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The Age of Chivalry

by Thomas Bulfinch · English · Gutenberg #4926 · 677,840 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Age of Chivalry

Author: Thomas Bulfinch


        
Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #4926]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGE OF CHIVALRY ***




Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.



BULFINCH'S MYTHOLOGY

THE AGE OF FABLE

THE AGE OF CHIVALRY

LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE

BY THOMAS BULFINCH

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME


[Editor's Note: The etext contains only THE AGE OF CHIVALRY]





PUBLISHERS' PREFACE


No new edition of Bulfinch's classic work can be considered
complete without some notice of the American scholar to whose wide
erudition and painstaking care it stands as a perpetual monument.
"The Age of Fable" has come to be ranked with older books like
"Pilgrim's Progress," "Gulliver's Travels," "The Arabian Nights,"
"Robinson Crusoe," and five or six other productions of world-wide
renown as a work with which every one must claim some acquaintance
before his education can be called really complete. Many readers
of the present edition will probably recall coming in contact with
the work as children, and, it may be added, will no doubt discover
from a fresh perusal the source of numerous bits of knowledge that
have remained stored in their minds since those early years. Yet
to the majority of this great circle of readers and students the
name Bulfinch in itself has no significance.

Thomas Bulfinch was a native of Boston, Mass., where he was born
in 1796. His boyhood was spent in that city, and he prepared for
college in the Boston schools. He finished his scholastic training
at Harvard College, and after taking his degree was for a period a
teacher in his home city. For a long time later in life he was
employed as an accountant in the Boston Merchants' Bank. His
leisure time he used for further pursuit of the classical studies
which he had begun at Harvard, and his chief pleasure in life lay
in writing out the results of his reading, in simple, condensed
form for young or busy readers. The plan he followed in this work,
to give it the greatest possible usefulness, is set forth in the
Author's Preface.

"Age of Fable," First Edition, 1855; "The Age of Chivalry," 1858;
"The Boy Inventor," 1860; "Legends of Charlemagne, or Romance of
the Middle Ages," 1863; "Poetry of the Age of Fable," 1863;
"Oregon and Eldorado, or Romance of the Rivers,"1860.

In this complete edition of his mythological and legendary lore
"The Age of Fable," "The Age of Chivalry," and "Legends of
Charlemagne" are included. Scrupulous care has been taken to
follow the original text of Bulfinch, but attention should be
called to some additional sections which have been inserted to add
to the rounded completeness of the work, and which the publishers
believe would meet with the sanction of the author himself, as in
no way intruding upon his original plan but simply carrying it out
in more complete detail. The section on Northern Mythology has
been enlarged by a retelling of the epic of the "Nibelungen Lied,"
together with a summary of Wagner's version of the legend in his
series of music-dramas. Under the head of "Hero Myths of the
British Race" have been included outlines of the stories of
Beowulf, Cuchulain, Hereward the Wake, and Robin Hood. Of the
verse extracts which occur throughout the text, thirty or more
have been added from literature which has appeared since
Bulfinch's time, extracts that he would have been likely to quote
had he personally supervised the new edition.

Finally, the index has been thoroughly overhauled and, indeed,
remade. All the proper names in the work have been entered, with
references to the pages where they occur, and a concise
explanation or definition of each has been given. Thus what was a
mere list of names in the original has been enlarged into a small
classical and mythological dictionary, which it is hoped will
prove valuable for reference purposes not necessarily connected
with "The Age of Fable."

Acknowledgments are due the writings of Dr. Oliver Huckel for
information on the point of Wagner's rendering of the Nibelungen
legend, and M. I. Ebbutt's authoritative volume on "Hero Myths and
Legends of the British Race," from which much of the information
concerning the British heroes has been obtained





AUTHOR'S PREFACE


If no other knowledge deserves to be called useful but that which
helps to enlarge our possessions or to raise our station in
society, then Mythology has no claim to the appellation. But if
that which tends to make us happier and better can be called
useful, then we claim that epithet for our subject. For Mythology
is the handmaid of literature; and literature is one of the best
allies of virtue and promoters of happiness.

Without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of
our own language cannot be understood and appreciated. When Byron
calls Rome "the Niobe of nations," or says of Venice, "She looks a
Sea-Cybele fresh from ocean," he calls up to the mind of one
familiar with our subject, illustrations more vivid and striking
than the pencil could furnish, but which are lost to the reader
ignorant of mythology. Milton abounds in similar allusions. The
short poem "Comus" contains more than thirty such, and the ode "On
the Morning of the Nativity" half as many. Through "Paradise Lost"
they are scattered profusely. This is one reason why we often hear
persons by no means illiterate say that they cannot enjoy Milton.
But were these persons to add to their more solid acquirements the
easy learning of this little volume, much of the poetry of Milton
which has appeared to them "harsh and crabbed" would be found
"musical as is Apollo's lute." Our citations, taken from more than
twenty-five poets, from Spenser to Longfellow, will show how
general has been the practice of borrowing illustrations from
mythology.

The prose writers also avail themselves of the same source of
elegant and suggestive illustration. One can hardly take up a
number of the "Edinburgh" or "Quarterly Review" without meeting
with instances. In Macaulay's article on Milton there are twenty
such.

But how is mythology to be taught to one who does not learn it
through the medium of the languages of Greece and Rome? To devote
study to a species of learning which relates wholly to false
marvels and obsolete faiths is not to be expected of the general
reader in a practical age like this. The time even of the young is
claimed by so many sciences of facts and things that little can be
spared for set treatises on a science of mere fancy.

But may not the requisite knowledge of the subject be acquired by
reading the ancient poets in translations? We reply, the field is
too extensive for a preparatory course; and these very
translations require some previous knowledge of the subject to
make them intelligible. Let any one who doubts it read the first
page of the "Aeneid," and see what he can make of "the hatred of
Juno," the "decree of the Parcae," the "judgment of Paris," and
the "honors of Ganymede," without this knowledge.

Shall we be told that answers to such queries may be found in
notes, or by a reference to the Classical Dictionary? We reply,
the interruption of one's reading by either process is so annoying
that most readers prefer to let an allusion pass unapprehended
rather than submit to it. Moreover, such sources give us only the
dry facts without any of the charm of the original narrative; and
what is a poetical myth when stripped of its poetry? The story of
Ceyx and Halcyone, which fills a chapter in our book, occupies but
eight lines in the best (Smith's) Classical Dictionary; and so of
others.

Our work is an attempt to solve this problem, by telling the
stories of mythology in such a manner as to make them a source of
amusement. We have endeavored to tell them correctly, according to
the ancient authorities, so that when the reader finds them
referred to he may not be at a loss to recognize the reference.
Thus we hope to teach mythology not as a study, but as a
relaxation from study; to give our work the charm of a story-book,
yet by means of it to impart a knowledge of an important branch of
education. The index at the end will adapt it to the purposes of
reference, and make it a Classical Dictionary for the parlor.

Most of the classical legends in "Stories of Gods and Heroes" are
derived from Ovid and Virgil. They are not literally translated,
for, in the author's opinion, poetry translated into literal prose
is very unattractive reading. Neither are they in verse, as well
for other reasons as from a conviction that to translate
faithfully under all the embarrassments of rhyme and measure is
impossible. The attempt has been made to tell the stories in
prose, preserving so much of the poetry as resides in the thoughts
and is separable from the language itself, and omitting those
amplifications which are not suited to the altered form.

The Northern mythological stories are copied with some abridgment
from Mallet's "Northern Antiquities." These chapters, with those
on Oriental and Egyptian mythology, seemed necessary to complete
the subject, though it is believed these topics have not usually
been presented in the same volume with the classical fables.

The poetical citations so freely introduced are expected to answer
several valuable purposes. They will tend to fix in memory the
leading fact of each story, they will help to the attainment of a
correct pronunciation of the proper names, and they will enrich
the memory with many gems of poetry, some of them such as are most
frequently quoted or alluded to in reading and conversation.

Having chosen mythology as connected with literature for our
province, we have endeavored to omit nothing which the reader of
elegant literature is likely to find occasion for. Such stories
and parts of stories as are offensive to pure taste and good
morals are not given. But such stories are not often referred to,
and if they occasionally should be, the English reader need feel
no mortification in confessing his ignorance of them.

Our work is not for the learned, nor for the theologian, nor for
the philosopher, but for the reader of English literature, of
either sex, who wishes to comprehend the allusions so frequently
made by public speakers, lecturers, essayists, and poets, and
those which occur in polite conversation.

In the "Stories of Gods and Heroes" the compiler has endeavored to
impart the pleasures of classical learning to the English reader,
by presenting the stories of Pagan mythology in a form adapted to
modern taste. In "King Arthur and His Knights" and "The
Mabinogeon" the attempt has been made to treat in the same way the
stories of the second "age of fable," the age which witnessed the
dawn of the several states of Modern Europe.

