have slain his brother, and he
knew Sir Bohort, whom he loved right well.
Then leapt he down from his horse and took Sir Lionel by the
shoulders, and drew him strongly back from Sir Bohort, and said,
"Sir Lionel, will ye slay your brother?" "Why," said Sir Lionel,
"will ye stay me? If ye interfere in this I will slay you, and him
after." Then he ran upon Sir Bohort, and would have smitten him;
but Sir Colgrevance ran between them, and said, "If ye persist to
do so any more, we two shall meddle together." Then Sir Lionel
defied him, and gave him a great stroke through the helm. Then he
drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and defended
himself right manfully. So long endured the battle, that Sir
Bohort rose up all anguishly, and beheld Sir Colgrevance, the good
knight, fight with his brother for his quarrel. Then was he full
sorry and heavy, and thought that if Sir Colgrevance slew him that
was his brother he should never have joy, and if his brother slew
Sir Colgrevance the shame should ever be his.
Then would he have risen for to have parted them, but he had not
so much strength to stand on his feet; so he staid so long that
Sir Colgrevance had the worse; for Sir Lionel was of great
chivalry and right hardy. Then cried Sir Colgrevance, "Ah, Sir
Bohort, why come ye not to bring me out of peril of death, wherein
I have put me to succor you?" With that, Sir Lionel smote off his
helm and bore him to the earth. And when he had slain Sir
Colgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him
such a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of
humility prayed him, "for God's sake leave this battle, for if it
befell, fair brother, that I slew you, or ye me, we should be dead
of that sin." "Pray ye not me for mercy," said Sir Lionel. Then
Sir Bohort, all weeping, drew his sword, and said, "Now God have
mercy upon me, though I defend my life against my brother." With
that Sir Bohort lifted up his sword, and would have smitten his
brother. Then he heard a voice that said, "Flee, Sir Bohort, and
touch him not." Right so alighted a cloud between them, in the
likeness of a fire and a marvellous flame, so that they both fell
to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when
they came to themselves, Sir Bohort saw that his brother had no
harm; and he was right glad, for he dread sore that God had taken
vengeance upon him. Then Sir Lionel said to his brother, "Brother,
forgive me, for God's sake, all that I have trespassed against
you." And Sir Bohort answered, "God forgive it thee, and I do."
With that Sir Bohort heard a voice say, "Sir Bohort, take thy way
anon, right to the sea, for Sir Perceval abideth thee there." So
Sir Bohort departed, and rode the nearest way to the sea. And at
last he came to an abbey that was nigh the sea. That night he
rested him there, and in his sleep there came a voice unto him and
bade him go to the sea-shore. He started up, and made a sign of
the cross on his forehead, and armed himself, and made ready his
horse and mounted him, and at a broken wall he rode out, and came
to the sea-shore. And there he found a ship, covered all with
white samite. And he entered into the ship; but it was anon so
dark that he might see no man, and he laid him down and slept till
it was day. Then he awaked, and saw in the middle of the ship a
knight all armed, save his helm. And then he knew it was Sir
Perceval de Galis, and each made of other right great joy. Then
said Sir Perceval, "We lack nothing now but the good knight Sir
Galahad."
SIR LAUNCELOT (Resumed)
It befell upon a night Sir Launcelot arrived before a castle,
which was rich and fair. And there was a postern that was opened
toward the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions
kept the entry; and the moon shined clear. Anon Sir Launcelot
heard a voice that said, "Launcelot, enter into the castle, where
thou shalt see a great part of thy desire." So he went unto the
gate, and saw the two lions; then he set hands to his sword, and
drew it. Then there came suddenly as it were a stroke upon the
arm, so sore that the sword fell out of his hand, and he heard a
voice that said, "O man of evil faith, wherefore believest thou
more in thy armor than in thy Maker?" Then said Sir Launcelot,
"Fair Lord, I thank thee of thy great mercy, that thou reprovest
me of my misdeed; now see I well that thou holdest me for thy
servant." Then he made a cross on his forehead, and came to the
lions; and they made semblance to do him harm, but he passed them
without hurt, and entered into the castle, and he found no gate
nor door but it was open. But at the last he found a chamber
whereof the door was shut; and he set his hand thereto, to have
opened it, but he might not. Then he listened, and heard a voice
which sung so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing; and the
voice said, "Joy and honor be to the Father of heaven." Then Sir
Launcelot kneeled down before the chamber, for well he wist that
there was the Sangreal in that chamber. Then said he, "Fair, sweet
Lord, if ever I did anything that pleased thee, for thy pity show
me something of that which I seek." And with that he saw the
chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the
house was as bright as though all the torches of the world had
been there. So he came to the chamber door, and would have
entered; and anon a voice said unto him, "Stay, Sir Launcelot, and
enter not." And he withdrew him back, and was right heavy in his
mind. Then looked he in the midst of the chamber, and saw a table
of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many
angels about it; whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and
another held a cross, and the ornaments of the altar.
"O, yet methought I saw the Holy Grail,
--The Holy Grail.
SIR GALAHAD
Now, when Sir Galahad had rescued Perceval from the twenty
knights, he rode into a vast forest, wherein he abode many days.
Then he took his way to the sea, and it befell him that he was
benighted in a hermitage. And the good man was glad when he saw he
was a knight-errant. And when they were at rest, there came a
gentlewoman knocking at the door; and the good man came to the
door to wit what she would. Then she said, "I would speak with the
knight which is with you." Then Galahad went to her, and asked her
what she would. "Sir Galahad," said she, "I will that ye arm you,
and mount upon your horse, and follow me; for I will show you the
highest adventure that ever knight saw." Then Galahad armed
himself and commended himself to God, and bade the damsel go
before, and he would follow where she led.
So she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till she came
to the sea; and there they found the ship where Sir Bohort and Sir
Perceval were, who cried from the ship, "Sir Galahad, you are
welcome; we have waited you long." And when he heard them, he
asked the damsel who they were. "Sir," said she, "leave your horse
here, and I shall leave mine, and we will join ourselves to their
company." So they entered into the ship, and the two knights
received them both with great joy. For they knew the damsel, that
she was Sir Perceval's sister. Then the wind arose and drove them
through the sea all that day and the next, till the ship arrived
between two rocks, passing great and marvellous; but there they
might not land, for there was a whirlpool; but there was another
ship, and upon it they might go without danger. "Go we thither,"
said the gentlewoman, "and there we shall see adventures, for such
is our Lord's will." Then Sir Galahad blessed him, and entered
therein, and then next the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bohort and
Sir Perceval. And when they came on board they found there the
table of silver, and the Sangreal, which was covered with red
samite. And they made great reverence thereto, and Sir Galahad
prayed a long time to our Lord, that at what time he should ask to
pass out of this world he should do so; and a voice said to him,
"Galahad, thou shalt have thy request; and when thou askest the
death of thy body, thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou find
the life of thy soul."
