did. Then they rode forth to right the wrong and help the oppressed, and

by their aid, the King held his realm in peace, doing justice to all.

OF THE FINDING OF EXCALIBUR

Now when Arthur was first made king, as young knights will, he courted peril for its own sake, and often would he ride unattended by lonely forest ways, seeking the adventure that chance might send him. All unmindful was he of the ruin to his realm if mischief befell him; and even his trusty counselors, though they grieved that he should thus imperil him, yet could not but love him the more for his hardihood.

So, on a day, he rode through the Forest Perilous where dwelt the Lady Annoure, a sorceress of great might, who used her magic powers but for the furtherance of her own desires. And as she looked from a turret window, she descried King Arthur come riding down a forest glade, and the sunbeams falling upon him made one glory of his armor and of his yellow hair. Then, as Annoure gazed upon the King, she resolved that, come what might, she would have him for her own, to dwell with her always and fulfill all her behests. And so she bade her men to lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis, and sallying forth accompanied by her maidens, she gave King Arthur courteous salutation, and prayed him that he would rest within her castle that day, for that she had a petition to make to him; and Arthur, doubting nothing of her good faith, suffered himself to be led within.

Then was a great feast spread, and Annoure caused the King to be seated in a chair of state at her right hand, while squires and pages served him on bended knee. So when they had feasted, the King turned to the Lady Annoure and said courteously:

“Lady, somewhat ye said of a request that ye would make. If there be aught in which I may give pleasure to you, I pray you let me know it, and I will serve you as knightly as I may.”

“In truth,” said the lady, “there is that which I would fain entreat of you, most noble knight; yet suffer, I beseech you, that first I may show you somewhat of my castle and my estate, and then will I crave a boon of your chivalry.”

Then the sorceress led King Arthur from room to room of her castle, and ever each displayed greater store of beauty than the last. In some the walls were hung with rich tapestries, in others they gleamed with precious stones; and the King marveled what might be the petition of one that was mistress of such wealth. Lastly, Annoure brought the King out upon the battlements, and as he gazed around him, he saw that since he had entered the castle there had sprung up about it triple walls of defense that shut out wholly the forest from view. Then turned he to Annoure, and gravely said:

“Lady, greatly I marvel in what a simple knight may give pleasure to one that is mistress of so wondrous a castle as ye have shown me here; yet if there be aught in which I may render you knightly service, right gladly would I hear it now, for I must go forth upon my way to render service to those whose knight I am sworn.”

“Nay, now, King Arthur,” answered the sorceress mockingly, “ye may not deceive me! for well I know you, and that all Britain bows to your behest.”

“The more reason then that I should ride forth to right wrong and succor them that, of their loyalty, render true obedience to their lord.”

“Ye speak as a fool,” said the sorceress; “why should one that may command be at the beck and call of every hind and slave within his realm? Nay, rest thee here with me, and I will make thee ruler of a richer land than Britain, and satisfy thy every desire.”

“Lady,” said the King sternly, “I will hear and judge of your petition here and now, and then will I go forth upon my way.”

“Nay,” said Annoure, “there needs not this harshness. I did but speak for thine advantage. Only vow thee to my service, and there is naught that thou canst desire that thou shalt not possess. Thou shalt be lord of this fair castle and of the mighty powers that obey me. Why waste thy youth in hardship and in the service of such as shall render thee little enough again?”

Thereupon, without ever a word, the King turned him about and made for the turret stair by which he had ascended, but nowhere could he find it. Then said the sorceress, mocking him:

“Fair sir, how think ye to escape without my goodwill? See ye not the walls that guard my stronghold? And think ye that I have not servants enough to do my bidding?”

She clapped her hands and forthwith there appeared a company of squires who, at her command, seized the King and bore him away to a strong chamber where they locked him in.

And so the King abode that night, the prisoner of that evil sorceress, with little hope that day, when it dawned, should bring him better cheer. Yet lost he not courage, but kept watch and vigil the night through, lest the powers of evil should assail him unawares. And with the early morning light, Annoure came to visit him. More stately she seemed than the night before, more tall and more terrible; and her dress was one blaze of flashing gems so that scarce could the eye look upon her. As a queen might address a vassal, so greeted she the King, and as condescending to one of low estate, asked how he had fared that night. And the King made answer:

“I have kept vigil as behooves a knight who, knowing himself to be in the midst of danger, would bear himself meetly in any peril that should offer.”

And the Lady Annoure, admiring his knightly courage, desired more earnestly even than before to win him to her will, and she said:

“Sir Arthur, I know well your courage and knightly fame, and greatly do I desire to keep you with me. Stay with me and I promise that ye shall bear sway over a wider realm than any that ye ever heard of, and I, even I, its mistress, will be at your command. And what lose ye if ye accept my offer? Little enough; for never think that ye shall win the world from evil, and men to loyalty and truth.”

Then answered the King in anger: “Full well I see that thou art in league with evil and that thou but seekest to turn me from my purpose. I defy thee, foul sorceress. Do thy worst; though thou slay me, thou shalt never sway me to thy will”; and therewith, the King raised his cross-hilted sword before her. Then the lady quailed at that sight. Her heart was filled with hate, but she said:

“Go your way, proud King of a petty realm. Rule well your race of miserable mortals, since it pleases you more than to bear sway over the powers of the air. I keep you not against your will.”

With these words she passed from the chamber, and the King heard her give command to her squires to set him without her gates, give him his horse, and suffer him to go on his way.

And so it came to pass that the King found himself once more at large, and marveled to have won so lightly to liberty. Yet knew he not the depths of treachery in the heart of Annoure; for when she found she might not prevail with the King, she bethought her how, by mortal means, she might bring him to dishonor and death. And so, by her magic art, she caused the King to follow a path that brought him to a fountain, whereby a knight had his tent, and, for the love of adventure, held the way against all comers. Now this knight was Sir Pellinore, and at that time he had not his equal for strength and knightly skill, nor had any been found that might stand against him. So, as the King drew nigh, Pellinore cried:

“Stay, knight, for no one passes this way except he joust with me.”

“That is not a good custom,” said the King; “and it were well that ye followed it no more.”

“It is my custom, and I will follow it still,” answered Pellinore; “if ye like it not, amend it if ye can.”

“I will do my endeavor,” said Arthur, “but, as ye see, I have no spear.”

“Nay, I seek not to have you at disadvantage,” replied Pellinore, and bade his squire give Arthur a spear. Then they dressed their shields, laid their lances in rest, and rushed upon each other. Now the King was wearied by his night’s vigil, and the strength of Pellinore was as the strength of three men; so, at the first encounter, Arthur was unhorsed. Then said he:

“I have lost the honor on horseback, but now will I encounter thee with my sword and on foot.”

“I, too, will alight,” said Pellinore; “small honor to me were it if I slew thee on foot, I being horsed the while.” So they encountered each other on foot, and so fiercely they fought that they hewed off great pieces of each other’s armor, and the ground was dyed with their blood. But at the last, Arthur’s sword broke off short at the hilt, and so he stood all defenseless before his foe.

“I have thee now,” cried Pellinore; “yield thee as recreant or I will slay thee.”

“That will I never,” said the King; “slay me if thou canst.”

Then he sprang on Pellinore, caught him by the middle, and flung him to the ground, himself falling with him. And Sir Pellinore marveled, for never before had he encountered so bold and resolute a foe; but exerting his great strength, he rolled himself over, and so brought Arthur beneath him. Then Arthur would have perished, but at that moment Merlin stood beside him, and when Sir Pellinore would have struck off the King’s head, stayed his blow, crying:

“Pellinore, if thou slayest this knight, thou puttest the whole realm in peril; for this is none other than King Arthur himself.”

Then was Pellinore filled with dread, and cried:

“Better make an end of him at once; for if I suffer him to live, what hope have I of his grace, that have dealt with him so sorely?”

But before Pellinore could strike, Merlin caused a deep sleep to come upon him; and raising King Arthur from the ground, he stanched his wounds and recovered him of his swoon.

But when the King came to himself, he saw his foe lie, still as in death, on the ground beside him; and he was grieved, and said:

“Merlin, what have ye done to this brave knight? Nay, if ye have slain him, I shall grieve my life long; for a good knight he is, bold and a fair fighter, though something wanting in knightly courtesy.”

“He is in better case than ye are, Sir King, who so lightly imperil your person, and thereby your kingdom’s welfare; and, as ye say, Pellinore is a stout knight, and hereafter shall he serve you well. Have no fear. He shall wake again in three hours and have suffered naught by the encounter. But for you, it were well that ye came where ye might be tended for your wounds.”

“Nay,” replied the King, smiling, “I may not return to my court thus weaponless; first will I find means to possess me of a sword.”

“That is easily done,” answered Merlin; “follow me, and I will bring you where ye shall get you a sword, the wonder of the world.”

So, though his wounds pained him sore, the King followed Merlin by many a forest path and glade, until they came upon a mere, bosomed deep in the forest; and as he looked thereon, the King beheld an arm, clothed in white samite, above the surface of the lake, and in the hand was a fair sword that gleamed in the level rays of the setting sun.

“This is a great marvel,” said the King, “what may it mean?”

And Merlin made answer: “Deep is this mere, so deep indeed that no man may fathom it; but in its depths, and built upon the roots of the mountains, is the palace of the Lady of the Lake. Powerful is she with a power that works ever for good, and she shall help thee in thine hour of need.”

Anon the damsel herself came unto Arthur and said: “Sir Arthur, King, yonder sword is mine and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it of you, ye shall have it.”

“By my faith,” said Arthur, “I will give you what ye will ask.”

Then was Arthur aware of a little skiff, half hidden among the bulrushes that fringed the lake; and leaping into the boat, without aid of oar, he was wafted out into the middle of the lake, to the place where, out of the water, rose the arm and sword. And leaning from the skiff, he took the sword from the hand, which forthwith vanished, and immediately thereafter the skiff bore him back to land.

Arthur drew from its scabbard the mighty sword, wondering at the marvel of its workmanship, for the hilt shone with the elfin light of twinkling gems—diamond and topaz and emerald, and many another whose name none knows. And as he looked on the blade, Arthur was aware of mystic writings on the one side and the other, and calling to Merlin, he bade him interpret them.

“Sir,” said Merlin, “on the one side is written ‘Keep me,’ and on the other ‘Throw me away.’”

“Then,” said the King, “which does it behoove me to do?”

“Keep it,” answered Merlin; “the time to cast it away is not yet come. This is the good brand Excalibur, or Cut Steel, and well shall it serve you. But what think ye of the scabbard?”

“A fair cover for so good a sword,” answered Arthur.

“Nay, it is more than that,” said Merlin, “for so long as ye keep it, though ye be wounded never so sore, yet ye shall not bleed to death.” And when he heard that, the King marveled the more.

Then they journeyed back to Caerleon, where the knights made great joy of the return of their lord. And presently, thither came Sir Pellinore, craving pardon of the King, who made but jest of his own misadventure. And afterwards Sir Pellinore became of the Round Table, a knight vowed, not only to deeds of hardihood, but also to gentleness and courtesy; and faithfully he served the King, fighting ever to maintain justice and put down wrong, and to defend the weak from the oppressor.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Historical Note.= The ancient Britons looked out from their little island home with its protecting seas, and pictured the great unknown world beyond as a fairyland filled with enchanted cities and wonderful forests, and peopled by friendly fairies and magicians. About the beginning of our Christian era the Romans came among them for a time, teaching them obedience to law. Later, the barbarian hordes came over the North Sea, to conquer them. But the invaders were resisted by strong leaders among whom one by the name of Arthur stands pre-eminent. Historians generally agree that a chieftain of this name actually lived about the close of the fifth century or the beginning of the sixth. Some say he was from the north, some from the south, of England. Arthur became not only the great national hero, but also the champion of Christianity against heathen invaders. He is said to have united the scattered British clans and to have defeated the invaders in twelve great battles.

In their days of distress many of the Britons fled across the Channel and settled among their kindred, the Bretons of northern France. From here Welsh bards with their harps wandered throughout all Christendom, singing of Arthur’s heroic deeds. As time went on these tales of Arthur became blended with the fairy stories of their old happy dream-life. When chivalry was at its height, from the twelfth to the fifteenth century, the strolling minstrels took up the legend, adapting it to the ideals of the times and to the tastes of their audiences in court and castle and market place.