It is believed that this presentation of a literature which held
unrivalled sway over the imaginations of our ancestors, for many
centuries, will not be without benefit to the reader, in addition
to the amusement it may afford. The tales, though not to be
trusted for their facts, are worthy of all credit as pictures of
manners; and it is beginning to be held that the manners and modes
of thinking of an age are a more important part of its history
than the conflicts of its peoples, generally leading to no result.
Besides this, the literature of romance is a treasure-house of
poetical material, to which modern poets frequently resort. The
Italian poets, Dante and Ariosto, the English, Spenser, Scott, and
Tennyson, and our own Longfellow and Lowell, are examples of this.

These legends are so connected with each other, so consistently
adapted to a group of characters strongly individualized in
Arthur, Launcelot, and their compeers, and so lighted up by the
fires of imagination and invention, that they seem as well adapted
to the poet's purpose as the legends of the Greek and Roman
mythology. And if every well-educated young person is expected to
know the story of the Golden Fleece, why is the quest of the
Sangreal less worthy of his acquaintance? Or if an allusion to the
shield of Achilles ought not to pass unapprehended, why should one
to Excalibar, the famous sword of Arthur?--

    "Of Arthur, who, to upper light restored,
     With that terrific sword,
     Which yet he brandishes for future war,
     Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star."

[Footnote: Wordsworth]

It is an additional recommendation of our subject, that it tends
to cherish in our minds the idea of the source from which we
sprung. We are entitled to our full share in the glories and
recollections of the land of our forefathers, down to the time of
colonization thence. The associations which spring from this
source must be fruitful of good influences; among which not the
least valuable is the increased enjoyment which such associations
afford to the American traveller when he visits England, and sets
his foot upon any of her renowned localities.

The legends of Charlemagne and his peers are necessary to complete
the subject.

In an age when intellectual darkness enveloped Western Europe, a
constellation of brilliant writers arose in Italy. Of these, Pulci
(born in 1432), Boiardo (1434), and Ariosto (1474) took for their
subjects the romantic fables which had for many ages been
transmitted in the lays of bards and the legends of monkish
chroniclers. These fables they arranged in order, adorned with the
embellishments of fancy, amplified from their own invention, and
stamped with immortality. It may safely be asserted that as long
as civilization shall endure these productions will retain their
place among the most cherished creations of human genius.

In "Stories of Gods and Heroes," "King Arthur and His Knights" and
"The Mabinogeon" the aim has been to supply to the modern reader
such knowledge of the fables of classical and mediaeval literature
as is needed to render intelligible the allusions which occur in
reading and conversation. The "Legends of Charlemagne" is intended
to carry out the same design. Like the earlier portions of the
work, it aspires to a higher character than that of a piece of
mere amusement. It claims to be useful, in acquainting its readers
with the subjects of the productions of the great poets of Italy.
Some knowledge of these is expected of every well-educated young
person.

In reading these romances, we cannot fail to observe how the
primitive inventions have been used, again and again, by
successive generations of fabulists. The Siren of Ulysses is the
prototype of the Siren of Orlando, and the character of Circe
reappears in Alcina. The fountains of Love and Hatred may be
traced to the story of Cupid and Psyche; and similar effects
produced by a magic draught appear in the tale of Tristram and
Isoude, and, substituting a flower for the draught, in
Shakspeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream." There are many other
instances of the same kind which the reader will recognize without
our assistance.

The sources whence we derive these stories are, first, the Italian
poets named above; next, the "Romans de Chevalerie" of the Comte
de Tressan; lastly, certain German collections of popular tales.
Some chapters have been borrowed from Leigh Hunt's Translations
from the Italian Poets. It seemed unnecessary to do over again
what he had already done so well; yet, on the other hand, those
stories could not be omitted from the series without leaving it
incomplete.

THOMAS BULFINCH.





CONTENTS


KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS


    I. Introduction
   II. The Mythical History of England
  III. Merlin
   IV. Arthur
    V. Arthur (Continued)
   VI. Sir Gawain
  VII. Caradoc Briefbras; or, Caradoc with the Shrunken Arm
 VIII. Launcelot of the Lake
   IX. The Adventure of the Cart
    X. The Lady of Shalott
   XI. Queen Guenever's Peril
  XII. Tristram and Isoude
 XIII. Tristram and Isoude (Continued)
  XIV. Sir Tristram's Battle with Sir Launcelot
   XV. The Round Table
  XVI. Sir Palamedes
 XVII. Sir Tristram
XVIII. Perceval
  XIX. The Sangreal, or Holy Graal
   XX. The Sangreal (Continued)
  XXI. The Sangreal (Continued)
 XXII. Sir Agrivain's Treason
XXIII. Morte d'Arthur


THE MABINOGEON


      Introductory Note
   I. The Britons
  II. The Lady of the Fountain
 III. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)
  IV. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)
   V. Geraint, the Son of Erbin
  VI. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)
 VII. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)
VIII. Pwyll, Prince of Dyved
  IX. Branwen, the Daughter of Llyr
   X. Manawyddan
  XI. Kilwich and Olwen
 XII. Kilwich and Olwen (Continued)
XIII. Taliesin


HERO MYTHS OF THE BRITISH RACE


Beowulf
Cuchulain, Champion of Ireland
Hereward the Wake
Robin Hood

GLOSSARY





KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION


On the decline of the Roman power, about five centuries after
Christ, the countries of Northern Europe were left almost
destitute of a national government. Numerous chiefs, more or less
powerful, held local sway, as far as each could enforce his
dominion, and occasionally those chiefs would unite for a common
object; but, in ordinary times, they were much more likely to be
found in hostility to one another. In such a state of things the
rights of the humbler classes of society were at the mercy of
every assailant; and it is plain that, without some check upon the
lawless power of the chiefs, society must have relapsed into
barbarism. Such checks were found, first, in the rivalry of the
chiefs themselves, whose mutual jealousy made them restraints upon
one another; secondly, in the influence of the Church, which, by
every motive, pure or selfish, was pledged to interpose for the
protection of the weak; and lastly, in the generosity and sense of
right which, however crushed under the weight of passion and
selfishness, dwell naturally in the heart of man. From this last
source sprang Chivalry, which framed an ideal of the heroic
character, combining invincible strength and valor, justice,
modesty, loyalty to superiors, courtesy to equals, compassion to
weakness, and devotedness to the Church; an ideal which, if never
met with in real life, was acknowledged by all as the highest
model for emulation.

The word "Chivalry" is derived from the French "cheval," a horse.
The word "knight," which originally meant boy or servant, was
particularly applied to a young man after he was admitted to the
privilege of bearing arms. This privilege was conferred on youths
of family and fortune only, for the mass of the people were not
furnished with arms. The knight then was a mounted warrior, a man
of rank, or in the service and maintenance of some man of rank,
generally possessing some independent means of support, but often
relying mainly on the gratitude of those whom he served for the
supply of his wants, and often, no doubt, resorting to the means
which power confers on its possessor.

In time of war the knight was, with his followers, in the camp of
his sovereign, or commanding in the field, or holding some castle
for him. In time of peace he was often in attendance at his
sovereign's court, gracing with his presence the banquets and
tournaments with which princes cheered their leisure. Or he was
traversing the country in quest of adventure, professedly bent on
redressing wrongs and enforcing rights, sometimes in fulfilment of
some vow of religion or of love. These wandering knights were
called knights-errant; they were welcome guests in the castles of
the nobility, for their presence enlivened the dulness of those
secluded abodes, and they were received with honor at the abbeys,
which often owed the best part of their revenues to the patronage
of the knights; but if no castle or abbey or hermitage were at
hand their hardy habits made it not intolerable to them to lie
down, supperless, at the foot of some wayside cross, and pass the
night.

It is evident that the justice administered by such an
instrumentality must have been of the rudest description. The
force whose legitimate purpose was to redress wrongs might easily
be perverted to inflict them Accordingly, we find in the romances,
which, however fabulous in facts, are true as pictures of manners,
that a knightly castle was often a terror to the surrounding
country; that is, dungeons were full of oppressed knights and
ladies, waiting for some champion to appear to set them free, or
to be ransomed with money; that hosts of idle retainers were ever
at hand to enforce their lord's behests, regardless of law and
justice; and that the rights of the unarmed multitude were of no
account. This contrariety of fact and theory in regard to chivalry
will account for the opposite impressions which exist in men's
minds respecting it. While it has been the theme of the most
fervid eulogium on the one part, it has been as eagerly denounced
on the other. On a cool estimate, we cannot but see reason to
congratulate ourselves that it has given way in modern times to
the reign of law, and that the civil magistrate, if less
picturesque, has taken the place of the mailed champion.

