CHAPTER XI.



TITUREL AND THE HOLY GRAIL.

[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, Enigee, 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.).



[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.



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.



CHAPTER XII.



MERLIN.

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 agre [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.



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.



CHAPTER XIII.



THE ROUND TABLE.

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, reestablished 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.



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 reentering 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.



[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.'"