In these songs and legends, Arthur appeared as a great king surrounded at his “Table Round” with valiant knights who, under vows of purity and holiness, went forth in daily quest of noble deeds. Early in the twelfth century the legends were carried back to England. A Welsh priest, Geoffrey of Monmouth, gave a form to these tales which became widely popular, and later from this version and others, Sir Thomas Malory wrote his story, “Le Morte D’Arthur” (The Death of Arthur). In 1485, William Caxton, the first English printer, published Sir Thomas’s story, which became the chief source of modern poets who have written on this theme. Among these, the English poet, Tennyson, in his beautiful “Idylls of the King,” has told the story of Arthur and his knights.

Britain at the time in which Arthur is supposed to have lived was a land of warring tribes. Christianity had gained little more than a foothold. It was an age in which might was greater than right. But when Arthur’s knights went forth at the command of their king, their aim was to overthrow the injustice and lawlessness then so common in the land. Wonderful deeds were done by that little company of brave men, who rode abroad “redressing wrongs.”

=Discussion.= 1. Is there a historical basis for the stories of Arthur? 2. How did they become interwoven with myth and legend? 3. When Arthur became king, what was the condition of the people of Britain? 4. Why did the barons oppose Arthur? 5. What reforms did Arthur introduce? 6. Read lines which show that Arthur thought of the poor as well as of the rich and the great. 7. What was the Round Table? 8. Read the lines that tell of the vows made by the knights. 9. What did the knights promise first? 10. Why do you think Arthur put this first? 11. What reason did Arthur give the sorceress for not wishing to remain longer in her castle? 12. Find a word in this speech that explains Arthur’s life. 13. Read lines which show Arthur’s generosity toward a foe. 14. What ideals of conduct did these stories uphold in times when might was greater than right? 15. Pronounce the following: joust; tournament; stanched.

=Phrases=

confusion alone was supreme, 92, 18 knightly exercises, 92, 30 pain of a fearful curse, 92, 37 great jousts, 93, 20 sore vexed, 93, 30 tender you my homage, 94, 10 foster father, 94, 31 of that kin, 95, 8 persisted in oppression, 95, 11 days of misrule, 95, 14 with pomp and ceremony, 96, 14 men of worship, 96, 18 put his person in adventure, 96, 19 courted peril, 96, 24 fulfill all her behests, 97, 3 raise the portcullis, 97, 4 courteous salutation, 97, 5 fain entreat of you, 97, 17 crave a boon of your chivalry, 97, 20 render true obedience, 98, 4 kept vigil, 99, 3 bear himself meetly, 99, 4 bear sway, 99, 11 in league with evil, 99, 17 petty realm, 99, 23 by mortal means, 99, 34 do my endeavor, 100, 11 to have you at disadvantage, 100, 13 dressed their shields, 100, 14 yield thee as recreant, 100, 27 stanched his wounds, 101, 9 good brand Excalibur, 102, 24

THE STORY OF GARETH

HOW BEAUMAINS CAME TO KING ARTHUR’S COURT

King Arthur had a custom that at the feast of Pentecost he would not go to meat until he had heard or seen a great marvel. And because of that custom all manner of strange adventures came before him at that feast.

So Sir Gawain, a little before noon of the day of Pentecost, saw from a window three men on horseback and a dwarf on foot, and one of the men was higher than the other two, by a foot and a half. Then Sir Gawain went unto the King and said, “Sir, go to your meat, for here at hand come strange adventures.”

Right so came into the hall two men and upon their shoulders there leaned the goodliest young man and the fairest that ever they all saw, and he was tall and large and broad in the shoulders and the fairest and largest-handed that ever man saw.

This young man said, “King Arthur, God bless you and all your fair fellowship. For this cause I am come hither, to pray you to give me three gifts and they shall not be unreasonably asked, but you may honorably grant them me. The first gift I will ask now and the other two I will ask this day twelvemonth.”

“Now ask,” said Arthur, “and ye shall have your asking.”

“Sir,” said the young man, “this is my petition, that ye will give me meat and drink for this twelvemonth, and at that day I will ask mine other two gifts.”

“My fair son,” said Arthur, “ask better, I counsel thee, for this is but simple asking; for my heart tells me that thou shalt prove a man of right great honor.”

“Sir,” said the young man, “be that as it may, I have asked that I will ask.”

“Well,” said the King, “ye shall have meat and drink enough; I never refused that to friend or foe. But what is thy name?”

“I cannot tell you,” said the young man.

“That is strange,” said the King, “that thou knowest not thy name and thou art the goodliest young man that ever I saw.”

Then the King charged Sir Kay, the steward, that he should give the young man meat and drink of the best as though he were a lord’s son.

“There is no need of that,” said Sir Kay, “for I am sure he is of lowly birth. If he had come of gentlemen he would have asked of you horse and armor, but such as he is, so he asketh. And as he hath no name I shall name him Beaumains, that is Fair-hands, and into the kitchen I shall take him.”

Then was Sir Gawain wroth and Sir Lancelot bade Sir Kay stop his mocking of the young man. But Sir Kay bade the young man sit down to meat with the boys of the kitchen and there he ate sadly. And then Sir Lancelot bade him come to his chamber and there he should have meat and drink enough. And this Sir Lancelot did of his great gentleness and courtesy. And Sir Gawain proffered him meat and drink, but he refused them both and thus he was put into the kitchen.

So he endured all that twelvemonth and never displeased man nor child, but always he was meek and kindly. But ever when there was any jousting of knights, that would he see if he might.

So it passed on till the feast of Pentecost. On that day there came a damsel into the hall and saluted the King and prayed for succor for her lady who was besieged in her castle.

“Who is your lady and what is his name who hath besieged her?” asked the King.

“Sir King,” she said, “my lady’s name shall ye not know from me at this time, but the tyrant that besiegeth her and destroyeth her lands is called the Red Knight of the Red Lands.”

“I know him not,” said the King.

“Sir,” said Sir Gawain, “I know him well; men say that he hath seven men’s strength and from him I escaped once full hard with my life.”

“Fair damsel,” said the King, “there be knights here would do their power to rescue your lady, but because you will not tell her name, none of my knights shall go with you by my will.”

Then Beaumains came before the King and said, “Sir King, I have been this twelvemonth in your kitchen and now I will ask my two gifts.”

“Ask,” said the King, “and right gladly will I grant them.”

“Sir, these shall be my two gifts, first that ye will grant me to have this adventure.”

“Thou shalt have it,” said the King.

“Then, sir, this is the other gift, that ye shall bid Sir Lancelot to make me knight. And I pray you let him ride after me and make me knight when I ask him.”

“All this shall be done,” said the King.

“Fie on thee,” said the damsel, “shall I have none but one that is your kitchen boy?”

Then was she wroth and took her horse and departed from him.

And with that there came one to Beaumains and told him his horse and armor were come and there was the dwarf ready with all things that he needed in the richest manner. So when he was armed there were few so goodly men as he was.

Then Sir Kay said all open in the hall, “I will ride after my boy of the kitchen, to see whether he will know me for his better.” And as Beaumains overtook the damsel, right so came Sir Kay and said, “Beaumains, what, sir, know ye not me?”

“Yea,” said Beaumains, “I know you for an ungentle knight of the court and therefore beware of me.”

Therewith Sir Kay put his spear in the rest and ran straight upon him, and Beaumains came as fast upon him with his sword and thrust him through the side, so that Sir Kay fell down as if he were dead and Beaumains took Sir Kay’s shield and spear and rode on his way.

When Sir Lancelot overtook him he proffered Sir Lancelot to joust and they came together fiercely and fought for an hour, and Lancelot marveled at Beaumains’ strength, for he fought more like a giant than a knight. So Sir Lancelot said, “Beaumains, fight not so sore; your quarrel and mine is not so great but we may leave off.”

“Truly that is truth,” said Beaumains, “but it doth me good to feel your might.”

“Hope ye that I may any while stand a proved knight?” said Beaumains.

“Yea,” said Lancelot, “do as ye have done and I shall be your warrant.”

“Then I pray you,” said Beaumains, “give me the order of knighthood.”

“Then must ye tell me your name,” said Lancelot.

“Sir,” he said, “my name is Gareth, and I am brother unto Sir Gawain.”

“Ah, sir,” said Lancelot, “I am more glad of you than I was, for ever methought ye should be of great blood and that ye came not to the court for meat or drink.”

Then Sir Lancelot gave him the order of knighthood and departed from him and came to Sir Kay and made him to be borne home upon his shield and he was healed of his wound.

But when Beaumains had overtaken the damsel, she said, “What dost thou here? Thou smellest of the kitchen, thy clothes be soiled with the grease and tallow that thou gainest in King Arthur’s kitchen. Therefore, turn again, dirty kitchen boy; I know thee well, for Sir Kay named thee Beaumains.”

“Damsel,” said Beaumains, “say to me what ye will, I will not go from you, whatever ye say, for I have undertaken to King Arthur for to achieve your adventure and so shall I finish it to the end or I shall die therefor.”

So thus as they rode in the wood, there came a man flying all that ever he might. “Whither wilt thou?” said Beaumains.

“O lord,” he said, “help me, for six thieves have taken my lord and bound him, so I am afraid lest they will slay him.”

“Bring me thither,” said Beaumains.

And so they rode together until they came where the knight was bound and then he rode unto the thieves and slew them all and unbound the knight. And the knight thanked him and prayed him to ride with him to his castle and he should reward him for his good deeds.

“Sir,” said Beaumains, “I will no reward have; I was this day made knight of noble Sir Lancelot and therefore I will no reward have but God reward me. Also I must follow this damsel.”

And when he came nigh her, she bade him ride from her. “For thou smellest of the kitchen,” she said. Then the same knight which was rescued rode after the damsel and prayed them to lodge with him that night, and so that night they had good cheer and rest.

And on the morrow the damsel and Beaumains rode on their way until they came to a great forest. And there was a river and but one passage and there were two knights to prevent their crossing. “What sayest thou,” said the damsel, “wilt thou match yonder knights or turn again?”

“Nay,” said Sir Beaumains, “I will not turn again if they were six more.” And therewith he rushed into the water and they drew their swords and smote at each other and Sir Beaumains slew both the knights.

“Alas,” said the damsel, “that a kitchen boy should have the fortune to destroy two such brave knights.”

“Damsel,” said Beaumains, “I care not what ye say, so that I may rescue your lady.”

“If you follow me,” said the damsel, “thou art but slain, for I see all that ever thou dost is but by misadventure and not by might of thy hands.”

“Well, damsel, ye may say what ye will, but wheresoever ye go, I will follow you.”

So Beaumains rode with that lady till evening and ever she chid him and would not stop. And they came to a black plain and there was a black hawthorne and thereon hung a black shield and by it stood a black spear, great and long, and a great black horse covered with silk.

HOW BEAUMAINS FOUGHT WITH THE FOUR KNIGHTS

There sat a knight all armed in black armor and his name was the Knight of the Black Lands. And when the damsel came nigh he said, “Damsel, have ye brought this knight of King Arthur to be your champion?” “Nay, fair knight,” said she, “this is but a kitchen boy that was fed in King Arthur’s kitchen for alms.”

“Why cometh he,” said the knight, “in such array? It is shame that he beareth you company.”

“Sir, I cannot be delivered of him; through mishap I saw him slay two knights at the passage of the water and other deeds he did before right marvelous and by chance.”

“I marvel,” said the Black Knight, “that any man that is of honor will fight with him.”

“They know him not,” said the damsel.

“That may be,” said the knight, “but this much I shall grant you; I shall put him down upon foot, and his horse and his armor he shall leave with me, for it were shame to me to do him any more harm.”

When Sir Beaumains heard him say thus, he said, “Sir Knight, thou art full liberal of my horse and armor. I let thee know it cost thee nought, and horse nor armor gettest thou none of mine unless thou win them with thy hands.”

Then in great wrath they departed with their horses and came together as it had been thunder. When they had fought for an hour and a half the Black Knight fell down off his horse in swoon and there he died. And Beaumains armed him in his armor and took his horse and rode after the damsel.

When she saw him come nigh, she said, “Away, kitchen boy, for the smell of thy clothes grieveth me. Alas, that a kitchen boy should by mishap slay so good a knight as thou hast done.”

