Journeys Through Bookland Volume V Part 17

Then strode the brute Earl up and down his hall, And took his russet beard between his teeth; Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood Crying, "I count it of no more avail, Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you; Take my salute," unknightly with flat hand, However, lightly, smote her on the cheek.

Then Enid, in her utter helplessness, And since she thought, "He had not dared to do it, Except he surely knew my lord was dead,"

Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry, As of a wild thing taken in the trap, Which sees the trapper coming thro' the wood.

This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword, (It lay beside him in the hollow s.h.i.+eld), Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it Sh.o.r.e thro' the swarthy neck, and like a ball The russet-bearded head roll'd on the floor.

So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead.

And all the men and women in the hall Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled Yelling as from a spectre, and the two Were left alone together, and he said: "Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man; Done you more wrong: we both have undergone That trouble which has left me thrice your own: Henceforward I will rather die than doubt.

And here I lay this penance on myself, Not, tho' mine own ears heard you yestermorn-- You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say, I heard you say, that you were no true wife: I swear I will not ask your meaning in it: I do believe yourself against yourself, And will henceforward rather die than doubt."

And Enid could not say one tender word, She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart: She only pray'd him, "Fly, they will return And slay you; fly, your charger is without, My palfrey lost." "Then, Enid, shall you ride Behind me." "Yea," said Enid, "let us go."

And moving out they found the stately horse, Who now no more a va.s.sal to the thief, But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and stoop'd With a low whinny toward the pair: and she Kiss'd the white star upon his n.o.ble front, Glad also; then Geraint upon the horse Mounted, and reach'd a hand, and on his foot She set her own and climb'd; he turn'd his face And kiss'd her climbing, and she cast her arms About him, and at once they rode away.

And never yet, since high in Paradise O'er the four rivers the first roses blew, Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind Than lived thro' her, who in that perilous hour Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart, And felt him hers again: she did not weep, But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist Like that which kept the heart of Eden green Before the useful trouble of the rain: Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes As not to see before them on the path, Right in the gateway of the bandit hold, A knight of Arthur's court, who laid his lance In rest, and made as if to fall upon him.

Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood, She, with her mind all full of what had chanced, Shriek'd to the stranger "Slay not a dead man!"

"The voice of Enid," said the knight; but she, Beholding it was Edyrn, son of Nudd, Was moved so much the more, and shriek'd again, "O cousin, slay not him who gave you life."

And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake: "My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love; I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm; And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him, Who love you, Prince, with something of the love Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us.

For once, when I was up so high in pride That I was half-way down the slope to h.e.l.l, By overthrowing me you threw me higher.

Now, made a knight of Arthur's Table Round, And since I knew this Earl, when I myself Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm (The King is close behind me) bidding him Disband himself, and scatter all his powers, Submit, and hear the judgment of the King."

"He hears the judgment of the King of kings,"

Cried the wan Prince; "and lo, the powers of Doorm Are scatter'd," and he pointed to the field, Where, huddled here and there on mound and knoll, Were men and women staring and aghast, While some yet fled; and then he plainlier told How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall.

But when the knight besought him, "Follow me, Prince, to the camp, and in the King's own ear Speak what has chanced; ye surely have endured Strange chances here alone;" that other flush'd, And hung his head, and halted in reply, Fearing the mild face of the blameless King, And after madness acted question ask'd: Till Edyrn crying, "If ye will not go To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you."

"Enough," he said, "I follow," and they went.

But Enid in their going had two fears, One from the bandit scatter'd in the field, And one from Edyrn. Every now and then, When Edyrn rein'd his charger at her side, She shrank a little. In a hollow land, From which old fires have broken, men may fear Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said:

"Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed.

Once, but for my main purpose in these jousts, I should have slain your father, seized yourself.

I lived in hope that sometime you would come To these my lists with him whom best you loved; And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue eyes, The truest eyes that ever answer'd Heaven, Behold me overturn and trample on him.

Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray'd to me, I should not less have kill'd him. And you came,-- But once you came,--and with your own true eyes Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one Speaks of a service done him) overthrow My proud self, and my purpose three years old, And set his foot upon me, and give me life.

There was I broken down; there was I saved: Tho' thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life He gave me, meaning to be rid of it.

And all the penance the Queen laid upon me Was but to rest awhile within her court; Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged, And waiting to be treated like a wolf, Because I knew my deeds were known, I found, Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn, Such fine reserve and n.o.ble reticence, Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace Of tenderest courtesy, that I began To glance behind me at my former life, And find that it had been the wolf's indeed: And oft I talk'd with Dubric, the high saint, Who, with mild heat of holy oratory, Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness, Which, when it weds with manhood, makes a man.

And you were often there about the Queen, But saw me not, or mark'd not if you saw; Nor did I care or dare to speak with you, But kept myself aloof till I was changed; And fear not, cousin; I am changed indeed."

He spoke, and Enid easily believed, Like simple n.o.ble natures, credulous Of what they long for, good in friend or foe, There most in those who most have done them ill.

