The different chansons de gestes relating to Aymon and the necromancer Malagigi (Malagis), probably arose from popular ballads commemorating the struggles of Charles the Bald and his feudatories. These ballads are of course as old as the events which they were intended to record, but the chansons de gestes based upon them, and entitled "Duolin de Mayence," "Aymon, Son of Duolin de Mayence," "Maugis," "Rinaldo de Trebizonde," "The Four Sons of Aymon," and "Mabrian," are of much later date, and were particularly admired during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.
One of the most famous of Charlemagne's peers was doubtless the noble Aymon of Dordogne; and when the war against the Avars in Hungary had been successfully closed, owing to his bravery, his adherents besought the king to bestow upon this knight some reward. Charlemagne, whom many of these later chansons de gestes describe as mean and avaricious, refused to grant any reward, declaring that were he to add still further to his vassal's already extensive territories, Aymon would soon be come more powerful than his sovereign.
[Sidenote: War between Aymon and Charlemagne.] This unjust refusal displeased Lord Hug of Dordogne, who had pleaded for his kinsman, so that he ventured a retort, which so incensed the king that he slew him then and there. Aymon, learning of the death of Lord Hug, and aware of the failure of his last embassy, haughtily withdrew to his own estates, whence he now began to wage war against Charlemagne.
Instead of open battle, however, a sort of guerrilla warfare was carried on, in which, thanks to his marvelous steed Bayard, which his cousin Malagigi, the necromancer, had brought him from hell, Aymon always won the advantage. At the end of several years, however, Charlemagne collected a large host, and came to lay siege to the castle where Aymon had intrenched himself with all his adherents.
[Sidenote: Loss of the horse Bayard.] During that siege, Aymon awoke one morning to find that his beloved steed had vanished. Malagigi, hearing him bewail his loss, bade him be of good cheer, promising to restore Bayard ere long, although he would be obliged to go to Mount Vulcanus, the mouth of hell, to get him. Thus comforted, Aymon ceased to mourn, while Malagigi set to work to fulfill his promise. As a brisk wind was blowing from the castle towards the camp, he flung upon the breeze some powdered hellebore, which caused a violent sneezing throughout the army. Then, while his foes were wiping their streaming eyes, the necromancer, who had learned his black art in the famous school of Toledo, slipped through their ranks unseen, and journeyed on to Mount Vulcanus, where he encountered his Satanic Majesty.
His first act was to offer his services to Satan, who accepted them gladly, bidding him watch the steed Bayard, which he had stolen because he preferred riding a horse to sitting astride a storm cloud as usual. The necromancer artfully pretended great anxiety to serve his new master, but having discovered just where Bayard was to be found, he made use of a sedative powder to lull Satan to sleep. Then, hastening to the angry steed, Malagigi made him tractable by whispering his master's name in his ear; and, springing on his back, rode swiftly away.
Satan was awakened by the joyful whinny of the flying steed, and immediately mounted upon a storm cloud and started in pursuit, hurling a red-hot thunderbolt at Malagigi to check his advance. But the necromancer muttered a magic spell and held up his crucifix, and the bolt fell short; while the devil, losing his balance, fell to the earth, and thus lamed himself permanently.
[Sidenote: Bayard restored by Malagigi.] Count Aymon, in the mean while, had been obliged to flee from his besieged castle, mounted upon a sorry steed instead of his fleet-footed horse. When the enemy detected his flight, they set out in pursuit, tracking him by means of bloodhounds, and were about to overtake and slay him when Malagigi suddenly appeared with Bayard. To bound on the horse's back, draw his famous sword Flamberge, which had been made by the smith Wieland, and charge into the midst of his foes, was the work of a few seconds. The result was that most of Aymon's foes bit the dust, while he rode away unharmed, and gathering many followers, he proceeded to win back all the castles and fortresses he had lost.
Frightened by Aymon's successes, Charlemagne finally sent Roland, his nephew and favorite, bidding him offer a rich ransom to atone for the murder of Lord Hug, and instructing him to secure peace at any price. Aymon at first refused these overtures, but consented at last to cease the feud upon receipt of six times Lord Hug's weight in gold, and the hand of the king's sister, Aya, whom he had long loved.
These demands were granted, peace was concluded, and Aymon, having married Aya, led her to the castle of Pierlepont, where they dwelt most happily together, and became the parents of four brave sons, Renaud, Alard, Guiscard, and Richard. Inactivity, however, was not enjoyable to an inveterate fighter like Aymon, so he soon left home to journey into Spain, where the bitter enmity between the Christians and the Moors would afford him opportunity to fight to his heart's content.
Years now passed by, during which Aymon covered himself with glory; for, mounted on Bayard, he was the foremost in every battle, and always struck terror into the hearts of his foes by the mere flash of his blade Flamberge. Thus he fought until his sons attained manhood, and Aya had long thought him dead, when a messenger came to Pierlepont, telling them that Aymon lay ill in the Pyrenees, and wished to see his wife and his children once more.
In answer to these summons Aya hastened southward, and found her husband old and worn, yet not so changed that she could not recognize him. Aymon, sick as he was, rejoiced at the sight of his manly sons. He gave the three eldest the spoil he had won during those many years' warfare, and promised Renaud (Reinold) his horse and sword, if he could successfully mount and ride the former.
[Sidenote: Bayard won by Renaud.] Renaud, who was a skillful horseman, fancied the task very easy, and was somewhat surprised when his father's steed caught him by the garments with his teeth, and tumbled him into the manger. Undismayed by one failure, however, Renaud sprang boldly upon Bayard; and, in spite of all the horse's efforts, kept his seat so well that his father formally gave him the promised mount and sword.
When restored to health by the tender nursing of his loving wife, Aymon returned home with his family. Then, hearing that Charlemagne had returned from his coronation journey to Rome, and was about to celebrate the majority of his heir, Aymon went to court with his four sons.
During the tournament, held as usual on such festive occasions, Renaud unhorsed every opponent, and even defeated the prince. This roused the anger of Charlot, or Berthelot as he is called by some authorities, and made him vow revenge. He soon discovered that Renaud was particularly attached to his brother Alard, so he resolved first to harm the latter. Advised by the traitor Ganelon, Chariot challenged Alard to a game of chess, and insisted that the stakes should be the players' heads.
This proposal was very distasteful to Alard, for he knew that he would never dare lay any claim to the prince's head even if he won the game, and feared to lose his own if he failed to win. Compelled to accept the challenge, however, Alard began the game, and played so well that he won five times in succession. Then Charlot, angry at being so completely checkmated, suddenly seized the board and struck his antagonist such a cruel blow that the blood began to flow. Alard, curbing his wrath, simply withdrew; and it was only when Renaud questioned him very closely that he told how the quarrel had occurred.
Renaud was indignant at the insult offered his brother, and went to the emperor with his complaint. The umpires reluctantly testified that the prince had forfeited his head, so Renaud cut it off in the emperor's presence, and effected his escape with his father and brothers before any one could lay hands upon them. Closely pursued by the imperial troops, Aymon and his sons were soon brought to bay, and fought so bravely that they slew many of their assailants. At last, seeing that all their horses except the incomparable Bayard had been slain, Renaud bade his brothers mount behind him, and they dashed away. The aged Aymon had already fallen into the hands of the emperor's adviser, Turpin, who solemnly promised that no harm should befall him. But in spite of this oath, and of the remonstrances of all his peers, Charlemagne prepared to have Aymon publicly hanged, and consented to release him only upon condition that Aymon would promise to deliver his sons into the emperor's hands, were it ever in his power to do so.
The four young men, knowing their father safe, and unwilling to expose their mother to the unpleasant experiences of the siege which would have followed had they remained at Pierlepont, now journeyed southward, and entered the service of Saforet, King of the Moors. With him they won many victories; but, seeing at the end of three years that this monarch had no intention of giving them the promised reward, they slew him, and offered their swords to Iwo, Prince of Tarasconia.
[Sidenote: Fortress of Montauban.] Afraid of these warriors, yet wishing to bind them to him by indissoluble ties, Iwo gave Renaud his daughter Clarissa in marriage, and helped him build an impregnable fortress at Montauban. This stronghold was scarcely finished when Charlemagne came up with a great army to besiege it; but at the end of a year of fruitless attempts, the emperor reluctantly withdrew, leaving Montauban still in the hands of his enemies.
Seven years had now elapsed since the four young men had seen their mother; and, anxious to embrace her once more, they went in pilgrims' robes to the castle of Pierlepont. Here the chamberlain recognized them and betrayed their presence to Aymon, who, compelled by his oath, prepared to bind his four sons fast and take them captive to his sovereign. The young men, however, defended themselves bravely, secured their father instead, and sent him in chains to Charlemagne. Unfortunately the monarch was much nearer Pierlepont at the time than the young men supposed. Hastening onward, he entered the castle before they had even become aware of his approach, and secured three of them. The fourth, Renaud, aided by his mother, escaped in pilgrim's garb, and returned to Montauban. Here he found Bayard, and without pausing to rest, he rode straight to Paris to deliver his brothers from the emperor's hands.
Overcome by fatigue after this hasty journey, Renaud dismounted shortly before reaching Paris, and fell asleep. When he awoke he found that his steed had vanished, and he reluctantly continued his journey on foot, begging his way. He was joined on the way by his cousin Malagigi, who also wore a pilgrim's garb, and who promised to aid Renaud, not only in freeing his brothers, but also in recovering Bayard.
[Sidenote: Malagigi's stratagem.] Unnoticed, the beggars threaded their way through the city of Paris and came to the palace. There a great tournament was to be held, and the emperor had promised to the victor of the day the famous steed Bayard. To stimulate the knights to greater efforts by a view of the promised prize, the emperor bade a groom lead forth the renowned steed. The horse seemed restive, but suddenly paused beside two beggars, with a whinny of joy. The groom, little suspecting that the horse's real master was hidden under the travel-stained pilgrim's robe, laughingly commented upon Bayard's bad taste. Then Malagigi, the second beggar, suddenly cried aloud that his poor companion had been told that he would recover from his lameness were he only once allowed to bestride the famous steed. Anxious to witness a miracle, the emperor gave orders that the beggar should be placed upon Bayard; and Renaud, after feigning to fall off through awkwardness, suddenly sat firmly upon his saddle, and dashed away before any one could stop him.
As for Malagigi, having wandered among the throng unheeded, he remained in Paris until evening. Then, making his way into the prison by means of the necromantic charm "Abracadabra," which he continually repeated, he delivered the other sons of Aymon from their chains. He next entered the palace of the sleeping emperor, spoke to him in his sleep, and forced him, under hypnotic influence, to give up the scepter and crown, which he triumphantly bore away.
[Treachery of Iwo.] When Charlemagne awoke on the morrow, found his prisoners gone, and realized that what had seemed a dream was only too true, and that the insignia of royalty were gone, he was very angry indeed. More than ever before he now longed to secure the sons of Aymon; so he bribed Iwo, with whom the brothers had taken refuge, to send them to him. Clarissa suspected her father's treachery, and implored Renaud not to believe him; but the brave young hero, relying upon Iwo's promise, set out without arms to seek the emperor's pardon. On the way, however, the four sons of Aymon fell into an ambuscade, whence they would scarcely have escaped alive had not one of the brothers drawn from under his robe the weapons Clarissa had given him.
The emperor's warriors, afraid of the valor of these doughty brethren now that they were armed, soon withdrew to a safe distance, whence they could watch the young men and prevent their escape. Suddenly, however, Malagigi came dashing up on Bayard, for Clarissa had warned him of his kinsmen's danger, and implored him to go to their rescue. Renaud immediately mounted his favorite steed, and brandishing Flamberge, which his uncle had brought him, he charged so gallantly into the very midst of the imperial troops that he soon put them to flight.
[Sidenote: Renaud and Roland.] The emperor, baffled and angry, suspected that Iwo had warned his son-in-law of the danger and provided him with weapons. In his wrath he had Iwo seized, and sentenced him to be hanged. But Renaud, seeing Clarissa's tears, vowed that he would save his father-in-law from such an ignominious death. With his usual bravery he charged into the very midst of the executioners, and unhorsed the valiant champion, Roland. During this encounter, Iwo effected his escape, and Renaud followed him, while Roland slowly picked himself up and prepared to follow his antagonist and once more try his strength against him.
On the way to Montauban, Roland met Richard, one of the four brothers, whom he carried captive to Charlemagne. The emperor immediately ordered the young knight to be hanged, and bade some of his most noble followers to see the sentence executed. They one and all refused, however, declaring death on the gallows too ignominious a punishment for a knight.
The discussions which ensued delayed the execution and enabled Malagigi to warn Renaud of his brother's imminent peril. Mounted upon Bayard, Renaud rode straight to Montfaucon, accompanied by his two other brothers and a few faithful men. There they camped under the gallows, to be at hand when the guard came to hang the prisoner on the morrow. But Renaud and his companions slept so soundly that they would have been surprised had not the intelligent Bayard awakened his master by a very opportune kick. Springing to his feet, Renaud roused his companions, vaulted upon his steed, and charged the guard. He soon delivered his captive brother and carried him off in triumph, after hanging the knight who had volunteered to act as executioner.
[Sidenote: Montauban besieged by Charlemagne.] Charlemagne, still anxious to seize and punish these refractory subjects, now collected an army and began again to besiege the stronghold of Montauban. Occasional sallies and a few bloody encounters were the only variations in the monotony of a several-years' siege. But finally the provisions of the besieged became very scanty. Malagigi, who knew that a number of provision wagons were expected, advised Renaud to make a bold sally and carry them off, while he, the necromancer, dulled the senses of the imperial army by scattering one of his magic sleeping powders in the air. He had just begun his spell when Oliver perceived him and, pouncing upon him, carried him off to the emperor's tent. Oliver, on the way thither, never once relinquished his grasp, although the magician tried to make him do so by throwing a pinch of hellebore in his face.
While sneezing loudly the paladin told how he had caught the magician, and the emperor vowed that the rascal should be hanged on the very next day. When he heard this decree, Malagigi implored the emperor to give him a good meal, since this was to be his last night on earth, pledging his word not to leave the camp without the emperor. This promise so reassured Charlemagne that he ordered a sumptuous repast, charging a few knights to watch Malagigi, lest, after all, he should effect his escape. The meal over, the necromancer again had recourse to his magic art to plunge the whole camp into a deep sleep. Then, proceeding unmolested to the imperial tent, he bore off the sleeping emperor to the gates of Montauban, which flew open at his well-known voice.
Charlemagne, on awaking, was as surprised as dismayed to find himself in the hands of his foes, who, however, when they saw his uneasiness, gallantly gave him his freedom without exacting any pledge or ransom in return. But when Malagigi heard of this foolhardy act of generosity, he burned up his papers, boxes, and bags, and, when asked why he acted thus, replied that he was about to leave his mad young kinsmen to their own devices, and take refuge in a hermitage, where he intended to spend the remainder of his life in repenting of his sins. Soon after this he disappeared, and Aymon's sons, escaping secretly from Montauban just before it was forced to surrender, took refuge in a castle they owned in the Ardennes.
Here the emperor pursued them, and kept up the siege until Aya sought him, imploring him to forgive her sons and to cease persecuting them. Charlemagne yielded at last to her entreaties, and promised to grant the sons of Aymon full forgiveness provided the demoniacal steed Bayard were given over to him to be put to death. Aya hastened to Renaud to tell him this joyful news, but when he declared that nothing would ever induce him to give up his faithful steed, she besought him not to sacrifice his brothers, wife, and sons, out of love for his horse.
[Sidenote: Death of Bayard.] Thus adjured, Renaud, with breaking heart, finally consented. The treaty was signed, and Bayard, with feet heavily weighted, was led to the middle of a bridge over the Seine, where the emperor had decreed that he should be drowned. At a given signal from Charlemagne the noble horse was pushed into the water; but, in spite of the weights on his feet, he rose to the surface twice, casting an agonized glance upon his master, who had been forced to come and witness his death. Aya, seeing her son's grief, drew his head down upon her motherly bosom, and when Bayard rose once more and missed his beloved master's face among the crowd, he sank beneath the waves with a groan of despair, and never rose again.