“I warn you, fair damsel,” said Beaumains, “that I will not flee away nor leave your company for all that ye can say; therefore, ride on your way, for follow you I will, whatsoever happen.”

Thus as they rode together they saw a knight come driving by them all in green, both his horse and his armor, and when he came nigh the damsel, he asked her, “Is that my brother, the Black Knight, that ye have brought with you?”

“Nay, nay,” she said, “this kitchen boy hath slain your brother.”

“Ah! traitor,” said the Green Knight, “thou shalt die for slaying of my brother.”

“I defy thee,” said Beaumains, “for I slew him knightly and not shamefully.”

And then they ran together with all their might and fought a long while, and at last Beaumains gave the Green Knight such a buffet upon the helmet that he fell upon his knees. And then the Green Knight cried for mercy and prayed Sir Beaumains to slay him not.

“Fair knight,” said the Green Knight, “save my life and I will forgive thee the death of my brother and forever be thy man, and thirty knights that follow me shall forever do you service.”

“Sir Knight,” said Beaumains, “all this availeth thee not unless this damsel speak with me for thy life.” And therewith he made a motion as if to slay him.

“Let be,” said the damsel, “slay him not, for if thou do thou shalt repent it.”

Then Beaumains said, “Sir Knight, I release thee at this damsel’s request.”

And then the Green Knight kneeled down and did him homage with his sword, and he said, “Ye shall lodge with me this night and tomorrow I shall help you through this forest.” So they took their horses and rode to his manor.

And ever the damsel rebuked Beaumains and would not allow him to sit at her table. “I marvel,” said the Green Knight, “why ye rebuke this noble knight as ye do, for I warn you, damsel, he is a full noble knight and I know no knight is able to match him, therefore you do great wrong to rebuke him.”

And on the morrow they took their horses and rode on their way and the Green Knight said, “My lord Beaumains, I and these thirty knights shall be always at your summons both early and late.”

“It is well said,” said Beaumains; “when I call upon you ye must yield you unto King Arthur and all your knights.”

“If ye so command us, we shall be ready at all times,” said the Green Knight. So then departed the Green Knight.

So within a while they saw a town as white as any snow and the lord of the tower was in his castle and looked out at a window and saw a damsel and a knight. So he armed him hastily. And when he was on horseback, it was all red, both his horse and his armor. And when he came nigh he thought it was his brother, the Black Knight, and he cried aloud, “Brother, what do ye here?”

“Nay, nay,” said the damsel, “it is not he. This is but a kitchen boy. He hath killed thy brother, the Black Knight. Also I saw thy brother, the Green Knight, overcome by him. Now may ye be revenged on him.”

With this the knights came together with all their might and fought furiously for two hours, so that it was wonder to see that strong battle. Yet at the last, Sir Beaumains struck the Red Knight to the earth. And the Red Knight cried mercy, saying, “Noble knight, slay me not, and I shall yield me to thee with sixty knights that be at my command. And I forgive thee all thou hast done to me, and the death of my brother, the Black Knight.”

“All this availeth not,” said Beaumains, “unless the damsel pray me to save thy life.” And therewith he made a motion as if to slay him.

“Let be,” said the damsel; “slay him not, for he is a noble knight.”

Then Beaumains bade the Red Knight stand up and the Red Knight prayed them to see his castle and rest there that night. And upon the morn he came before Beaumains with his three score knights and offered him his homage and service.

“I thank you,” said Beaumains, “but this ye shall grant me: to come before my lord King Arthur and yield you unto him to be his knight, when I call upon you.”

“Sir,” said the Red Knight, “I will be ready at your summons.”

So Sir Beaumains departed and the damsel, and ever she rode chiding him.

“Damsel,” said Beaumains, “ye are uncourteous to rebuke me as ye do, for I have done you good service.”

“Well,” said she, “right soon ye shall meet a knight who shall pay thee all thy wages, for he is the greatest of the world, except King Arthur.”

And soon there was before them a city rich and fair, and between them and the city there was a fair meadow and therein were many pavilions fair to behold.

“Lo,” said the damsel, “yonder is a lord that owneth yonder city and his custom is when the weather is fair to joust in this meadow. And ever there be about him five hundred knights and gentlemen of arms.”

“That goodly lord,” said Beaumains, “would I fain behold.”

“Thou shalt see him time enough,” said the damsel, and so as she rode near she saw the pavilion where he was. “Lo,” said she, “seest thou yonder pavilion that is all blue of color, and the lord’s name is Sir Persant, the lordliest knight that ever thou lookedst on?”

“It may well be,” said Beaumains, “but be he never so stout a knight, in this field I shall abide until I see him.”

“Sir,” she said, “I marvel what thou art; boldly thou speakest and boldly thou hast done, that have I seen; therefore I pray thee save thyself, for thou and thy horse are weary and here I dread me sore lest ye catch some hurt. But I must tell you that Sir Persant is nothing in might unto the knight that laid the siege about my lady.”

“As for that,” said Sir Beaumains, “since I have come so nigh this knight, I will prove his might before I depart from him.”

“Oh,” said the damsel, “I marvel what manner of man ye be, for so shamefully did never woman treat knight as I have done you and ever courteously ye have borne it. Alas, Sir Beaumains, forgive me all that I have said or done against thee.”

“With all my heart,” said he, “I forgive you and now I think there is no knight living, but I am able enough for him.”

When Sir Persant saw them in the field, he sent to them to know whether Beaumains came in war or in peace.

“Say to thy lord,” said Beaumains, “that shall be as he pleases.”

And so Sir Persant rode against him, and his armor and trappings were blue, and Beaumains saw him and made him ready and their horses rushed together and they fought two hours and more. And at the last Beaumains smote Sir Persant that he fell to the earth. Then Sir Persant yielded him and asked mercy. With that came the damsel and prayed to save his life.

“I will gladly,” said Beaumains, “for it were pity this noble knight should die.”

“Now this shall I do to please you,” said Sir Persant, “ye shall have homage of me and an hundred knights to be always at your command.”

And so they went to Sir Persant’s pavilion to rest that night.

And so on the morn the damsel and Sir Beaumains took their leave.

“Fair damsel,” said Sir Persant, “whither are ye leading this knight?”

“Sir,” she said, “this knight is going to rescue my sister, Dame Liones, who is besieged in the Castle Perilous.”

“Ah,” said Sir Persant, “she is besieged by the Red Knight of the Red Lands, a man that is without mercy, and men say that he hath seven men’s strength. He hath been well nigh two years at this siege and he prolongeth the time, hoping to have Sir Lancelot to do battle with him, or Sir Tristam, or Sir Lamorak, or Sir Gawain.”

“My lord, Sir Persant,” said the damsel, “I require that ye will make this gentleman knight before he fight the Red Knight.”

“I will with all my heart,” said Sir Persant, “if it please him to take the order of knighthood from so simple a man as I am.”

“Sir,” said Beaumains, “I thank you for your goodwill, but the noble knight Sir Lancelot made me knight.”

“Ah,” said Sir Persant, “of a more renowned knight might ye not be made knight, for of all knights he may be called chief of knighthood; and so all the world saith that betwixt three knights is knighthood divided, Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristam, and Sir Lamorak. Therefore, God speed ye well, for if ye conquer the Red Knight, ye shall be called the fourth of the world.”

“Sir,” said Beaumains, “I would fain be of good fame and knighthood and I will tell you both who I am. Truly then, my name is Gareth of Orkney, and King Lot was my father, and my mother is King Arthur’s sister, and Sir Gawain is my brother and so Sir Agravaine and Sir Gaheris, and I am youngest of them all: And yet know not King Arthur nor Sir Gawain who I am.”

HOW THE LADY THAT WAS BESIEGED HAD WORD FROM HER SISTER

The lady that was besieged had word of her sister’s coming by the dwarf, and also how the knight had passed all the perilous passages.

“Dwarf,” said the lady, “I am glad of these things. Go thou unto my sister and greet her well and commend me unto that gentle knight and pray him to eat and to drink and make him strong, and say ye that I thank him for his courtesy and goodness.”

So the dwarf departed and told Sir Beaumains all as ye have heard and returned to the castle again. And there met him the Red Knight of the Red Lands and asked him where he had been.

“Sir,” said the dwarf, “I have been with my lady’s sister of this castle, and she hath been at King Arthur’s court and brought a knight with her.”

“Then I count her labor but lost, for though she had brought with her Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristam, Sir Lamorak, or Sir Gawain, I would think myself good enough for them all.”

“It may well be,” said the dwarf, “but this knight hath passed all the perilous passages and slain the Black Knight and won the Green Knight, the Red Knight, and the Blue Knight.”

“Then is he one of the four that I have named.”

“He is none of those,” said the dwarf.

“What is his name?” said the Red Knight.

“That will I not tell you,” said the dwarf.

“I care not,” said the Red Knight, “what knight soever he be, he shall have a shameful death as many others have had.”

And then Beaumains and the damsel came to a plain and saw many tents and a fair castle and there was much smoke and great noise and as they came near they saw upon great trees there hung nigh forty goodly armed knights.

“Fair sir,” said the damsel, “all these knights came to this siege to rescue my sister, and when the Red Knight of the Red Lands had overcome them, he put them to this shameful death without mercy or pity.”

“Truly,” said Beaumains, “he useth shameful customs and it is marvel that none of the noble knights of my lord Arthur have dealt with him.”

And there was near by a sycamore tree and there hung a horn and this Red Knight had hanged it up there, that if there came any errant knight he must blow that horn and then he would make him ready and come to him to do battle.

“Sir, I pray you,” said the damsel, “blow ye not the horn till it be high noon, for his strength increaseth until noon, and at this time men say he hath seven men’s strength.”

“Ah, for shame, fair damsel, say ye so never more to me, for I will win honorably, or die knightly in the field.”

Therewith he blew the horn so eagerly that the castle rang with the sound.

Then the Red Knight armed him hastily and all was blood red, his armor, spear, and shield.

“Sir,” said the damsel, “yonder is your deadly enemy and at yonder window is my sister.”

With that the Red Knight of the Red Lands called to Sir Beaumains, “Sir knight, I warn thee that for this lady I have done many strong battles.”

“If thou have so done,” said Beaumains, “it was but waste labor, and know, thou Red Knight of the Red Lands, I will rescue her or die.”

Then Sir Beaumains bade the damsel go from him, and then they put their spears in their rests and came together with all their might.

Then they fought till it was past noon and when they had rested a while they returned to the battle till evening, but at last Sir Beaumains smote the sword out of the Red Knight’s hand and smote him on the helmet, so that he fell to the earth.

Then the Red Knight said in a loud voice, “O noble knight, I yield me to thy mercy.”

But Sir Beaumains said, “I may not with honor save thy life, for the shameful deaths thou hast caused many good knights to die.”

“Sir,” said the Red Knight, “hold your hand and ye shall know the causes why I put them to so shameful a death.”

“Say on,” said Sir Beaumains.

“Sir, a lady prayed me that I would make her a promise by the faith of my knighthood that I would labor daily in arms, until I met Sir Lancelot or Sir Gawain, who, she said, had slain her brother, and this is the cause that I have put all these knights to death. And now I will tell thee that every day my strength increaseth till noon and all this time have I seven men’s strength.”

Then there came many earls and barons and noble knights and prayed Sir Beaumains to save his life.

“Sir,” they said, “it were fairer to take homage and let him hold his lands of you than to slay him; by his death ye shall have no advantage, and his misdeeds that be done may not be undone, and therefore he shall make amends to all parties and we all will become your men and do you homage.”

“Fair lords” said Beaumains, “I am loath to slay this knight; nevertheless he hath done shamefully, but insomuch all that he did was at a lady’s request, I will release him upon this condition, that he go within the castle and yield him to the lady, and if she will forgive him, I will. And also when that is done, that ye go unto the court of King Arthur and there that you ask Sir Lancelot mercy and Sir Gawain, for the evil will ye have had against them.”

“Sir,” said the Red Knight, “all this will I do as ye command.”

And so within a while the Red Knight went into the castle and promised to make amends for all that had been done against the lady. And then he departed unto the court of King Arthur and told openly how he was overcome and by whom.