And anon the wind drove them across the sea, till they came to the
city of Sarras. Then took they out of the ship the table of
silver, and Sir Perceval and Sir Bohort took it before, and Sir
Galahad came behind, and right so they went to the city. And at
the gate of the city they saw an old man, a cripple.
"And Sir Launfal said, 'I behold in thee
--Lowell's Holy Grail.
Then Galahad called him, and bade him help to bear this heavy
thing. "Truly," said the old man, "it is ten years since I could
not go but with crutches." "Care thou not," said Sir Galahad, "but
arise up, and show thy good will." Then the old man rose up, and
assayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was; and he ran to
the table, and took one part with Sir Galahad.
When they came to the city it chanced that the king was just dead,
and all the city was dismayed, and wist not who might be their
king. Right so, as they were in counsel, there came a voice among
them, and bade them choose the youngest knight of those three to
be their king. So they made Sir Galahad king, by all the assent of
the city. And when he was made king, he commanded to make a chest
of gold and of precious stones to hold the holy vessel. And every
day the three companions would come before it and make their
prayers.
Now at the year's end, and the same day of the year that Sir
Galahad received the crown, he got up early, and, with his
fellows, came to where the holy vessel was; and they saw one
kneeling before it that had about him a great fellowship of
angels; and he called Sir Galahad, and said, "Come, thou servant
of the Lord, and thou shalt see what thou hast much desired to
see." And Sir Galahad's mortal flesh trembled right hard when he
began to behold the spiritual things. Then said the good man, "Now
wottest thou who I am?" "Nay," said Sir Galahad. "I am Joseph of
Arimathea, whom our Lord hath sent here to thee, to bear thee
fellowship." Then Sir Galahad held up his hands toward heaven, and
said, "Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live, if it might
please thee." And when he had said these words, Sir Galahad went
to Sir Perceval and to Sir Bohort and kissed them, and commended
them to God. And then he kneeled down before the table, and made
his prayers, and suddenly his soul departed, and a great multitude
of angels bare his soul up to heaven, so as the two fellows could
well behold it. Also they saw come from heaven a hand, but they
saw not the body; and the hand came right to the vessel and bare
it up to heaven. Since then was there never one so hardy as to say
that he had seen the Sangreal on earth any more.
CHAPTER XXII
SIR AGRIVAIN'S TREASON
When Sir Perceval and Sir Bohort saw Sir Galahad dead they made as
much sorrow as ever did two men. And if they had not been good men
they might have fallen into despair. As soon as Sir Galahad was
buried Sir Perceval retired to a hermitage out of the city, and
took a religious clothing; and Sir Bohort was always with him, but
did not change his secular clothing, because he purposed to return
to the realm of Loegria. Thus a year and two months lived Sir
Perceval in the hermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of
this world, and Sir Bohort buried him by his sister and Sir
Galahad. Then Sir Bohort armed himself and departed from Sarras,
and entered into a ship, and sailed to the kingdom of Loegria, and
in due time arrived safe at Camelot, where the king was. Then was
there great joy made of him in the whole court, for they feared he
had been dead. Then the king made great clerks to come before him,
that they should chronicle of the high adventures of the good
knights. And Sir Bohort told him of the adventures that had
befallen him, and his two fellows, Sir Perceval and Sir Galahad.
And Sir Launcelot told the adventures of the Sangreal that he had
seen. All this was made in great books, and put up in the church
at Salisbury.
So King Arthur and Queen Guenever made great joy of the remnant
that were come home, and chiefly of Sir Launcelot and Sir Bohort.
Then Sir Launcelot began to resort unto Queen Guenever again, and
forgot the promise that he made in the quest: so that many in the
court spoke of it, and in especial Sir Agrivain, Sir Gawain's
brother, for he was ever open-mouthed. So it happened Sir Gawain
and all his brothers were in King Arthur's chamber, and then Sir
Agrivain said thus openly, "I marvel that we all are not ashamed
to see and to know so noble a knight as King Arthur so to be
shamed by the conduct of Sir Launcelot and the queen. "Then spoke
Sir Gawain, and said, "Brother, Sir Agrivain, I pray you and
charge you move not such matters any more before me, for be ye
assured I will not be of your counsel." "Neither will we," said
Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth. "Then will I," said Sir Modred. "I
doubt you not," said Sir Gawain, "for to all mischief ever were ye
prone; yet I would that ye left all this, for I know what will
come of it."
"Modred's narrow foxy face,
--Guinevere.
"Fall of it what fall may," said Sir Agrivain, "I will disclose it
to the king." With that came to them King Arthur. "Now, brothers,
hold your peace," said Sir Gawain. "We will not," said Sir
Agrivain. Then said Sir Gawain, "I will not hear your tales nor be
of your counsel." "No more will I," said Sir Gareth and Sir
Gaheris, and therewith they departed, making great sorrow.
Then Sir Agrivain told the king all that was said in the court of
the conduct of Sir Launcelot and the queen, and it grieved the
king very much. But he would not believe it to be true without
proof. So Sir Agrivain laid a plot to entrap Sir Launcelot and the
queen, intending to take them together unawares. Sir Agrivain and
Sir Modred led a party for this purpose, but Sir Launcelot escaped
from them, having slain Sir Agrivain and wounded Sir Modred. Then
Sir Launcelot hastened to his friends, and told them what had
happened, and withdrew with them to the forest; but he left spies
to bring him tidings of whatever might be done.
So Sir Launcelot escaped, but the queen remained in the king's
power, and Arthur could no longer doubt of her guilt. And the law
was such in those days that they who committed such crimes, of
what estate or condition soever they were, must be burned to
death, and so it was ordained for Queen Guenever. Then said King
Arthur to Sir Gawain, "I pray you make you ready, in your best
armor, with your brethren, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, to bring my
queen to the fire, there to receive her death." "Nay, my most
noble lord," said Sir Gawain, "that will I never do; for know thou
well, my heart will never serve me to see her die, and it shall
never be said that I was of your counsel in her death." Then the
king commanded Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth to be there, and they
said, "We will be there, as ye command us, sire, but in peaceable
wise, and bear no armor upon us."