Renaud, maddened by the needless cruelty of this act, now tore up the treaty and flung it at the emperor's feet. He then broke his sword Flamberge and cast it into the Seine, declaring that he would never wield such a weapon again, and returned to Montauban alone and on foot. There he bade his wife and children farewell, after committing them to the loyal protection of Roland. He then set out for the Holy Land, where he fought against the infidels, using a club as weapon, so as not to break his vow. This evidently proved no less effective in his hands than the noted Flamberge, for he was offered the crown of Jerusalem in reward for his services. As he had vowed to renounce all the pomps and vanities of the world, Renaud passed the crown on to Godfrey of Bouillon. Then, returning home, he found that Clarissa had died, after having been persecuted for years by the unwelcome attentions of many suitors, who would fain have persuaded her that her husband was dead.
[Sidenote: Death of Renaud.] According to one version of the story, Renaud died in a hermitage, in the odor of sanctity; but if we are to believe another, he journeyed on to Cologne, where the cathedral was being built, and labored at it night and day. Exasperated by his constant activity, which put them all to shame, his fellow-laborers slew him and flung his body into the Rhine. Strange to relate, however, his body was not carried away by the strong current, but lingered near the city, until it was brought to land and interred by some pious people.
Many miracles having taken place near the spot where he was buried, the emperor gave orders that his remains should be conveyed either to Aix-la-Chapelle or to Paris. The body was therefore laid upon a cart, which moved of its own accord to Dortmund, in Westphalia, where it stopped, and where a church was erected in honor of Renaud in 811. Here the saintly warrior's remains were duly laid to rest, and the church in Dortmund still bears his name. A chapel in Cologne is also dedicated to him, and is supposed to stand on the very spot where he was so treacherously slain after his long and brilliant career.
It is supposed that this chanson de geste was first composed in the thirteenth century; but the version which has come down to us must have been written shortly before the discovery of printing. Although this poem was deservedly a favorite composition during the middle ages, no manuscript copy of it now exists. Such was the admiration that it excited that Lord Berners translated it into English under Henry VIII. In modern times it has been the theme of Wieland's finest poem, and of one of Weber's operas, both of which works are known by the title of "Oberon." It is from this work that Shakespeare undoubtedly drew some of the principal characters for his "Midsummer-Night's Dream," where Oberon, king of the fairies, plays no unimportant part.
[Sidenote: Charlot slain by Huon.] The hero of this poem, Huon of Bordeaux, and his brother Girard, were on their way from Guienne to Paris to do homage to Charlemagne for their estates. Charlot, the monarch's eldest son, who bears a very unenviable reputation in all the mediaeval poems, treacherously waylaid the brothers, intending to put them both to death. He attacked them separately; but, after slaying Girard, was himself slain by Huon, who, quite unconscious of the illustrious birth of his assailant, calmly proceeded on his way.
The rumor of the prince's death soon followed Huon to court, and Charlemagne, incensed, vowed that he would never pardon him until he had proved his loyalty and repentance by journeying to Bagdad, where he was to cut off the head of the great bashaw, to kiss the Sultan's daughter, and whence he was to bring back a lock of that mighty potentate's gray beard and four of his best teeth.
"'Yet hear the terms; hear what no earthly power Shall ever change!' He spoke, and wav'd below His scepter, bent in anger o'er my brow.-- 'Yes, thou may'st live;--but, instant, from this hour, Away! in exile rove far nations o'er; Thy foot accurs'd shall tread this soil no more, Till thou, in due obedience to my will Shalt, point by point, the word I speak fulfill; Thou diest, if this unwrought thou touch thy native shore.
"'Go hence to Bagdad; in high festal day At his round table, when the caliph, plac'd In stately pomp, with splendid emirs grac'd, Enjoys the banquet rang'd in proud array, Slay him who lies the monarch's left beside, Dash from his headless trunk the purple tide. Then to the right draw near; with courtly grace The beauteous heiress of his throne embrace; And thrice with public kiss salute her as thy bride.
"'And while the caliph, at the monstrous scene, Such as before ne'er shock'd a caliph's eyes, Stares at thy confidence in mute surprise, Then, as the Easterns wont, with lowly mien Fall on the earth before his golden throne, And gain (a trifle, proof of love alone) That it may please him, gift of friend to friend, Four of his grinders at my bidding send, And of his beard a lock with silver hair o'ergrown." WIELAND. Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Illustration: HUON BEFORE THE POPE--Gabriel Max.]
[Sidenote: Huon's quest.] Huon regretfully, left his native land to begin this apparently hopeless quest; and, after visiting his uncle, the Pope, in Rome, he tried to secure heavenly assistance by a pilgrimage to the holy sepulcher. Then he set out for Babylon, or Bagdad, for, with the visual mediaeval scorn for geography, evinced in all the chansons de gestes, these are considered interchangeable names for the same town. As the hero was journeying towards his goal by way of the Red Sea, it will not greatly surprise the modern reader to hear that he lost his way and came to a pathless forest. Darkness soon overtook him, and Huon was blindly stumbling forward, leading his weary steed by the bridle, when he perceived a light, toward which he directed his way.
"Not long his step the winding way pursued, When on his wistful gaze, to him beseems, The light of distant fire delightful gleams. His cheek flash'd crimson as the flame he view'd. Half wild with hope and fear, he rushed to find In these lone woods some glimpse of human kind, And, ever and anon, at once the ray Flash'd on his sight, then sunk at once away, While rose and fell the path as hill and valley wind." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Sherasmin.] Huon at last reached a cave, and found a gigantic old man all covered with hair, which was his sole garment. After a few moments' fruitless attempt at conversation in the language of the country, Huon impetuously spoke a few words in his mother tongue. Imagine his surprise when the uncouth inhabitant of the woods answered him fluently, and when he discovered, after a few rapid questions, that the man was Sherasmin (Gerasmes), an old servant of his father's! This old man had escaped from the hands of his Saracen captors, and had taken refuge in these woods, where he had already dwelt many years. After relating his adventures, Huon entreated Sherasmin to point out the nearest way to Bagdad, and learned with surprise that there were two roads, one very long and comparatively safe, even for an inexperienced traveler, and the other far shorter, but leading through an enchanted forest, where countless dangers awaited the venturesome traveler.
The young knight of course decided to travel along the most perilous way; and, accompanied by Sherasmin, who offered his services as guide, he set out early upon the morrow to continue his quest. On the fourth day of their journey they saw a Saracen struggling single-handed against a band of Arabs, whom Huon soon put to flight with a few well directed strokes from his mighty sword.
After resting a few moments, Huon bade Sherasmin lead the way into the neighboring forest, although his guide and mentor again strove to dissuade him from crossing it by explaining that the forest was haunted by a goblin who could change men into beasts. The hero, who was on his way to insult the proudest ruler on earth, was not to be deterred by a goblin; and as Sherasmin still refused to enter first, Huon plunged boldly into the enchanted forest. Sherasmin followed him reluctantly, finding cause for alarm in the very silence of the dense shade, and timorously glancing from side to side in the gloomy recesses, where strange forms seemed to glide noiselessly about.
"Meanwhile the wand'ring travelers onward go Unawares within the circuit of a wood, Whose mazy windings at each step renew'd, In many a serpent-fold, twin'd to and fro, So that our pair to lose themselves were fain." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Meeting with Oberon.] The travelers lost their way entirely as they penetrated farther into the forest, and they came at last to a little glade, where, resting under the spreading branches of a mighty oak, they were favored with the vision of a castle. Its golden portals opened wide to permit of the egress of Oberon, king of the fairies, the son of Julius Caesar and Morgana the fay. He came to them in the radiant guise of the god of love, sitting in a chariot of silver, drawn by leopards.
Sherasmin, terrified at the appearance of this radiant creature, and under the influence of wild, unreasoning fear, seized the bridle of his master's steed and dragged him into the midst of the forest, in spite of all his remonstrances. At last he paused, out of breath, and thought himself safe from further pursuit; but he was soon made aware of the goblin's wrath by the sudden outbreak of a frightful storm.
"A tempest, wing'd with lightning, storm, and rain, O'ertakes our pair: around them midnight throws Darkness that hides the world: it peels, cracks, blows, As if the uprooted globe would split in twain; The elements in wild confusion flung, Each warr'd with each, as fierce from chaos sprung. Yet heard from time to time amid the storm, The gentle whisper of th' aërial form Breath'd forth a lovely tone that died the gales among." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
All Sherasmin's efforts to escape from the spirit of the forest had been in vain. Oberon's magic horn had called forth the raging tempest, and his power suddenly stayed its fury as Huon and his companion overtook a company of monks and nuns. These holy people had been celebrating a festival by a picnic, and were now hastening home, drenched, bedraggled, and in a sorry plight. They had scarcely reached the convent yard, however, where Sherasmin fancied all would be quite safe from further enchantment, when Oberon suddenly appeared in their midst like a brilliant meteor.
"At once the storm is fled; serenely mild Heav'n smiles around, bright rays the sky adorn, While beauteous as an angel newly born Beams in the roseate dayspring, glow'd the child. A lily stalk his graceful limbs sustain'd, Round his smooth neck an ivory horn was chain'd; Yet lovely as he was, on all around Strange horror stole, for stern the fairy frown'd, And o'er each sadden'd charm a sullen anger reign'd." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Oberon's aid promised.] The displeasure of the king of the fairies had been roused by Huon and Sherasmin's discourteous flight, but he merely vented his anger and showed his power by breathing a soft strain on his magic horn. At the same moment, monks, nuns, and Sherasmin, forgetting their age and calling, began to dance in the wildest abandon. Huon alone remained uninfluenced by the music, for he had had no wish to avoid an encounter with Oberon.
The king of the fairies now revealed to Huon that as his life had been pure and his soul true, he would help him in his quest. Then, at a wave from the lily wand the magic music ceased, and the charm was broken. Sherasmin was graciously forgiven by Oberon, who, seeing the old man well-nigh exhausted, offered him a golden beaker of wine, bidding him drink without fear. But Sherasmin was of a suspicious nature, and it was only when he found that the draught had greatly refreshed him that he completely dismissed his fears.
[Sidenote: The magic horn.] After informing Huon that he was fully aware of the peculiar nature of his quest, Oberon gave him the golden beaker, assuring him that it would always be full of the richest wine for the virtuous, but would burn the evil doer with a devouring fire. He also bestowed his magic horn upon him, telling him that a gentle blast would cause all the hearers to dance, while a loud one would bring to his aid the king of the fairies himself.
"Does but its snail-like spiral hollow sing, A lovely note soft swell'd with gentle breath, Though thousand warriors threaten instant death, And with advancing weapons round enring; Then, as thou late hast seen, in restless dance All, all must spin, and every sword and lance Fall with th' exhausted warriors to the ground. But if thou peal it with impatient sound, I at thy call appear, more swift than lightning glance." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
Another wave of his lily wand, and Oberon disappeared, leaving a subtle fragrance behind him; and had it not been for the golden beaker and the ivory horn which he still held, Huon might have been tempted to consider the whole occurrence a dream.
The journey to Bagdad was now resumed in a more hopeful spirit; and when the travelers reached Tourmont they found that it was governed by one of Huon's uncles, who, captured in his youth by the Saracens, had turned Mussulman, and had gradually risen to the highest dignity. Seeing Huon refresh some of the Christians of his household with a draught of wine from the magic cup, he asked to be allowed to drink from it too. He had no sooner taken hold of it, however, than he was unmercifully burned, for he was a renegade, and the magic cup refreshed only the true believers.
Incensed at what he fancied a deliberate insult, the governor of Tourmont planned to slay Huon at a great banquet. But the young hero defended himself bravely, and, after slaying sundry assailants, disposed of the remainder by breathing a soft note upon his magic horn, and setting them all to dancing wildly, until they sank breathless and exhausted upon their divans.
[Sidenote: The giant Angoulaffre.] As Huon had taken advantage of the spell to depart and continue his journey, he soon reached the castle of the giant Angoulaffre. The latter had stolen from Oberon a magic ring which made the wearer invulnerable, and thus suffered him to commit countless crimes with impunity. When Huon came near the castle he met an unfortunate knight who imformed him that the giant detained his promised bride captive, together with several other helpless damsels.
Like a true knight errant, Huon vowed to deliver these helpless ladies, and, in spite of the armed guards at every doorway, he passed unmolested into Angoulaffre's chamber. There he found the giant plunged in a lethargy, but was rapturously welcomed by the knight's fair betrothed, who had long sighed for a deliverer. In a few hurried sentences she told him that her captor constantly forced his unwelcome attentions upon her; but that, owing to the protection of the Virgin, a trance overtook him and made him helpless whenever he tried to force her inclinations and take her to wife.
"'As oft the hateful battle he renews, As oft the miracle his force subdues; The ring no virtue boasts whene'er that sleep assails.'" WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
Prompted by this fair princess, whose name was Angela, Huon secured the ring, and donned a magic hauberk hanging near. But, as he scorned to take any further advantage of a sleeping foe, he patiently awaited the giant's awakening to engage in one of those combats which the mediaeval poets loved to describe.
[Sidenote: Angela and Alexis.] Of course Huon was victorious, and after slaying Angoulaffre, he restored the fair Angela to her lover, Alexis, and gave a great banquet, which was attended by the fifty rescued damsels, and by fifty knights who had come to help Alexis. Although this gay company would fain have had him remain with them, Huon traveled on. When too exhausted to continue his way, he again rested under a tree, where Oberon caused a tent to be raised by invisible hands. Here Huon had a wonderful dream, in which he beheld his future ladylove, and was warned of some of the perils which still awaited him before he could claim her as his own.
The journey was then resumed, and when they reached the banks of the Red Sea, Oberon sent one of his spirits, Malebron, to carry them safely over. They traveled through burning wastes of sand, refreshed and strengthened by occasional draughts from the magic goblet, and came at last to a forest, where they saw a Saracen about to succumb beneath the attack of a monstrous lion. Huon immediately flew to his rescue, slew the lion, and, having drunk deeply from his magic cup, handed it to the Saracen, on whose lips the refreshing wine turned to liquid flame.
"With evil eye, from Huon's courteous hand, Filled to the brim, the heathen takes the bowl-- Back from his lip th' indignant bubbles roll! The spring is dried, and hot as fiery brand, Proof of internal guilt, the metal glows. Far from his grasp the wretch the goblet throws, Raves, roars, and stamps." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
With a blasphemous exclamation the Saracen flung aside the cup, and seeing that his own steed had been slain by the lion, he sprang unceremoniously upon Huon's horse, and rode rapidly away.
[Sidenote: Princess Rezia.] As there was but one mount left for them both, Huon and Sherasmin were now obliged to proceed more slowly to Bagdad, where they found every hostelry full, as the people were all coming thither to witness the approaching nuptials of the princess, Rezia (Esclamonde), and Babican, King of Hyrcania. Huon and Sherasmin, after a long search, finally found entertainment in a little hut, where an old woman, the mother of the princess's attendant, entertained them by relating that the princess was very reluctant to marry. She also told them that Rezia had lately been troubled by a dream, in which she had seen herself in the guise of a hind and pursued through a pathless forest by Babican. In this dream she was saved and restored to her former shape by a radiant little creature, who rode in a glistening silver car, drawn by leopards. He was accompanied by a fair-haired knight, whom he presented to her as her future bridegroom.
"The shadow flies; but from her heart again He never fades--the youth with golden hair; Eternally his image hovers there, Exhaustless source of sweetly pensive pain, In nightly visions, and in daydreams shown." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
Huon listened in breathless rapture, for he now felt assured that the princess Rezia was the radiant creature he had seen in his dream, and that Oberon intended them for each other. He therefore assured the old woman that the princess should never marry the detested Babican. Then, although Sherasmin pointed out to him that the way to a lady's favor seldom consists in cutting off the head of her intended bridegroom, depriving her father of four teeth and a lock of his beard, and kissing her without the usual preliminary of "by your leave," the young hero persisted in his resolution to visit the palace on the morrow.