Then said King Arthur and Sir Gawain, “We marvel much of what blood he is come, for he is a noble knight.”

“He is come of full noble blood,” said Sir Lancelot, “and as for his might and hardiness, there be but few now living so mighty as he is.”

HOW AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST ALL THE KNIGHTS THAT SIR GARETH HAD OVERCOME CAME AND YIELDED THEM TO KING ARTHUR

So leave we Sir Beaumains and turn we unto King Arthur, that at the next feast of Pentecost held his feast, and there came the Green Knight with thirty knights and yielded them all unto King Arthur. And so there came the Red Knight, his brother, and yielded him unto King Arthur and threescore knights with him. Also there came the Blue Knight, brother to them, with an hundred knights and yielded them unto King Arthur.

These three brethren told King Arthur how they were overcome by a knight that a damsel had with her and called him Beaumains.

“I wonder,” said the King, “what knight he is and of what lineage he is come.”

So, right as the King stood talking with these three brothers, there came Sir Lancelot and told the King that there was come a goodly lord and six hundred knights with him.

Then this lord saluted the King.

“Sir,” he said, “my name is the Red Knight of the Red Lands, and here I am sent by a knight that is called Beaumains, for he won me in battle hand for hand.”

“Ye are welcome,” said the King, “for ye have long been a great foe to me and my court and now I trust to God I shall so treat you that ye shall be my friend.”

“Sir, both I and these knights shall always be at your summons to do you service.”

“Then I shall make thee a knight of the Table Round, but thou must be no more a murderer.”

“Sir, as to that, I have promised Sir Beaumains never more to use such customs and I must go unto Sir Lancelot and to Sir Gawain and ask them forgiveness of the evil will I had unto them.”

“They be here now,” said the King, “before thee; now may ye say to them what ye will.”

And then he kneeled down unto Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain and prayed for forgiveness for the enmity that he had against them.

HOW THE QUEEN OF ORKNEY CAME TO THE FEAST

So then they went to meat, and as they sat at the meat there came in the Queen of Orkney with ladies and knights, a great number. And then Sir Gawain, Sir Agravaine, and Sir Gaheris arose and went to her and saluted her upon their knees and asked her blessing, for in fifteen years they had not seen her.

Then she spake to her brother, King Arthur, “Where is my young son, Sir Gareth? He was here a twelvemonth, and ye made a kitchen boy of him, which is shame to you all. Alas, where is my dear son that was my joy and my bliss?”

“O dear mother,” said Sir Gawain, “I knew him not.” “Nor I,” said the King, “but thank God he is proved an honorable knight as any now living of his years, and I shall never be glad until I find him.”

“Ah, brother,” said the Queen, “ye did yourself great shame when you kept my son in the kitchen.”

“Fair sister,” said the King, “I knew him not, nor did Sir Gawain. Also, sister, ye might have told me of his coming and then, if I had not done well to him, ye might have blamed me. For when he came to my court, he asked me three gifts and one he asked the same day; that was, that I would give him meat enough for that twelvemonth, and the other two gifts he asked that day a twelvemonth and that was that he might have the adventure for the damsel, and the third was that Sir Lancelot should make him knight when he desired him. And so I granted him all his desire.”

“Sir,” said the Queen, “I sent him to you well armed and horsed and gold and silver plenty to spend.”

“It may be,” said the King, “but thereof saw we none, save the day he departed from us, knights told me that there came a dwarf hither suddenly and brought him armor and a good horse, and thereat we all had marvel from whence those riches came.”

“Brother,” said the Queen, “all that ye say I believe, but I marvel that Sir Kay did mock and scorn him and gave him that so name Beaumains.”

“By the grace of God,” said Arthur, “he shall be found, so let all this pass and be merry, for he is proved to be a man of honor and that is my joy.”

Then said Sir Gawain and his brethren to Arthur, “Sir, if ye will give us leave, we will go and seek our brother.”

“Nay,” said Sir Lancelot, “that shall ye not need, for by my advice the King shall send unto Dame Liones a messenger and pray that she will come to the court in all the haste that she may and then she may give you best counsel where to find him.”

“That is well said of you,” said the King.

So the messenger was sent forth and night and day he went until he came to the Castle Perilous. And the lady was there with her brother and Sir Gareth. When she understood the message she went to her brother and Sir Gareth and told them how King Arthur had sent for her.

“That is because of me,” said Sir Gareth. “I pray you do not let them know where I am. I know my mother is there and all my brethren and they will take upon them to seek me.”

So the lady departed and came to King Arthur, where she was nobly received and there she was questioned by the King. And she answered that she could not tell where Sir Gareth was. But she said to Arthur, “Sir, I will have a tournament proclaimed to take place before my castle and the proclamation shall be this: that you, my lord Arthur, shall be there and your knights; and I will provide that my knights shall be against yours and then I am sure ye shall hear of Sir Gareth.”

“That is well advised,” said King Arthur, and so she departed.

When the Lady Liones returned to her home, she told what she had done and the promise she had made to King Arthur. Then Sir Gareth sent unto Sir Persant, the Blue Knight, and summoned him and his knights. Then he sent unto the Red Knight and charged him that he be ready with all his knights.

Then the Red Knight answered and said, “Sir Gareth, ye shall understand that I have been at the court of King Arthur and Sir Persant and his brethren and there we have done our homage as ye commanded us. Also, I have taken upon me with Sir Persant and his brethren to hold part against my lord, Sir Lancelot and the knights of that court. And this have I done for the love of you, my lord Sir Gareth.”

“Ye have well done,” said Sir Gareth, “but you must know you shall be matched with the most noble knights of the world; therefore we must provide us with good knights, wherever we may get them.”

So the proclamation was made in England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and in Brittany, that men should come to the Castle Perilous and all the knights should have the choice whether to be on the one party with the knights of the castle or on the other party with King Arthur. And so there came many good knights and chose to be on the side of the castle and against King Arthur and his knights.

HOW KING ARTHUR WENT TO THE TOURNAMENT

And there came with King Arthur many kings, princes, earls, barons, and other noble knights. Then Sir Gareth prayed Dame Liones and the Red Knight and Sir Persant that none should tell his name and that they should make no more of him than of the least knight that was there.

Upon the day of the tournament the heralds sounded the trumpets to call the knights to the field. After many noble knights had encountered, Sir Gareth came upon the field. All the knights that encountered him were overthrown.

“That knight is a good knight,” said King Arthur.

Wherefore the King called unto him Sir Lancelot and prayed him to encounter with that knight.

“Sir,” said Lancelot, “when a good knight doth so well upon some day, it is no good knight’s part to prevent him from receiving honor, and therefore, as for me, this day he shall have the honor; though it lay in my power to hinder him, I would not.”

Then betwixt many knights there was strong battle, and marvelous deeds of arms were done. And two knights, who were brothers, assailed Sir Lancelot at once and he, as the noblest knight of the world, fought with them both, so that all men wondered at the nobility of Sir Lancelot. And then came in Sir Gareth and knew that it was Sir Lancelot that fought with the two strong knights. So Sir Gareth came with his good horse and hurled them apart and no stroke would he smite to Sir Lancelot.

Sir Lancelot saw this and thought it must be the good Knight Sir Gareth and Sir Gareth rode here and there and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, so that all men said he best did his duty.

“Now go,” said King Arthur unto the heralds, “and ride about him and see what manner of knight he is, for I have inquired of many knights this day that be of his party and all say they know him not.”

And so a herald rode as near Sir Gareth as he could and there he saw written upon his helmet in gold, “Sir Gareth of Orkney.” Then the herald cried and many heralds with him, “This is Sir Gareth of Orkney.” Then all the kings and knights pressed to behold him and ever the heralds cried, “This is Sir Gareth of Orkney, King Lot’s son.”

When Sir Gareth saw that he was known, then he doubled his strokes and with great difficulty made his way out of the crowd, and rode into the forest. And then fell there a thunder and rain as though heaven and earth should go together.

Sir Gareth was not a little weary, for all that day he had but little rest, neither his horse nor he, and he rode in the forest until night came. And ever it lightened and thundered but at last by fortune he came to a castle.

HOW SIR GARETH CAME TO A CASTLE WHERE HE WAS WELL LODGED

Then Sir Gareth rode into the courtyard of the castle and prayed the porter to let him in. The porter answered, “Thou gettest no lodging here.”

“Fair sir, say not so, for I am a knight of King Arthur’s, and pray the lord or the lady of this castle to give me lodging for the love of King Arthur.”

Then the porter went unto the lady and told her there was a knight of King Arthur’s would have lodging.

“Let him enter,” said the lady, “for King Arthur’s sake.”

Then she went up into a tower over the gate with great torchlight. When Sir Gareth saw the light he cried aloud, “Whether thou be lord or lady, giant or champion, I care not, so that I may have lodging this night; and if it so be that I must fight, spare me not tomorrow when I have rested, for both I and mine horse be weary.”

“Sir Knight,” said the lady, “thou speakest knightly and boldly, but the lord of this castle loveth not King Arthur nor his court, for my lord hath been ever against him and therefore thou were better not to come within this castle, for if thou come in this night, then wherever thou meet my lord, thou must yield thee to him as prisoner.”

“Madam,” said Sir Gareth, “what is your lord’s name?”

“Sir, my lord’s name is the Duke de la Rowse.”

“Well, madam,” said Sir Gareth, “I shall promise you in whatever place I meet your lord, I shall yield me unto him and to his good grace, if I understand he will do me no harm; and if I understand that he will, I will release myself if I can, with my spear and my sword.”

“Ye say well,” said the lady, and then she let the drawbridge down and he rode into the hall and there he alit, and his horse was led into a stable. And in the hall he unarmed him and said, “Madam, I will not go out of this hall this night, and when it is daylight, whoever will fight me shall find me ready.”

Then was he set unto supper and had many good dishes, and so when he had supped, he rested him all night. And on the morn he took his leave and thanked the lady for her lodging and good cheer and then she asked him his name.

“Madam,” he said, “truly my name is Gareth of Orkney and some men call me Beaumains.”

So Sir Gareth departed and by fortune he came to a mountain and there he found a goodly knight, who said, “Abide, sir knight, and joust with me.”

“What are ye called?” said Sir Gareth.

“My name is the Duke de la Rowse.”

“Ah, sir, I lodged in your castle and there I made promise unto your lady that I should yield me unto you.”

“Ah,” said the duke, “art thou that proud knight that offerest to fight with my knights? Make thee ready, for I will fight with you.”

So they did battle together more than an hour and at last Sir Gareth smote the duke to earth and the duke yielded to him.

“Then must ye go,” said Sir Gareth, “unto King Arthur, my lord, at the next feast and say that I, Sir Gareth of Orkney, sent you unto him.”

“It shall be done,” said the duke, “and I will do homage to you, and a hundred knights with me, and all the days of my life do you service wherever you command me.”

HOW SIR GARETH AND SIR GAWAIN FOUGHT EACH AGAINST OTHER

So the duke departed and Sir Gareth stood there alone and then he saw an armed knight coming toward him. Then Sir Gareth mounted upon his horse and they ran together as it had been thunder. And so they fought two hours. At last came the damsel, who rode with Sir Gareth so long, and she cried, “Sir Gawain, Sir Gawain, leave thy fighting with thy brother Sir Gareth.”

And when he heard her say so he threw away his shield and his sword and ran to Sir Gareth and took him in his arms and then kneeled down and asked for mercy.

“Who are ye,” said Sir Gareth, “that right now were so strong and so mighty and now so suddenly yield you to me?”

“O Gareth, I am your brother, Gawain, that for your sake have had great sorrow and labor.”

Then Sir Gareth unlaced his helmet and kneeled down to him and asked for mercy. Then they rose and embraced each other and wept a great while and either of them gave the other the prize of the battle. And there were many kind words between them.

“Alas, my fair brother,” said Sir Gawain, “I ought of right to honor you, if you were not my brother, for ye have honored King Arthur and all his court, for ye have sent him more honorable knights this twelvemonth than six of the best of the Round Table have done except Sir Lancelot.”

Then the damsel went to King Arthur, who was but two miles thence. And when she told him of Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth, the King mounted a horse and bade the lords and ladies come after, who that would, and there was saddling and bridling of queens’ horses and princes’ horses and well was he that was soonest ready.