So the queen was led forth, and her ghostly father was brought to
her to shrive her, and there was weeping and wailing of many lords
and ladies. And one went and told Sir Launcelot that the queen was
led forth to her death. Then Sir Launcelot and the knights that
were with him fell upon the troop that guarded the queen, and
dispersed them, and slew all who withstood them. And in the
confusion Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris were slain, for they were
unarmed and defenceless. And Sir Launcelot carried away the queen
to his castle of La Joyeuse Garde.
Then there came one to Sir Gawain and told him how that Sir
Launcelot had slain the knights and carried away the queen. "O
Lord, defend my brethren!" said Sir Gawain. "Truly," said the man,
"Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris are slain." "Alas!" said Sir Gawain,
"now is my joy gone." And then he fell down and swooned, and long
he lay there as he had been dead.
When he arose out of his swoon Sir Gawain ran to the king, crying,
"O King Arthur, mine uncle, my brothers are slain." Then the king
wept and he both. "My king, my lord, and mine uncle," said Sir
Gawain, "bear witness now that I make you a promise that I shall
hold by my knighthood, and from this day I will never fail Sir
Launcelot until the one of us have slain the other. I will seek
Sir Launcelot throughout seven kings' realms, but I shall slay him
or he shall slay me." "Ye shall not need to seek him," said the
king, "for as I hear, Sir Launcelot will abide me and you in the
Joyeuse Garde; and much people draweth unto him, as I hear say."
"That may I believe," said Sir Gawain; "but, my lord, summon your
friends, and I will summon mine." "It shall be done," said the
king. So then the king sent letters and writs throughout all
England, both in the length and breadth, to summon all his
knights. And unto Arthur drew many knights, dukes, and earls, so
that he had a great host. Thereof heard Sir Launcelot, and
collected all whom he could; and many good knights held with him,
both for his sake and for the queen's sake. But King Arthur's host
was too great for Sir Launcelot to abide him in the field; and he
was full loath to do battle against the king. So Sir Launcelot
drew him to his strong castle, with all manner of provisions. Then
came King Arthur with Sir Gawain, and laid siege all about La
Joyeuse Garde, both the town and the castle; but in no wise would
Sir Launcelot ride out of his castle, neither suffer any of his
knights to issue out, until many weeks were past.
Then it befell upon a day in harvest-time, Sir Launcelot looked
over the wall, and spoke aloud to King Arthur and Sir Gawain, "My
lords both, all is in vain that ye do at this siege, for here ye
shall win no worship, but only dishonor; for if I list to come
out, and my good knights, I shall soon make an end of this war."
"Come forth," said Arthur, "if thou darest, and I promise thee I
shall meet thee in the midst of the field." "God forbid me," said
Sir Launcelot, "that I should encounter with the most noble king
that made me knight." "Fie upon thy fair language," said the king,
"for know thou well I am thy mortal foe, and ever will be to my
dying day." And Sir Gawain said, "What cause hadst thou to slay my
brother, Sir Gaheris, who bore no arms against thee, and Sir
Gareth, whom thou madest knight, and who loved thee more than all
my kin? Therefore know thou well I shall make war to thee all the
while that I may live."
When Sir Bohort, and Sir Hector de Marys, and Sir Lionel heard
this outcry, they called to them Sir Palamedes, and Sir Saffire
his brother, and Sir Lawayn, with many more, and all went to Sir
Launcelot. And they said, "My lord, Sir Launcelot, we pray you, if
you will have our service keep us no longer within these walls,
for know well all your fair speech and forbearance will not avail
you." "Alas!" said Sir Launcelot, "to ride forth and to do battle
I am full loath." Then he spake again unto the king and Sir
Gawain, and willed them to keep out of the battle; but they
despised his words. So then Sir Launcelot's fellowship came out of
the castle in full good array. And always Sir Launcelot charged
all his knights, in any wise, to save King Arthur and Sir Gawain.
Then came forth Sir Gawain from the king's host and offered
combat, and Sir Lionel encountered with him, and there Sir Gawain
smote Sir Lionel through the body, that he fell to the earth as if
dead. Then there began a great conflict, and much people were
slain; but ever Sir Launcelot did what he might to save the people
on King Arthur's party, and ever King Arthur followed Sir
Launcelot to slay him; but Sir Launcelot suffered him, and would
not strike again. Then Sir Bohort encountered with King Arthur,
and smote him down; and he alighted and drew his sword, and said
to Sir Launcelot, "Shall I make an end of this war?" for he meant
to have slain King Arthur. "Not so," said Sir Launcelot, "touch
him no more, for I will never see that most noble king that made
me knight either slain or shamed;" and therewith Sir Launcelot
alighted off his horse, and took up the king, and horsed him
again, and said thus: "My lord Arthur, for God's love, cease this
strife." And King Arthur looked upon Sir Launcelot, and the tears
burst from his eyes, thinking on the great courtesy that was in
Sir Launcelot more than in any other man; and therewith the king
rode his way. Then anon both parties withdrew to repose them, and
buried the dead.
But the war continued, and it was noised abroad through all
Christendom, and at last it was told afore the pope; and he,
considering the great goodness of King Arthur, and of Sir
Launcelot, called unto him a noble clerk, which was the Bishop of
Rochester, who was then in his dominions, and sent him to King
Arthur, charging him that he take his queen, dame Guenever, unto
him again, and make peace with Sir Launcelot.
So, by means of this bishop, peace was made for the space of one
year; and King Arthur received back the queen, and Sir Launcelot
departed from the kingdom with all his knights, and went to his
own country. So they shipped at Cardiff, and sailed unto Benwick,
which some men call Bayonne. And all the people of those lands
came to Sir Launcelot, and received him home right joyfully. And
Sir Launcelot stablished and garnished all his towns and castles,
and he greatly advanced all his noble knights, Sir Lionel and Sir
Bohort, and Sir Hector de Marys, Sir Blamor, Sir Lawayne, and many
others, and made them lords of lands and castles; till he left
himself no more than any one of them.
"Then Arthur made vast banquets, and strange knights
--Pelleas and Ettarre.