THE TRAINING OF A KNIGHT

The preparatory education of candidates for knighthood was long
and arduous. At seven years of age the noble children were usually
removed from their father's house to the court or castle of their
future patron, and placed under the care of a governor, who taught
them the first articles of religion, and respect and reverence for
their lords and superiors, and initiated them in the ceremonies of
a court. They were called pages, valets, or varlets, and their
office was to carve, to wait at table, and to perform other menial
services, which were not then considered humiliating. In their
leisure hours they learned to dance and play on the harp, were
instructed in the mysteries of woods and rivers, that is, in
hunting, falconry, and fishing, and in wrestling, tilting with
spears, and performing other military exercises on horseback. At
fourteen the page became an esquire, and began a course of severer
and more laborious exercises. To vault on a horse in heavy armor;
to run, to scale walls, and spring over ditches, under the same
encumbrance; to wrestle, to wield the battle-axe for a length of
time, without raising the visor or taking breath; to perform with
grace all the evolutions of horsemanship,--were necessary
preliminaries to the reception of knighthood, which was usually
conferred at twenty-one years of age, when the young man's
education was supposed to be completed. In the meantime, the
esquires were no less assiduously engaged in acquiring all those
refinements of civility which formed what was in that age called
courtesy. The same castle in which they received their education
was usually thronged with young persons of the other sex, and the
page was encouraged, at a very early age, to select some lady of
the court as the mistress of his heart, to whom he was taught to
refer all his sentiments, words, and actions. The service of his
mistress was the glory and occupation of a knight, and her smiles,
bestowed at once by affection and gratitude, were held out as the
recompense of his well-directed valor. Religion united its
influence with those of loyalty and love, and the order of
knighthood, endowed with all the sanctity and religious awe that
attended the priesthood, became an object of ambition to the
greatest sovereigns.

The ceremonies of initiation were peculiarly solemn. After
undergoing a severe fast, and spending whole nights in prayer, the
candidate confessed, and received the sacrament. He then clothed
himself in snow-white garments, and repaired to the church, or the
hall, where the ceremony was to take place, bearing a knightly
sword suspended from his neck, which the officiating priest took
and blessed, and then returned to him. The candidate then, with
folded arms, knelt before the presiding knight, who, after some
questions about his motives and purposes in requesting admission,
administered to him the oaths, and granted his request. Some of
the knights present, sometimes even ladies and damsels, handed to
him in succession the spurs, the coat of mail, the hauberk, the
armlet and gauntlet, and lastly he girded on the sword. He then
knelt again before the president, who, rising from his seat, gave
him the "accolade," which consisted of three strokes, with the
flat of a sword, on the shoulder or neck of the candidate,
accompanied by the words: "In the name of God, of St. Michael, and
St. George, I make thee a knight; be valiant, courteous, and
loyal!" Then he received his helmet, his shield, and spear; and
thus the investiture ended.

FREEMEN, VILLAINS, SERFS, AND CLERKS

The other classes of which society was composed were, first,
FREEMEN, owners of small portions of land independent, though they
sometimes voluntarily became the vassals of their more opulent
neighbors, whose power was necessary for their protection. The
other two classes, which were much the most numerous, were either
serfs or villains, both of which were slaves.

The SERFS were in the lowest state of slavery. All the fruits of
their labor belonged to the master whose land they tilled, and by
whom they were fed and clothed.

The VILLIANS were less degraded. Their situation seems to have
resembled that of the Russian peasants at this day. Like the
serfs, they were attached to the soil, and were transferred with
it by purchase; but they paid only a fixed rent to the landlord,
and had a right to dispose of any surplus that might arise from
their industry.

The term "clerk" was of very extensive import. It comprehended,
originally, such persons only as belonged to the clergy, or
clerical order, among whom, however, might be found a multitude of
married persons, artisans or others. But in process of time a much
wider rule was established; every one that could read being
accounted a clerk or clericus, and allowed the "benefit of
clergy," that is, exemption from capital and some other forms of
punishment, in case of crime.

TOURNAMENTS

The splendid pageant of a tournament between knights, its gaudy
accessories and trappings, and its chivalrous regulations,
originated in France. Tournaments were repeatedly condemned by the
Church, probably on account of the quarrels they led to, and the
often fatal results. The "joust," or "just," was different from
the tournament. In these, knights fought with their lances, and
their object was to unhorse their antagonists; while the
tournaments were intended for a display of skill and address in
evolutions, and with various weapons, and greater courtesy was
observed in the regulations. By these it was forbidden to wound
the horse, or to use the point of the sword, or to strike a knight
after he had raised his vizor, or unlaced his helmet. The ladies
encouraged their knights in these exercises; they bestowed prizes,
and the conqueror's feats were the theme of romance and song. The
stands overlooking the ground, of course, were varied in the
shapes of towers, terraces, galleries, and pensile gardens,
magnificently decorated with tapestry, pavilions, and banners.
Every combatant proclaimed the name of the lady whose servant
d'amour he was. He was wont to look up to the stand, and
strengthen his courage by the sight of the bright eyes that were
raining their influence on him from above. The knights also
carried FAVORS, consisting of scarfs, veils, sleeves, bracelets,
clasps,--in short, some piece of female habiliment,--attached to
their helmets, shields, or armor. If, during the combat, any of
these appendages were dropped or lost the fair donor would at
times send her knight new ones, especially if pleased with his
exertions.

MAIL ARMOR

Mail armor, of which the hauberk is a species, and which derived
its name from maille, a French word for MESH, was of two kinds,
PLATE or SCALE mail, and CHAIN mail. It was originally used for
the protection of the body only, reaching no lower than the knees.
It was shaped like a carter's frock, and bound round the waist by
a girdle. Gloves and hose of mail were afterwards added, and a
hood, which, when necessary, was drawn over the head, leaving the
face alone uncovered. To protect the skin from the impression of
the iron network of the chain mail, a quilted lining was employed,
which, however, was insufficient, and the bath was used to efface
the marks of the armor.

The hauberk was a complete covering of double chain mail. Some
hauberks opened before, like a modern coat; others were closed
like a shirt.

The chain mail of which they were composed was formed by a number
of iron links, each link having others inserted into it, the whole
exhibiting a kind of network, of which (in some instances at
least) the meshes were circular, with each link separately
riveted.

The hauberk was proof against the most violent blow of a sword;
but the point of a lance might pass through the meshes, or drive
the iron into the flesh. To guard against this, a thick and well-
stuffed doublet was worn underneath, under which was commonly
added an iron breastplate. Hence the expression "to pierce both
plate and mail," so common in the earlier poets.

Mail armor continued in general use till about the year 1300, when
it was gradually supplanted by plate armor, or suits consisting of
pieces or plates of solid iron, adapted to the different parts of
the body.

Shields were generally made of wood, covered with leather, or some
similar substance. To secure them, in some sort, from being cut
through by the sword, they were surrounded with a hoop of metal.

HELMETS

The helmet was composed of two parts: the HEADPIECE, which was
strengthened within by several circles of iron, and the VISOR,
which, as the name implies, was a sort of grating to see through,
so contrived as, by sliding in a groove, or turning on a pivot, to
be raised or lowered at pleasure. Some helmets had a further
improvement called a BEVER, from the Italian bevere, to drink. The
VENTAYLE, or "air-passage," is another name for this.

To secure the helmet from the possibility of falling, or of being
struck off, it was tied by several laces to the meshes of the
hauberk; consequently, when a knight was overthrown it was
necessary to undo these laces before he could be put to death;
though this was sometimes effected by lifting up the skirt of the
hauberk, and stabbing him in the belly. The instrument of death
was a small dagger, worn on the right side.

ROMANCES

In ages when there were no books, when noblemen and princes
themselves could not read, history or tradition was monopolized by
the story-tellers. They inherited, generation after generation,
the wondrous tales of their predecessors, which they retailed to
the public with such additions of their own as their acquired
information supplied them with. Anachronisms became of course very
common, and errors of geography, of locality, of manners, equally
so. Spurious genealogies were invented, in which Arthur and his
knights, and Charlemagne and his paladins, were made to derive
their descent from Aeneas, Hector, or some other of the Trojan
heroes.

With regard to the derivation of the word "Romance," we trace it
to the fact that the dialects which were formed in Western Europe,
from the admixture of Latin with the native languages, took the
name of Langue Romaine. The French language was divided into two
dialects. The river Loire was their common boundary. In the
provinces to the south of that river the affirmative, YES, was
expressed by the word oc; in the north it was called oil (oui);
and hence Dante has named the southern language langue d'oc, and
the northern langue d'oil. The latter, which was carried into
England by the Normans, and is the origin of the present French,
may be called the French Romane; and the former the Provencal, or
Provencial Romane, because it was spoken by the people of Provence
and Languedoc, southern provinces of France.

These dialects were soon distinguished by very opposite
characters. A soft and enervating climate, a spirit of commerce
encouraged by an easy communication with other maritime nations,
the influx of wealth, and a more settled government, may have
tended to polish and soften the diction of the Provencials, whose
poets, under the name of Troubadours, were the masters of the
Italians, and particularly of Petrarch. Their favorite pieces were
Sirventes (satirical pieces), love-songs, and Tensons, which last
were a sort of dialogue in verse between two poets, who questioned
each other on some refined points of loves' casuistry. It seems
the Provencials were so completely absorbed in these delicate
questions as to neglect and despise the composition of fabulous
histories of adventure and knighthood, which they left in a great
measure to the poets of the northern part of the kingdom, called
Trouveurs.