And when the King came nigh Sir Gareth, he made great joy and ever he wept as if he were a child. With that came Gareth’s mother and when she saw Gareth she might not weep, but suddenly fell down in a swoon and lay there a great while, as if she were dead. And then Sir Gareth comforted his mother in such wise that she recovered and made good cheer.

Then made Sir Lancelot great cheer of Sir Gareth and he of him, for there was never knight that Sir Gareth loved so well as he did Sir Lancelot, and ever for the most part he would be in Sir Lancelot’s company.

And this Sir Gareth was a noble knight and a well-ruled and fair-languaged.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Discussion.= 1. What classes of people are mentioned in this story? 2. Were the people of one class on terms of equality with those of another class? Do all have equal opportunities under such a system? 3. Upon what ideal was our government founded? 4. What reason can you give for Gareth’s wish to keep his name and rank secret? 5. One who wished to become a knight must first prove himself worthy of the honor; would it be easy for a kitchen boy to give this proof? 6. If, under such circumstances, he won the honor, could he feel sure that he had rightfully earned it? 7. What is the test to apply in judging others? 8. What characters in the story made rank their test? 9. Which one of these acknowledged the mistake? 10. How did Arthur, Lancelot, and Gawain judge Gareth? 11. Point out lines that help to portray the character of Gareth by showing: (1) that he wished to win knighthood through ability, not through influence of his rank and wealth; (2) that he would take no reward for helping the distressed; (3) that he was not afraid when outnumbered; (4) that he could not be turned from his purpose by ridicule or injustice; (5) that he granted mercy to those who asked it; (6) that he would not take an unfair advantage of an opponent; (7) that he was always courteous; (8) that he was ready to forgive wrongs done to him; (9) that he desired to help in righting wrongs in Arthur’s kingdom. 12. What reasons had Arthur for founding such an order as the Knights of the Round Table? 13. Is it necessary now to become a member of such an order if one wishes to help right wrongs? 14. Read the lines that tell of Gareth’s love for Sir Lancelot.

=Phrases=

ungentle knight, 107, 21 fight not so sore, 107, 31 your warrant, 108, 1 achieve your adventure, 108, 21 to be your champion, 109, 30 in such array, 109, 33 slew him knightly, 110, 33 be thy man, 111, 4 uncourteous to rebuke, 112, 26 errant knight, 116, 1 make amends, 117, 9 tournament proclaimed, 120, 15 to encounter with that knight, 121, 18 well-ruled and fair-languaged, 125, 8

THE PEERLESS KNIGHT LANCELOT

THE TOURNAMENT AT WINCHESTER

King Arthur proclaimed a great joust and a tournament that should be held at Camelot, that is Winchester; and the King said that he and the King of Scots would joust against all that would come against them. And when this proclamation was made, thither came many knights.

So King Arthur made him ready to depart to these jousts, but Sir Lancelot would not ride with the King, for he said he was suffering from a grievous wound. And so the King departed toward Winchester with his fellowship and by the way he lodged in a town called Astolat.

And upon the morn early Sir Lancelot departed and rode until he came to Astolat and there it happened in the evening, he came to the castle of an old baron, who was called Sir Bernard of Astolat. As Sir Lancelot entered into his lodging, King Arthur saw him and knew him full well.

“It is well,” said King Arthur unto the knights that were with him. “I have now seen one knight that will play his play at the jousts to which we are going. I undertake he will do great marvels.”

“Who is that, we pray you tell us?” said many knights that were there at that time.

“Ye shall not know from me,” said the King, “at this time.”

And so the King smiled and went to his lodging.

So when Sir Lancelot was in his lodging and unarmed him in his chamber, the old baron came to him and welcomed him in the best manner, but the old knight knew not Sir Lancelot.

“Fair sir,” said Sir Lancelot to his host, “I would pray you to lend me a shield that were not openly known, for mine is well known.”

“Sir,” said his host, “ye shall have your desire for meseemeth ye be one of the likeliest knights of the world and therefore I shall show you friendship. Sir, I have two sons that were but late made knights and the elder is called Sir Torre and he was hurt that same day he was made knight, that he may not ride and his shield ye shall have, for that is not known, I dare say, but here, and in no place else. And my younger son is called Lavaine and if it please you, he shall ride with you unto the jousts and he is of age and strong and brave; for much my heart giveth unto you that ye be a noble knight. Therefore, I pray you tell me your name,” said Sir Bernard.

“As for that,” said Sir Lancelot, “ye must hold me excused at this time and if God give me grace to speed well at the jousts, I shall come again and tell you. But, I pray you, in any wise, let me have your son, Sir Lavaine, with me and that I may have his brother’s shield.”

“All this shall be done,” said Sir Bernard.

This old baron had a daughter that was called at that time the fair maiden of Astolat and her name was Elaine. So this maiden besought Sir Lancelot to wear upon him at the jousts a token of hers.

“Fair damsel,” said Sir Lancelot, “if I grant you that, I will do more for you than ever I did for lady.”

Then he remembered him he would go to the jousts disguised. And because he had never before that time borne the token of any lady, then he bethought him that he would wear one of hers, that none of his blood thereby might know him. And then he said, “Fair maiden, I will grant you to wear a token of yours upon mine helmet and therefore what it is, show it me.”

“Sir,” she said, “it is a sleeve of mine, of scarlet, well embroidered with great pearls.”

And so she brought it him. So Sir Lancelot received it and gave the maiden his shield in keeping, and he prayed her to keep that until he came again.

So upon a day, on the morn, King Arthur and all his knights departed, for the King had tarried three days to abide his noble knights. And so when the King had gone, Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine made them ready to ride and either of them had white shields, and the red sleeve Sir Lancelot carried with him. So they took their leave of Sir Bernard, the old baron, and of his daughter the fair maiden of Astolat.

And then they rode till they came to Camelot and there was a great press of kings, dukes, earls, and barons and many noble knights. But there Sir Lancelot was lodged by means of Sir Lavaine with a rich burgess so that no man in that town knew who they were. And so they reposed them there, till the day of the tournament.

So the trumpets blew unto the field and King Arthur was set on a high place to behold who did best. Then some of the kings were that time turned upon the side of King Arthur. And then on the other party were the King of Northgalis and the King of the Hundred Knights and the King of Northumberland and Sir Galahad, the noble prince. But these three kings and this duke were passing weak to hold against King Arthur’s party, for with him were the noblest knights of the world.

So then they withdrew them, either party from other, and every man made him ready in his best manner to do what he might. Then Sir Lancelot made him ready and put the red sleeve upon his head and fastened it fast; and so Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine departed out of Winchester and rode into a little leaved wood behind the party that held against King Arthur’s party, and there they held them still till the parties smote together.

And then came in the King of Scots and the King of Ireland on Arthur’s party and against them came the King of Northumberland, and the King with the Hundred Knights smote down the King of Ireland. So there began a strong assail upon both parties. And there came in together many knights of the Table Round and beat back the King of Northumberland and the King of Northgalis.

When Sir Lancelot saw this, he said unto Sir Lavaine, “See, yonder is a company of good knights and they hold them together as boars that were chased with dogs.”

“That is truth,” said Sir Lavaine.

“Now,” said Sir Lancelot, “if ye will help me a little, ye shall see yonder fellowship that chaseth now these men on our side, that they shall go as fast backward as they went forward.”

“Sir, spare not,” said Sir Lavaine, “for I shall do what I may.”

Then Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine came in at the thickest of the press and there Sir Lancelot smote down five knights and all this he did with one spear; and Sir Lavaine smote down two knights. And then Sir Lancelot got another spear and there he smote down four knights and Sir Lavaine smote one.

And then Sir Lancelot drew his sword and there he smote on the right hand and on the left hand and by great force he unhorsed three knights; and then the knights of the Table Round withdrew them back, after they had gotten their horses as well as they might.

“Oh,” said Sir Gawain, “what knight is yonder that doth such, marvelous deeds of arms in that field?”

“I know well who he is,” said King Arthur, “but at this time I will not name him.”

“Sir,” said Sir Gawain, “I would say it were Sir Lancelot by his riding and the blows I see him deal, but ever meseemeth it should not be he, for that he beareth the red sleeve upon his head, for I know he never wore token of lady at a joust.”

“Let him be,” said King Arthur; “he will be better known and do more, or ever he depart.”

Then the party that was against King Arthur was well comforted and then they held them together that beforehand were sore pressed. So nine knights of Lancelot’s kin thrust in mightily, for they were all noble knights; and they, of great hate that they had unto him, thought to rebuke that noble knight, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Lavaine, for they knew them not. And so they came charging together and smote down many knights of Northgalis and Northumberland.

And when Sir Lancelot saw them fare so, he took a spear in his hand and there encountered with him all at once, Sir Bors, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel, and all they three smote him at once with their spears.

And with force of themselves they smote Sir Lancelot’s horse to the earth and by misfortune Sir Bors smote Sir Lancelot through the shield into the side and the spear broke and the head was left in his side.

When Sir Lavaine saw his master lie on the ground, he ran to the King of Scots and smote him to the earth; and by great force he took his horse and brought it to Sir Lancelot, and in spite of them all he made him to mount upon that horse. And then Sir Lancelot took a spear in his hand and there he smote Sir Bors, horse and man, to the earth. In the same wise he served Sir Ector and Sir Lionel.

And then Sir Lancelot drew his sword, for he felt himself so sore and hurt that he thought there to have had his death. And he smote down three knights more, but by this was Sir Bors horsed and then he came with Sir Ector and Sir Lionel and all they three smote with swords upon Sir Lancelot’s helmet. And when he felt their buffets and his wound, which was so grievous, then he thought to do what he might, while he might endure.

And then he gave Sir Bors such a buffet that he made him bow his head passing low; and therewith he smote off his helmet and might have slain him; and so pulled him down, and in the same wise he served Sir Ector and Sir Lionel. For he might have slain them, but when he saw their faces his heart might not serve him thereto, but left them there.

And so afterward he hurled into the thickest press of them all and did there the most marvelous deeds of arms that ever man saw or heard speak of, and ever Sir Lavaine, the good knight, with him. And there Sir Lancelot with his sword smote down and pulled down more than thirty knights and the most part were of the Table Round; and Sir Lavaine did full well that day, for he smote down ten knights of the Table Round.

“I marvel,” said Sir Gawain, “what knight that is with the red sleeve.”

“Sir,” said King Arthur, “he will be known before he depart.”

And then the trumpets blew and the prize was given by heralds unto the knight with the white shield that bore the red sleeve. Then came the King with the Hundred Knights, the King of Northgalis and the King of Northumberland and Sir Galahad, the noble prince, and said unto Sir Lancelot, “Fair knight, God thee bless, for much have you done this day for us; therefore, we pray you that ye will come with us, that ye may receive the honor and the prize, as ye have honorably deserved it.”

“My fair lords,” said Sir Lancelot, “if I have deserved thanks, I have sore bought it; and that me repenteth, for I am like never to escape with my life; therefore, fair lords, I pray you that ye will suffer me to depart where me liketh, for I am sore hurt. I care for no honor, for I would more gladly repose me than to be lord of all the world.”

And therewithal he groaned piteously and rode away from them until he came to a wood. And when he saw that he was from the field nigh a mile, that he was sure he might not be seen, then he said, “O gentle knight, Sir Lavaine, help me that this spear were out of my side, for it slayeth me.”

“O mine own lord,” said Sir Lavaine, “I would fain do that might please you, but I dread me sore, if I pull out the spear, that ye shall be in peril of death.”

“I charge you,” said Sir Lancelot, “as ye love me, draw it out.”

And therewithal he descended from his horse and right so did Sir Lavaine; and forthwith Sir Lavaine drew the spear out of his side and he gave a great shriek and so swooned, pale and deadly.

“Alas,” said Sir Lavaine, “what shall I do?”

And so at the last Sir Lancelot cast up his eyes and said, “O Lavaine, help me that I were on my horse, for here is fast by within this two miles a gentle hermit, that sometime was a full noble knight and a great lord of possessions. And for great goodness he hath taken him to poverty and his name is Sir Baudwin of Brittany and he is a full noble surgeon. Now let see, help me up that I were there, for ever my heart telleth me that I shall never die of my cousin’s hands.”