But when the year was passed, King Arthur and Sir Gawain came with
a great host, and landed upon Sir Launcelot's lands, and burned
and wasted all that they might overrun. Then spake Sir Bohort and
said, "My lord, Sir Launcelot, give us leave to meet them in the
field, and we shall make them rue the time that ever they came to
this country." Then said Sir Launcelot, "I am full loath to ride
out with my knights for shedding of Christian blood; so we will
yet a while keep our walls, and I will send a messenger unto my
lord Arthur, to propose a treaty; for better is peace than always
war." So Sir Launcelot sent forth a damsel, and a dwarf with her,
requiring King Arthur to leave his warring upon his lands; and so
she started on a palfrey, and the dwarf ran by her side. And when
she came to the pavilion of King Arthur, she alighted, and there
met her a gentle knight, Sir Lucan, the butler, and said, "Fair
damsel, come ye from Sir Launcelot du Lac?" "Yea, sir," she said,
"I come hither to speak with the king." "Alas!" said Sir Lucan,
"my lord Arthur would be reconciled to Sir Launcelot, but Sir
Gawain will not suffer him." And with this Sir Lucan led the
damsel to the king, where he sat with Sir Gawain, to hear what she
would say. So when she had told her tale, the tears ran out of the
king's eyes; and all the lords were forward to advise the king to
be accorded with Sir Launcelot, save only Sir Gawain; and he said,
"My lord, mine uncle, what will ye do? Will you now turn back, now
you are so far advanced upon your journey? If ye do all the world
will speak shame of you." "Nay," said King Arthur, "I will do as
ye advise me; but do thou give the damsel her answer, for I may
not speak to her for pity."
Then said Sir Gawain, "Damsel, say ye to Sir Launcelot, that it is
waste labor to sue to mine uncle for peace, and say that I, Sir
Gawain, send him word that I promise him, by the faith I owe unto
God and to knighthood, I shall never leave him till he have slain
me or I him." So the damsel returned; and when Sir Launcelot had
heard this answer the tears ran down his cheeks.
Then it befell on a day Sir Gawain came before the gates, armed at
all points, and cried with a loud voice, "Where art thou now, thou
false traitor, Sir Launcelot? Why hidest thou thyself within holes
and walls like a coward? Look out now, thou traitor knight, and I
will avenge upon thy body the death of my three brethren." All
this language heard Sir Launcelot, and the knights which were
about him; and they said to him, "Sir Launcelot, now must ye
defend you like a knight, or else be shamed for ever, for you have
slept overlong and suffered overmuch." Then Sir Launcelot spake on
high unto King Arthur, and said, "My lord Arthur, now I have
forborne long, and suffered you and Sir Gawain to do what ye
would, and now must I needs defend myself, inasmuch as Sir Gawain
hath appealed me of treason." Then Sir Launcelot armed him and
mounted upon his horse, and the noble knights came out of the
city, and the host without stood all apart; and so the covenant
was made that no man should come near the two knights, nor deal
with them, till one were dead or yielded.
Then Sir Launcelot and Sir Gawain departed a great way asunder,
and then they came together with all their horses' might, and each
smote the other in the middle of their shields, but neither of
them was unhorsed, but their horses fell to the earth. And then
they leapt from their horses, and drew their swords, and gave many
sad strokes, so that the blood burst out in many places. Now Sir
Gawain had this gift from a holy man, that every day in the year,
from morning to noon, his strength was increased threefold, and
then it fell again to its natural measure. Sir Launcelot was aware
of this, and therefore, during the three hours that Sir Gawain's
strength was at the height, Sir Launcelot covered himself with his
shield, and kept his might in reserve. And during that time Sir
Gawain gave him many sad brunts, that all the knights that looked
on marvelled how Sir Launcelot might endure them. Then, when it
was past noon, Sir Gawain had only his own might; and when Sir
Launcelot felt him so brought down he stretched himself up, and
doubled his strokes, and gave Sir Gawain such a buffet that he
fell down on his side; and Sir Launcelot drew back and would
strike no more. "Why withdrawest thou, false traitor?" then said
Sir Gawain; "now turn again and slay me, for if thou leave me thus
when I am whole again, I shall do battle with thee again." "I
shall endure you, sir, by God's grace," said Sir Launcelot, "but
know thou well Sir Gawain, I will never smite a felled knight."
And so Sir Launcelot went into the city, and Sir Gawain was borne
into King Arthur's pavilion, and his wounds were looked to.
Thus the siege endured, and Sir Gawain lay helpless near a month;
and when he was near recovered came tidings unto King Arthur that
made him return with all his host to England.
CHAPTER XXIII
MORTE D'ARTHUR
Sir Modred was left ruler of all England, and he caused letters to
be written, as if from beyond sea, that King Arthur was slain in
battle. So he called a Parliament, and made himself be crowned
king; and he took the queen Guenever, and said plainly that he
would wed her, but she escaped from him and took refuge in the
Tower of London. And Sir Modred went and laid siege about the
Tower of London, and made great assaults thereat, but all might
not avail him. Then came word to Sir Modred that King Arthur had
raised the siege of Sir Launcelot, and was coming home. Then Sir
Modred summoned all the barony of the land; and much people drew
unto Sir Modred, and said they would abide with him for better and
for worse; and he drew a great host to Dover, for there he heard
say that King Arthur would arrive.
"I hear the steps of Modred in the west,
--The Passing of Arthur.
And as Sir Modred was at Dover with his host, came King Arthur,
with a great number of ships and galleys, and there was Sir Modred
awaiting upon the landing. Then was there launching of great boats
and small, full of noble men of arms, and there was much slaughter
of gentle knights on both parts. But King Arthur was so
courageous, there might no manner of knights prevent him to land,
and his knights fiercely followed him; and so they landed, and put
Sir Modred aback so that he fled, and all his people. And when the
battle was done, King Arthur commanded to bury his people that
were dead. And then was noble Sir Gawain found, in a great boat,
lying more than half dead. And King Arthur went to him, and made
sorrow out of measure. "Mine uncle," said Sir Gawain, "know thou
well my death-day is come, and all is through mine own hastiness
and wilfulness, for I am smitten upon the old wound which Sir
Launcelot gave me, of which I feel I must die. And had Sir
Launcelot been with you as of old, this war had never begun, and
of all this I am the cause." Then Sir Gawain prayed the king to
send for Sir Launcelot, and to cherish him above all other
knights. And so at the hour of noon Sir Gawain yielded up his
spirit, and then the king bade inter him in a chapel within Dover
Castle; and there all men may see the skull of him, and the same
wound is seen that Sir Launcelot gave him in battle.
Then was it told the king that Sir Modred had pitched his camp
upon Barrendown; and the king rode thither, and there was a great
battle betwixt them, and King Arthur's party stood best, and Sir
Modred and his party fled unto Canterbury.