At a time when chivalry excited universal admiration, and when all
the efforts of that chivalry were directed against the enemies of
religion, it was natural that literature should receive the same
impulse, and that history and fable should be ransacked to furnish
examples of courage and piety that might excite increased
emulation. Arthur and Charlemagne were the two heroes selected for
this purpose. Arthur's pretensions were that he was a brave,
though not always a successful warrior; he had withstood with
great resolution the arms of the infidels, that is to say of the
Saxons, and his memory was held in the highest estimation by his
countrymen, the Britons, who carried with them into Wales, and
into the kindred country of Armorica, or Brittany, the memory of
his exploits, which their national vanity insensibly exaggerated,
till the little prince of the Silures (South Wales) was magnified
into the conqueror of England, of Gaul, and of the greater part of
Europe. His genealogy was gradually carried up to an imaginary
Brutus, and to the period of the Trojan war, and a sort of
chronicle was composed in the Welsh, or Armorican language, which,
under the pompous title of the "History of the Kings of Britain,"
was translated into Latin by Geoffrey of Monmouth, about the year
1150. The Welsh critics consider the material of the work to have
been an older history, written by St. Talian, Bishop of St. Asaph,
in the seventh century.

As to Charlemagne, though his real merits were sufficient to
secure his immortality, it was impossible that his HOLY WARS
against the Saracens should not become a favorite topic for
fiction. Accordingly, the fabulous history of these wars was
written, probably towards the close of the eleventh century, by a
monk, who, thinking it would add dignity to his work to embellish
it with a contemporary name, boldly ascribed it to Turpin, who was
Archbishop of Rheims about the year 773.

These fabulous chronicles were for a while imprisoned in languages
of local only or of professional access. Both Turpin and Geoffrey
might indeed be read by ecclesiastics, the sole Latin scholars of
those times, and Geoffrey's British original would contribute to
the gratification of Welshmen; but neither could become
extensively popular till translated into some language of general
and familiar use. The Anglo-Saxon was at that time used only by a
conquered and enslaved nation; the Spanish and Italian languages
were not yet formed; the Norman French alone was spoken and
understood by the nobility in the greater part of Europe, and
therefore was a proper vehicle for the new mode of composition.

That language was fashionable in England before the Conquest, and
became, after that event, the only language used at the court of
London. As the various conquests of the Normans, and the
enthusiastic valor of that extraordinary people, had familiarized
the minds of men with the most marvellous events, their poets
eagerly seized the fabulous legends of Arthur and Charlemagne,
translated them into the language of the day, and soon produced a
variety of imitations. The adventures attributed to these
monarchs, and to their distinguished warriors, together with those
of many other traditionary or imaginary heroes, composed by
degrees that formidable body of marvellous histories which, from
the dialect in which the most ancient of them were written, were
called "Romances."

METRICAL ROMANCES

The earliest form in which romances appear is that of a rude kind
of verse. In this form it is supposed they were sung or recited at
the feasts of princes and knights in their baronial halls. The
following specimen of the language and style of Robert de
Beauvais, who flourished in 1257, is from Sir Walter Scott's
"Introduction to the Romance of Sir Tristrem":

    "Ne voil pas emmi dire,
    Ici diverse la matyere,
    Entre ceus qui solent cunter,
    E de le cunte Tristran parler."

    "I will not say too much about it,
    So diverse is the matter,
    Among those who are in the habit of telling
    And relating the story of Tristran."

This is a specimen of the language which was in use among the
nobility of England, in the ages immediately after the Norman
conquest. The following is a specimen of the English that existed
at the same time, among the common people. Robert de Brunne,
speaking of his Latin and French authorities, says:

    "Als thai haf wryten and sayd
    Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd,
    In symple speche as I couthe,
    That is lightest in manne's mouthe.
    Alle for the luf of symple men,
    That strange Inglis cannot ken."

The "strange Inglis" being the language of the previous specimen.

It was not till toward the end of the thirteenth century that the
PROSE romances began to appear. These works generally began with
disowning and discrediting the sources from which in reality they
drew their sole information. As every romance was supposed to be a
real history, the compilers of those in prose would have forfeited
all credit if they had announced themselves as mere copyists of
the minstrels. On the contrary, they usually state that, as the
popular poems upon the matter in question contain many "lesings,"
they had been induced to translate the real and true history of
such or such a knight from the original Latin or Greek, or from
the ancient British or Armorican authorities, which authorities
existed only in their own assertion.

A specimen of the style of the prose romances may be found in the
following extract from one of the most celebrated and latest of
them, the "Morte d'Arthur" of Sir Thomas Mallory, of the date of
1485. From this work much of the contents of this volume has been
drawn, with as close an adherence to the original style as was
thought consistent with our plan of adapting our narrative to the
taste of modern readers.

"It is notoyrly knowen thorugh the vnyuersal world that there been
ix worthy and the best that ever were. That is to wete thre
paynyms, three Jewes, and three crysten men. As for the paynyms,
they were tofore the Incarnacyon of Cryst whiche were named, the
fyrst Hector of Troye; the second Alysaunder the grete, and the
thyrd Julyus Cezar, Emperour of Rome, of whome thystoryes ben wel
kno and had. And as for the thre Jewes whyche also were tofore
thyncarnacyon of our Lord, of whome the fyrst was Duc Josue,
whyche brought the chyldren of Israhel into the londe of beheste;
the second Dauyd, kyng of Jherusalem, and the thyrd Judas
Machabeus; of these thre the byble reherceth al theyr noble
hystoryes and actes. And sythe the sayd Incarnacyon haue ben the
noble crysten men stalled and admytted thorugh the vnyuersal world
to the nombre of the ix beste and worthy, of whome was fyrst the
noble Arthur, whose noble actes I purpose to wryte in this person
book here folowyng. The second was Charlemayn, or Charles the
grete, of whome thystorye is had in many places both in frensshe
and englysshe, and the thyrd and last was Godefray of boloyn."





CHAPTER II

THE MYTHICAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND


The illustrious poet, Milton, in his "History of England," is the
author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter.

According to the earliest accounts, Albion, a giant, and son of
Neptune, a contemporary of Hercules, ruled over the island, to
which he gave his name. Presuming to oppose the progress of
Hercules in his western march, he was slain by him.

Another story is that Histion, the son of Japhet, the son of Noah,
had four sons, Francus, Romanus, Alemannus, and Britto, from whom
descended the French, Roman, German, and British people.

Rejecting these and other like stories, Milton gives more regard
to the story of Brutus, the Trojan, which, he says, is supported
by "descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not
plainly seeming to be borrowed or devised, which on the common
belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied
utterly by few." The principal authority is Geoffrey of Monmouth,
whose history, written in the twelfth century, purports to be a
translation of a history of Britain brought over from the opposite
shore of France, which, under the name of Brittany, was chiefly
peopled by natives of Britain who, from time to time, emigrated
thither, driven from their own country by the inroads of the Picts
and Scots. According to this authority, Brutus was the son of
Silvius, and he of Ascanius, the son of Aeneas, whose flight from
Troy and settlement in Italy are narrated in "Stories of Gods and
Heroes."

Brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to the chase,
unfortunately killed him with an arrow. Banished therefor by his
kindred, he sought refuge in that part of Greece where Helenus,
with a band of Trojan exiles, had become established. But Helenus
was now dead and the descendants of the Trojans were oppressed by
Pandrasus, the king of the country. Brutus, being kindly received
among them, so throve in virtue and in arms as to win the regard
of all the eminent of the land above all others of his age. In
consequence of this the Trojans not only began to hope, but
secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. To
encourage them, they had the promise of help from Assaracus, a
noble Greek youth, whose mother was a Trojan. He had suffered
wrong at the hands of the king, and for that reason the more
willingly cast in his lost with the Trojan exiles.

Choosing a fit opportunity, Brutus with his countrymen withdrew to
the woods and hills, as the safest place from which to
expostulate, and sent this message to Pandrasus: "That the
Trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to serve in a
foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage
life than a slavish one. If that displeased him, then, with his
leave, they would depart to some other country." Pandrasus, not
expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, went in
pursuit of them, with such forces as he could gather, and met them
on the banks of the Achelous, where Brutus got the advantage, and
took the king captive. The result was, that the terms demanded by
the Trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter Imogen in
marriage to Brutus, and furnished shipping, money, and fit
provision for them all to depart from the land.

The marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got
together, the Trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred
and twenty sail, betook themselves to the sea. On the third day
they arrived at a certain island, which they found destitute of
inhabitants, though there were appearances of former habitation,
and among the ruins a temple of Diana. Brutus, here performing
sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his
guidance, in these lines:

    "Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will
    Walk'st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep;
    On thy third realm, the earth, look now, and tell
    What land, what seat of rest, thou bidd'st me seek;
    What certain seat where I may worship thee
    For aye, with temples vowed and virgin choirs."

To whom, sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision thus
answered:

    "Brutus! far to the west, in the ocean wide,
    Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
    Seagirt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
    Now, void, it fits thy people: thither bend
    Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat;
    There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
    And kings be born of thee, whose dreaded might
    Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold"

Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his
course towards the west, and, arriving at a place on the Tyrrhene
sea, found there the descendants of certain Trojans who, with
Antenor, came into Italy, of whom Corineus was the chief. These
joined company, and the ships pursued their way till they arrived
at the mouth of the river Loire, in France, where the expedition
landed, with a view to a settlement, but were so rudely assaulted
by the inhabitants that they put to sea again, and arrived at a
part of the coast of Britain, now called Devonshire, where Brutus
felt convinced that he had found the promised end of his voyage,
landed his colony, and took possession.