And then with great pain Sir Lavaine helped him upon his horse. And then they rode together and so by fortune they came to that hermitage, the which was in a wood and a great cliff on the other side and fair water running under it. And Sir Lavaine beat on the gate and there came a fair child to them and asked them what they would.

“Fair son,” said Sir Lavaine, “go and pray thy lord, the hermit, to let in here a knight that is full sore wounded; and this day, tell thy lord, I saw him do more deeds of arms than ever I heard say that any man did.”

So the child went in lightly and then he brought the hermit, the which was a passing good man. When Sir Lavaine saw him, he prayed him for succor.

“What knight is he?” said the hermit. “Is he of the house of Arthur or not?”

“I know not,” said Sir Lavaine, “what is he or what is his name, but well I know I saw him do marvelously this day, as of deeds of arms.”

“On whose party was he?” said the hermit.

“Sir,” said Lavaine, “he was this day against King Arthur and there he won the prize from all the knights of the Round Table.”

“I have seen the day,” said the hermit, “I would have loved him the worse because he was against my lord, King Arthur, for sometime I was one of the fellowship of the Round Table, but I thank God, now I am otherwise disposed. But where is he? Let me see him.”

And when the hermit beheld him, he thought that he should know him, but he could not bring him to knowledge because he was so pale.

“What knight are ye?” said the hermit.

“My fair lord,” said Lancelot, “I am a stranger and a knight adventurous, that laboreth throughout many realms for to win honor.”

Then the hermit saw by a wound on his cheek that he was Sir Lancelot.

“Alas,” said the hermit, “mine own lord, why conceal you your name from me? Forsooth, I ought to know you of right, for ye are the noblest knight of the world, for well I know you for Sir Lancelot.”

“Sir,” said he, “since ye know me, help me if ye can, for I would be out of this pain at once, either to death or to life.”

“Have ye no doubt,” said the hermit, “ye shall live and fare right well.”

And so the hermit called to him two of his servants and they bore him into the hermitage and lightly unarmed him and laid him in his bed. And then anon the hermit stanched his blood and soon Sir Lancelot was well refreshed and knew himself.

Now turn we unto King Arthur and leave we Sir Lancelot in the hermitage. So when the kings were come together on both parties and the great feast should be held, King Arthur asked the King of Northgalis and their fellowship, where was that knight that bore the red sleeve.

“Bring him before me, that he may have his praise and honor and the prize as it is right.”

Then spake Sir Galahad, the noble prince, “We suppose that knight is injured and that he is never like to see you nor any of us all, and that is the greatest pity that ever we knew of any knight.”

“Alas,” said Arthur, “how may this be? Is he so hurt? What is his name?”

“Truly,” said they all, “we know not his name, nor from whence he came nor whither he went.”

“Alas,” said the King, “this be to me the worst tidings that came to me this seven year, for I would not for all the lands I possess to know that that noble knight were slain.”

“Know ye him?” said they all.

“As for that,” said Arthur, “whether I know him or not, ye shall not know from me what man he is, but God send me good tidings of him.”

“If it so be that the good knight be so sore hurt,” said Sir Gawain, “it is great damage and pity to all this land, for he is one of the noblest knights that ever I saw in a field handle a spear or a sword; and if he may be found, I shall find him, for I am sure he is not far from this town.”

Right so Sir Gawain took a squire with him and rode all about Camelot within six or seven miles, but so he came again and could hear no word of him. Then within two days King Arthur and all the fellowship returned unto London again.

And so as they rode by the way, it happened that Sir Gawain lodged with Sir Bernard where was Sir Lancelot lodged. And Sir Bernard and his daughter, Elaine, came to him to cheer him and to ask him who did best at that tournament.

“There were two knights,” said Sir Gawain, “that bore two white shields, but one of them bore a red sleeve upon his head and certainly he was one of the best knights that ever I saw joust in field. For I dare say, that one knight with the red sleeve smote down forty knights of the Table Round and his fellow did right well and honorably.”

“Now I thank God,” said Elaine, “that that knight sped so well.”

“Know ye his name?” said Sir Gawain.

“Nay, truly,” said the maiden, “I know not his name, nor whence he cometh.”

“Tell me, then, how had ye knowledge of him first?” said Sir Gawain.

Then she told him as ye have heard before, and how her father intrusted her brother to him to do him service and how her father lent him her brother’s shield, “And here with me he left his shield,” she said.

“For what cause did he so?” said Sir Gawain.

“For this cause,” said the damsel, “for his shield was too well known among many noble knights.”

“Ah, fair damsel,” said Sir Gawain, “please it you let me have a sight of that shield.”

So when the shield was come, Sir Gawain knew it was Sir Lancelot’s shield.

“Ah,” said Sir Gawain, “now is my heart heavier than ever it was before.”

“Why?” said Elaine.

“I have great cause,” said Sir Gawain; “the knight that owneth this shield is the most honorable knight of the world.”

“So I thought ever,” said Elaine.

“But I dread me,” said Sir Gawain, “that ye shall never see him in this world and that is the greatest pity that ever was of earthly knight.”

“Alas,” said she, “how may this be? Is he slain?”

“I say not so,” said Sir Gawain, “but he is grievously wounded and more likely to be dead than to be alive and he is the noble knight, Sir Lancelot, for by this shield I know him.”

“Alas,” said Elaine, “how may this be and what was his hurt?”

“Truly,” said Sir Gawain, “the man in the world that loved him best, hurt him so, and I dare say, if that knight that hurt him knew that he had hurt Sir Lancelot, it would be the most sorrow that ever came to his heart.”

“Now, fair father,” said Elaine, “I require you give me leave to ride and to seek him and my brother, Sir Lavaine.”

“Do as it liketh you,” said her father, “for me sore repenteth of the hurt of that noble knight.”

Then on the morn Sir Gawain came to King Arthur and told him how he had found Sir Lancelot’s shield in the keeping of the fair maiden of Astolat.

“All that I knew beforehand,” said King Arthur, “for I saw him when he came to his lodging full late in the evening, in Astolat.”

So the King and all came to London and there Sir Gawain openly disclosed to all the Court, that it was Sir Lancelot that jousted best.

And when Sir Bors heard that, he was a sorrowful man and so were all his kinsmen. And Sir Bors said, “I will haste me to seek him and find him wheresoever he be and God send me good tidings of him.”

SIR LANCELOT AT THE HERMITAGE

And so we will leave Sir Bors and speak of Sir Lancelot that lay in great peril. So as Elaine came to Winchester she sought there all about, and by fortune, Sir Lavaine rode forth to exercise his horse. And anon as Elaine saw him she knew him, and she called to him. When he heard her, he came to her and then she asked her brother how did his lord, Sir Lancelot.

“Who told you, sister, that my lord’s name was Sir Lancelot?”

Then she told how Sir Gawain by his shield knew him. So they rode together until they came to the hermitage. So Sir Lavaine brought her in to Sir Lancelot and when she saw him so sick and pale she said, “My lord Sir Lancelot, alas, why be ye in this plight?”

But Sir Lancelot said, “Fair maiden, if ye be come to comfort me, ye be right welcome; and of this little hurt that I have, I shall be right hastily whole by the grace of God. But, I marvel who told you my name?”

Then the fair maiden told him all, how Sir Gawain was lodged with her father, “And there by your shield he discovered you.”

So Elaine watched Sir Lancelot and cared for his wound and did such attendance to him that the story saith that never man had a kindlier nurse. Then Sir Lancelot prayed Sir Lavaine to make inquiries in Winchester for Sir Bors and told him by what tokens he should know him, by a wound in his forehead.

“For well I am sure that Sir Bors will seek me,” said Sir Lancelot, “for he is the same good knight that hurt me.”

Now turn we to Sir Bors that came unto Winchester to seek after his cousin Sir Lancelot. And so when he came to Winchester, anon there were men that Sir Lavaine had made to watch for such a man and anon Sir Lavaine had warning; and then Sir Lavaine came to Winchester and found Sir Bors and there he told him who he was and with whom he was and what was his name.

“Now, fair knight,” said Sir Bors, “I require you that ye will bring me to my lord, Sir Lancelot.”

“Sir,” said Sir Lavaine, “take your horse and within this hour ye shall see him.”

And so they departed and came to the hermitage. And when Sir Bors saw Sir Lancelot lie in his bed, pale and discolored, anon Sir Bors lost his countenance and for kindness and pity he might not speak but wept tenderly for a great while.

And then, when he might speak, he said thus, “O my lord, Sir Lancelot, God you bless, and send you hasty recovery; and full heavy am I of my misfortune and mine unhappiness, for now I may call myself unhappy. And I dread me that God is greatly displeased with me, that He would suffer me to have such a shame for to hurt you, that are our leader and our honor and therefore I call myself unhappy. Alas, that ever such a miserable knight, as I am, should have power by unhappiness to hurt the noblest knight of the world! Where I so shamefully set upon you and over-charged you, and where ye might have slain me, ye saved me; and so did not I, for I and your kindred did to you our uttermost. I marvel, that my heart or my blood would serve me, wherefore, my lord Sir Lancelot, I ask your mercy.”

“Fair cousin,” said Sir Lancelot, “ye be right welcome; and much ye say which pleaseth me not, for I have the same I sought; for I would with pride have overcome you all, and there in my pride, I was near slain and that was my own fault, for I might have given you warning of my being there. And then would I have had no hurt; for it is an old saying, there is hard battle when kin and friends do battle, either against other, for there may be no mercy but mortal war. Therefore, fair cousin, all shall be welcome that God sendeth; and let us leave off this matter and let us speak of some rejoicing, for this that is done may not be undone; and let us find a remedy how soon I may be whole.”

Then Sir Bors leaned upon his bed and told him how Sir Gawain knew him by the shield he left with the fair maiden of Astolat and so they talked of many more things. And so within three or four days Sir Lancelot was big and strong again.

Then Sir Bors told Sir Lancelot how there was a great tournament and joust agreed upon between King Arthur and the King of Northgalis.

“Is that the truth?” said Sir Lancelot. “Then shall ye abide with me still a little while, until that I be whole, for I feel myself right big and strong.”

Then were they together nigh a month and ever this maiden Elaine did her diligent labor for Sir Lancelot, so that there never was a child or wife meeker to her father or husband, than was that fair maiden of Astolat; wherefore Sir Bors was greatly pleased with her.

So upon a day, Sir Lancelot thought to try his armor and his spear. And so when he was upon his horse, he stirred him fiercely, and the horse was passing strong and fresh, because he had not been labored for a month. And then Sir Lancelot couched that spear in the rest. That courser leaped mightily when he felt the spurs and he that was upon him, the which was the noblest horse in the world, strained him mightily and kept still the spear in the rest and therewith Sir Lancelot strained himself with so great force, to get the horse forward that the wound opened and he felt himself so feeble, that he might not sit upon his horse.

And then Sir Lancelot cried unto Sir Bors, “Ah, Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine, help me, for I am come to my end.” And therewith he fell down to the earth as if he were dead.

And then Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine came to him with sorrow. Then came the holy hermit, Sir Baudwin of Brittany, and when he found Sir Lancelot in that plight, he said but little, but know ye well that he was wroth; and then he bade them, “Let us have him in.”

And so they all bare him into the hermitage and unarmed him and laid him in his bed and evermore his wound bled piteously, but he stirred no limb. Then the knight hermit put a little water in his mouth and Sir Lancelot waked of his swoon and then the hermit stanched his bleeding.

And when he might speak he asked Sir Lancelot why he put his life in jeopardy.

“Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “because I thought I had been strong and also Sir Bors told me that there should be great jousts betwixt King Arthur and the King of Northgalis and therefore I thought to try it myself, whether I might be there or not.”

“Ah, Sir Lancelot,” said the hermit, “your heart and your courage will never be done, until your last day, but ye shall do now by my counsel. Let Sir Bors depart from you and let him do at that tournament what he may. And by the grace of God, by that the tournament be done, and ye come hither again, Sir Lancelot shall be as whole as ye, if so be that he will be governed by me.”

Then Sir Bors made him ready to depart from Sir Lancelot; and then Sir Lancelot said, “Fair cousin, Sir Bors, recommend me unto all them unto whom I ought to recommend me. And I pray you, exert yourself at the jousts that ye may be best, for my love; and here shall I abide you at the mercy of God till ye come again.”