And when they reach'd the camp the King himself Advanced to greet them, and beholding her Tho' pale, yet happy, ask'd her not a word, But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held In converse for a little, and return'd, And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse, And kiss'd her with all pureness, brother-like, And show'd an empty tent allotted her, And glancing for a minute, till he saw her Pa.s.s into it, turn'd to the Prince, and said:

"Prince, when of late ye pray'd me for my leave To move to your own land, and there defend Your marches, I was p.r.i.c.k'd with some reproof, As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be, By having look'd too much thro' alien eyes, And wrought too long with delegated hands, Not used mine own: but now behold me come To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm, With Edyrn and with others: have ye look'd At Edyrn? have ye seen how n.o.bly changed?

This work of his is great and wonderful.

His very face with change of heart is changed, The world will not believe a man repents: And this wise world of ours is mainly right.

Full seldom doth a man repent, or use Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch[6]

Of blood and custom wholly out of him, And make all clean, and plant himself afresh.

Edyrn has done it, weeding all his heart As I will weed this land before I go.

I, therefore, made him of our Table Round, Not rashly, but have proved him everyway One of our n.o.blest, our most valorous, Sanest and most obedient: and indeed This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself After a life of violence, seems to me A thousand-fold more great and wonderful Than if some knight of mine, risking his life, My subject with my subjects under him, Should make an onslaught single on a realm Of robbers, tho' he slew them one by one, And were himself nigh wounded to the death."

[Footnote: 6. _Quitch_ is another name for couch-gra.s.s, a troublesome weed which spreads rapidly and is eradicated only with the greatest difficulty.]

So spake the King; low bow'd the Prince, and felt His work was neither great nor wonderful, And past to Enid's tent; and thither came The King's own leech to look into his hurt; And Enid tended on him there; and there Her constant motion round him, and the breath Of her sweet tendance hovering over him, Fill'd all the genial courses of his blood With deeper and with ever deeper love, As the south-west that blowing Bala lake Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days.

Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past With Arthur to Caerleon upon Usk.

There the great Queen once more embraced her friend, And clothed her in apparel like the day.

Thence after tarrying for a s.p.a.ce they rode, And fifty knights rode with them to the sh.o.r.es Of Severn, and they past to their own land.

And there he kept the justice of the King So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died: And being ever foremost in the chase, And victor at the tilt and tournament, They called him the great Prince and man of men.

But Enid, whom the ladies loved to call Enid the Fair, a grateful people named Enid the Good; and in their halls arose The cry of children, Enids and Geraints Of times to be; 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.

THE HOLY GRAIL

NOTE.--Thomas Malory completed his quaint history of King Arthur in 1469, and sixteen years later the book was printed from the famous old Caxton press. Only one perfect copy of that work is now in existence; but several editions have since been issued with the text modernized, so as to make it easier for us to read, yet with the quaintness and originality of Malory's tale preserved. So charming is it, that the following incidents in the story of the search for the Holy Grail are told nearly as they are now in the Aldine edition of _Le Morte d'Arthur_.

Some rearrangement has been necessary, and a few changes have been made in phraseology. Omissions have been made and paragraphs are indicated and quotation marks used as is now the custom in printing.

Many of the knights joined in the quest for the Grail, and their adventures are told by Malory. Even Launcelot himself failed. We tell the story of the one who succeeded.

THE KNIGHTING OF SIR GALAHAD

At the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellows.h.i.+p of the Round Table were come unto Camelot and there heard their service, and the tables were set ready to the meat, right so, entered into the hall a full fair gentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse was all besweated. Then she there alit and came before the King and saluted him and he said, "Damosel, G.o.d thee bless."

"Sir," said she, "for G.o.d's sake say me where Sir Launcelot is."

"Yonder ye may see him," said the King.

Then she went unto Launcelot and said, "Sir Launcelot, I require you to come along with me hereby into a forest."

"What will ye with me?" said Sir Launcelot.

"Ye shall know," said she, "when ye come thither."

"Well," said he, "I will gladly go with you."

So Sir Launcelot bade him his squire saddle his horse and bring his arms.

Right so departed Sir Launcelot with the gentlewoman and rode until he came into a forest, and into a great valley, where they saw an abbey of nuns; and there was a squire ready and opened the gates, and so they entered and descended off their horses; and there came a fair fellows.h.i.+p about Sir Launcelot, and welcomed him and were pa.s.sing glad of his coming.

And they led him into the Abbess's chamber and unarmed him; and therein came twelve nuns that brought with them Galahad, the which was pa.s.sing fair and well made, that unnethe[1] in the world men might not find his match: and all those ladies wept.

[Footnote 1: This is an old word meaning _with difficulty_.]

"Sir," said they all, "we bring you here this child the which we have nourished, and we pray you to make him a knight, for of a worthier man's hand may he not receive the order of knighthood."

Then said Sir Launcelot, "Cometh this desire of himself?"