The island, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert
and inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race
whose excessive force and tyranny had destroyed the others. The
Trojans encountered these and extirpated them, Corineus, in
particular, signalizing himself by his exploits against them; from
whom Cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his lot, and
there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till
Corineus rid the land of them.

Brutus built his capital city, and called it Trojanova (New Troy),
changed in time to Trinovantus, now London;

[Footnote:
    "For noble Britons sprong from Trojans bold,
    And Troynovant was built of old Troy's ashes cold" SPENSER,

    Book III, Canto IX., 38.]

and, having governed the isle twenty-four years, died, leaving
three sons, Locrine, Albanact and Camber. Locrine had the middle
part, Camber the west, called Cambria from him, and Albanact
Albania, now Scotland. Locrine was married to Guendolen, the
daughter of Corineus, but having seen a fair maid named Estrildis,
who had been brought captive from Germany, he became enamoured of
her, and had by her a daughter, whose name was Sabra. This matter
was kept secret while Corineus lived, but after his death Locrine
divorced Guendolen, and made Estrildis his queen. Guendolen, all
in rage, departed to Cornwall, where Madan, her son, lived, who
had been brought up by Corineus, his grandfather. Gathering an
army of her father's friends and subjects, she gave battle to her
husband's forces and Locrine was slain. Guendolen caused her
rival, Estrildis, with her daughter Sabra, to be thrown into the
river, from which cause the river thenceforth bore the maiden's
name, which by length of time is now changed into Sabrina or
Severn. Milton alludes to this in his address to the rivers,--

    "Severn swift, guilty of maiden's death";--

and in his "Comus" tells the story with a slight variation, thus:

    "There is a gentle nymph not far from hence,
    That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream;
    Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure:
    Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
    That had the sceptre from his father, Brute,
    She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit
    Of her enraged step-dame, Guendolen,
    Commended her fair innocence to the flood,
    That stayed her night with his cross-flowing course
    The water-nymphs that in the bottom played,
    Held up their pearled wrists and took her in,
    Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall,
    Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,
    And gave her to his daughters to imbathe
    In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel,
    And through the porch and inlet of each sense
    Dropped in ambrosial oils till she revived,
    And underwent a quick, immortal change,
    Made goddess of the river," etc.

If our readers ask when all this took place, we must answer, in
the first place, that mythology is not careful of dates; and next,
that, as Brutus was the great-grandson of Aeneas, it must have
been not far from a century subsequent to the Trojan war, or about
eleven hundred years before the invasion of the island by Julius
Caesar. This long interval is filled with the names of princes
whose chief occupation was in warring with one another. Some few,
whose names remain connected with places, or embalmed in
literature, we will mention.

BLADUD

Bladud built the city of Bath, and dedicated the medicinal waters
to Minerva. He was a man of great invention, and practised the
arts of magic, till, having made him wings to fly, he fell down
upon the temple of Apollo, in Trinovant, and so died, after twenty
years' reign.

LEIR

Leir, who next reigned, built Leicester, and called it after his
name. He had no male issue, but only three daughters. When grown
old he determined to divide his kingdom among his daughters, and
bestow them in marriage. But first, to try which of them loved him
best, he determined to ask them solemnly in order, and judge of
the warmth of their affection by their answers. Goneril, the
eldest, knowing well her father's weakness, made answer that she
loved him "above her soul." "Since thou so honorest my declining
age," said the old man, "to thee and to thy husband I give the
third part of my realm." Such good success for a few words soon
uttered was ample instruction to Regan, the second daughter, what
to say. She therefore to the same question replied that "she loved
him more than all the world beside;" and so received an equal
reward with her sister. But Cordelia, the youngest, and hitherto
the best beloved, though having before her eyes the reward of a
little easy soothing, and the loss likely to attend plain-
dealing, yet was not moved from the solid purpose of a sincere and
virtuous answer, and replied: "Father, my love towards you is as
my duty bids. They who pretend beyond this flatter." When the old
man, sorry to hear this, and wishing her to recall these words,
persisted in asking, she still restrained her expressions so as to
say rather less than more than the truth. Then Leir, all in a
passion, burst forth: "Since thou hast not reverenced thy aged
father like thy sisters, think not to have any part in my kingdom
or what else I have;"--and without delay, giving in marriage his
other daughters, Goneril to the Duke of Albany, and Regan to the
Duke of Cornwall, he divides his kingdom between them, and goes to
reside with his eldest daughter, attended only by a hundred
knights. But in a short time his attendants, being complained of
as too numerous and disorderly, are reduced to thirty. Resenting
that affront, the old king betakes him to his second daughter; but
she, instead of soothing his wounded pride, takes part with her
sister, and refuses to admit a retinue of more than five. Then
back he returns to the other, who now will not receive him with
more than one attendant. Then the remembrance of Cordeilla comes
to his thoughts, and he takes his journey into France to seek her,
with little hope of kind consideration from one whom he had so
injured, but to pay her the last recompense he can render,--
confession of his injustice. When Cordeilla is informed of his
approach, and of his sad condition, she pours forth true filial
tears. And, not willing that her own or others' eyes should see
him in that forlorn condition, she sends one of her trusted
servants to meet him, and convey him privately to some comfortable
abode, and to furnish him with such state as befitted his dignity.
After which Cordeilla, with the king her husband, went in state to
meet him, and, after an honorable reception, the king permitted
his wife, Cordeilla, to go with an army and set her father again
upon his throne. They prospered, subdued the wicked sisters and
their consorts, and Leir obtained the crown and held it three
years. Cordeilla succeeded him and reigned five years; but the
sons of her sisters, after that, rebelled against her, and she
lost both her crown and life.

Shakspeare has chosen this story as the subject of his tragedy of
"King Lear," varying its details in some respects. The madness of
Leir, and the ill success of Cordeilla's attempt to reinstate her
father, are the principal variations, and those in the names will
also be noticed. Our narrative is drawn from Milton's "History;"
and thus the reader will perceive that the story of Leir has had
the distinguished honor of being told by the two acknowledged
chiefs of British literature.

FERREX AND PORREX

Ferrex and Porrex were brothers, who held the kingdom after Leir.
They quarrelled about the supremacy, and Porrex expelled his
brother, who, obtaining aid from Suard, king of the Franks,
returned and made war upon Porrex. Ferrex was slain in battle and
his forces dispersed. When their mother came to hear of her son's
death, who was her favorite, she fell into a great rage, and
conceived a mortal hatred against the survivor. She took,
therefore, her opportunity when he was asleep, fell upon him, and,
with the assistance of her women, tore him in pieces. This horrid
story would not be worth relating, were it not for the fact that
it has furnished the plot for the first tragedy which was written
in the English language. It was entitled "Gorboduc," but in the
second edition "Ferrex and Porrex," and was the production of
Thomas Sackville, afterwards Earl of Dorset, and Thomas Norton, a
barrister. Its date was 1561.

DUNWALLO MOLMUTIUS

This is the next name of note. Molmutius established the Molmutine
laws, which bestowed the privilege of sanctuary on temples,
cities, and the roads leading to them, and gave the same
protection to ploughs, extending a religious sanction to the
labors of the field. Shakspeare alludes to him in "Cymbeline," Act
III., Scene 1:

    "... Molmutius made our laws;
     Who was the first of Britain which did put
     His brows within a golden crown, and called
     Himself a king."

BRENNUS AND BELINUS,

The sons of Molmutius, succeeded him. They quarrelled, and Brennus
was driven out of the island, and took refuge in Gaul, where he
met with such favor from the king of the Allobroges that he gave
him his daughter in marriage, and made him his partner on the
throne. Brennus is the name which the Roman historians give to the
famous leader of the Gauls who took Rome in the time of Camillus.
Geoffrey of Monmouth claims the glory of the conquest for the
British prince, after he had become king of the Allobroges.

ELIDURE

After Belinus and Brennus there reigned several kings of little
note, and then came Elidure. Arthgallo, his brother, being king,
gave great offence to his powerful nobles, who rose against him,
deposed him, and advanced Elidure to the throne. Arthgallo fled,
and endeavored to find assistance in the neighboring kingdoms to
reinstate him, but found none. Elidure reigned prosperously and
wisely. After five years' possession of the kingdom, one day, when
hunting, he met in the forest his brother, Arthgallo, who had been
deposed. After long wandering, unable longer to bear the poverty
to which he was reduced, he had returned to Britain, with only ten
followers, designing to repair to those who had formerly been his
friends. Elidure, at the sight of his brother in distress,
forgetting all animosities, ran to him, and embraced him. He took
Arthgallo home with him, and concealed him in the palace. After
this he feigned himself sick, and, calling his nobles about him,
induced them, partly by persuasion, partly by force, to consent to
his abdicating the kingdom, and reinstating his brother on the
throne. The agreement being ratified, Elidure took the crown from
his own head, and put it on his brother's head. Arthgallo after
this reigned ten years, well and wisely, exercising strict justice
towards all men.

He died, and left the kingdom to his sons, who reigned with
various fortunes, but were not long-lived, and left no offspring,
so that Elidure was again advanced to the throne, and finished the
course of his life in just and virtuous actions, receiving the
name of THE PIOUS, from the love and admiration of his subjects.