[Sidenote: Oberon again to the rescue.] That selfsame night, Huon and Rezia were again visited by sweet dreams, in which Oberon, their guardian spirit, promised them his aid. While the princess was arraying herself for her nuptials on the morrow, the old woman rushed into her apartment and announced that a fair-haired knight, evidently the promised deliverer, had slept in her humble dwelling the night before. Comforted by these tidings, Rezia made a triumphant entrance into the palace hall, where her father, the bridegroom, and all the principal dignitaries of the court, awaited her appearance.
"Emirs and viziers, all the courtly crowd Meantime attendant at the sultan's call, With festal splendor grace the nuptial hall. The banquet waits, the cymbals clang aloud. The gray-beard caliph from his golden door Stalks mid the slaves that fall his path before; Behind, of stately gesture, proud to view, The Druse prince, though somewhat pale of hue, Comes as a bridegroom deck'd with jewels blazing o'er." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
In the mean while Huon, awaking at early dawn, found a complete suit of Saracenic apparel at his bedside. He donned it joyfully, entered the palace unchallenged, and passed into the banquet hall, where he perceived the gray-bearded caliph, and recognized in the bridegroom at his left the Saracen whom he had delivered from the lion, and who had so discourteously stolen his horse.
[Sidenote: Huon's success.] One stride forward, a flash of his curved scimitar, and the first part of Charlemagne's order was fulfilled, for the Saracen's head rolled to the ground. The sudden movement caused Huon's turban to fall off, however, and the princess, seated at the caliph's right, gazed spellbound upon the knight, whose golden locks fell in rich curls about his shoulders.
There are several widely different versions of this part of the story. The most popular, however, states that Huon, taking advantage of the first moments of surprise, kissed Rezia thrice, slipping on her finger, in sign of betrothal, the magic ring which he had taken from Angoulaffre. Then, seeing the caliph's guards about to fall upon him, he gently breathed soft music on his magic horn, and set caliph and court a-dancing.
"The whole divan, one swimming circle glides Swift without stop: the old bashaws click time, As if on polish'd ice; in trance sublime The iman hoar with some spruce courtier slides. Nor rank nor age from capering refrain; Nor can the king his royal foot restrain! He too must reel amid the frolic row, Grasp the grand vizier by his beard of snow, And teach the aged man once more to bound amain!" WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Flight of Rezia.] While they were thus occupied, Huon conducted the willing Rezia to the door, where Sherasmin was waiting for them with fleet steeds, and with Fatima, the princess's favorite attendant. While Sherasmin helped the ladies to mount, Huon hastened back to the palace hall, and found that the exhausted caliph had sunk upon a divan. With the prescribed ceremonies, our hero politely craved a lock of his beard and four of his teeth as a present for Charlemagne. This impudent request so incensed the caliph that he vociferated orders to his guards to slay the stranger. Huon was now forced to defend himself with a curtain pole and a golden bowl, until, needing aid, he suddenly blew a resounding peal upon his magic horn. The earth shook, the palace rocked, Oberon appeared in the midst of rolling thunder and flashing lightning, and with a wave of his lily wand plunged caliph and people into a deep sleep. Then he placed his silver car at Huon's disposal, to bear him and his bride and attendants to Ascalon, where a ship was waiting to take them back to France.
"'So haste, thou matchless pair! On wings of love, my car, that cuts the air, Shall waft you high above terrestrial sight, And place, ere morning melt the shades of night, On Askalon's far shore, beneath my guardian care.'" WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Oberon's warning.] When Huon and Rezia were about to embark at Ascalon, Oberon appeared. He claimed his chariot, which had brought them thither, and gave the knight a golden and jeweled casket, which contained the teeth of the caliph and a lock of his beard. One last test of Huon's loyalty was required, however; for Oberon, at parting, warned him to make no attempt to claim Rezia as his wife until their union had been blessed at Rome by the Pope.
"'And deep, O Huon! grave it in your brain! Till good Sylvester, pious father, sheds Heaven's holy consecration on your heads, As brother and as sister chaste remain! Oh, may ye not, with inauspicious haste, The fruit forbidden prematurely taste! Know, if ye rashly venture ere the time, That Oberon, in vengeance of your crime, Leaves you, without a friend, on life's deserted waste!'" WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
The first part of the journey was safely accomplished; but when they stopped at Lepanto, on the way, Huon insisted upon his mentor, Sherasmin, taking passage on another vessel, which sailed direct to France, that he might hasten ahead, lay the golden casket at Charlemagne's feet, and announce Huon's coming with his Oriental bride.
[Illustration: HUON AND AMANDA LEAP OVERBOARD.--Gabriel Max.]
When Sherasmin had reluctantly departed, and they were again on the high seas, Huon expounded the Christian faith to Rezia, who not only was converted, but was also baptized by a priest on board. He gave her the Christian name of Amanda, in exchange for her pagan name of Rezia or Esclarmonde. This same priest also consecrated their marriage; and while Huon intended to await the Pope's blessing ere he claimed Amanda as his wife, his good resolutions were soon forgotten, and the last injunction of Oberon disregarded.
[Sidenote: Disobedience and punishment.] This disobedience was immediately punished, for a frightful tempest suddenly arose, threatening to destroy the vessel and all on board. The sailors, full of superstitious fears, cast lots to discover who should be sacrificed to allay the fury of the storm. When the choice fell upon Huon, Amanda flung herself with him into the tumultuous waves. As the lovers vanished overboard the storm was suddenly appeased, and, instead of drowning together, Huon and Amanda, by the magic of the ring she wore, drifted to a volcanic island, where they almost perished from hunger and thirst.
Much search among the rocks was finally rewarded by the discovery of some dates, which were particularly welcome, as the lovers had been bitterly deluded by the sight of some apples of Sodom. The fruit, however, was soon exhausted, and, after untold exertions, Huon made his way over the mountains to a fertile valley, the retreat of Titania, queen of the fairies, who had quarreled with Oberon, and who was waiting here until recalled to fairyland.
The only visible inhabitant of the valley, however, was a hermit, who welcomed Huon, and showed him a short and convenient way to bring Amanda thither. After listening attentively to the story of Huon's adventures, the hermit bade him endeavor to recover the favor of Oberon by voluntarily living apart from his wife, and leading a life of toil and abstinence.
"'Blest,' says the hermit, 'blest the man whom fate Guides with strict hand, but not unfriendly aim! How blest! whose slightest fault is doom'd to shame! Him, trained to virtue, purest joys await,-- Earth's purest joys reward each trying pain! Think not the fairy will for aye remain Inexorable foe to hearts like thine: Still o'er you hangs his viewless hand divine; Do but deserve his grace, and ye his grace obtain." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Huon's penance.] Huon was ready and willing to undergo any penance which would enable him to deliver his beloved Amanda from the isle, and after building her a little hut, within call of the cell he occupied with the hermit, he spent all his time in tilling the soil for their sustenance, and in listening to the teachings of the holy man.
Time passed on. One day Amanda restlessly wandered a little way up the mountain, and fell asleep in a lovely grotto, which she now for the first time discovered. When she awoke from a blissful dream she found herself clasping her new-born babe, who, during her slumbers, had been cared for by the fairies. This child, Huonet, was, of course, a great comfort to Amanda, who was devoted to him.
When the babe was a little more than a year old the aged monk died. Huon and Amanda, despairing of release from the desert island, were weary of living apart; and Titania, who foresaw that Oberon would send new misfortunes upon them to punish them in case they did not stand the second test, carried little Huonet off to fairyland, lest he should suffer for his parents' sins.
[Sidenote: Amanda and the pirates.] Huon and Amanda, in the mean time, searched frantically for the missing babe, fancying it had wandered off into the woods. During their search they became separated, and Amanda, while walking along the seashore, was seized by pirates. They intended to carry her away and sell her as a slave to the Sultan. Huon heard her cries of distress, and rushed to her rescue; but in spite of his utmost efforts to join her he saw her borne away to the waiting vessel, while he was bound to a tree in the woods, and left there to die.
"Deep in the wood, at distance from the shore, They drag their victim, that his loudest word Pour'd on the desert air may pass unheard. Then bind the wretch, and fasten o'er and o'er Arm, leg, and neck, and shoulders, to a tree. To heaven he looks in speechless agony, O'ercome by woe's unutterable weigfit. Thus he--the while, with jocund shout elate The crew bear off their prey, and bound along the sea." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
Oberon, however, had pity at last upon the unfortunate knight, and sent one of his invisible servants, who not only unbound him, but transported him, with miraculous rapidity, over land and sea, and deposited him at the door of a gardener's house in Tunis.
[Sidenote: Sherasmin's search.] After parting from his master at Lepanto, Sherasmin traveled on until he came to the gates of the palace with his precious casket. Then only did he realize that Charlemagne would never credit his tale unless Huon were there with his bride to vouch for its truth. Instead of entering the royal abode he therefore hastened back to Rome, where for two months he awaited the arrival of the young couple. Then, sure that some misfortune had overtaken them, the faithful Sherasmin wandered in pilgrim guise from place to place seeking them, until he finally came to Tunis, where Fatima, Amanda's maid, had been sold into slavery, and where he sorrowfully learned of his master's death.
To be near Fatima, Sherasmin took a gardener's position in the Sultan's palace, and when he opened the door of his humble dwelling one morning he was overjoyed to find Huon, who had been brought there by the messenger of Oberon. An explanation ensued, and Huon, under the assumed name of Hassan, became Sherasmin's assistant in the Sultan's gardens.
The pirates, in the mean while, hoping to sell Amanda to the Sultan himself, had treated her with the utmost deference; but as they neared the shore of Tunis their vessel suffered shipwreck, and all on board perished miserably, except Amanda. She was washed ashore at the Sultan's feet. Charmed by her beauty, the Sultan conveyed her to his palace, where he would immediately have married her had she not told him that she had made a vow of chastity which she was bound to keep for two years.
[Sidenote: Huon and Amanda reunited.] Huon, unconscious of Amanda's presence, worked in the garden, where the Sultan's daughter saw him and fell in love with him. As she failed to win him, she became very jealous. Soon after this Fatima discovered Amanda's presence in the palace, and informed Huon, who made a desperate effort to reach her. This was discovered by the jealous princess, and since Huon would not love her, she was determined that he should not love another. She therefore artfully laid her plans, and accused him of a heinous crime, for which the Sultan, finding appearances against him, condemned him to death. Amanda, who was warned by Fatima of Huon's danger, rushed into the Sultan's presence to plead for her husband's life; but when she discovered that she could obtain it only at the price of renouncing him forever and marrying the Sultan, she declared that she preferred to die, and elected to be burned with her beloved. The flames were already rising around them both, when Oberon, touched by their sufferings and their constancy, suddenly appeared, and again hung his horn about Huon's neck.
The knight hailed this sign of recovered favor with rapture, and, putting the magic horn to his lips, showed his magnanimity by blowing only a soft note and making all the pagans dance.
"No sooner had the grateful knight beheld, With joyful ardor seen, the ivory horn, Sweet pledge of fairy grace, his neck adorn, Than with melodious whisper gently swell'd, His lip entices forth the sweetest tone That ever breath'd through magic ivory blown: He scorns to doom a coward race to death. 'Dance! till ye weary gasp, depriv'd of breath-- Huon permits himself this slight revenge alone'" WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
[Sidenote: Huon and Amanda in fairyland.] While all were dancing, much against their will, Huon and Amanda, Sherasmin and Fatima, promptly stepped into the silvery car which Oberon placed at their disposal, and were rapidly transported to fairyland. There they found little Huonet in perfect health. Great happiness now reigned, for Titania, having secured the ring which Amanda had lost in her struggle with the pirates on the sandy shore, had given it back to Oberon. He was propitiated by the gift, and as the sight of Huon and Amanda's fidelity had convinced him that wives could be true, he took Titania back into favor, and reinstated her as queen of his realm.
When Huon and Amanda had sojourned as long as they wished in fairyland, they were wafted in Oberon's car to the gates of Paris. There Huon arrived just in time to win, at the point of his lance, his patrimony of Guienne, which Charlemagne had offered as prize at a tournament. Bending low before his monarch, the young hero then revealed his name, presented his wife, gave him the golden casket containing the lock of hair and the four teeth, and said that he had accomplished his quest.
"Our hero lifts the helmet from his head; And boldly ent'ring, like the god of day, His golden ringlets down his armor play. All, wond'ring, greet the youth long mourn'd as dead, Before the king his spirit seems to stand! Sir Huon with Amanda, hand in hand, Salutes the emperor with respectful bow-- 'Behold, obedient to his plighted vow, Thy vassal, sovereign liege, returning to thy land!
"'For by the help of Heaven this arm has done What thou enjoin'dst--and lo! before thine eye The beard and teeth of Asia's monarch lie, At hazard of my life, to please thee, won; And in this fair, by every peril tried, The heiress of his throne, my love, my bride!' He spoke; and lo! at once her knight to grace, Off falls the veil that hid Amanda's face, And a new radiance gilds the hall from side to side." WIELAND, Oberon (Sotheby's tr.).
The young couple, entirely restored to favor, sojourned a short time at court and then traveled southward to Guienne, where their subjects received them with every demonstration of extravagant joy. Here they spent the remainder of their lives together in happiness and comparative peace.
[Sidenote: An earlier version of the story.] According to an earlier version of the story, Esclarmonde, whom the pirates intended to convey to the court of her uncle, Yvoirin of Montbrand, was wrecked near the palace of Galafre, King of Tunis, who respected her vow of chastity but obstinately refused to give her up to her uncle when he claimed her. Huon, delivered from his fetters on the island, was borne by Malebron, Oberon's servant, to Yvoirin's court, where he immediately offered himself as champion to defy Galafre and win back his beloved wife at the point of the sword. No sooner did Huon appear in martial array at Tunis than Galafre selected Sherasmin (who had also been shipwrecked off his coast, and had thus become his slave) as his champion. Huon and Sherasmin met, but, recognizing each other after a few moments' struggle, they suddenly embraced, and, joining forces, slew the pagans and carried off Esclarmonde and Fatima. They embarked upon a swift sailing vessel, and soon arrived at Rome, where Huon related his adventures to the Pope, who gave him his blessing.
As they were on their way to Charlemagne's court, Girard, a knight who had taken possession of Huon's estates, stole the golden casket from Sherasmin, and sent Huon and Esclarmonde in chains to Bordeaux. Then, going to court, he informed Charlemagne that although Huon had failed in his quest, he had dared to return to France. Charlemagne, whose anger had not yet cooled, proceeded to Bordeaux, tried Huon, and condemned him to death. But just as the knight was about to perish, Oberon appeared, bound the emperor and Girard fast, and only consented to restore them to freedom when Charlemagne promised to reinstate Huon.
Oberon then produced the missing casket, revealed Girard's treachery, and, after seeing him punished, bore Huon and Esclarmonde off to fairyland. Huon eventually became ruler of this realm in Oberon's stead; and his daughter, Claretie, whose equally marvelous adventures are told at great length in another, but far less celebrated, chanson de geste, is represented as the ancestress of all the Capetian kings of France.
[Sidenote: Origin of the legend.] The most mystical and spiritual of all the romances of chivalry is doubtless the legend of the Holy Grail. Rooted in the mythology of all primitive races is the belief in a land of peace and happiness, a sort of earthly paradise, once possessed by man, but now lost, and only to be attained again by the virtuous. The legend of the Holy Grail, which some authorities declare was first known in Europe by the Moors, and christianized by the Spaniards, was soon introduced into France, where Robert de Borron and Chrestien de Troyes wrote lengthy poems about it. Other writers took up the same theme, among them Walter Map, Archdeacon of Oxford, who connected it with the Arthurian legends. It soon became known in Germany, where, in the hands of Gottfried von Strassburg, and especially of Wolfram von Eschenbach, it assumed its most perfect and popular form. The "Parzival" of Eschenbach also forms the basis of a recent work, the much-discussed last opera of the great German composer, Wagner.[1] [Footnote 1: See Guerber's Stories of the Wagner Opera.]