And there was a day assigned betwixt King Arthur and Sir Modred
that they should meet upon a down beside Salisbury, and not far
from the sea-side, to do battle yet again. And at night, as the
king slept, he dreamed a wonderful dream. It seemed him verily
that there came Sir Gawain unto him, with a number of fair ladies
with him. And when King Arthur saw him, he said, "Welcome, my
sister's son; I weened thou hadst been dead; and now I see thee
alive great is my joy. But, O fair nephew, what be these ladies
that hither be come with you?" "Sir," said Sir Gawain, "all these
be ladies for whom I have fought when I was a living man; and
because I did battle for them in righteous quarrel they have given
me grace to bring me hither unto you to warn you of your death, if
ye fight to-morrow with Sir Modred. Therefore take ye treaty, and
proffer you largely for a month's delay; for within a month shall
come Sir Launcelot and all his noble knights, and rescue you
worshipfully, and slay Sir Modred and all that hold with him." And
then Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished. And anon the king
called to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. And
when they were come, the king told them his vision, and what Sir
Gawain had told him. Then the king sent Sir Lucan, the butler, and
Sir Bedivere, with two bishops, and charged them in any wise to
take a treaty for a month and a day with Sir Modred. So they
departed, and came to Sir Modred; and so, at the last, Sir Modred
was agreed to have Cornwall and Kent during Arthur's life, and all
England after his death.
"Sir Modred; he the nearest to the king,
--Guinevere
Then was it agreed that King Arthur and Sir Modred should meet
betwixt both their hosts, and each of them should bring fourteen
persons, and then and there they should sign the treaty. And when
King Arthur and his knights were prepared to go forth, he warned
all his host, "If so be ye see any sword drawn, look ye come on
fiercely, and slay whomsoever withstandeth, for I in no wise trust
that traitor, Sir Modred." In like wise Sir Modred warned his
host. So they met, and were agreed and accorded thoroughly. And
wine was brought, and they drank. Right then came an adder out of
a little heath-bush, and stung a knight on the foot. And when the
knight felt him sting, he looked down and saw the adder, and then
he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of no other harm.
And when the host on both sides saw that sword drawn, they blew
trumpets and horns, and shouted greatly. And King Arthur took his
horse, and rode to his party, saying, "Alas, this unhappy day!"
And Sir Modred did in like wise. And never was there a more
doleful battle in Christian land. And ever King Arthur rode
throughout the battle, and did full nobly, as a worthy king
should, and Sir Modred that day did his devoir, and put himself in
great peril. And thus they fought all the long day, till the most
of all the noble knights lay dead upon the ground. Then the king
looked about him, and saw of all his host were left alive but two
knights, Sir Lucan, the butler, and Sir Bedivere, his brother, and
they were full sore wounded. Then King Arthur saw where Sir Modred
leaned upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. "Now give me
my spear," said Arthur unto Sir Lucan; "for yonder I espy the
traitor that hast wrought all this woe." "Sir, let him be," said
Sir Lucan; "for if ye pass this unhappy day, ye shall be right
well revenged upon him. Remember what the sprite of Sir Gawain
told you, and leave off now, for ye have won the field; and if ye
leave off now this evil day of destiny is past." "Betide me life,
betide me death," said King Arthur, "he shall not now escape my
hands." Then the king took his spear in both hands, and ran toward
Sir Modred, crying, "Traitor, now is thy death-day come." And
there King Arthur smote Sir Modred under the shield, with a thrust
of his spear through the body. And when Sir Modred felt that he
had his death-wound, with the might that he had he smote King
Arthur, with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of
the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan; and
then Sir Modred fell stark dead upon the earth. And the noble
Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth. And Sir Lucan, the butler,
and Sir Bedivere raised him up, and gently led him betwixt them
both to a little chapel not far from the sea-side. And when the
king was there he thought him well eased. Then heard they people
cry in the field. And Sir Lucan went to see what that cry
betokened; and he saw by the moonlight that pillers and robbers
were come to rob the dead. And he returned, and said to the king,
"By my rede, it is best that we bring you to some town." "I would
it were so," said the king. And when the king tried to go he
fainted. Then Sir Lucan took up the king on the one part, and Sir
Bedivere on the other part; and in the lifting, Sir Lucan fell in
a swoon to the earth, for he was grievously wounded. And then the
noble knight's heart burst. And when the king awoke he beheld Sir
Lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth, and speechless. "Alas!"
said the king, "this is to me a full heavy sight, to see this
noble duke so die for my sake; for he would have holpen me that
had more need of help than I, and he would not complain, his heart
was so set to help me." Then Sir Bedivere wept for his brother.
"Leave this mourning and weeping," said the king, "for wilt thou
well, if I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve
me evermore; but my time hieth fast. Therefore," said Arthur unto
Sir Bedivere, "take thou Excalibar, my good sword, and go with it
to yonder water-side; and when thou comest there I charge thee
throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me what thou
there seest." "My lord," said Sir Bedivere, "your commandment
shall be done." So Sir Bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld
that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft were all of
precious stones; and then he said to himself, "If I throw this
rich sword into the water no good shall come thereof, but only
harm and loss." And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibar under a tree.
And so, as soon as he might, he came again to the king. "What
sawest thou there?" said the king. "Sir," he said, "I saw
nothing." "Alas! thou hast deceived me," said the king. "Go thou
lightly again, and as thou love me, spare not to throw it in."
Then Sir Bedivere went again, and took the sword in his hand to
throw it; but again it beseemed him but sin and shame to throw
away that noble sword, and he hid it away again, and returned, and
told the king he had done his commandment. "What sawest thou
there?" said the king. "Sir," he said, "I saw nothing but waters
deep and waves wan." "Ah, traitor untrue!" said King Arthur, "now
hast thou betrayed me twice. And yet thou art named a noble
knight, and hast been lief and dear to me. But now go again, and
do as I bid thee, for thy long tarrying putteth me in jeopardy of
my life." Then Sir Bedivere went to the sword, and lightly took it
up, and went to the water-side, and he bound the girdle about the
hilt, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he
might. And there came an arm and a hand out of the water, and met
it, and caught it, and shook it thrice and brandished it, and then
vanished away the hand with the sword in the water.
Then Sir Bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he
saw. "Help me hence," said the king, "for I fear I have tarried
too long." Then Sir Bedivere took the king on his back, and so
went with him to that water-side; and when they came there, even
fast by the bank there rode a little barge with many fair ladies
in it, and among them was a queen; and all had black hoods, and
they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.