Wordsworth has taken the story of Artegal and Elidure for the
subject of a poem, which is No. 2 of "Poems founded on the
Affections."

LUD

After Elidure, the Chronicle names many kings, but none of special
note, till we come to Lud, who greatly enlarged Trinovant, his
capital, and surrounded it with a wall. He changed its name,
bestowing upon it his own, so that henceforth it was called Lud's
town, afterwards London. Lud was buried by the gate of the city
called after him Ludgate. He had two sons, but they were not old
enough at the time of their father's death to sustain the cares of
government, and therefore their uncle, Caswallaun, or
Cassibellaunus, succeeded to the kingdom. He was a brave and
magnificent prince, so that his fame reached to distant countries.

CASSIBELLAUNUS

About this time it happened (as is found in the Roman histories)
that Julius Caesar, having subdued Gaul, came to the shore
opposite Britain. And having resolved to add this island also to
his conquests, he prepared ships and transported his army across
the sea, to the mouth of the River Thames. Here he was met by
Cassibellaun with all his forces, and a battle ensued, in which
Nennius, the brother of Cassibellaun, engaged in single combat
with Csesar. After several furious blows given and received, the
sword of Caesar stuck so fast in the shield of Nennius that it
could not be pulled out, and the combatants being separated by the
intervention of the troops Nennius remained possessed of this
trophy. At last, after the greater part of the day was spent, the
Britons poured in so fast that Caesar was forced to retire to his
camp and fleet. And finding it useless to continue the war any
longer at that time, he returned to Gaul.

Shakspeare alludes to Cassibellaunus, in "Cymbeline":

    "The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point
     (O giglot fortune!) to master Caesar's sword,
     Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
     And Britons strut with courage."

KYMBELINUS, OR CYMBELINE

Caesar, on a second invasion of the island, was more fortunate,
and compelled the Britons to pay tribute. Cymbeline, the nephew of
the king, was delivered to the Romans as a hostage for the
faithful fulfilment of the treaty, and, being carried to Rome by
Caesar, he was there brought up in the Roman arts and
accomplishments. Being afterwards restored to his country, and
placed on the throne, he was attached to the Romans, and continued
through all his reign at peace with them. His sons, Guiderius and
Arviragus, who made their appearance in Shakspeare's play of
"Cymbeline," succeeded their father, and, refusing to pay tribute
to the Romans, brought on another invasion. Guiderius was slain,
but Arviragus afterward made terms with the Romans, and reigned
prosperously many years.

ARMORICA

The next event of note is the conquest and colonization of
Armorica, by Maximus, a Roman general, and Conan, lord of Miniadoc
or Denbigh-land, in Wales. The name of the country was changed to
Brittany, or Lesser Britain; and so completely was it possessed by
the British colonists, that the language became assimilated to
that spoken in Wales, and it is said that to this day the
peasantry of the two countries can understand each other when
speaking their native language.

The Romans eventually succeeded in establishing themselves in the
island, and after the lapse of several generations they became
blended with the natives so that no distinction existed between
the two races. When at length the Roman armies were withdrawn from
Britain, their departure was a matter of regret to the
inhabitants, as it left them without protection against the
barbarous tribes, Scots, Picts, and Norwegians, who harassed the
country incessantly. This was the state of things when the era of
King Arthur began.

The adventure of Albion, the giant, with Hercules is alluded to by
Spenser, "Faery Queene," Book IV., Canto xi:

   "For Albion the son of Neptune was;
    Who for the proof of his great puissance,
    Out of his Albion did on dry foot pass
    Into old Gaul that now is cleped France,
    To fight with Hercules, that did advance
    To vanquish all the world with matchless might:
    And there his mortal part by great mischance
    Was slain."





CHAPTER III

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,
    Had built the King his havens, ships and halls."

    --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
    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."

    --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 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.

   "And if thou ever happen that same way
    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.

   "But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,
    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.

   "The cause some say is this. A little while
    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.

   "In the mean time, through that false lady's train,
    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."

[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
    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.

    There he reigns a mighty king,
    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."

After this narration another bard came forward who recited a
different story:

   "When Arthur bowed his haughty crest,
    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."

[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,
      In some fair space of sloping greens,
    Lay dozing in the vale of Avalon,
      And watched by weeping queens."]

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
    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."

    --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,
    Unto a king fair tresore."

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,
    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."

    --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
    As great as he was in his manhood--
    The twain together might change the world."

    --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 SLAYS THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT

While the army was encamped in Brittany, awaiting the arrival of
the kings, there came a countryman to Arthur, and told him that a
giant, whose cave was on a neighboring mountain, called St.
Michael's Mount, had for a long time been accustomed to carry off
the children of the peasants to devour them. "And now he hath
taken the Duchess of Brittany, as she rode with her attendants,
and hath carried her away in spite of all they could do." "Now,
fellow," said King Arthur, "canst thou bring me there where this
giant haunteth?" "Yea, sure," said the good man; "lo, yonder where
thou seest two great fires, there shalt thou find him, and more
treasure than I suppose is in all France beside." Then the king
called to him Sir Bedver and Sir Kay, and commanded them to make
ready horse and harness for himself and them; for after evening he
would ride on pilgrimage to St. Michael's Mount.

So they three departed, and rode forth till they came to the foot
of the mount. And there the king commanded them to tarry, for he
would himself go up into that mount. So he ascended the hill till
he came to a great fire, and there he found an aged woman sitting
by a new-made grave, making great sorrow. Then King Arthur saluted
her, and demanded of her wherefore she made such lamentation; to
whom she answered: "Sir knight, speak low, for yonder is a devil,
and if he hear thee speak, he will come and destroy thee. For ye
cannot make resistance to him, he is so fierce and so strong. He
hath murdered the Duchess, which here lieth, who was the fairest
of all the world, wife to Sir Hoel, Duke of Brittany." "Dame,"
said the king, "I come from the noble conqueror, King Arthur, to
treat with that tyrant." "Fie on such treaties," said she; "he
setteth not by the king, nor by no man else." "Well," said Arthur,
"I will accomplish my message for all your fearful words." So he
went forth by the crest of the hill, and saw where the giant sat
at supper, gnawing on the limb of a man, and baking his broad
limbs at the fire, and three fair damsels lying bound, whose lot
it was to be devoured in their turn. When King Arthur beheld that,
he had great compassion on them, so that his heart bled for
sorrow. Then he hailed the giant, saying, "He that all the world
ruleth give thee short life and shameful death. Why hast thou
murdered this Duchess? Therefore come forth, for this day thou
shalt die by my hand." Then the giant started up, and took a great
club, and smote at the king, and smote off his coronal; and then
the king struck him in the belly with his sword, and made a
fearful wound. Then the giant threw away his club, and caught the
king in his arms, so that he crushed his ribs. Then the three
maidens kneeled down and prayed for help and comfort for Arthur.
And Arthur weltered and wrenched, so that he was one while under,
and another time above. And so weltering and wallowing they rolled
down the hill, and ever as they weltered Arthur smote him with his
dagger; and it fortuned they came to the place where the two
knights were. And when they saw the king fast in the giant's arms
they came and loosed him. Then the king commanded Sir Kay to smite
off the giant's head, and to set it on the truncheon of a spear,
and fix it on the barbican, that all the people might see and
behold it. This was done, and anon it was known through all the
country, wherefor the people came and thanked the king. And he
said, "Give your thanks to God; and take ye the giant's spoil and
divide it among you." And King Arthur caused a church to be
builded on that hill, in honor of St. Michael.

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,
    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."

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,
      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."

"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,
      My sister's son ye be;
    The loathly lady's all too grim,
      And all too foule for thee."

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;
    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!"

[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,
      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."

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 VII

CARADOC BRIEFBRAS; OR, CARADOC WITH THE SHRUNKEN ARM


Caradoc was the son of Ysenne, the beautiful niece of Arthur. He
was ignorant who his father was, till it was discovered in the
following manner: When the youth was of proper years to receive
the honors of knighthood, King Arthur held a grand court for the
purpose of knighting him. On this occasion a strange knight
presented himself, and challenged the knights of Arthur's court to
exchange blow for blow with him. His proposal was this--to lay his
neck on a block for any knight to strike, on condition that, if he
survived the blow, the knight should submit in turn to the same
experiment. Sir Kay, who was usually ready to accept all
challenges, pronounced this wholly unreasonable, and declared that
he would not accept it for all the wealth in the world. And when
the knight offered his sword, with which the operation was to be
performed, no person ventured to accept it, till Caradoc, growing
angry at the disgrace which was thus incurred by the Round Table,
threw aside his mantle and took it. "Do you do this as one of the
best knights?" said the stranger. "No," he replied, "but as one of
the most foolish." The stranger lays his head upon the block,
receives a blow which sends it rolling from his shoulders, walks
after it, picks it up, replaces it with great success, and says he
will return when the court shall be assembled next year, and claim
his turn. When the anniversary arrived, both parties were punctual
to their engagement. Great entreaties were used by the king and
queen, and the whole court, in behalf of Caradoc, but the stranger
was inflexible. The young knight laid his head upon the block, and
more than once desired him to make an end of the business, and not
keep him longer in so disagreeable a state of expectation. At last
the stranger strikes him gently with the side of the sword, bids
him rise, and reveals to him the fact that he is his father, the
enchanter Eliaures, and that he gladly owns him for a son, having
proved his courage and fidelity to his word.