The story of the Grail is somewhat confused, owing to the many changes made by the different authors. The account here given, while mentioning the most striking incidents of other versions, is in general an outline of the "Titurel" and "Parzival" of Von Eschenbach.
[Sidenote: The Holy Grail.] When Lucifer was cast out of heaven, one stone of great beauty as detached from the marvelous crown which sixty thousand angels had tendered him. This stone fell upon earth, and from it was carved a vessel of great beauty, which came, after many ages, into the hands of Joseph of Arimathea. He offered it to the Savior, who made use of it in the Last Supper. When the blood flowed from the Redeemer's side, Joseph of Arimathea caught a few drops of it in this wonderful vessel; and, owing to this circumstance, it was thought to be endowed with marvelous powers. "Wherever it was there were good things in abundance. Whoever looked upon it, even though he were sick unto death, could not die that week; whoever looked at it continually, his cheeks never grew pale, nor his hair gray."
Once a year, on the anniversary of the Savior's death, a white dove brought a fresh host down from heaven, and placed it on the vessel, which was borne by a host of angels, or by spotless virgins. The care of it was at times intrusted to mortals, who, however, had to prove themselves worthy of this exalted honor by leading immaculate lives. This vessel, called the "Holy Grail," remained, after the crucifixion, in the hands of Joseph of Arimathea. The Jews, angry because Joseph had helped to bury Christ, cast him into a dungeon, and left him there for a whole year without food or drink. Their purpose in doing so was to slay Joseph, as they had already slain Nicodemus, so that should the Romans ever ask them to produce Christ's body, they might declare that it had been stolen by Joseph of Arimathea.
The Jews little suspected, however, that Joseph, having the Holy Grail with him, could suffer no lack. When Vespasian, the Roman emperor, heard the story of Christ's passion, as related by a knight who had just returned from the Holy Land, he sent a commission to Jerusalem to investigate the matter and bring back some holy relic to cure his son Titus of leprosy.
In due time the ambassadors returned, giving Pilate's version of the story, and bringing with them an old woman (known after her death as St. Veronica). She produced the cloth with which she had wiped the Lord's face, and upon which his likeness had been stamped by miracle. The mere sight of this holy relic sufficed to restore Titus, who now proceeded with Vespasian to Jerusalem. There they vainly tried to compel the Jews to produce the body of Christ, until one of them revealed, under pressure of torture, the place where Joseph was imprisoned. Vespasian proceeded in person to the dungeon, and was hailed by name by the perfectly healthy prisoner. Joseph was set free, but, fearing further persecution from the Jews, soon departed with his sister, Enigée, and her husband, Brons, for a distant land. The pilgrims found a place of refuge near Marseilles, where the Holy Grail supplied all their needs, until one of them committed a sin. Then divine displeasure became manifest by a terrible famine.
As none knew who had sinned, Joseph was instructed in a vision to discover the culprit by the same means with which the Lord had revealed the guilt of Judas. Still following divine commands, Joseph made a table, and directed Brons to catch a fish. The Grail was placed before Joseph's seat at table, where all who implicitly believed were invited to take a seat. Eleven seats were soon occupied, and only Judas's place remained empty. Moses, a hypocrite and sinner, attempted to sit there, but the earth opened wide beneath him and ingulfed him.
In another vision Joseph was now informed that the vacancy would only be filled on the day of doom. He was also told that a similar table would be constructed by Merlin. Here the grandson of Brons would honorably occupy the vacant place, which is designated in the legend as the "Siege Perilous," because it proved fatal to all for whom it was not intended.
In the "Great St. Grail," one of the longest poems on this theme, there are countless adventures and journeys, "transformations of fair females into foul fiends, conversions wholesale and individual, allegorical visions, miracles, and portents. Eastern splendor and northern weirdness, angelry and deviltry, together with abundant fighting and quite a phenomenal amount of swooning, which seem to reflect a strange medley of Celtic, pagan, and mythological traditions, and Christian legends and mysticism, alternate in a kaleidoscopic maze that defies the symmetry which modern aesthetic canons associate with every artistic production."
The Holy Grail was, we are further told, transported by Joseph of Arimathea to Glastonbury, where it long remained visible, and whence it vanished only when men became too sinful to be permitted to retain it in their midst.
[Sidenote: Birth of Titurel.] Another legend relates that a rich man from Cappadocia, Berillus, followed Vespasian to Rome, where he won great estates. He was a very virtuous man, and his good qualities were inherited by all his descendants. One of them, called Titurisone, greatly regretted having no son to continue his race. When advised by a soothsayer to make a pilgrimage to the holy sepulcher, and there to lay a crucifix of pure gold upon the altar, the pious Titurisone hastened to do so. On his return he was rewarded for his pilgrimage by the birth of a son, called Titurel.
This child, when he had attained manhood, spent all his time in warring against the Saracens, as all pagans are called in these metrical romances. The booty he won he gave either to the church or to the poor, and his courage and virtue were only equaled by his piety and extreme humility.
One day, when Titurel was walking alone in the woods, he was favored by the vision of an angel. The celestial messenger sailed down to earth out of the blue, and announced in musical tones that the Lord had chosen him to be the guardian of the Holy Grail on Montsalvatch (which some authors believe to have been in Spain), and that it behooved him to set his house in order and obey the voice of God.
When the angel had floated upward and out of sight, Titurel returned home. After disposing of all his property, reserving nothing but his armor and trusty sword, he again returned to the spot where he had been favored with the divine message. There he saw a mysterious white cloud, which seemed to beckon him onward. Titurel followed it, passed through vast solitudes and almost impenetrable woods, and eventually began to climb a steep mountain, whose ascent at first seemed impossible. Clinging to the rocks, and gazing ever ahead at the guiding cloud, Titurel came at last to the top of the mountain, where, in a beam of refulgent light, he beheld the Holy Grail, borne in the air by invisible hands. He raised his heart in passionate prayer that he might be found worthy to guard the emerald-colored wonder which was thus intrusted to his care, and in his rapture hardly heeded the welcoming cries of a number of knights in shining armor, who hailed him as their king.
The vision of the Holy Grail was as evanescent as beautiful, and soon disappeared; but Titurel, knowing that the spot was holy, guarded it with all his might against the infidels, who would fain have climbed the mountain.
After several years had passed without the Holy Grail's coming down to earth, Titurel conceived the plan of building a temple suitable for its reception. The knights who helped to build and afterward guarded this temple were called "Templars." Their first effort was to clear the mountain top, which they found was one single onyx of enormous size. This they leveled and polished until it shone like a mirror, and upon this foundation they prepared to build their temple.
[Sidenote: Temple of the Holy Grail.] As Titurel was hesitating what plan to adopt for the building, he prayed for guidance, and when he arose on the morrow he found the ground plan all traced out and the building materials ready for use. The knights labored piously from morning till night, and when they ceased, invisible hands continued to work all night. Thus pushed onward, the work was soon completed, and the temple rose on the mountain top in all its splendor. "The temple itself was one hundred fathoms in diameter. Around it were seventy-two chapels of an octagonal shape. To every pair of chapels there was a tower six stories high, approachable by a winding stair on the outside. In the center stood a tower twice as big as the others, which rested on arches. The vaulting was of blue sapphire, and in the center was a plate of emerald, with the lamb and the banner of the cross in enamel. All the altar stones were of sapphire, as symbols of the propitiation of sins. Upon the inside of the cupola surmounting the temple, the sun and moon were represented in diamonds and topazes, and shed a light as of day even in the darkness of the night. The windows were of crystal, beryl, and other transparent stones. The floor was of translucent crystal, under which all the fishes of the sea were carved out of onyx, just like life. The towers were of precious stones inlaid with gold; their roofs of gold and blue enamel. Upon every tower there was a crystal cross, and upon it a golden eagle with expanded wings, which, at a distance, appeared to be flying. At the summit of the main tower was an immense carbuncle, which served, like a star, to guide the Templars thither at night. In the center of the building, under the dome, was a miniature representation, of the whole, and in this the holy vessel was kept."
[Sidenote: Descent of the Holy Grail.] When all the work was finished, the temple was solemnly consecrated, and as the priests chanted the psalms a sweet perfume filled the air, and the holy vessel was seen to glide down on a beam of light. While it hovered just above the altar the wondering assembly heard the choir of the angels singing the praises of the Most High. The Holy Grail, which had thus come down upon earth, was faithfully guarded by Titurel and his knights, who were fed and sustained by its marvelous power, and whose wounds were healed as soon as they gazed upon it. From time to time it also delivered a divine message, which appeared in letters of fire inscribed about its rim, and which none of the Templars ever ventured to disregard.
By virtue of the miraculous preservative influence of the Holy Grail, Titurel seemed but forty when he was in reality more than four hundred years old. His every thought had been so engrossed by the care of the precious vessel that he was somewhat surprised when he read upon its rim a luminous command to marry, so that his race might not become extinct. When the knights of the temple had been summoned, and had all perused the divine command, they began to consider where a suitable helpmate could be found for their beloved king. They soon advised him to woe Richoude, the daughter of a Spaniard. An imposing embassy was sent to the maiden, who, being piously inclined, immediately consented to the marriage.
Richoude was a faithful wife for twenty years, and when she died she left two children,--a son, Frimoutel, and a daughter, Richoude,--to comfort the sorrowing Titurel for her loss. These children both married in their turn, and Frimoutel had two sons, Amfortas and Trevrezent, and three daughters, Herzeloide, Josiane, and Repanse de Joie. As these children grew up, Titurel became too old to bear the weight of his armor, and spent all his days in the temple, where he finally read on the Holy Grail a command to anoint Frimoutel king. Joyfully the old man obeyed, for he had long felt that the defense of the Holy Grail should be intrusted to a younger man than he.
[Sidenote: Birth of Parzival.] Although he renounced the throne in favor of his son, Titurel lived on, witnessed the marriage of Josiane, and mourned for her when she died in giving birth to a little daughter, called Sigune. This child, being thus deprived of a mother's care, was intrusted to Herzeloide, who brought her up with Tchionatulander, the orphaned son of a friend. Herzeloide married a prince named Gamuret, and became the happy mother of Parzival, who, however, soon lost his father in a terrible battle.
Fearful lest her son, when grown up, should want to follow his father's example, and make war against even the most formidable foes, Herzeloide carried him off into the forest of Soltane (which some authors locate in Brittany), and there brought him up in complete solitude and ignorance.
"The child her falling tears bedew; No wife was ever found more true. She teemed with joy and uttered sighs; And tears midst laughter filled her eyes Her heart delighted in his birth; In sorrow deep was drowned her mirth." WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival (Dippold's tr.).
[Illustration: PARZIVAL UNCOVERING THE HOLY GRAIL.--Pixis.]
[Sidenote: Amfortas's wound.] While she was living there, Frimoutel, weary of the dull life on Montsalvatch, went out into the world, and died of a lance wound when far away from home. Amfortas, his son, who was now crowned in obedience to the command of the Holy Grail, proved equally restless, and went out also in search of adventures. Like his father, he too was wounded by a poisoned lance; but, instead of dying, he lived to return to the Holy Grail. But since his wound had not been received in defense of the holy vessel, it never healed, and caused him untold suffering.
Titurel, seeing this suffering, prayed ardently for his grandson's release from the pain which imbittered every moment of his life, and was finally informed by the glowing letters on the rim of the Holy Grail that a chosen hero would climb the mountain and inquire the cause of Amfortas's pain. At this question the evil spell would be broken, Amfortas healed, and the newcomer appointed king and guardian of the Holy Grail.
This promise of ultimate cure saved Amfortas from utter despair, and all the Templars lived in constant anticipation of the coming hero, and of the question which would put an end to the torment which they daily witnessed.
[Sidenote: Parzival's early life.] Parzival, in the mean while, was growing up in the forest, where he amused himself with a bow and arrow of his own manufacture. But when for the first time he killed a tiny bird, and saw it lying limp and helpless in his hand, he brought it tearfully to his mother and inquired what it meant. In answering him she, for the first time also, mentioned the name of God; and when he eagerly questioned her about the Creator, she said to him: "Brighter is God than e'en the brightest day; yet once he took the form and face of man."
Thus brought up in complete ignorance, it is no wonder that when young Parzival encountered some knights in brilliant armor in the forest, he fell down and offered to worship them. Amused at the lad's simplicity, the knights told him all about the gay world of chivalry beyond the forest, and advised him to ride to Arthur's court, where, if worthy, he would receive the order of knighthood, and perchance be admitted to the Round Table. Beside himself with joy at hearing all these marvelous things, and eager to set out immediately, Parzival returned to his mother to relate what he had seen, and to implore her to give him a horse, that he might ride after the knights.
"'I saw four men, dear mother mine; Not brighter is the Lord divine. They spoke to me of chivalry; Through Arthur's power of royalty, In knightly honor well arrayed, I shall receive the accolade.'" WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival (Dippold's tr.).
The mother, finding herself unable to detain him any longer, reluctantly consented to his departure, and, hoping that ridicule and lack of success would soon drive him back to her, prepared for him the motley garb of a fool and gave him a very sorry nag to ride.
"The boy, silly yet brave indeed, Oft from his mother begged a steed. That in her heart she did lament; She thought: 'Him must I make content, Yet must the thing an evil be.' Thereafter further pondered she: 'The folk are prone to ridicule. My child the garments of a fool Shall on his shining body wear. If he be scoffed and beaten there, Perchance he'll come to me again.'" WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival (Bayard Taylor's tr.).
[Sidenote: Parzival's journey into the world.] Thus equipped, his mind well stored with all manner of unpractical advice given by his mother in further hopes of making a worldly career impossible for him, the young hero set out. As he rode away from home, his heart was filled with regret at leaving and with an ardent desire to seek adventures abroad,--conflicting emotions which he experienced for the first time in his life. Herzeloide accompanied her son part way, kissed him good-by, and, as his beloved form disappeared from view in the forest paths, her heart broke and she breathed her last!
Parzival rode onward and soon came to a meadow, in which some tents were pitched. He saw a beautiful lady asleep in one of these tents, and, dismounting, he wakened her with a kiss, thus obeying one of his mother's injunctions--to kiss every fair lady he met. To his surprise, however, the lady seemed indignant; so he tried to pacify her by telling her that he had often thus saluted his mother. Then, slipping the bracelet from off her arm, and carrying it away as a proof that she was not angry, he rode on. Lord Orilus, the lady's husband, hearing from her that a youth had kissed her, flew into a towering rage, and rode speedily away, hoping to overtake the impudent varlet and punish him.
Parzival, in the mean while, had journeyed on, and, passing through the forest, had seen a maiden weeping over the body of her slain lover. In answer to his inquiries she told him that she was his cousin, Sigune, and that the dead man, Tchionatulander, had been killed in trying to fulfill a trifling request--to recover her pet dog, which had been stolen. Parzival promised to avenge Tchionatulander as soon as possible, and to remember that the name of the murderer was Orilus.
Next he came to a river, where he was ferried across, and repaid the boatman by giving him the bracelet he had taken from Orilus's wife. Then, hearing that Arthur was holding his court at Nantes, he proceeded thither without further delay.
On entering the city, Parzival encountered the Red Knight, who mockingly asked him where he was going. The unabashed youth immediately retorted, "To Arthur's court to ask him for your arms and steed!"