"Now put me in the barge," said the king. And there received him
three queens with great mourning, and in one of their laps King
Arthur laid his head. And the queen said, "Ah, dear brother, why
have ye tarried so long? Alas! this wound on your head hath caught
over-much cold." And then they rowed from the land, and Sir
Bedivere beheld them go from him. Then he cried: "Ah, my lord
Arthur, will ye leave me here alone among mine enemies?" "Comfort
thyself," said the king, "for in me is no further help; for I will
to the Isle of Avalon, to heal me of my grievous wound." And as
soon as Sir Bedivere had lost sight of the barge, he wept and
wailed; then he took the forest, and went all that night, and in
the morning he was ware of a chapel and a hermitage.
Then went Sir Bedivere thither; and when he came into the chapel,
he saw where lay an hermit on the ground, near a tomb that was
newly graven. "Sir," said Sir Bedivere, "what man is there buried
that ye pray so near unto?" "Fair son," said the hermit, "I know
not verily. But this night there came a number of ladies, and
brought hither one dead, and prayed me to bury him." "Alas!" said
Sir Bedivere, "that was my lord, King Arthur." Then Sir Bedivere
swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide
with him, to live with fasting and prayers. "Ye are welcome," said
the hermit. So there bode Sir Bedivere with the hermit; and he put
on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and
in prayers.
Thus of Arthur I find never more written in books that be
authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death; but thus
was he led away in a ship, wherein were three queens; the one was
King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgane le Fay; the other was Viviane,
the Lady of the Lake; and the third was the queen of North Galis.
And this tale Sir Bedivere, knight of the Table Round, made to be
written.
Yet some men say that King Arthur is not dead, but hid away into
another place, and men say that he shall come again and reign over
England. But many say that there is written on his tomb this
verse:
"Hie facet Arthurus, Rex quondam, Rexque futurus."
And when Queen Guenever understood that King Arthur was slain, and
all the noble knights with him, she stole away, and five ladies
with her; and so she went to Almesbury, and made herself a nun,
and ware white clothes and black, and took great penance as ever
did sinful lady, and lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds.
And there she was abbess and ruler of the nuns.
"And when she came to Almesbury she spake
--Guinevere.
Now turn we from her, and speak of Sir Launcelot of the Lake.
When Sir Launcelot heard in his country that Sir Modred was
crowned king of England, and made war against his own uncle, King
Arthur, then was Sir Launcelot wroth out of measure, and said to
his kinsmen: "Alas, that double traitor, Sir Modred! now it
repenteth me that ever he escaped out of my hands." Then Sir
Launcelot and his fellows made ready in all haste, with ships and
galleys, to pass into England; and so he passed over till he came
to Dover, and there he landed with a great army. Then Sir
Launcelot was told that King Arthur was slain. "Alas!" said Sir
Launcelot, "this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me."
Then he called the kings, dukes, barons, and knights, and said
thus: "My fair lords, I thank you all for coming into this country
with me, but we came too late, and that shall repent me while I
live. But since it is so," said Sir Launcelot, "I will myself ride
and seek my lady, Queen Guenever, for I have heard say she hath
fled into the west; therefore ye shall abide me here fifteen days,
and if I come not within that time, then take your ships and your
host, and depart into your country."
So Sir Launcelot departed and rode westerly, and there he sought
many days; and at last he came to a nunnery, and was seen of Queen
Guenever as he walked in the cloister; and when she saw him she
swooned away. And when she might speak she bade him to be called
to her. And when Sir Launcelot was brought to her she said: "Sir
Launcelot, I require thee and beseech thee, for all the love that
ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more, but return to
thy kingdom and take thee a wife, and live with her with joy and
bliss; and pray for me to my Lord, that I may get my soul's
health." "Nay, madam," said Sir Launcelot, "wit you well that I
shall never do; but the same destiny that ye have taken you to
will I take me unto, for to please and serve God." And so they
parted, with tears and much lamentation; and the ladies bare the
queen to her chamber, and Sir Launcelot took his horse and rode
away, weeping.
And at last Sir Launcelot was ware of a hermitage and a chapel,
and then he heard a little bell ring to mass; and thither he rode
and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard mass. And
he that sang the mass was the hermit with whom Sir Bedivere had
taken up his abode; and Sir Bedivere knew Sir Launcelot, and they
spake together after mass. But when Sir Bedivere had told his
tale, Sir Launcelot's heart almost burst for sorrow. Then he
kneeled down, and prayed the hermit to shrive him, and besought
that he might be his brother. Then the hermit said, "I will
gladly;" and then he put a habit upon Sir Launcelot, and there he
served God day and night, with prayers and fastings.
And the great host abode at Dover till the end of the fifteen days
set by Sir Launcelot, and then Sir Bohort made them to go home
again to their own country; and Sir Bohort, Sir Hector de Marys,
Sir Blamor, and many others, took on them to ride through all
England to seek Sir Launcelot. So Sir Bohort by fortune rode until
he came to the same chapel where Sir Launcelot was; and when he
saw Sir Launcelot in that manner of clothing he, prayed the hermit
that he might be in that same. And so there was an habit put upon
him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. And within half a
year came others of the knights, their fellows, and took such a
habit as Sir Launcelot and Sir Bohort had. Thus they endured in
great penance six years.
And upon a night there came a vision to Sir Launcelot, and charged
him to haste toward Almesbury, and "by the time thou come there,
thou shalt find Queen Guenever dead." Then Sir Launcelot rose up
early and told the hermit thereof. Then said the hermit, "It were
well that ye disobey not this vision." And Sir Launcelot took his
seven companions with him, and on foot they went from Glastonbury
to Almesbury, which is more than thirty miles. And when they were
come to Almesbury, they found that Queen Guenever died but half an
hour before. Then Sir Launcelot saw her visage, but he wept not
greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the
service himself, both the "dirige" at night, and at morn he sang
mass. And there was prepared an horse-bier, and Sir Launcelot and
his fellows followed the bier on foot from Almesbury until they
came to Glastonbury; and she was wrapped in cered clothes, and
laid in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth Sir
Launcelot swooned, and lay long as one dead.