But the favor of enchanters is short-lived and uncertain. Eliaures
fell under the influence of a wicked woman, who, to satisfy her
pique against Caradoc, persuaded the enchanter to fasten on his
arm a serpent, which remained there sucking at his flesh and
blood, no human skill sufficing either to remove the reptile or
alleviate the torments which Caradoc endured.

Caradoc was betrothed to Guimier, sister to his bosom friend,
Cador, and daughter to the king of Cornwall. As soon as they were
informed of his deplorable condition, they set out for Nantes,
where Caradoc's castle was, that Guimier might attend upon him.
When Caradoc heard of their coming, his first emotion was that of
joy and love. But soon he began to fear that the sight of his
emaciated form, and of his sufferings, would disgust Guimier; and
this apprehension became so strong, that he departed secretly from
Nantes, and hid himself in a hermitage. He was sought far and near
by the knights of Arthur's court, and Cador made a vow never to
desist from the quest till he should have found him. After long
wandering, Cador discovered his friend in the hermitage, reduced
almost to a skeleton, and apparently near his death. All other
means of relief having already been tried in vain, Cador at last
prevailed on the enchanter Eliaures to disclose the only method
which could avail for his rescue. A maiden must be found, his
equal in birth and beauty, and loving him better than herself, so
that she would expose herself to the same torment to deliver him.
Two vessels were then to be provided, the one filled with sour
wine, and the other with milk. Caradoc must enter the first, so
that the wine should reach his neck, and the maiden must get into
the other, and, exposing her bosom upon the edge of the vessel,
invite the serpent to forsake the withered flesh of his victim for
this fresh and inviting food. The vessels were to be placed three
feet apart, and as the serpent crossed from one to the other. a
knight was to cut him in two. If he failed in his blow, Caradoc
would indeed be delivered, but it would be only to see his fair
champion suffering the same cruel and hopeless torment. The sequel
may be easily foreseen. Guimier willingly exposed herself to the
perilous adventure, and Cador, with a lucky blow, killed the
serpent. The arm in which Caradoc had suffered so long recovered
its strength, but not its shape, in consequence of which he was
called Caradoc Briefbras, Caradoc of the Shrunken Arm.

Caradoc and Guimier are the hero and heroine of the ballad Of the
"Boy and the Mantle," which follows:

    "THE BOY AND THE MANTLE

    "In Carlisle dwelt King Arthur,
      A prince of passing might,
    And there maintained his Table Round,
      Beset with many a knight.

    "And there he kept his Christmas,
      With mirth and princely cheer,
    When lo! a strange and cunning boy
      Before him did appear.

    "A kirtle and a mantle
      This boy had him upon,
    With brooches, rings, and ouches,
      Full daintily bedone.

    "He had a sash of silk
      About his middle meet;
    And thus with seemly curtesie
      He did King Arthur greet:

    "'God speed thee, brave King Arthur.
      Thus feasting in thy bower,
    And Guenever, thy goodly queen,
      That fair and peerless flower.

    "'Ye gallant lords and lordlings,
      I wish you all take heed,
    Lest what ye deem a blooming rose
      Should prove a cankered weed.'

    "Then straightway from his bosom
      A little wand he drew;
    And with it eke a mantle,
      Of wondrous shape and hue.

    "'Now have thou here, King Arthur,
      Have this here of me,
    And give unto thy comely queen,
      All shapen as you see.

    "'No wife it shall become,
      That once hath been to blame.'
    Then every knight in Arthur's court
      Sly glanced at his dame.

    "And first came Lady Guenever,
      The mantle she must try.
    This dame she was new-fangled, [1]
      And of a roving eye.

    "When she had taken the mantle,
      And all with it was clad,
    From top to toe it shivered down,
      As though with shears beshred.

    "One while it was too long,
      Another while too short,
    And wrinkled on her shoulders,
      In most unseemly sort.

    "Now green, now red it seemed,
      Then all of sable hue;
    'Beshrew me,' quoth King Arthur,
      'I think thou be'st not true!'

    "Down she threw the mantle,
      No longer would she stay;
    But, storming like a fury,
      To her chamber flung away.

    "She cursed the rascal weaver,
      That had the mantle wrought;
    And doubly cursed the froward imp
      Who thither had it brought.

    I had rather live in deserts,
      Beneath the greenwood tree,
    Than here, base king, among thy grooms
      The sport of them and thee.'

    "Sir Kay called forth his lady,
      And bade her to come near:
    'Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
      I pray thee now forbear.'

    "This lady, pertly giggling,
      With forward step came on,
    And boldly to the little boy
      With fearless face is gone.

    "When she had taken the mantle,
      With purpose for to wear,
    It shrunk up to her shoulder,
      And left her back all bare.

    "Then every merry knight,
      That was in Arthur's court,
    Gibed and laughed and flouted,
      To see that pleasant sport.

    "Down she threw the mantle,
      No longer bold or gay,
    But, with a face all pale and wan
      To her chamber slunk away.

    "Then forth came an old knight
      A pattering o'er his creed,
    And proffered to the little boy
       Five nobles to his meed:

    "'And all the time of Christmas
      Plum-porridge shall be thine,
    If thou wilt let my lady fair
      Within the mantle shine.'

    "A saint his lady seemed,
      With step demure and slow,
    And gravely to the mantle
      With mincing face doth go.

    "When she the same had taken
      That was so fine and thin,
    It shrivelled all about her,
      And showed her dainty skin.

    "Ah! little did her mincing,
      Or his long prayers bestead;
     She had no more hung on her
      Than a tassel and a thread.

    "Down she threw the mantle,
      With terror and dismay,
    And with a face of scarlet
      To her chamber hied away.

    "Sir Cradock called his lady,
      And bade her to come near:
    'Come win this mantle, lady,
       And do me credit here:

    "'Come win this mantle, lady,
      For now it shall be thine,
    If thou hast never done amiss,
      Since first I made thee mine.'

    "The lady, gently blushing,
      With modest grace came on;
    And now to try the wondrous charm
      Courageously is gone.

    "When she had ta'en the mantle,
      And put it on her back,
    About the hem it seemed
      To wrinkle and to crack.

    "'Lie still,' she cried, 'O mantle!
      And shame me not for naught;
    I'll freely own whate'er amiss
      Or blameful I have wrought.

    "'Once I kissed Sir Cradock
      Beneath the greenwood tree;
    Once I kissed Sir Cradock's mouth,
      Before he married me.'

    "When she had thus her shriven,
      And her worst fault had told,
    The mantle soon became her,
      Right comely as it should.

    "Most rich and fair of color,
      Like gold it glittering shone,
    And much the knights in Arthur's court
      Admired her every one."

[Footnote 1: New-fangled--fond of novelty.]

The ballad goes on to tell of two more trials of a similar kind,
made by means of a boar's head and a drinking horn, in both of
which the result was equally favorable with the first to Sir
Cradock and his lady. It then concludes as follows:

    "Thus boar's head, horn, and mantle
      Were this fair couple's meed;
    And all such constant lovers,
      God send them well to speed"

    --Percy's Reliques.





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 IX

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CART


It befell in the month of May, Queen Guenever called to her
knights of the Table Round, and gave them warning that early upon
the morrow she would ride a-maying into the woods and fields
beside Westminster; "and I warn you that there be none of you but
he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed in green, either
silk or cloth; and I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every
knight shall have a lady behind him, and every knight shall have a
squire and two yeoman, and all well horsed."

    "For thus it chanced one morn when all the court,
     Green-suited, but with plumes that mock'd the May,
     Had been, their wont, a-maying"

    --Guinevere.

So they made them ready; and these were the names of the knights:
Sir Kay the Seneschal, Sir Agrivaine, Sir Brandiles, Sir Sagramour
le Desirus, Sir Dodynas le Sauvage, Sir Ozanna, Sir Ladynas, Sir
Persant of Inde, Sir Ironside, and Sir Pelleas; and these ten
knights made them ready, in the freshest manner, to ride with the
queen. So upon the morn they took their horses with the queen, and
rode a-maying in woods and meadows, as it pleased them, in great
joy and delight. Now there was a knight named Maleagans, son to
King Brademagus, who loved Queen Guenever passing well, and so had
he done long and many years. Now this knight, Sir Maleagans,
learned the queen's purpose, and that she had no men of arms with
her but the ten noble knights all arrayed in green for maying; so
he prepared him twenty men of arms, and a hundred archers, to take
captive the queen and her knights.

    "In the merry month of May,
     In a morn at break of day,
     With a troop of damsels playing,
     The Queen, forsooth, went forth a-maying."

    --Old Song.