And so Sir Bors departed and came to the court of King Arthur and told them in what place he had left Sir Lancelot.

“That grieveth me,” said the King, “but since he shall have his life we all may thank God.”

And then every knight of the Round Table that was there at that time present, made him ready to be at the jousts and thither drew many knights of many countries. And as the time drew near, thither came the King of Northgalis, and the King with the Hundred Knights and Sir Galahad, the noble prince, and thither came the King of Ireland and the King of Scots. So these three kings came on King Arthur’s party.

And that day Sir Gawain did great deeds of arms and began first. And the heralds numbered that Sir Gawain smote down twenty knights. Then Sir Bors came in the same time, and he was numbered that he smote down twenty knights and therefore the prize was given betwixt them both, for they began first and longest endured.

Also Sir Gareth did that day great deeds of arms, for he smote down and pulled down thirty knights. But when he had done these deeds he tarried not, but so departed, and therefore he lost his prize. And Sir Palomides did great deeds of arms that day for he smote down twenty knights, but he departed suddenly, and men thought Sir Gareth and he rode together to some adventures.

So when this tournament was done, Sir Bors departed, and rode till he came to Sir Lancelot, his cousin; and then he found him on his feet and there either made great joy of other; and so Sir Bors told Sir Lancelot of all the jousts, like as ye have heard.

“I marvel,” said Sir Lancelot, “at Sir Gareth when he had done such deeds of arms, that he would not tarry.”

“Thereof we marvel all,” said Sir Bors, “for except you, or Sir Tristam, or Sir Lamorak, I saw never knight bear down so many in so little a while, as did Sir Gareth, and anon he was gone, we knew not where.”

“By my head,” said Sir Lancelot, “he is a noble knight and a mighty man and well breathed; and if he were well tried, I would think he were good enough for any knight that beareth the life; and he is a gentle knight, courteous, true, bounteous, meek, and mild, and in him is no manner of evil, but he is plain, faithful, and true.”

So then they made them ready to depart from the hermit. And so upon a morn, they took their horses and Elaine with them and when they came to Astolat, they were well lodged and had great cheer of Sir Bernard, the old baron, and of Sir Torre, his son. And upon the morrow, Sir Lancelot took his leave and came unto Winchester.

And when King Arthur knew that Sir Lancelot was come whole and sound the King made great joy of him, and so did Sir Gawain and all the knights except Sir Agravaine and Sir Modred.

THE DEATH OF ELAINE

Now speak we of the fair maiden of Astolat, that made such sorrow day and night that she never slept, ate, or drank because she grieved so for Sir Lancelot. So when she had thus endured ten days, she became so feeble that she knew she must die.

And then she called her father, Sir Bernard, and her brother, Sir Torre, and heartily she prayed her father that her brother might write a letter as she did tell him, and so her father granted her. And when the letter was written, word by word as she said, then she prayed her father, saying, “When I am dead, let this letter be put in my right hand and my hand bound fast with the letter, and let me be put in a fair bed with all the richest clothes that I have about me, and so let my bed be laid with me in a chariot and carried unto the Thames. And there let me be put within a barge and but one man with me, such as ye trust to steer me thither. And let my barge be covered with black samite over and over; thus, father, I beseech you let it be done.”

So her father granted it her faithfully, all things should be done as she asked. Then her father and her brother made great sorrow, for they knew she was dying. And so when she was dead her body was placed in a barge and a man steered the barge unto Westminster, and there he rowed a great while to and fro before any saw him.

So by fortune, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were speaking together at a window and so as they looked out on the Thames, they saw this black barge and marveled what it meant. Then the King called Sir Kay and showed it to him.

“Go thither,” said the King to Sir Kay, “and take with you Sir Brandiles and Sir Agravaine and bring word what is there.”

Then these knights departed and came to the barge and went in; and there they found the fair maiden lying in a rich bed, and a poor man sitting in the barge’s end and no word would he speak. So these knights returned unto the King again and told him what they found.

And then the King took the Queen by the hand and went thither. Then the King made the barge to be held fast and then the King and Queen entered with certain knights with them, and there they saw the fairest maiden in a rich bed, covered with many rich clothes and all was cloth of gold, and she lay as though she smiled.

Then the Queen saw a letter in her right hand and told the King. Then the King took it and said, “Now I am sure this letter will tell what she was and why she is come hither.”

So then the King and the Queen went out of the barge, and so when the King was come within his chamber, he called many knights about him, and said he would know openly what was written within that letter. Then the King opened it and made a clerk read it, and this was the letter:

“Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, I was called the Fair Maiden of Astolat. Pray for my soul and give me burial at least. This is my last request. Pray for my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art a peerless knight.”

This was all the substance of the letter. And when it was read, the King, the Queen, and all the knights wept for pity. Then was Sir Lancelot sent for; and when he was come King Arthur made the letter to be read to him.

And when Sir Lancelot heard it word by word, he said, “My lord, King Arthur, I am right sorrowful because of the death of this fair damsel. She was both fair and good and much was I indebted to her for her care. I offered her for her kindness that she showed me, a thousand pounds yearly, whensoever she would wed some good knight, and always while I live to be her own knight.”

Then said the King unto Sir Lancelot, “It will be to your honor that ye see that she be buried honorably.”

“Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “that shall be done as I can best do it.”

And so upon the morn she was buried richly, and all the knights of the Round Table were there with Sir Lancelot. And then the poor man went again with the barge.

THE TOURNAMENT AT WESTMINSTER

So time passed on till Christmas and then every day there were jousts made for a diamond, who that jousted best should have a diamond. But Sir Lancelot would not joust, but if it were at a great joust. But Sir Lavaine jousted there passing well and best was praised, for there were but few that did so well. Wherefore, all manner of knights thought that Sir Lavaine should be made Knight of the Round Table at the next feast of Pentecost. So after Christmas, King Arthur called unto him many knights and there they advised together to make a great tournament. And the King of Northgalis said to Arthur that he would have on his party the King of Ireland and the King with the Hundred Knights and the King of Northumberland and Sir Galahad, the noble prince. And so then four kings and this mighty duke took part against King Arthur and the Knights of the Table Round.

And the proclamation was made that the jousts should be at Westminster, and so the knights made them ready to be at the jousts in the freshest manner. Then Queen Guinevere sent for Sir Lancelot and said thus, “I forbid you that ye ride in jousts or tournaments, unless your kinsmen know you. And at these jousts that be, ye shall have of me a sleeve of gold, and I charge you, that ye warn your kinsmen that ye will bear that day the sleeve of gold upon your helmet.”

“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “it shall be done.”

And when Sir Lancelot saw his time, he told Sir Bors that he would depart and have no one with him but Sir Lavaine, unto the good hermit that dwelt in the forest of Windsor, and there he thought to repose him and take all the rest that he might, so that he would be fresh at that day of jousts.

So Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine departed, that no creature knew where he was gone, but the noble men of his blood. And when he was come to the hermitage he had good cheer. And so daily Sir Lancelot would go to a well, fast by the hermitage and there he would lie down and see the well spring and bubble, and sometimes he slept there.

So when the day was come Sir Lancelot planned that he should be arrayed, and Sir Lavaine and their horses, as though they were Saracens, and so they departed and came nigh to the field.

The King of Northgalis brought with him a hundred knights, and the King of Northumberland brought with him a hundred good knights, and the King of Ireland brought with him a hundred good knights ready to joust, and Sir Galahad brought with him a hundred good knights, and the King with the Hundred Knights brought with him as many, and all these were proved good knights.

Then came in King Arthur’s party, and there came in the King of Scots with a hundred knights, and King Uriens brought with him a hundred knights, and King Howel of Brittany brought with him a hundred knights, and King Arthur himself came into the field with two hundred knights and the most part were knights of the Table Round, that were proved noble knights, and there were old knights set in a high place, to judge with the Queen who did best.

Then the heralds blew the call to the field, and then the King of Northgalis encountered with the King of Scots and then the King of Scots had a fall: and the King of Ireland smote down King Uriens and the King of Northumberland smote down King Howel of Brittany. And then King Arthur was wroth and ran to the King with the Hundred Knights and there King Arthur smote him down; and after, with that same spear, King Arthur smote down three other knights. And when his spear was broken, King Arthur did exceedingly well; and so therewith came in Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravaine and Sir Modred, and there each of them smote down a knight, and Sir Gawain smote down four knights.

Then began a strong battle, for there came in the knights of Sir Lancelot’s kindred and Sir Gareth and Sir Palomides with them, and many knights of the Table Round, and they began to press the four kings and the mighty duke so hard that they were discomfited; but this Duke Galahad was a noble knight and by his mighty prowess he held back the knights of the Table Round.

All this saw Sir Lancelot and then he came into the field with Sir Lavaine as if it had been thunder. And then anon Sir Bors and the knights of his kindred saw Sir Lancelot, and Sir Bors said to them all, “I warn you beware of him with the sleeve of gold upon his head, for he is Sir Lancelot himself.”

And for great goodness Sir Bors warned Sir Gareth. “I am well satisfied,” said Sir Gareth, “that I may know him.” “But who is he,” said they all, “that rideth with him in the same array?”

“That is the good and gentle knight, Sir Lavaine,” said Sir Bors.

So Sir Lancelot encountered with Sir Gawain and there by force Sir Lancelot smote down Sir Gawain and his horse to the earth, and so he smote down Sir Agravaine and Sir Gaheris and also he smote down Sir Modred, and all this was with one spear. Then Sir Lavaine met with Sir Palomides and either met other so hard and so fiercely, that both their horses fell to the earth. And then they were horsed again, and then met Sir Lancelot with Sir Palomides and there Sir Palomides had a fall; and so Sir Lancelot, without stopping, as fast as he might get spears, smote down thirty knights and the most part of them were knights of the Table Round; and ever the knights of his kindred withdrew and fought in other places where Sir Lancelot came not.

And then King Arthur was wroth when he saw Lancelot do such deeds for he knew not that it was Sir Lancelot; and then the King called unto him nine knights and so the King with these knights made ready to set upon Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine.

All this saw Sir Bors and Sir Gareth.

“Now I dread me sore,” said Sir Bors, “that my lord Sir Lancelot will be hard matched.”

“By my head,” said Sir Gareth, “I will ride unto my lord Sir Lancelot, to help him, come what may; for he is the same man that made me knight.”

“Ye shall not do so by mine counsel,” said Sir Bors, “unless that ye were disguised.”

“Ye shall see me disguised,” said Sir Gareth.

Therewithal he saw a Welsh knight, who was sore hurt by Sir Gawain, and to him Gareth rode and prayed him of his knighthood to lend him his green shield in exchange for his own.

“I will gladly,” said the Welsh knight.

Then Sir Gareth came driving to Sir Lancelot all he might and said, “Knight, defend thyself, for yonder cometh King Arthur with nine knights with him to overcome you, and so I am come to bear you fellowship for old love ye have showed me.”

“I thank you greatly,” said Sir Lancelot.

“Sir,” said Gareth, “encounter ye with Sir Gawain and I will encounter with Sir Palomides and let Sir Lavaine match with the noble King Arthur.”

Then came King Arthur with his nine knights with him, and Sir Lancelot encountered with Sir Gawain and gave him such a buffet that Sir Gawain fell to the earth. Then Sir Gareth encountered with the good knight, Sir Palomides, and he gave him such a buffet that both he and his horse fell to the earth. Then encountered King Arthur with Sir Lavaine and there either of them smote the other to the earth, horse and all, so that they lay a great while.

Then Sir Lancelot smote down Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Modred, and Sir Gareth smote down Sir Kay, Sir Safere, and Sir Griflet. And then Sir Lavaine was horsed again and he smote down Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, and then there began a great press of good knights. Then Sir Lancelot dashed here and there and smote off and pulled off helmets, so that none might strike him a blow with spear or with sword; and Sir Gareth did such deeds of arms that all men marveled what knight he was with the green shield, for he smote down that day and pulled down more than thirty knights.

And Sir Lancelot marveled, when he beheld Sir Gareth do such deeds, what knight he might be! and Sir Lavaine pulled down and smote down twenty knights. Also Sir Lancelot knew not Sir Gareth, for if Sir Tristam or Sir Lamorak had been alive, Sir Lancelot would have thought he had been one of the two.