And Sir Launcelot never after ate but little meat, nor drank; but
continually mourned. And within six weeks Sir Launcelot fell sick;
and he sent for the hermit and all his true fellows, and said,
"Sir hermit, I pray you give me all my rights that a Christian man
ought to have." "It shall not need," said the hermit and all his
fellows; "it is but heaviness of your blood, and to-morrow morn
you shall be well" "My fair lords," said Sir Launcelot, "my
careful body will into the earth; I have warning more than now I
will say; therefore give me my rights." So when he was houseled
and aneled, and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he
prayed the hermit that his fellows might bear his body to Joyous
Garde. (Some men say it was Alnwick, and some say it was
Bamborough.) "It repenteth me sore," said Sir Launcelot, "but I
made a vow aforetime that in Joyous Garde I would be buried." Then
there was weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows. And
that night Sir Launcelot died; and when Sir Bohort and his fellows
came to his bedside the next morning they found him stark dead;
and he lay as if he had smiled, and the sweetest savor all about
him that ever they knew.
And they put Sir Launcelot into the same horse-bier that Queen
Guenever was laid in, and the hermit and they altogether went with
the body till they came to Joyous Garde. And there they laid his
corpse in the body of the quire, and sang and read many psalms and
prayers over him. And ever his visage was laid open and naked,
that all folks might behold him. And right thus, as they were at
their service, there came Sir Hector de Maris, that had seven
years sought Sir Launcelot, his brother, through all England,
Scotland and Wales. And when Sir Hector heard such sounds in the
chapel of Joyous Garde he alighted and came into the quire. And
all they knew Sir Hector. Then went Sir Bohort, and told him how
there lay Sir Launcelot, his brother, dead. Then Sir Hector threw
his shield, his sword, and helm from him. And when he beheld Sir
Launcelot's visage it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful
complaints he made for his brother. "Ah, Sir Launcelot!" he said,
"there thou liest. And now I dare to say thou wert never matched
of none earthly knight's hand. And thou wert the courteousest
knight that ever bare shield; and thou wert the truest friend to
thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou wert the truest
lover, of a sinful man, that ever loved woman; and thou wert the
kindest man that ever struck with sword. And thou wert the
goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. And thou
wert the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall
among ladies. And thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe
that ever put spear in the rest." Then there was weeping and dolor
out of measure. Thus they kept Sir Launcelot's corpse fifteen
days, and then they buried it with great devotion.
Then they went back with the hermit to his hermitage. And Sir
Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end. And Sir
Bohort, Sir Hector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Bleoberis went into the
Holy Land. And these four knights did many battles upon the
miscreants, the Turks; and there they died upon a Good Friday, as
it pleased God.
Thus endeth this noble and joyous book, entitled "La Morte
d'Arthur;" notwithstanding it treateth of the birth, life, and
acts of the said King Arthur, and of his noble Knights of the
Round Table, their marvellous enquests and adventures, the
achieving of the Sangreal, and, in the end, le Morte d'Arthur,
with the dolorous death and departing out of this world of them
all. Which book was reduced into English by Sir Thomas Mallory,
Knight, and divided into twenty-one books, chaptered and imprinted
and finished in the Abbey Westmestre, the last day of July, the
year of our Lord MCCCCLXXXV.
Caxton me fieri fecit.
CHAPTER III
Had built the King his havens, ships and halls."
Fell upon Merlin more like death, so deep
Her finger on her lips; then Vivian rose,
And from her brown-locked head the wimple throws,
And takes it in her hand and waves it over
The blossomed thorn tree and her sleeping lover.
Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round,
And made a little plot of magic ground."
And base attire, that none might them bewray,
To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge
Of name Caer-Merdin called, they took their way:
There the wise Merlin whylome wont (they say)
To make his wonne, low underneath the ground
In a deep delve, far from the view of day,
That of no living wight he mote be found,
Whenso he counselled with his sprights encompassed round.
To travel, go to see that dreadful place;
It is a hideous hollow cave (they say)
Under a rock that lies a little space
From the swift Barry, tombling down apace
Amongst the woody hills of Dynevor;
But dare not thou, I charge, in any case,
To enter into that same baleful bower,
For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour.
And there such ghastly noise of iron chains
And brazen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear,
Which thousand sprites with long enduring pains
Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains;
And oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds,
When too huge toil and labor them constrains;
And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.
Before that Merlin died, he did intend
A brazen wall in compas to compile
About Caermerdin, and did it commend
Unto these sprites to bring to perfect end;
During which work the Lady of the Lake,
Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send;
Who, thereby forced his workmen to forsake,
Them bound till his return their labor not to slack.
He was surprised, and buried under beare,
He ever to his work returned again;
Nathless those fiends may not their work forbear,
So greatly his commandement they fear;
But there do toil and travail day and night,
Until that brazen wall they up do rear.
For Merlin had in magic more insight
Than ever him before or after living wight."
Armed with fate the mighty blow:
For when he fell, the Elfin queen,
All in secret and unseen,
O'er the fainting hero threw
Her mantle of ambrosial blue,
And bade her spirits bear him far,
In Merlin's agate-axled car,
To her green isle's enamelled steep,
Far in the navel of the deep.
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew
From flowers that in Arabia grew.
Thence to Britain shall return,
If right prophetic rolls I learn,
Borne on victory's spreading plume,
His ancient sceptre to resume,
His knightly table to restore,
And brave the tournaments of yore."
No princess veiled in azure vest
Snatched him, by Merlin's powerful spell,
In groves of golden bliss to dwell;
But when he fell, with winged speed,
His champions, on a milk-white steed,
From the battle's hurricane,
Bore him to Joseph's towered fane,
In the fair vale of Avalon;
There, with chanted orison
And the long blaze of tapers clear,
The stoled fathers met the bier;
Through the dim aisles, in order dread
Of martial woe, the chief they led,
And deep entombed in holy ground,
Before the altar's solemn bound."
In some fair space of sloping greens,
Lay dozing in the vale of Avalon,
And watched by weeping queens."]
A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts
Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm
Flash'd forth and into war: for most of these
Made head against him, crying, 'Who is he
That he should rule us? who hath proven him
King Uther's son? for lo! we look at him,
And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice,
Are like to those of Uther whom we knew."
Unto a king fair tresore."
When at the glorious goal his British sceptre lay;
Two daies together how the battel stronglie stood;
Pendragon's worthie son, who waded there in blood,
Three hundred Saxons slew with his owne valiant hand."
As great as he was in his manhood--
The twain together might change the world."
As well in speeche as in countenance,
That Gawain, with his olde curtesie,
Though he were come agen out of faerie,
Ne coude him not amenden with a word."
I pray thee hold thy hand,
And give me leave to speak once more,
In rescue of my land.