[Sidenote: Parzival at Arthur's court.] A little farther on the youth's motley garb attracted much attention, and the town boys made fun of him until Iwanet, one of the king's squires, came to inquire the cause of the tumult. He took Parzival under his protection, and conducted him to the great hall, where, if we are to believe some accounts, Parzival boldly presented himself on horseback. The sight of the gay company so dazzled the inexperienced youth that he wonderingly inquired why there were so many Arthurs. When Iwanet told him that the wearer of the crown was the sole king, Parzival boldly stepped up to him and asked for the arms and steed of the Red Knight.
Arthur wonderingly gazed at the youth, and then replied that he could have them provided he could win them. This was enough. Parzival sped after the knight, overtook him, and loudly bade him surrender weapons and steed. The Red Knight, thus challenged, began to fight; but Parzival, notwithstanding his inexperience, wielded his spear so successfully that he soon slew his opponent. To secure the steed was an easy matter, but how to remove the armor the youth did not know. By good fortune, however, Iwanet soon came up and helped Parzival to don the armor. He put it on over his motley garb, which he would not set aside because his mother had made it for him.
Some time after, Parzival came to the castle of Gurnemanz, a noble knight, with whom he remained for some time. Here he received valuable instructions in all a knight need know. When Parzival left this place, about a year later, he was an accomplished knight, clad as beseemed his calling, and ready to fulfill all the duties which chivalry imposed upon its votaries.
[Sidenote: Parzival and Conduiramour.] He soon heard that Queen Conduiramour was hard pressed, in her capital of Belripar, by an unwelcome suitor. As he had pledged his word to defend all ladies in distress, Parzival immediately set out to rescue this queen. A series of brilliant single fights disposed of the besiegers, and the citizens of Belripar, to show their gratitude to their deliverer, offered him the hand of their queen, Conduiramour, which he gladly accepted. But Parzival, even in this new home, could not forget his sorrowing mother, and he soon left his wife to go in search of Herzeloide, hoping to comfort her. He promised his wife that he would return soon, however, and would bring his mother to Belripar to share their joy. In the course of this journey homeward Parzival came to a lake, where a richly dressed fisherman, in answer to his inquiry, directed him to a neighboring castle where he might find shelter.
[Sidenote: Castle of the Holy Grail.] Although Parzival did not know it, he had come to the temple and castle on Montsalvatch. The drawbridge was immediately lowered at his call, and richly clad servants bade him welcome with joyful mien. They told him that he had long been expected, and after arraying him in a jeweled garment, sent by Queen Repanse de Joie, they conducted him into a large, brilliantly illumined hall. There four hundred knights were seated on soft cushions, before small tables each laid for four guests; and as they saw him enter a flash of joy passed over their grave and melancholy faces. The high seat was occupied by a man wrapped in furs, who was evidently suffering from some painful disease. He made a sign to Parzival to draw near, gave him a seat beside him, and presented him with a sword of exquisite workmanship. To Parzival's surprise this man bade him welcome also, and repeated that he had long been expected. The young knight, amazed by all he heard and saw, remained silent, for he did not wish to seem inquisitive,--a failing unworthy of a knight. Suddenly the great doors opened, and a servant appeared bearing the bloody head of a lance, with which he silently walked around the hall, while all gazed upon it and groaned aloud.
The servant had scarcely vanished when the doors again opened, and beautiful virgins came marching in, two by two. They bore an embroidered cushion, an ebony stand, and sundry other articles, which they laid before the fur-clad king. Last of all came the beautiful maiden, Repanse de Joie, bearing a glowing vessel; and as she entered and laid it before the king, Parzival heard the assembled knights whisper that this was the Holy Grail.
"Now after them advanced the Queen, With countenance of so bright a sheen, They all imagined day would dawn. One saw the maiden was clothed on With muslin stuffs of Araby. On a green silk cushion she The pearl of Paradise did bear.
* * * * *
The blameless Queen, proud, pure, and calm, Before the host put down the Grail; And Percival, so runs the tale, To gaze upon her did not fail, Who thither bore the Holy Grail." WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, _Parzival_(Bayard Taylor's tr.).
The maidens then slowly retired, the knights and squires drew near, and now from the shining vessel streamed forth a supply of the daintiest dishes and richest wines, each guest being served with the viands which he liked best. All ate sadly and in silence, while Parzival wondered what it might all mean, yet remained mute. The meal ended, the sufferer rose from his seat, gazed reproachfully at the visitor, who, by asking a question, could have saved him such pain, and slowly left the room, uttering a deep sigh.
With angry glances the knights also left the hall, and sad-faced servants conducted Parzival past a sleeping room, where they showed him an old white-haired man who lay in a troubled sleep. Parzival wondered still more, but did not venture to ask who it might be. Next the servants took him to an apartment where he could spend the night. The tapestry hangings of this room were all embroidered with gorgeous pictures. Among them the young hero noticed one in particular, because it represented his host borne down to the ground by a spear thrust into his bleeding side. Parzival's curiosity was even greater than before; but, scorning to ask a servant what he had not ventured to demand of the master, he went quietly to bed, thinking that he would try to secure an explanation on the morrow.
When he awoke he found himself alone. No servant answered his call. All the doors were fastened except those which led outside, where he found his steed awaiting him. When he had passed the drawbridge it rose up slowly behind him, and a voice called out from the tower, "Thou art accursed; for thou hadst been chosen to do a great work, which thou hast left undone!" Then looking upward, Parzival saw a horrible face gazing after him with a fiendish grin, and making a gesture as of malediction.
[Sidenote: Sigune.] At the end of that day's journey, Parzival came to a lonely cell in the desert, where he found Sigune weeping over a shrine in which lay Tchionatulander's embalmed remains. She too received him with curses, and revealed to him that by one sympathetic question only he might have ended Amfortas's prolonged pain, broken an evil spell, and won for himself a glorious crown.
Horrified, now that he knew what harm he had done, Parzival rode away, feeling as if he were indeed accursed. His greatest wish was to return to the mysterious castle and atone for his remissness by asking the question which would release the king from further pain. But alas! the castle had vanished; and our hero was forced to journey from place to place, seeking diligently, and meeting with many adventures on the way.
At times the longing to give up the quest and return home to his young wife was almost unendurable. His thoughts were ever with her, and the poem relates that even a drop of blood fallen on the snow reminded, him most vividly of the dazzling complexion of Conduiramour, and of her sorrow when he departed.
"'Conduiramour, thine image is Here in the snow now dyed with red And in the blood on snowy bed. Conduiramour, to them compare Thy forms of grace and beauty rare.'" WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival (Dippold's tr.).
Although exposed to countless temptations, Parzival remained true to his wife as he rode from place to place, constantly seeking the Holy Grail. His oft-reiterated questions concerning it caused him to be considered a madman or a fool by all he met.
In the course of his journeys, he encountered a lady in chains, led by a knight who seemed to take pleasure in torturing her. Taught by Gurnemanz to rescue all ladies in distress, Parzival challenged and defeated this knight. Then only did he discover that it was Sir Orilus, who had led his wife about in chains to punish her for accepting a kiss from a strange youth. Of course Parzival now hastened to give an explanation of the whole affair, and the defeated knight, at his request, promised to treat his wife with all kindness in future.
As Parzival had ordered all the knights whom he had defeated to journey immediately to Arthur's court and tender him their services, the king had won many brave warriors. He was so pleased by these constant arrivals, and so delighted at the repeated accounts of Parzival's valor, that he became very anxious to see him once more.
[Sidenote: Parzival knighted.] To gratify this wish several knights were sent in search of the wanderer, and when they finally found him they bade him come to court. Parzival obeyed, was knighted by Arthur's own hand, and, according to some accounts, occupied the "Siege Perilous" at the Round Table. Other versions state, however, that just as he was about to take this seat the witch Kundrie, a messenger of the Holy Grail, appeared in the hall. She vehemently denounced him, related how sorely he had failed in his duty, and cursed him, as the gate keeper had done, for his lack of sympathy. Thus reminded of his dereliction, Parzival immediately left the hall, to renew the quest which had already lasted for many months. He was closely followed by Gawain, one of Arthur's knights, who thought that Parzival had been too harshly dealt with.
[Sidenote: Gawain's quest.] Four years now elapsed,--four years of penance and suffering for Parzival, and of brilliant fighting and thrilling adventures for Gawain. Seeking Parzival, meeting many whom he had helped or defeated, Gawain journeyed from land to land, until at last he decided that his quest would end sooner if he too sought the Holy Grail, the goal of all his friend's hopes.
On the way to Montsalvatch Gawain met a beautiful woman, to whom he made a declaration of love; but she merely answered that those who loved her must serve her, and bade him fetch her palfrey from a neighboring garden. The gardener told him that this lady was the Duchess Orgueilleuse; that her beauty had fired many a knight; that many had died for her sake; and that Amfortas, King of the Holy Grail, had braved the poisoned spear which wounded him, only to win her favor. Gawain, undeterred by this warning, brought out the lady's palfrey, helped her to mount, and followed her submissively through many lands. Everywhere they went the proud lady stirred up some quarrel, and always called upon Gawain to fight the enemies whom she had thus wantonly made. After much wandering, Gawain and his ladylove reached the top of a hill, whence they could look across a valley to a gigantic castle, perched on a rock, near which was a pine tree. Orgueilleuse now informed Gawain that the castle belonged to her mortal enemy, Gramoflaus. She bade him bring her a twig of the tree, and conquer the owner of the castle, who would challenge him as soon as he touched it, and promised that if he obeyed her exactly she would be his faithful wife.
[Sidenote: Klingsor's castle.] Gawain, emboldened by this promise, dashed down into the valley, swam across the moat, plucked a branch from the tree, and accepted the challenge which Gramoflaus promptly offered. The meeting was appointed for eight days later, in front of Klingsor's castle, whither Gawain immediately proceeded with the Lady Orgueilleuse. On the way she told him that this castle, which faced her father's, was occupied by a magician who kept many noble ladies in close confinement, and had even cruelly laden them with heavy chains.
Gawain, on hearing this, vowed that he would punish the magician; and, having seen Orgueilleuse safely enter her ancestral home, he crossed the river and rode toward Klingsor's castle. As night drew on the windows were brilliantly illumined, and at each one he beheld the pallid, tear-stained faces of some of the captives, whose years ranged from early childhood to withered old age.
Calling for admittance at this castle, Gawain was allowed to enter, but, to his surprise, found hall and court deserted. He wandered from room to room, meeting no one; and, weary of his vain search, prepared at last to occupy a comfortable couch in one of the chambers. To his utter amazement, however, the bed retreated as he advanced, until, impatient at this trickery, he sprang boldly upon it. A moment later a rain of sharp spears and daggers fell upon his couch, but did him no harm, for he had not removed his heavy armor. When the rain of weapons was over, a gigantic peasant, armed with a huge club, stalked into the room, closely followed by a fierce lion. When the peasant perceived that the knight was not dead, as he expected, he beat a hasty retreat, leaving the lion to attack him alone.
In spite of the size and fury of the lion, Gawain defended himself so bravely that he finally slew the beast, which was Klingsor in disguise. As the monster expired the spell was broken, the captives were released, and the exhausted Gawain was tenderly cared for by his mother and sister Itonie, who were among those whom his courage had set free. The news of this victory was immediately sent to Arthur, who now came to witness the battle between Gawain and a champion who was to appear for Gramoflaus.
Gawain's strength and courage were about to give way before the stranger's terrible onslaught, when Itonie implored the latter to spare Gawain, whose name and valor were so well known. At the sound of this name the knight sheathed his sword, and, raising his visor, revealed the sad but beautiful countenance of Parzival.
The joy of reunion over, Parzival remained there long enough to witness the marriage of Gawain and Orgueilleuse, and of Itonie and Gramoflaus, and to be solemnly admitted to the Round Table. Still, the general rejoicing could not dispel his sadness or the recollection of Amfortas and his grievous wound; and as soon as possible Parzival again departed, humbly praying that he might at last find the Holy Grail, and right the wrong he had unconsciously done.
[Sidenote: Parzival and the hermit.] Some months later, exhausted by constant journeys, Parzival painfully dragged himself to a hermit's hut. There he learned that the lonely penitent was Trevrezent, the brother of Amfortas, who, having also preferred worldly pleasures to the service of the Holy Grail, had accompanied him on his fatal excursion. When Trevrezent saw his brother sorely wounded, he repented of his sins, and, retiring into the woods, spent his days and nights in penance and prayer. He told Parzival of the expected stranger, whose question would break the evil spell, and related how grievously he and all the Templars had been disappointed when such a man had actually come and gone, but without fulfilling their hopes. Parzival then penitently confessed that it was he who had thus disappointed them, related his sorrow and ceaseless quest, and told the story of his early youth and adventures. Trevrezent, on hearing his guest's name, exclaimed that they must be uncle and nephew, as his sister's name was Herzeloide. He then informed Parzival of his mother's death, and, after blessing him and giving him some hope that sincere repentance would sometime bring its own reward, allowed him to continue his search for the Holy Grail.
[Sidenote: Fierefiss.] Soon after this meeting Parzival encountered a knight, who, laying lance in rest, challenged him to fight. In one of the pauses of the battle he learned that his brave opponent was his stepbrother, Fierefiss, whom he joyfully embraced, and who now followed him on his almost endless quest. At last they came to a mountain, painfully climbed its steep side, and, after much exertion, found themselves in front of a castle, which seemed strangely familiar to Parzival.
The doors opened, willing squires waited upon both brothers, and led them into the great hall, where the pageant already described was repeated. When Queen Repanse de Joie entered bearing the Holy Grail, Parzival, mindful of his former failure to do the right thing, humbly prayed aloud for divine guidance to bring about the promised redemption. An angel voice now seemed to answer, "Ask!" Then Parzival bent kindly over the wounded king, and gently inquired what ailed him. At those words the spell was broken, and a long cry of joy arose as Amfortas, strong and well, sprang to his feet.
A very aged man, Parzival's great-grandfather, Titurel, now drew near, bearing the crown, which he placed on the young hero's head, as he hailed him as guardian and defender of the Holy Grail. This cry was taken up by all present, and even echoed by the angelic choir.
"'Hail to thee, Percival, king of the Grail! Seemingly lost forever, Now thou art blessed forever. Hail to thee, Percival, king of the Grail!'" WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH (McDowall's tr.).
The doors now opened wide once more to admit Conduiramour and her twin sons, summoned thither by the power of the Holy Grail, that Parzival's happiness might be complete. All the witnesses of this happy reunion were flooded with the light of the Holy Grail, except Fierefiss, who, being a Moor and a pagan, still remained in outer darkness. These miracles, however, converted him to the Christian faith, and made him beg for immediate baptism. The christening was no sooner performed than he too beheld and was illumined by the holy vase. Fierefiss, now a true believer, married Repanse de Joie, and they were the parents of a son named John, who became a noted warrior, and was the founder of the historic order of the Knights Templars.
Titurel, having lived to see the recovery of his son, blessed all his descendants, told them that Sigune had joined her lover's spirit in the heavenly abode, and, passing out of the great hall, was never seen again; and the witch Kundrie died of joy.
Another version of the legend of the Holy Grail relates that Parzival, having cured his uncle, went to Arthur's court. There he remained until Amfortas died, when he was called back to Montsalvatch to inherit his possessions, among which was the Holy Grail. Arthur and all the knights of the Round Table were present at his coronation, and paid him a yearly visit. When he died, "the Sangreal, the sacred lance, and the silver trencher or paten which covered the Grail, were carried up to the holy heavens in presence of the attendants, and since that time have never anywhere been seen on earth."
Other versions relate that Arthur and his knights sought the Holy Grail in vain, for their hearts were not pure enough to behold it. Still others declare that the sacred vessel was conveyed to the far East, and committed to the care of Prester John.
The legend of Lohengrin, which is connected with the Holy Grail, is in outline as follows:
[Sidenote: Lohengrin.] Parzival and Conduiramour dwelt in the castle of the Holy Grail. When their sons had grown to man's estate, Kardeiss, the elder, became ruler of his mother's kingdom of Belripar, while Lohengrin, the younger, remained in the service of the Holy Grail, which was now borne into the hall by his young sister, Aribadale, Repanse de Joie having married.