So when the queen had mayed, and all were bedecked with herbs,
mosses, and flowers in the best manner and freshest, right then
came out of a wood Sir Maleagans with eightscore men well
harnessed, and bade the queen and her knights yield them
prisoners. "Traitor knight," said Queen Guenever, "what wilt thou
do? Wilt thou shame thyself? Bethink thee how thou art a king's
son, and a knight of the Table Round, and how thou art about to
dishonor all knighthood and thyself?" "Be it as it may," said Sir
Maleagans, "know you well, madam, I have loved you many a year and
never till now could I get you to such advantage as I do now; and
therefore I will take you as I find you." Then the ten knights of
the Round Table drew their swords, and the other party run at them
with their spears, and the ten knights manfully abode them, and
smote away their spears. Then they lashed together with swords
till several were smitten to the earth. So when the queen saw her
knights thus dolefully oppressed, and needs must be slain at the
last, then for pity and sorrow she cried, "Sir Maleagans, slay not
my noble knights and I will go with you, upon this covenant, that
they be led with me wheresoever thou leadest me." "Madame," said
Maleagans, "for your sake they shall be led with you into my own
castle, if that ye will be ruled, and ride with me." Then Sir
Maleagans charged them all that none should depart from the queen,
for he dreaded lest Sir Launcelot should have knowledge of what
had been done.

Then the queen privily called unto her a page of her chamber that
was swiftly horsed, to whom she said, "Go thou when thou seest thy
time, and bear this ring unto Sir Launcelot, and pray him as he
loveth me, that he will see me and rescue me. And spare not thy
horse," said the queen, "neither for water nor for land." So the
child espied his time, and lightly he took his horse with the
spurs and departed as fast as he might. And when Sir Maleagans saw
him so flee, he understood that it was by the queen's commandment
for to warn Sir Launcelot. Then they that were best horsed chased
him, and shot at him, but the child went from them all. Then Sir
Maleagans said to the queen, "Madam, ye are about to betray me,
but I shall arrange for Sir Launcelot that he shall not come
lightly at you." Then he rode with her and them all to his castle,
in all the haste that they might. And by the way Sir Maleagans
laid in ambush the best archers that he had to wait for Sir
Launcelot. And the child came to Westminster and found Sir
Launcelot and told his message and delivered him the queen's ring.
"Alas!" said Sir Launcelot, "now am I shamed for ever, unless I
may rescue that noble lady." Then eagerly he asked his armor and
put it on him, and mounted his horse and rode as fast as he might;
and men say he took the water at Westminster Bridge, and made his
horse swim over Thames unto Lambeth. Then within a while he came
to a wood where was a narrow way; and there the archers were laid
in ambush. And they shot at him and smote his horse so that he
fell. Then Sir Launcelot left his horse and went on foot, but
there lay so many ditches and hedges betwixt the archers and him
that he might not meddle with them. "Alas! for shame," said Sir
Launcelot, "that ever one knight should betray another! but it is
an old saw, a good man is never in danger, but when he is in
danger of a coward." Then Sir Launcelot went awhile and he was
exceedingly cumbered by his armor, his shield, and his spear, and
all that belonged to him. Then by chance there came by him a cart
that came thither to fetch wood.

Now at this time carts were little used except for carrying offal
and for conveying criminals to execution. But Sir Launcelot took
no thought of anything but the necessity of haste for the purpose
of rescuing the queen; so he demanded of the carter that he should
take him in and convey him as speedily as possible for a liberal
reward. The carter consented, and Sir Launcelot placed himself in
the cart and only lamented that with much jolting he made but
little progress. Then it happened Sir Gawain passed by and seeing
an armed knight travelling in that unusual way he drew near to see
who it might be. Then Sir Launcelot told him how the queen had
been carried off, and how, in hastening to her rescue, his horse
had been disabled and he had been compelled to avail himself of
the cart rather than give up his enterprise. Then Sir Gawain said,
"Surely it is unworthy of a knight to travel in such sort;" but
Sir Launcelot heeded him not.

At nightfall they arrived at a castle and the lady thereof came
out at the head of her damsels to welcome Sir Gawain. But to admit
his companion, whom she supposed to be a criminal, or at least a
prisoner, it pleased her not; however, to oblige Sir Gawain, she
consented. At supper Sir Launcelot came near being consigned to
the kitchen and was only admitted to the lady's table at the
earnest solicitation of Sir Gawain. Neither would the damsels
prepare a bed for him. He seized the first he found unoccupied and
was left undisturbed.

Next morning he saw from the turrets of the castle a train
accompanying a lady, whom he imagined to be the queen. Sir Gawain
thought it might be so, and became equally eager to depart. The
lady of the castle supplied Sir Launcelot with a horse and they
traversed the plain at full speed. They learned from some
travellers whom they met, that there were two roads which led to
the castle of Sir Maleagans. Here therefore the friends separated.
Sir Launcelot found his way beset with obstacles, which he
encountered successfully, but not without much loss of time. As
evening approached he was met by a young and sportive damsel, who
gayly proposed to him a supper at her castle. The knight, who was
hungry and weary, accepted the offer, though with no very good
grace. He followed the lady to her castle and ate voraciously of
her supper, but was quite impenetrable to all her amorous
advances. Suddenly the scene changed and he was assailed by six
furious ruffians, whom he dealt with so vigorously that most of
them were speedily disabled, when again there was a change and he
found himself alone with his fair hostess, who informed him that
she was none other than his guardian fairy, who had but subjected
him to tests of his courage and fidelity. The next day the fairy
brought him on his road, and before parting gave him a ring, which
she told him would by its changes of color disclose to him all
enchantments, and enable him to subdue them.

Sir Launcelot pursued his journey, without being much incommoded
except by the taunts of travellers, who all seemed to have
learned, by some means, his disgraceful drive in the cart. One,
more insolent than the rest, had the audacity to interrupt him
during dinner, and even to risk a battle in support of his
pleasantry. Launcelot, after an easy victory, only doomed him to
be carted in his turn.

At night he was received at another castle, with great apparent
hospitality, but found himself in the morning in a dungeon, and
loaded with chains. Consulting his ring, and finding that this was
an enchantment, he burst his chains, seized his armor in spite of
the visionary monsters who attempted to defend it, broke open the
gates of the tower, and continued his journey. At length his
progress was checked by a wide and rapid torrent, which could only
be passed on a narrow bridge, on which a false step would prove
his destruction. Launcelot, leading his horse by the bridle, and
making him swim by his side, passed over the bridge, and was
attacked as soon as he reached the bank by a lion and a leopard,
both of which he slew, and then, exhausted and bleeding, seated
himself on the grass, and endeavored to bind up his wounds, when
he was accosted by Brademagus, the father of Maleagans, whose
castle was then in sight, and at no great distance. This king, no
less courteous than his son was haughty and insolent, after
complimenting Sir Launcelot on the valor and skill he had
displayed in the perils of the bridge and the wild beasts, offered
him his assistance, and informed him that the queen was safe in
his castle, but could only be rescued by encountering Maleagans.
Launcelot demanded the battle for the next day, and accordingly it
took place, at the foot of the tower, and under the eyes of the
fair captive. Launcelot was enfeebled by his wounds, and fought
not with his usual spirit, and the contest for a time was
doubtful; till Guenever exclaimed, "Ah, Launcelot! my knight,
truly have I been told that thou art no longer worthy of me!"
These words instantly revived the drooping knight; he resumed at
once his usual superiority, and soon laid at his feet his haughty
adversary.

He was on the point of sacrificing him to his resentment, when
Guenever, moved by the entreaties of Brademagus, ordered him to
withhold the blow, and he obeyed. The castle and its prisoners
were now at his disposal. Launcelot hastened to the apartment of
the queen, threw himself at her feet, and was about to kiss her
hand, when she exclaimed, "Ah, Launcelot! why do I see thee again,
yet feel thee to be no longer worthy of me, after having been
disgracefully drawn about the country in a--" She had not time to
finish the phrase, for her lover suddenly started from her, and,
bitterly lamenting that he had incurred the displeasure of his
sovereign lady, rushed out of the castle, threw his sword and his
shield to the right and left, ran furiously into the woods, and
disappeared.

It seems that the story of the abominable cart, which haunted
Launcelot at every step, had reached the ears of Sir Kay, who had
told it to the queen, as a proof that her knight must have been
dishonored. But Guenever had full leisure to repent the haste with
which she had given credit to the tale. Three days elapsed, during
which Launcelot wandered without knowing where he went, till at
last he began to reflect that his mistress had doubtless been
deceived by misrepresentation, and that it was his duty to set her
right. He therefore returned, compelled Maleagans to release his
prisoners, and, taking the road by which they expected the arrival
of Sir Gawain, had the satisfaction of meeting him the next day;
after which the whole company proceeded gayly towards Camelot.





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,
      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'

      "Who is this? and what is here?
      And in the lighted palace near
      Died the sound of royal cheer;
      And they crossed themselves for fear,

      All the knights at Camelot.
      But Launcelot mused a little space;
      He said, 'She has a lovely face;
      God in his mercy lend her grace,
          The Lady of Shalott.'"





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 the 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,
    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.

   'But ne'er the warrior's evil fate allowed
    His steps that fountain's charmed verge to gain.
    Though restless, roving on adventure proud,
    He traversed oft the land and oft the main."





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 fou

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