This morn as I came over a moor,
I saw a lady set,
Between an oak and a green holly,
All clad in red scarlett.
She says ALL WOMEN WOULD HAVE THEIR WILL,
This is their chief desire;
Now yield, as thou art a baron true,
That I have paid my hire."
My sister's son ye be;
The loathly lady's all too grim,
And all too foule for thee."
There n' as but hevinesse and mochel sorwe,
For prively he wed her on the morwe,
And all day after hid him as an owle,
So wo was him his wife loked so foule!"
Her eyen were black as sloe,
The ripening cherrye swelled her lippe,
And all her neck was snow.
Sir Gawain kist that ladye faire
Lying upon the sheete,
And swore, as he was a true knight,
The spice was never so swete."
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
'The Lady of Shalott'
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
But Launcelot mused a little space;
He said, 'She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.'"
With alabaster sculptured, rich and rare;
And in its basin clear thou might'st behold
The flowery marge reflected fresh and fair.
Sage Merlin framed the font,--so legends bear,--
When on fair Isoude doated Tristram brave,
That the good errant knight, arriving there,
Might quaff oblivion in the enchanted wave,
And leave his luckless love, and 'scape his timeless grave.
His steps that fountain's charmed verge to gain.
Though restless, roving on adventure proud,
He traversed oft the land and oft the main."
Kind love perfected my lays:
Now my art alone displays
The woe that on my being preys.
Worshipped from my earliest hour,
Thou who life on all dost shower,
Love! my life thou dost devour.
Isoude, dearest enemy,
Thou who erst couldst kinder be,
When I'm gone, forget not me.
Oft will read, as low I lie,
'Never wight in love could vie
With Tristram, yet she let him die.'"
My harp to notes of languishment;
Ah, love! delightsome days be meant
For happier wights, with hearts content.
Art thou from restless anguish free?
Ah! couldst thou so one moment be,
From her who so much loveth thee?"
Dame, damsel, each through worship of their Queen
White-robed in honor of the stainless child,
And some with scatter'd jewels, like a bank
Of maiden snow mingled with sparks of fire.
He looked but once, and veiled his eyes again."
Fashion'd by Merlin ere he past away,
And carven with strange figures; and in and out
The figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll
Of letters in a tongue no man could read
And Merlin call'd it 'The Siege perilous,'
Perilous for good and ill; 'for there,' he said,
'No man could sit but he should lose himself.'"
Ye court my troubled spirit to repose,
Whilst I, such dear remembrance rises there,
Awaken every echo with my woes
A fountain springs, and feeds a thousand flowers;
Ah! how my groans do all its murmurs aid!
How my sad eyes do swell it with their showers!
A double meed; in love and arms' emprise,
Him the Round Table elevates to heaven!
Tristram! ah me! he hears not Isoude's cries."
"With fair Isoude, and with love,
Ah! how sweet the life I lead!
How blest for ever thus to rove,
With fair Isoude, and with love!
As she wills, I live and move,
And cloudless days to days succeed:
With fair Isoude, and with love,
Ah! how sweet the life I lead!
Feel you not fatigued, my fair?
Yon green turf invites to play;
Journeying on from day to day,
Ah! let us to that shade away,
Were it but to slumber there!
Journeying on from break of day,
Feel you not fatigued, my fair?"
Grew to such evil that the Holy cup
Was caught away to heaven and disappear'd."
And almost burst the barriers in their heat,
Shouting 'Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval!'"
And bring to me my richest mail,
For to-morrow I go over land and sea
In search of the Holy, Holy Grail
Nor shall a pillow be under my head,
Till I begin my vow to keep.
Here on the rushes will I sleep,
And perchance there may come a vision true
Ere day create the world anew"
Then for very wonder and thankfulness Sir Launcelot forgot himself
and he stepped forward and entered the chamber. And suddenly a
breath that seemed intermixed with fire smote him so sore in the
visage that therewith he fell to the ground, and had no power to
rise. Then felt he many hands about him, which took him up and
bare him out of the chamber, without any amending of his swoon,
and left him there, seeming dead to all the people. So on the
morrow, when it was fair daylight, and they within were arisen,
they found Sir Launcelot lying before the chamber door. And they
looked upon him and felt his pulse, to know if there were any life
in him. And they found life in him, but he might neither stand nor
stir any member that he had. So they took him and bare him into a
chamber, and laid him upon a bed, far from all folk, and there he
lay many days. Then the one said he was alive, and the others said
nay. But said an old man, "He is as full of life as the mightiest
of you all, and therefore I counsel you that he be well kept till
God bring him back again." And after twenty-four days he opened
his eyes; and when he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said,
"Why have ye wakened me? for I was better at ease than I am now."
"What have ye seen?" said they about him. "I have seen," said he,
"great marvels that no tongue can tell, and more than any heart
can think." Then they said, "Sir, the quest of the Sangreal is
achieved right now in you, and never shall ye see more of it than
ye have seen." "I thank God," said Sir Launcelot, "of his great
mercy, for that I have seen, for it sufficeth me." Then he rose up
and clothed himself; and when he was so arrayed they marvelled
all, for they knew it was Sir Launcelot the good knight. And after
four days he took his leave of the lord of the castle, and of all
the fellowship that were there, and thanked them for their great
labor and care of him. Then he departed, and turned to Camelot,
where he found King Arthur and Queen Guenever; but many of the
knights of the Round Table were slain and destroyed, more than
half. Then all the court was passing glad of Sir Launcelot; and he
told the king all his adventures that had befallen him since he
departed.
All pall'd in crimson samite, and around
Great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes"
An image of Him who died on the tree
Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,
Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns;
And to thy life were not denied
The wounds in thy hands and feet and side
Mild Mary's son, acknowledge me;
Behold, through Him I give to thee!'"
Heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent eye:
Henceforward, too, the Powers that tend the soul
To help it from the death that cannot die,
And save it even in extremes, began
To vex and plague."
From the four winds came in: and each one sat,
Tho' served with choice from air, land, stream and sea,
Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes
His neighbor's make and might."
And with him many of thy people, and knights
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown
Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee"
His nephew, ever like a subtle beast
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,
Ready to spring, waiting a chance."
Here Arthur lies, King once and King to be.
There to the nuns, and said, 'Mine enemies
Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood,
Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask
Her name to whom ye yield it, till her time
To tell you;' and her beauty, grace and power
Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared
To ask it."
Text in Public Domain
© Copyright 2005, Jason E. Heath
All rights reserved