Whenever a danger threatened, or when the services of one of the knights were required, a silver bell rang loudly, and the letters of flame around the rim of the holy vessel revealed the nature of the deed to be performed. One day the sound of the silvery bell was heard pealing ever louder and louder, and when the knights entered the hall, they read on the vase that Lohengrin had been chosen to defend the rights of an innocent person, and would be conveyed to his destination by a swan. As the knights of the Grail never disputed its commands, the young man immediately donned the armor of silver which Amfortas had worn, and, bidding farewell to his mother and sister, left the temple. Parzival, his father, accompanied him to the foot of the mountain, where, swimming gracefully over the smooth waters of the lake, they saw a snowy swan drawing a little boat after her.
Lohengrin received a horn from his father, who bade him sound it thrice on arriving at his destination, and an equal number of times when he wished to return to Montsalvatch. Then he also reminded him that a servant of the Grail must reveal neither his name nor his origin unless asked to do so, and that, having once made himself known, he was bound to return without delay to the holy mountain.
Thus reminded of the custom of all the Templars, Lohengrin sprang into the boat, and was rapidly borne away, to the sound of mysterious music.
[Sidenote: Else of Brabant.] While Lohengrin was swiftly wafted over the waters, Else, Duchess of Brabant, spent her days in tears. She was an orphan, and, as she possessed great wealth and extensive lands, many were anxious to secure her hand. Among these suitors her guardian, Frederick of Telramund, was the most importunate; and when he saw that she would never consent to marry him, he resolved to obtain her inheritance in a different way.
One day, while Else was wandering alone in the forest, she rested for a moment under a tree, where she dreamed that a radiant knight came to greet her, and offered her a little bell, saying that she need but ring it whenever she required a champion. The maiden awoke, and as she opened her eyes a falcon came gently sailing down from the sky and perched upon her shoulder. Seeing that he wore a tiny bell like the one she had noticed in her dream, Else unfastened it; and as the falcon flew away, she hung it on her rosary.
A few days later Else was in prison, for Frederick of Telramund had accused her of a great crime. He said that she had received the attentions of a man beneath her, or, according to another version, that she had been guilty of the murder of her brother. Henry the Fowler, Emperor of Germany, hearing of this accusation, came to Cleves, where, as the witnesses could not agree, he ordered that the matter should be settled by a judicial duel.
[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF LOHENGRIN.--Pixis.]
Frederick of Telramund, proud of his strength, challenged any man to prove him mistaken at the point of the sword. But no champion appeared to fight for Else, who, kneeling in her cell, beat her breast with her rosary, until the little silver bell attached to it rang loudly as she fervently prayed, "O Lord, send me a champion." The faint tinkling of the bell floated out of the window, and was wafted away to Montsalvatch. It grew louder and louder the farther it traveled, and its sound called the knights into the temple, where Lohengrin received his orders from the Holy Grail.
The day appointed for the duel dawned, and just as the heralds sounded the last call for Else's champion to appear, the swan boat glided up the Rhine, and Lohengrin sprang into the lists, after thrice blowing his magic horn.
[Sidenote: Else rescued by Lohengrin.] With a God-sent champion opposed to a liar, the issue of the combat could not long remain doubtful. Soon Frederick of Telramund lay in the dust and confessed his guilt, while the people hailed the Swan Knight as victor. Else, touched by his prompt response to her appeal, and won by his passionate wooing, then consented to become his wife, without even knowing his name. Their nuptials were celebrated at Antwerp, whither the emperor went with them and witnessed their marriage.
Lohengrin had cautioned Else that she must never ask his name; but she wished to show that he was above the people who, envying his lot, sought to injure him by circulating malicious rumors, so she finally asked the fatal question. Regretfully Lohengrin led her into the great hall, where, in the presence of the assembled knights, he told her that he was Lohengrin, son of Parzival, the guardian of the Holy Grail. Then, embracing her tenderly, he told her that "love cannot live without faith," and that he must now leave her and return to the holy mountain. When he had thrice blown his magic horn, the sound of faint music again heralded the approach of the swan; Lohengrin sprang into the boat, and soon vanished, leaving Else alone.
Some versions of the story relate that she did not long survive his departure, but that her released spirit followed him to Montsalvatch, where they dwelt happy forever. Other accounts, however, aver that when Lohengrin vanished Else's brother returned to champion her cause and prevent her ever being molested again.
As Saintsbury so ably expressed it, "The origin of the legends of King Arthur, of the Round Table, of the Holy Grail, and of all the adventures and traditions connected with these centers, is one of the most intricate questions in the history of mediaeval literature." Owing to the loss of many ancient manuscripts, the real origin of all these tales may never be discovered; and whether the legends owe their birth to Celtic, Breton, or Welsh poetry we may never know, as the authorities fail to agree. These tales, apparently almost unknown before the twelfth century, soon became so popular that in the course of the next two centuries they had given birth to more than a dozen poems and prose romances, whence Malory drew the materials for his version of the story of King Arthur. Nennius, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Walter Map, Chrestien de Troyes, Robert de Borron, Gottfried von Strassburg, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Hartmann von Aue, Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, Swinburne, and Wagner have all written of these legends in turn, and to these writers we owe the most noted versions of the tales forming the Arthurian cycle. They include, besides the story of Arthur himself, an account of Merlin, of Lancelot, of Parzival, of the love of Tristan and Iseult, and of the quest of the Holy Grail.
The majority of these works were written in French, which was the court language of England in the mediaeval ages; but the story was "Englished" by Malory in the fourteenth century. In every European language there are versions of these stories, which interested all hearers alike, and which exerted a softening influence upon the rude customs of the age, "communicated a romantic spirit to literature," and taught all men courtesy.
[The Real Merlin] The first of these romances is that of Merlin the enchanter, in very old French, ascribed to Robert de Borron. The following outline of the story is modified and supplemented from other sources. The real Merlin is said to have been a bard of the fifth century, and is supposed to have served the British chief Ambrosius Aurelianus, and then King Arthur. This Merlin lost his reason after the battle of Solway Firth, broke his sword, and retired into the forest, where he was soon after found dead by a river bank.
The mythical Merlin had a more exciting and interesting career, however. King Constans, who drove Hengist from England, was the father of three sons,--Constantine, Aurelius Ambrosius, and Uther Pendragon. When dying he left the throne to his eldest son, Constantine, who chose Vortigern as his prime minister. Shortly after Constantine's accession, Hengist again invaded England, and Constantine, deserted by his minister, was treacherously slain. In reward for his defection at this critical moment, Vortigern was offered the crown, which he accepted, and which he hoped to retain, although Constans's two other sons, who, according to another version of the story, were called Uther and Pendragon, were still in existence.
To defend himself against any army which might try to deprive him of the throne, Vortigern resolved to build a great fortress on the Salisbury plains. But, although the masons worked diligently by day, and built walls wide and thick, they always found them overturned in the morning. The astrologers, when consulted in reference to this strange occurrence, declared that the walls would not stand until the ground had been watered with the blood of a child who could claim no human father.
Five years previous to this prediction, the demons, seeing that so many souls escaped them owing to the redemption procured by a child of divine origin, thought that they could regain lost ground by engendering a demon child upon a human virgin. A beautiful, pious maiden was chosen for this purpose; and as she daily went to confess her every deed and thought to a holy man, Blaise, he soon discovered the plot of the demons, and resolved to frustrate it.
[Sidenote: Birth of the mythical Merlin.] By his advice the girl, instead of being immediately put to death, as the law required, was locked up in a tower, where she gave birth to her son. Blaise, the priest, more watchful than the demons, no sooner heard of the child's birth than he hastened to baptize him, giving him the name of Merlin. The holy rite annulled the evil purpose of the demons, but, owing to his uncanny origin, the child was gifted with all manner of strange powers, of which he made use on sundry occasions.
"To him Great light from God gave sight of all things dim, And wisdom of all wondrous things, to say What root should bear what fruit of night or day; And sovereign speech and counsel above man: Wherefore his youth like age was wise and wan, And his age sorrowful and fain to sleep." SWINBURNE, Tristram of Lyonesse.
The child thus baptized soon gave the first proof of his marvelous power; for, when his mother embraced him and declared that she must soon die, he comforted her by speaking aloud and promising to prove her innocent of all crime. The trial took place soon after this occurrence, and although Merlin was but a few days old, he sat up boldly in his mother's lap and spoke so forcibly to the judges that he soon secured her acquittal. Once when he was five years old, while playing in the street, he saw the messengers of Vortigern. Warned by his prophetic instinct that they were seeking him, he ran to meet them, and offered to accompany them to the king. On the way thither he saw a youth buying shoes, and laughed aloud. When questioned concerning the cause of his mirth, he predicted that the youth would die within a few hours.
"Then said Merlin, 'See ye nought That young man, that hath shoon bought, And strong leather to do hem clout [patch], And grease to smear hem all about? He weeneth to live hem to wear: But, by my soul, I dare well swear, His wretched life he shall for-let [lose], Ere he come to his own gate.'" ELLIS, Merlin.
[Sidenote: Merlin as a prophet.] A few more predictions of an equally uncanny and unpleasant nature firmly established his reputation as a prophet even before he reached court. There he boldly told the king that the astrologers, wishing to destroy the demon's offspring, who was wiser than they, had demanded his blood under pretext that the walls of Salisbury would stand were it only shed. When asked why the walls continually fell during the night, Merlin attributed it to the nightly conflict of a red and a white dragon concealed underground. In obedience to his instructions, search was made for these monsters, and the assembled court soon saw a frightful struggle between them. This battle finally resulted in the death of the red dragon and the triumph of the white.
"With long tailis, fele [many] fold, And found right as Merlin told. That one dragon was red as fire, With eyen bright, as basin clear; His tail was great and nothing small; His body was a rood withal. His shaft may no man tell; He looked as a fiend from hell. The white dragon lay him by, Stern of look, and griesly. His mouth and throat yawned wide; The fire brast [burst] out on ilka [each] side. His tail was ragged as a fiend, And, upon his tail's end, There was y-shaped a griesly head, To fight with the dragon red." ELLIS, Merlin.
The white dragon soon disappeared also, and the work of the castle now proceeded without further hindrance. Vortigern, however, was very uneasy, because Merlin had not only said that the struggle of the red and the white dragon represented his coming conflict with Constans's sons, but further added that he would suffer defeat. This prediction was soon fulfilled. Uther and his brother Pendragon landed in Britain with the army they had assembled, and Vortigern was burned in the castle he had just completed.
Shortly after this victory a war arose between the Britons under Uther and Pendragon, and the Saxons under Hengist. Merlin, who had by this time become the prime minister and chief adviser of the British kings, predicted that they would win the victory, but that one would be slain. This prediction was soon verified, and Uther, adding his brother's name to his own, remained sole king. His first care was to bury his brother, and he implored Merlin to erect a suitable monument to his memory; so the enchanter conveyed great stones from Ireland to England in the course of a single night, and set them up at Stonehenge, where they can still be seen.
"How Merlin by his skill, and magic's wondrous might, From Ireland hither brought the Stonendge in a night." DRAYTON, Polyolbion.
[Sidenote: Round Table established by Merlin.] Proceeding now to Carduel (Carlisle), Merlin, who is represented as a great architect and wonder-worker, built Uther Pendragon a beautiful castle, and established the Round Table, in imitation of the one which Joseph of Arimathea had once instituted. There were places for a large number of knights around this board (the number varying greatly with different writers), and a special place was reserved for the Holy Grail, which, having vanished from Britain because of the sinfulness of the people, the knights still hoped to have restored when they became sufficiently pure.
"This table gan [began] Uther the wight; Ac [but] it to ende had he no might. For, theygh [though] alle the kinges under our lord Hadde y-sitten [sat] at that bord, Knight by knight, ich you telle, The table might nought fulfille, Till they were born that should do all Fulfill the mervaile of the Greal." ELLIS, Merlin.
A great festival was announced for the institution of the Round Table, and all the knights came to Carduel, accompanied by their wives. Among the latter the fairest was Yguerne, wife of Gorlois, Lord of Tintagel in Cornwall, and with her Uther fell desperately in love.
"This fest was noble ynow, and nobliche y-do [done]; For mony was the faire ledy, that y-come was thereto. Yguerne, Gorloys wyf, was fairest of echon [each one], That was contasse of Cornewail, for so fair was there non." ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER.
Yguerne had already three or four daughters, famous in the Arthurian legends as mothers of the knights Gawain, Gravain, Ywain, and others. One of the king's councilors, Ulfin, revealed the king's passion to Yguerne, and she told her husband. Indignant at the insult offered him, Gorlois promptly left court, locked his wife up in the impregnable fortress of Tintagel, and, gathering together an army, began to fight against Uther Pendragon.
The day before the battle, Merlin changed Uther into the form of Gorlois, and himself and Ulfin into those of the squires of the Duke of Cornwall. Thus disguised, the three went to Tintagel, where Yguerne threw the gates open at their call and received Uther as her husband, without suspecting the deception practiced upon her.
[Sidenote: Birth of Arthur.] On the morrow the battle took place. Gorlois was slain. Shortly after, Uther married Yguerne, who never suspected that the child which was soon born, and which Uther immediately confided to Merlin, was not a son of Gorlois. Arthur, the child who had thus come into the world, was intrusted to the care of Sir Hector, who brought him up with his own son, Sir Kay, little suspecting his royal descent. This child grew up rapidly, and when but fifteen years of age was handsome, accomplished, and dearly loved by all around him.
"He was fair, and well agré [agreeable], And was a thild [child] of gret noblay. He was curteys, faire and gent, And wight [brave], and hardi, veramen [truly]. Curteyslich [courteously] and fair he spac [spake]. With him was none evil lack [fault]." ELLIS, Merlin.
When Uther died without leaving any heir, there was an interregnum, for Merlin had promised that the true king should be revealed by a miracle. This prophecy was duly fulfilled, as will be shown hereafter. Merlin became the royal adviser as soon as Arthur ascended the throne, helped him win signal victories over twelve kings, and in the course of a single night conveyed armies over from France to help him.
As Merlin could assume any shape he pleased, Arthur often used him as messenger; and one of the romances relates that the magician, in the guise of a stag, once went to Rome to bear the king's challenge to Julius Caesar (not the conqueror of Gaul but the mythical father of Oberon) to single combat. Merlin was also renowned for the good advice which he gave, not only to Vortigern and Uther Pendragon, but also to Arthur, and for his numerous predictions concerning the glorious future of England, all of which, if we are to believe tradition, have been fulfilled.
"O goodly River! near unto thy sacred spring Prophetic Merlin sate, when to the British King The changes long to come, auspiciously he told." DRAYTON, Polyolbion.
[Sidenote: Palace at Camelot.] Merlin also won great renown as a builder and architect. Besides the construction of Stonehenge, and of the castle for Uther Pendragon, he is said to have built Arthur's beautiful palace at Camelot. He also devised sundry magic fountains, which are mentioned in other mediaeval romances. One of these is referred to by Spenser in the "Faerie Queene," and another by Ariosto in his "Orlando Furioso."
"This Spring was one of those four fountains rare, Of those in France produced by Merlin's sleight, Encompassed round about with marble fair, Shining and polished, and than milk more white. There in the stones choice figures chiseled were, By that magician's god-like labour dight; Some voice was wanting, these you might have thought Were living, and with nerve and spirit fraught." ARIOSTO, Orlando Furioso (Rose's tr.).
Merlin was also supposed to have made all kinds of magic objects, among which the poets often mention a cup. This would, reveal whether the drinker had led a pure life, for it always overflowed when touched by polluted lips. He was also the artificer of Arthur's armor, which no weapon could pierce, and of a magic mirror in which one could see whatever one wished.
"It Merlin was, which whylome did excel All living wightes in might of magicke spell: Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell." SPENSER, Faerie Queene.
[Sidenote: Merlin and Vivian.] Merlin, in spite of all his knowledge and skill, yielded often to the entreaties of his fair mistress, Vivian, the Lady of the Lake. She followed him wherever he went, and made countless efforts to learn all his arts and to discover all his magic spells. In order to beguile the aged Merlin into telling her all she wished to know, Vivian pretended great devotion, which is admirably related in Tennyson's "Idylls of the King," one of which treats exclusively of Merlin and Vivian.
This enchantress even went with him to the fairy-haunted forest of Broceliande, in Brittany, where she finally beguiled him into revealing a magic spell whereby a human being could be inclosed in a hawthorn tree, where he must dwell forever.
"And then she follow'd Merlin all the way, E'en to the wild woods of Broceliande. For Merlin once had told her of a charm, The which if any wrought on any one With woven paces and with waving arms, The man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, From which was no escape for evermore; And none could find that man for evermore, Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm Coming and going; and he lay as dead And lost to life and use and name and fame." TENNYSON, Merlin and Vivien.
This charm having been duly revealed, the Lady of the Lake, weary of her aged lover, and wishing to rid herself of him forever now that she had learned all he could teach her, lured him into the depths of the forest. There, by aid of the spell, she imprisoned him in a thorn bush, whence, if the tales of the Breton peasants can be believed, his voice can be heard to issue from time to time.
"They sate them down together, and a sleep Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep. Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose, And from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws, And takes it in her hand, and waves it over The blossom'd thorn tree and her sleeping lover. Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round, And made a little plot of magic ground. And in that daised circle, as men say, Is Merlin prisoner till the judgment day; But she herself whither she will can rove-- For she was passing weary of his love." MATTHEW ARNOLD, Tristram and Iseult.
[Illustration: THE BEGUILING OF MERLIN.--Burne-Jones.]
According to another version of the tale, Merlin, having grown very old indeed, once sat down on the "Siege Perilous," forgetting that none but a sinless man could occupy it with impunity. He was immediately swallowed up by the earth, which yawned wide beneath his feet, and he never visited the earth again.
A third version says that Vivian through love imprisoned Merlin in an underground palace, where she alone could visit him. There he dwells, unchanged by the flight of time, and daily increasing the store of knowledge for which he was noted.
Fortunately "the question of the actual existence and acts of Arthur has very little to do with the question of the origin of the Arthurian cycle." But although some authorities entirely deny his existence, it is probable that he was a Briton, for many places in Wales, Scotland, and England are connected with his name.
On the very slightest basis, many of the mediaeval writers constructed long and fabulous tales about this hero. Such was the popularity of the Arthurian legends all over Europe that prose romances concerning him were among the first works printed, and were thus brought into general circulation. An outline of the principal adventures of Arthur and of his knights is given here. It has been taken from many works, whose authors will often be mentioned as we proceed.
King Uther Pendragon, as we have already seen, intrusted his new-born son, Arthur, to the care of the enchanter Merlin, who carried him to the castle of Sir Hector (Anton), where the young prince was brought up as a child of the house.
"Wherefore Merlin took the child, And gave him to Sir Anton, an old knight And ancient friend of Uther; and his wife Nursed the young prince, and rear'd him with her own; And no man knew." TENNYSON, The Coming of Arthur.
[Sidenote: The magic sword.] Two years later King Uther Pendragon died, and the noblemen, not knowing whom to choose as his successor, consulted Merlin, promising to abide by his decision. By his advice they all assembled in St. Stephen's Church, in London, on Christmas Day. When mass was over they beheld a large stone which had mysteriously appeared in the churchyard. This stone was surmounted by a ponderous anvil, in which the blade of a sword was deeply sunk. Drawing near to examine the wonder, they read an inscription upon the jeweled hilt, to the effect that none but the man who could draw out the sword should dare to take possession of the throne. Of course all present immediately tried to accomplish this feat, but all failed.
Several years passed by ere Sir Hector came to London with his son, Sir Kay, and his foster son, young Arthur. Sir Kay, who, for the first time in his life, was to take part in a tournament, was greatly chagrined, on arriving there, to discover that he had forgotten his sword; so Arthur volunteered to ride back and get it. He found the house closed; yet, being determined to secure a sword for his foster brother, he strode hastily into the churchyard, and easily drew from the anvil the weapon which all had vainly tried to secure.
[Sidenote: Arthur made king.] This mysterious sword was handed to Sir Kay, and Sir Hector, perceiving it, and knowing whence it came, immediately inquired how Arthur had secured it. He even refused at first to believe the evidence of his own eyes; but when he and all the principal nobles of the realm had seen Arthur replace and draw out the sword, after all had again vainly tried their strength, they gladly hailed the young man king.
As Merlin was an enchanter, it was popularly rumored that Arthur was not, as he now declared, the son of Uther Pendragon and Yguerne, but a babe mysteriously brought up from the depths of the sea, on the crest of the ninth wave, and cast ashore at the wizard's feet. Hence many people distrusted the young king, and at first refused to obey him.
"Watch'd the great sea fall, Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep, And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: And down the wave and in the flame was borne A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried 'The King! Here is an heir for Uther!'" TENNYSON, The Coming of Arthur.
Among the unbelievers were some of the king's own kindred, and notably his four nephews, Gawain, Gaheris, Agravaine, and Gareth. Arthur was therefore obliged to make war against them; but although Gawain's strength increased in a truly marvelous fashion from nine to twelve in the morning, and from three to six in the afternoon, the king succeeded in defeating him by following Merlin's advice and taking advantage of his comparatively weak moments.
[Sidenote: Sir Pellinore.] Arthur, aided by Merlin, ruled over the land wisely and well, redressed many wrongs, reëstablished order and security, which a long interregnum had destroyed, and brandished his sword in many a fight, in which he invariably proved victor. But one day, having drawn his blade upon Sir Pellinore, who did not deserve to be thus attacked, it suddenly failed him and broke. Left thus without any means of defense, the king would surely have perished had not Merlin used his magic arts to put Sir Pellinore to sleep and to bear his charge to a place of safety.
Arthur, thus deprived of his magic sword, bewailed its loss; but while he stood by a lake, wondering how he should procure another, he beheld a white-draped hand and arm rise out of the water, holding aloft a jeweled sword which the Lady of the Lake, who appeared beside him, told him was intended for his use.
"'Thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword--and how I row'd across And took it, and have worn it, like a king; And, wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime, this also shall be known.'" TENNYSON, The Passing of Arthur.
[Sidenote: Excalibur.] Arthur rowed out into the middle of the lake and secured the sword which is known by the name Excalibur. He was then told by the Lady of the Lake that it was gifted with magic powers, and that as long as the scabbard remained in his possession he would suffer neither wound nor defeat.
Thus armed, Arthur went back to his palace, where, hearing that the Saxons had again invaded the country, he went to wage war against them, and won many victories. Shortly after this Arthur heard that Leodegraunce, King of Scotland, was threatened by his brother Ryance, King of Ireland, who was determined to complete a mantle furred with the beards of kings, and wanted to secure one more at any price. Arthur hastened to this monarch's assistance, and delivered him from the clutches of Ryance. He not only killed this savage monarch, but appropriated his mantle and carried it away in triumph as a trophy of the war.
"And for a trophy brought the Giant's coat away Made of the beards of Kings." DRAYTON, Polyolbion.
[Sidenote: Arthur's marriage with Guinevere.] After these martial exploits Arthur returned to the court of Leodegraunce, where he fell in love with the latter's fair daughter, Guinevere. The king sued successfully for her hand, but Merlin would not allow him to marry this princess until he had distinguished himself by a campaign in Brittany. The wedding was then celebrated with true mediaeval pomp; and Arthur, having received, besides the princess, the Round Table once made for his father, conveyed his bride and wedding gift to Camelot (Winchester), where he bade all his court be present for a great feast at Pentecost.
"The nearest neighboring flood to Arthur's ancient seat, Which made the Britons' name through all the world so great. Like Camelot, what place was ever yet renown'd? Where, as at Carlion, oft, he kept the Table-Round, Most famous for the sports at Pentecost so long, From whence all knightly deeds, and brave achievements sprong." DRAYTON,--Polyolbion.
[Sidenote: Knights of the Round Table.] Arthur had already warred successfully against twelve revolted kings, whose remains were interred at Camelot by his order. There Merlin erected a marvelous castle, containing a special hall for the reception of the Round Table. This hall was adorned with the lifelike statues of all the conquered kings, each holding a burning taper which the magician declared would burn brightly until the Holy Grail should appear. Hoping to bring that desirable event to pass, Arthur bade Merlin frame laws for the knights of the Round Table. As distinctive mark, each of the noblemen admitted to a seat at this marvelous table adopted some heraldic device. The number of these knights varies from twelve to several hundred, according to the different poets or romancers.
"The fellowshipp of the Table Round, Soe famous in those dayes; Whereatt a hundred noble knights And thirty sat alwayes; Who for their deeds and martiall feates, As bookes done yett record, Amongst all other nations Wer feared through the world." Legend of King Arthur (Old Ballad).
Merlin, by virtue of his magic powers, easily selected the knights worthy to belong to this noble institution, and the Archbishop of Canterbury duly blessed them and the board around which they sat. All the places were soon filled except two; and as the knights arose from their seats after the first meal they noticed that their names were inscribed in letters of gold in the places they had occupied. But one of the empty seats was marked "Siege Perilous," and could only be occupied by a peerless knight.
[Sidenote: Lancelot du Lac.]
Among all the knights of the Round Table, Sir Lancelot du Lac, who is the hero of several lengthy poems and romances bearing his name, was the most popular. Chrestien de Troyes, Geoffrey de Ligny, Robert de Borron, and Map have all written about him, and he was so well known that his name was given to one of the knaves on the playing cards invented at about this time. Malory, in his prose version of the "Morte d'Arthur," has drawn principally from the poems treating of Lancelot, whose early life was somewhat extraordinary, too.
Some accounts relate that Lancelot was the son of King Ban and Helen. When he was but a babe, his parents were obliged to flee from their besieged castle in Brittany. Before they had gone far, the aged Ban, seeing his home in flames, sank dying to the ground. Helen, eager to minister to her husband, laid her baby boy down on the grass near a lake, and when she again turned around, she saw him in the arms of Vivian, the Lady of the Lake, who plunged with him into the waters.
"In the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. At last (for I was all earth held of him Who had been all to her, and now was not) She rose, and looked with tearless eyes, but dim, In the babe's face the father still to see; And lo! the babe was on another's knee!
"Another's lips had kissed it into sleep, And o'er the sleep another watchful smiled; The Fairy sate beside the lake's still deep, And hush'd with chaunted charms the orphan child! Scared at the mother's cry, as fleets a dream, Both Child and Fairy melt into the stream." BULWER LYTTON, King Arthur.
The bereaved wife and mother now sorrowfully withdrew into a convent, while Lancelot was brought up in the palace of the Lady of the Lake, with his two cousins, Lyonel and Bohort. Here he remained until he was eighteen, when the fairy herself brought him to court and presented him to the king. Arthur then and there made him his friend and confidant, and gave him an honored place at the Round Table. He was warmly welcomed by all the other knights also, whom he far excelled in beauty and courage.
"But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, He for his deeds and feats of armes All others did excell." Sir Lancelot du Lake (Old Ballad).
[Sidenote: Lancelot and Guinevere.] Lancelot, however, was doomed to much sorrow, for he had no sooner beheld Queen Guinevere than he fell deeply in love with her. The queen fully returned his affection, granted him many marks of her favor, and encouraged him to betray his friend and king on sundry occasions, which form the themes of various episodes in the romances of the time. Lancelot, urged in one direction by passion, in another by loyalty, led a very unhappy life, which made him relapse into occasional fits of insanity, during which he roamed aimlessly about for many years. When restored to his senses, he always returned to court, where he accomplished unheard-of deeds of valor, delivered many maidens in distress, righted the wrong wherever he found it, won all the honors at the tournaments, and ever remained faithful in his devotion to the queen, although many fair ladies tried to make him forget her.
Some of the poems, anxious to vindicate the queen, declare that there were two Guineveres, one pure, lovely, and worthy of all admiration, who suffered for the sins of the other, an unprincipled woman. When Arthur discovered his wife's intrigue with Lancelot, he sent her away, and Guinevere took refuge with her lover in Joyeuse Garde (Berwick), a castle he had won at the point of his lance to please her. But the king, having ascertained some time after that the real Guinevere had been wrongfully accused, reinstated her in his favor, and Lancelot again returned to court, where he continued to love and serve the queen.
[Illustration: SIR LANCELOT DU LAC.--Sir John Gilbert.]
On one occasion, hearing that she had been made captive by Meleagans, Lancelot rushed after Guinevere to rescue her, tracing her by a comb and ringlet she had dropped on the way. His horse was taken from him by enchantment, so Lancelot, in order sooner to overtake the queen, rode on in a cart. This was considered a disgraceful mode of progress for a knight, as a nobleman in those days was condemned to ride in a cart in punishment for crimes for which common people were sentenced to the pillory.
Lancelot succeeded in reaching the castle of Guinevere's kidnaper, whom he challenged and defeated. The queen, instead of showing herself grateful for this devotion, soon became needlessly jealous, and in a fit of anger taunted her lover about his journey in the cart. This remark sufficed to unsettle the hero's evidently very tottering reason, and he roamed wildly about until the queen recognized her error, and sent twenty-three knights in search of him. They journeyed far and wide for two whole years without finding him.
"'Then Sir Bors had ridden on Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot, Because his former madness, once the talk And scandal of our table, had return'd; For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship him That ill to him is ill to them.'" TENNYSON, The Holy Grail.
Finally a fair and pious damsel took pity upon the frenzied knight, and seeing that he had atoned by suffering for all his sins, she had him borne into the chamber where the Holy Grail was kept; "and then there came a holy man, who uncovered the vessel, and so by miracle, and by virtue of that holy vessel, Sir Lancelot was all healed and recovered."
[Sidenote: Gareth and Lynette.] Sane once more, Lancelot now returned to Camelot, where the king, queen, and all the knights of the Round Table rejoiced to see him. Here Lancelot knighted Sir Gareth, who, to please his mother, had concealed his true name, and had acted as kitchen vassal for a whole year. The new-made knight immediately started out with a fair maiden called Lynette, to deliver her captive sister. Thinking him nothing but the kitchen vassal he seemed, the damsel insulted Gareth in every possible way. He bravely endured her taunts, courageously defeated all her adversaries, and finally won her admiration and respect to such a degree that she bade him ride beside her, and humbly asked his pardon for having so grievously misjudged him.
"'Sir,--and, good faith, I fain had added Knight, But that I heard thee call thyself a knave,-- Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled, Missaid thee; noble I am; and thought the King Scorn'd me and mine; and now thy pardon, friend, For thou hast ever answer'd courteously, And wholly bold thou art, and meek withal As any of Arthur's best, but, being knave, Hast mazed my wit: I marvel what thou art.'" TENNYSON, Gareth and Lynette.
Granting her full forgiveness, Gareth now rode beside her, fought more bravely still, and, after defeating many knights, delivered her sister from captivity, and secured Lynette's promise to become his wife as soon as he had been admitted to the Round Table. When he returned to Arthur's court this honor was immediately awarded him, for his prowess had won the admiration of all, and he was duly married on St. Michaelmas Day.
"And he that told the tale in older times Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyoners, But he that told it later, says Lynette." TENNYSON, Gareth and Lynette.
[Sidenote: Geraint and Enid.] Gareth's brother, Geraint, was also an honored member of the Round Table. After distinguishing himself by many deeds of valor he married Enid the Fair, the only daughter of an old and impoverished knight whom he delivered from the tyranny of his oppressor and restored to all his former state. Taking his fair wife away with him to his lonely manor, Geraint surrounded her with every comfort, and, forgetting his former high aspirations, spent all his time at home, hoping thereby to please her.
"He compass'd her with sweet observances And worship, never leaving her, and grew Forgetful of his promise to the King. Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, Forgetful of his glory and his name, Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. And this forgetfulness was hateful to her." TENNYSON, Geraint and Enid.
Enid, however, soon perceived that her husband was forgetting both honor and duty to linger by her side. One day, while he lay asleep before her, she, in an outburst of wifely love, poured out her heart, and ended her confession by declaring that since Geraint neglected everything for her sake only, she must be an unworthy wife.
Geraint awoke too late to overhear the first part of her speech; but, seeing her tears, and catching the words "unworthy wife," he immediately imagined that she had ceased to love him, and that she received the attentions of another. In his anger Geraint (whom the French and German poems call Erec) rose from his couch, and sternly bade his wife don her meanest apparel and silently follow him through the world.
"The page he bade with speed Prepare his own strong steed, Dame Enid's palfrey there beside; He said that he would ride For pastime far away: So forward hastened they." HARTMANN VON AVE, Erek and Enid (Bayard Taylor's tr.)
Patiently Enid did her husband's bidding, watched him fight the knights by the way, and bound up his wounds. She suffered intensely from his incomprehensible coldness and displeasure; but she stood all his tests so nobly that he finally recognized how greatly he had misjudged her. He then restored her to her rightful place, and loved her more dearly than ever before.
"Nor did he doubt her more, But rested in her fealty, till he crown'd A happy life with a fair death, and fell Against the heathen of the Northern Sea In battle, fighting for the blameless King." TENNYSON,--Geraint and Enid.
[Sidenote: Sir Galahad.] One Pentecost Day, when all the knights were assembled, as usual, around the table at Camelot, a distressed damsel suddenly entered the hall and implored Lancelot to accompany her to the neighboring forest, where a young warrior was hoping to receive knighthood at his hands. This youth was Sir Galahad, the peerless knight, whom some authorities call Lancelot's son, while others declare that he was not of mortal birth.
On reëntering the hall after performing this ceremony, Lancelot heard that a miracle had occurred, and rushed with the king and his companions down to the riverside. There the rumor was verified, for they all saw a heavy stone floating down the stream, and perceived that a costly weapon was sunk deep in the stone. On this weapon was an inscription, declaring that none but a peerless knight should attempt to draw it out, upon penalty of a grievous punishment. As all the knights of the Round Table felt guilty of some sin, they modestly refused to touch it.
When they returned into the hall an aged man came in, accompanied by Galahad, and the latter, fearless by right of innocence, sat down in the "Siege Perilous." As his name then appeared upon it, all knew that he was the rightful occupant, and hailed his advent with joy. Then, noticing that he wore an empty scabbard, and hearing him state that he had been promised a marvelous sword, they one and all escorted him down to the river, where he easily drew the sword out of the stone. This fitted exactly in his empty sheath, and all vowed that it was evidently meant for him.
That selfsame night, after evensong, when all the knights were seated about the Round Table at Camelot, they heard a long roll of thunder, and felt the palace shake. The brilliant lights held by the statues of the twelve conquered kings grew strangely dim, and then, gliding down upon a beam of refulgent celestial light, they all beheld a dazzling vision of the Holy Grail. Covered by white samite, and borne by invisible hands, the sacred vessel was slowly carried all around the great hall, while a delicious perfume was wafted throughout the huge edifice. All the knights of the Round Table gazed in silent awe at this resplendent vision, and when it vanished as suddenly and as mysteriously as it had come, each saw before him the food which he liked best.
Speechless at first, and motionless until the wonted light again illumined the hall, the knights gave fervent thanks for the mercy which had been vouchsafed them, and then Lancelot, springing impetuously to his feet, vowed that he would ride forth in search of the Holy Grail and would know no rest until he had beheld it unveiled. This vow was echoed by all the knights of the Round Table; and when Arthur now questioned them closely, he discovered that none had seen the vessel unveiled. Still he could not prevent his knights from setting out in quest of it, because they had solemnly vowed to do so.
"'Nay, lord, I heard the sound, I saw the light, But since I did not see the Holy Thing, I sware a vow to follow it till I saw.'
"Then when he ask'd us, knight by knight, if any Had seen it, all their answers were as one: 'Nay, lord, and therefore have we sworn our vows.'" TENNYSON, The Holy Grail.
[Sidenote: Quest of the Holy Grail.] During this quest the knights traveled separately or in pairs all through the world, encountered many dangers, and in true mediaeval fashion defended damsels in distress, challenged knights, and covered themselves with scars and glory. Some of the legends declare that Parzival alone saw the Holy Grail, while others aver that Lancelot saw it through a veil faintly. The pure Galahad, having never sinned at all, and having spent years in prayer and fasting, finally beheld it just as his immaculate soul was borne to heaven by the angels.
The rest of the knights, realizing after many years' fruitless search that they were unworthy of the boon, finally returned to Camelot, where they were duly entertained by the queen. While they were feasting at her table, one of their number, having partaken of a poisonous draught, fell lifeless to the ground. As the incident had happened at the queen's side, some of her detractors accused her of the crime, and bade her confess, or prove her innocence by a judicial duel. Being her husband, Arthur was debarred by law of the privilege of fighting for her in the lists of Camelot, and the poor queen would have been condemned to be burned alive for lack of a champion had not Lancelot appeared incognito, and forced her accuser to retract his words.
Throughout his reign Arthur had been wont to encourage his knights by yearly tournaments, the victor's prize being each time a precious jewel. It seems that these jewels had come into his possession in a peculiar way. While wandering as a lad in Lyonesse, Arthur found the moldering bones of two kings. Tradition related that these monarchs had slain each other, and, as they were brothers, the murder seemed so heinous that none dared touch their remains. There among the rusty armor lay a kingly crown studded with diamonds, which Arthur picked up and carelessly set upon his own head. At that very moment a prophetic voice was heard declaring to him that he should rule. Arthur kept the crown, and made each jewel set in it the object of a brilliant pageant when the prophecy had been fulfilled.
"And Arthur came, and laboring up the pass, All in a misty moonshine, unawares Had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the skull Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown Roll'd into light, and turning on its rims Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn. And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught, And set it on his head, and in his heart Heard murmurs,--'Lo! thou likewise shalt be King.'" TENNYSON, Lancelot and Elaine.
[Sidenote: Lancelot's prowess.] Lancelot had been present at every one of these knightly games, and had easily borne away the prize, for his very name was almost enough to secure him the victory. When the time for the last tournament came, he pretended to take no interest in it; but, riding off to Astolat (Guildford), he asked Elaine, the fair maiden who dwelt there, to guard his blazoned shield and give him another in exchange.
This fair lady, who had fallen in love with Lancelot at first sight, immediately complied with his request, and even timidly suggested that he should wear her colors in the coming fray. Lancelot had never worn any favors except Guinevere's, but thinking that it would help to conceal his identity, he accepted the crimson, pearl-embroidered sleeve she offered, and fastened it to his helmet in the usual way.
"'Lady, thy sleeve thou shalt off-shear, I wol it take for the love of thee; So did I never no lady's ere [before] But one, that most hath loved me.'" ELLIS, Lancelot du Lac.
Thus effectually disguised, and accompanied by Sir Lawaine, Elaine's brother, Lancelot rode on to the tournament, where, still unknown, he unhorsed every knight and won the prize. His last encounter, however, nearly proved fatal, for in it he received a grievous wound. As he felt faint, and was afraid to be recognized, Lancelot did not wait to claim the prize, but rode immediately out of the town. He soon fainted, but was conveyed to the cell of a neighboring hermit. Here his wound was dressed, and he was carefully nursed by Elaine, who had heard that he was wounded, and had immediately set out in search of him.
[Sidenote: Lancelot and Elaine.] When Lancelot, entirely recovered, was about to leave Elaine after claiming his own shield, she timidly confessed her love, hoping that it was returned. Gently and sorrowfully Lancelot repulsed her, and, by her father's advice, was even so discourteous as to leave her without a special farewell. Unrequited love soon proved too much for the "lily maid of Astolat," who pined away very rapidly. Feeling that her end was near, she dictated a farewell letter to Lancelot, which she made her father promise to put in her dead hand. She also directed that her body should be laid in state on a barge, and sent in charge of a mute boatman to Camelot, where she was sure she would receive a suitable burial from the hands of Lancelot.
In the meanwhile the hero of the tournament had been sought everywhere by Gawain, who was the bearer of the diamond won at such a cost. Coming to Astolat before Lancelot was cured, Gawain had learned the name of the victor, which he immediately proclaimed to Guinevere. The queen, however, hearing a vague rumor that Lancelot had worn the colors of the maiden of Astolat, and was about to marry her, grew so jealous that when Lancelot reappeared at court she received him very coldly, and carelessly flung his present (a necklace studded with the diamonds he had won at various tournaments) into the river flowing beneath the castle walls.
"She seized, And, thro' the casement standing wide for heat, Flung them, and down they flash'd, and smote the stream. Then from the smitten surface flash'd, as it were, Diamonds to meet them, and they passed away." TENNYSON, Lancelot and Elaine.
[Illustration: ELAINE--Rosenthal.]
[Sidenote: The funeral barge.] As he leaned out of the window to trace them in their fall, Lancelot saw a barge slowly drifting down the stream. Its peculiar appearance attracted his attention, and as it passed close by him he saw that it bore a corpse. A moment later he had recognized the features of the dead Elaine. The mute boatman paused at the castle steps, and Arthur had the corpse borne into his presence. The letter was found and read aloud in the midst of the awestruck court. Arthur, touched by the girl's love, bade Lancelot fulfill her last request and lay her to rest. Lancelot then related the brief story of the maiden, whose love he could not return, but whose death he sincerely mourned.
"'My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear, Know that for this most gentle maiden's death Right heavy am I; for good she was and true, But loved me with a love beyond all love In women, whomsoever I have known. Yet to be loved makes not to love again; Not at my years, however it hold in youth. I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave No cause, not willingly, for such a love: To this I call my friends in testimony, Her brethren, and her father, who himself Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use, To break her passion, some discourtesy Against my nature: what I could, I did. I left her and I bade her no farewell; Tho', had I dreamt the damsel would have died, I might have put my wits to some rough use, And help'd her from herself.'" TENNYSON, Lancelot and Elaine.
Haunted by remorse for this involuntary crime, Lancelot again wandered away from Camelot, but returned in time to save Guinevere, who had again been falsely accused. In his indignation at the treatment to which she had been exposed, Lancelot bore her off to Joyeuse Garde, where he swore he would defend her even against the king. Arthur, whose mind, in the mean while, had been poisoned by officious courtiers, besieged his recreant wife and knight; but although repeatedly challenged, the loyal Lancelot ever refused to bear arms directly against his king.
When the Pope heard of the dissension in England he finally interfered; and Lancelot, assured that Guinevere would henceforth be treated with all due respect, surrendered her to the king and retreated to his paternal estate in Brittany. As Arthur's resentment against Lancelot had not yet cooled, he left Guinevere under the care and protection of Mordred, his nephew,--some versions say his son,--and then, at the head of a large force, departed for Brittany.
[Sidenote: Treachery of Mordred.] Mordred the traitor immediately took advantage of his uncle's absence to lay claim to the throne; and loudly declaring that Arthur had been slain, he tried to force Guinevere to marry him. As she demurred, he kept her a close prisoner, and set her free only when she pretended to agree with his wishes, and asked permission to go to London to buy wedding finery.
When Guinevere arrived in that city she intrenched herself in the Tower, and sent word to her husband of her perilous position. Without any delay Arthur abandoned the siege of Lancelot's stronghold, and, crossing the channel, encountered Mordred's army near Dover.
Negotiations now took place, and it was finally agreed that Arthur and a certain number of knights should meet Mordred with an equal number, and discuss the terms of peace. It had been strictly enjoined on both parties that no weapon should be drawn, and all would have gone well had not an adder been lurking in the grass. One of the knights drew his sword to kill it, and this unexpected movement proved the signal for one of the bloodiest battles described in mediaeval poetry.
"An addere crept forth of a bushe, Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee. Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, As ever was in Christientie; When the knighte founde him wounded sore, And sawe the wild worme hanginge there, His sworde he from the scabbarde drewe; A piteous case, as ye shall heare; For when the two hostes saw the sworde, They joyned in battayle instantlye; Till of so manye noble knightes, On one side there was left but three." _King Arthur's Death_.
[Sidenote: Arthur wounded.] On both sides the knights fought with the utmost courage, and when nearly all were slain, Arthur encountered the traitor Mordred. Summoning all his strength, the exhausted king finally slew the usurper, who, in dying, dealt Arthur a mortal blow. This would never have occurred, however, had not Morgana the fay, Arthur's sister, purloined his magic scabbard and substituted another. All the enemy's host had perished, and of Arthur's noble army only one man remained alive, Sir Bedivere, a knight of the Round Table. He hastened to the side of his fallen master, who in faltering accents now bade him take the brand Excalibur, cast it far from him into the waters of the lake, and return to report what he should see. The knight, thinking it a pity to throw away so valuable a sword, concealed it twice; but the dying monarch detected the fraud, and finally prevailed upon Bedivere to fulfill his wishes. As the magic blade touched the waters Sir Bedivere saw a hand and arm rise up from the depths to seize it, brandish it thrice, and disappear.
"'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose; for I never saw, Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him; But when I look'd again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him Three times, and drew him under in the mere.'" TENNYSON, The Passing of Arthur.
Arthur gave a sigh of relief when he heard this report; and after telling his faithful squire that Merlin had declared that he should not die, he bade the knight lay him in a barge, all hung with black, wherein he would find Morgana the fay, the Queen of Northgallis, and the Queen of the Westerlands.
Sir Bedivere obeyed all these orders exactly; and then, seeing his beloved king about to leave him, he implored permission to accompany him. This, however, Arthur could not grant, for it had been decreed that he should go alone to the island of Avalon, where he hoped to be cured of his grievous wound, and some day to return to his sorrowing people.
"'But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest--if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)-- To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.'" TENNYSON, The Passing of Arthur.
[Sidenote: Arthur in Avalon.] It was because Arthur thus disappeared and was never seen again, according to one version of the myth, and because none knew whether he were living or dead, that he was popularly supposed to be enjoying perpetual youth and bliss in the fabled island of Avalon, whence they averred he would return when his people needed him. This belief was so deeply rooted in England that Philip of Spain, upon marrying Mary, was compelled to take a solemn oath whereby he bound himself to relinquish the crown in favor of Arthur should he appear to claim it.
"Still look the Britons for the day Of Arthur's coming o'er the sea." LAYAMON, Brut.
Other romances and poems relate that Arthur was borne in the sable-hung barge to Glastonbury, where his remains were laid in the tomb, while Guinevere retired into the nunnery at Almesbury. There she was once more visited by the sorrowing Lancelot, who, in spite of all his haste, had come upon the scene too late to save or be reconciled to the king, to whom he was still devotedly attached. In his sorrow and remorse the knight withdrew into a hermitage, where he spent six years in constant penance and prayer. At last he was warned in a vision that Guinevere was no more. He hastened to Almesbury, and found her really dead. After burying her by Arthur's side, in the chapel of Glastonbury, Lancelot again withdrew to his cell. Six weeks later, worn to a shadow by abstinence and night watches, he peacefully passed away, and a priest watching near him said that he had seen the angels receive and bear his ransomed spirit straight up to heaven.
Lancelot was buried either at Arthur's feet or at Joyeuse Garde. He was deeply mourned by all his friends, and especially by his heir, Sir Ector de Maris, who eulogized him in the following touching terms: "'Ah, Sir Lancelot,' he said, 'thou were head of all Christian knights; and now I dare say,' said Sir Ector, 'that, Sir Lancelot, there thou liest, thou were never matched of none earthly knight's hands; and thou were the courtliest knight that ever bare shield; and thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights; and thou were the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.'"