So this tournament continued till it was near night, for the Knights of the Round Table rallied ever unto King Arthur, for the King was wroth that he and his knights might not prevail that day. Then Sir Gawain said to the King, “I marvel where all this day Sir Bors and his fellowship of Sir Lancelot’s kindred have been. I marvel all this day they be not about you. It is for some cause,” said Sir Gawain.

“By my head,” said Sir Kay, “Sir Bors is yonder all this day upon the right hand of this field and there he and his kindred have won more honor than we have.”

“It may well be,” said Sir Gawain, “but I believe this knight with the sleeve of gold is Sir Lancelot himself. I know it by his riding and by his great strokes. And the other knight in the same colors is the good young knight, Sir Lavaine. Also, that knight with the green shield is my brother, Sir Gareth, and he has disguised himself, for no man shall ever make him be against Sir Lancelot, because he made him knight.”

“Nephew, I believe you,” said King Arthur; “therefore tell me now what is your best counsel.”

“Sir,” said Gawain, “ye shall have my counsel. Let the heralds blow the close of the tournament, for if he be Sir Lancelot and my brother, Sir Gareth, with him, with the help of that good young knight, Sir Lavaine, trust me, it will be no use to strive with them, unless we should fall ten or twelve upon one knight, and that were no glory, but shame.”

“Ye say truth,” said the King; “it were shame to us, so many as we be, to set upon them any more; for they be three good knights and, particularly, that knight with the sleeve of gold.”

So the trumpets blew and forthwith King Arthur sent to the four kings and to the mighty duke and prayed them that the knight with the sleeve of gold depart not from them, but that the King might speak with him. Then King Arthur unarmed him and rode after Sir Lancelot. And so he found him with the four kings and the duke and there the King prayed them all unto supper and they said they would, with good will.

And when they were unarmed, then King Arthur knew Sir Lancelot, Sir Lavaine and Sir Gareth.

“Ah, Sir Lancelot,” said the King, “this day ye have heated me and my knights.”

And so they went unto King Arthur’s lodging all together, and there was a great feast and the prize was given unto Sir Lancelot; and the heralds announced that he had smitten down fifty knights, and Sir Gareth, five and thirty, and Sir Lavaine, four and twenty knights.

Then King Arthur blamed Sir Gareth, because he left his fellowship and held with Sir Lancelot.

“My lord,” said Sir Gareth, “he made me a knight and when I saw him so hard pressed, methought it was my duty to help him, for I saw him do so much and so many noble knights against him; and when I understood that he was Sir Lancelot, I was ashamed to see so many knights against him alone.”

“Truly,” said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, “ye say well, and manfully have you done and won for yourself great honor, and all the days of my life I shall love you and trust you more and more. For ever it is an honorable knight’s deed to help another honorable knight when he seeth him in great danger; for ever an honorable man will be sorry to see a brave man shamed. But he that hath no honor, and acts with cowardice, never shall he show gentleness nor any manner of goodness, where he seeth a man in any danger; for then ever will a coward show no mercy. And always a good man will do ever to another man as he would be done to himself.”

So then there were great feasts and games and play, and all manner of noble deeds were done; and he that was courteous, true, and faithful to his friend, was that time cherished.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Discussion.= 1. What was the condition of Arthur’s kingdom when he began to reign? 2. What was Arthur’s purpose in founding the Order of the Round Table? 3. Why was a training in strength and bravery in battle necessary to these knights? 4. What way of supplying this training is described in this story? 5. Tell what you know of this custom. 6. Have we any contests of skill that bear any resemblance to this in method or purpose? 7. Give a brief account of the tournament at Winchester. 8. What plan had Lancelot for disguising himself? 9. What reasons had he for such a plan? 10. How was Lancelot’s personality shown in the impression he made on the baron? 11. What custom of the joust is indicated by Elaine’s request? 12. Picture the scene as the tournament opened; where was the King? Where were the opposing knights? 13. What knightly qualities did Lancelot show in this contest? 14. How would a “full noble surgeon” of King Arthur’s time compare with a present-day surgeon? 15. Why did Lancelot call his injury “a little hurt” when speaking to Elaine? 16. What qualities are we told were most admired in the days of chivalry? 17. Is this true of the present time? 18. What quality of Lancelot do you admire most?

=Phrases=

with his fellowship, 126, 9 undertake he will do marvels, 126,18 likeliest knight, 126, 31 my heart giveth unto you, 127, 7 with a rich burgess, 128, 6 a strong assail, 128, 27 might not serve him thereto, 130, 19 suffer me, 131, 6 a full noble surgeon, 131, 27 prayed him for succor, 132, 5 bring him to knowledge, 132, 21 openly disclosed, 135, 20 lost his countenance, 136, 28 mighty prowess, 144, 4

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR

HOW SIR MODRED PLOTTED AGAINST SIR LANCELOT AND OF THE DEATH OF SIR GAWAIN AND TWELVE KNIGHTS

Before Merlin passed from the world of men, he uttered many marvelous prophecies and one that boded ill for King Arthur. He foretold that a son of Arthur’s sister should stir up bitter war against the King and that a great battle should be fought in the West when many brave men should find their doom.

Among the nephews of King Arthur was one most dishonorable; his name was Modred. No knightly deed had he ever done and he hated even to hear the good report of others. Of all who sat at the Round Table there was none that Modred hated more than Sir Lancelot du Lac, whom all true knights held in most honor. In his jealous rage he spoke evil of the Queen and Sir Lancelot. Now Modred’s brothers, Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth, refused to listen to these slanders, holding that Sir Lancelot, in his knightly service to the Queen, did honor to King Arthur also.

When these evil tales reached King Arthur, he rebuked the tale bearers and declared his faith in Sir Lancelot and his lady, the Queen. But Modred, enraged by the rebuke, determined to find cause against them, and not long after it seemed that the occasion had come. For when King Arthur had ridden forth to hunt far from Carlisle, where he then held court, the Queen sent for Lancelot to speak with her in her bower. Modred and his brother, Sir Agravaine, got together twelve knights, persuading them that they were doing the King a service. They waited until they saw Lancelot enter all unarmed and then called to him to come forth. The whole court echoed with their cries of “Traitor.” Lancelot, arming himself in haste, rushed out upon them and soon the entire company lay cold in death upon the earth. Only Modred escaped, for he fled, but even so he was sore wounded.

OF THE TRIAL OF THE QUEEN

When Modred escaped from Sir Lancelot he got to horse, all wounded as he was, and never drew rein until he had found King Arthur, to whom he told all that had happened.

Then great was the King’s grief. Despite all that Modred could say, he was slow to doubt Sir Lancelot, whom he loved, but his mind was filled with forebodings; for many a knight had been slain and well he knew that their kin would seek vengeance on Sir Lancelot, and the noble fellowship of the Round Table be utterly destroyed by their feuds.

All too soon it proved even as the King had feared. Many were found to hold with Sir Modred; some because they were kin to the knights that had been slain, some from envy of the honor and worship of the noble Sir Lancelot; and among them even were those who dared to raise their voice against the Queen herself, calling for judgment upon her as leagued with a traitor against the King, and as having caused the death of so many good knights. Now in those days the law was that if any one were accused of treason by witnesses, or taken in the act, that one should die the death by burning, be it man or woman, knight or churl. So then the murmurs grew to a loud clamor that the law should have its course, and that King Arthur should pass sentence on the Queen. Then was the King’s woe doubled.

“For,” said he, “I sit as King to be a rightful judge and keep all the law; wherefore I may not do battle for my own Queen, and now there is none other to help her.”

So a decree was issued that Queen Guinevere should be burnt at the stake outside the walls of Carlisle.

Forthwith, King Arthur sent for his nephew, Sir Gawain, and said to him:

“Fair nephew, I give it in charge to you to see that all is done as has been decreed.”

But Sir Gawain answered boldly: “Sir King, never will I be present to see my lady the Queen die. It is of ill counsel that ye have consented to her death.”

Then the King bade Gawain send his two young brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, to receive his commands, and these he desired to attend the Queen to the place of execution. So Gareth made answer for both:

“My Lord the King, we owe you obedience in all things, but know that it is sore against our wills that we obey you in this; nor will we appear in arms in the place where that noble lady shall die”; then sorrowfully they mounted their horses and rode to Carlisle.

When the day appointed had come, the Queen was led forth to a place without the walls of Carlisle, and there she was bound to the stake to be burnt to death. Loud were her ladies’ lamentations, and many a lord was found to weep at that grievous sight of a Queen brought so low; yet was there none who dared come forward as her champion, lest he should be suspected of treason. As for Gareth and Gaheris, they could not bear the sight, and stood with their faces covered in their mantles. Then, just as the torch was to be applied to the fagots, there was a sound as of many horses galloping, and the next instant a band of knights rushed upon the astonished throng, their leader cutting down all who crossed his path until he had reached the Queen, whom he lifted to his saddle and bore from the press. Then all men knew that it was Sir Lancelot, come knightly to rescue the Queen, and in their hearts they rejoiced. So with little hindrance they rode away, Sir Lancelot and all his kin with the Queen in their midst, till they came to the castle of the Joyous Garde, where they held the Queen in safety and all reverence.

But of that day came a kingdom’s ruin; for among the slain were Gawain’s brothers Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris. Now Sir Lancelot loved Sir Gareth as if he had been his own younger brother, and himself had knighted him; but, in the press, he struck at him and killed him, not seeing that he was unarmed and weaponless; and in like wise, Sir Gaheris met his death. So when word was brought to King Arthur of what had passed, Sir Gawain asked straightway how his brothers had fared.

“Both are slain,” said the messenger.

“Alas! my dear brothers!” cried Sir Gawain; “how came they by their death?”

“They were both slain by Sir Lancelot,” said the messenger.

“That will I never believe,” cried Sir Gawain; “for my brother, Sir Gareth, had such love for Sir Lancelot that there was naught Sir Lancelot could ask him that he would not do.”

But the man said again, “He is slain, and by Sir Lancelot.”

Then, from sheer grief, Sir Gawain fell swooning to the ground. When he was recovered, he said:

“My lord and uncle, is it even as this man says, that Sir Lancelot has slain my brother Sir Gareth?”

“Alas!” said the King. “Lancelot rode upon him in the press and slew him, not seeing who he was or that he was unarmed.”

“Then,” cried Gawain fiercely, “here I make my vow. Never, while my life lasts, will I leave Sir Lancelot in peace until he has rendered me account for the slaying of my brothers.”

From that day forth, Sir Gawain would not suffer the King to rest until he had gathered all his host and marched against the Joyous Garde. Thus began the war which broke up the fellowship of the Round Table.

HOW SIR GAWAIN DEFIED SIR LANCELOT

Now it came to the ears of the Pope in Rome that King Arthur was besieging Sir Lancelot in the castle of the Joyous Garde, and it grieved him that there should be strife between two such goodly knights, the like of whom was not to be found in Christendom. So he called to him the Bishop of Rochester and bade him carry word to Britain, both to Arthur and to Sir Lancelot, that they should be reconciled, the one to the other, and that King Arthur should receive again Queen Guinevere.

Forthwith Sir Lancelot desired of King Arthur assurance of liberty and reverence for the Queen, as also safe conduct for himself and his knights, that he might bring Queen Guinevere with due honor to the King at Carlisle; and thereto the King pledged his word.

So Lancelot set forth with the Queen, and behind them rode a hundred knights arrayed in green velvet, the housings of the horses of the same, all studded with precious stones; thus they passed through the city of Carlisle openly, in the sight of all, and there were many who rejoiced that the Queen was come again and Sir Lancelot with her, though they of Gawain’s party scowled upon him.

When they were come into the great hall where Arthur sat with Sir Gawain and other great lords about him, Sir Lancelot led Guinevere to the throne and both knelt before the King; then rising, Sir Lancelot lifted the Queen to her feet and thus he spoke to King Arthur, boldly and well, before the whole court:

“My lord, Sir Arthur, I bring you here your Queen, than whom no truer nor nobler lady ever lived; and here stand I, Sir Lancelot du Lac, ready to do battle with any that dare gainsay it”; and with these words Sir Lancelot turned and looked upon the lords and knights present in their places, but none would challenge him in that cause, not even Sir Gawain, for he had ever affirmed that Queen Guinevere was a true and honorable lady.

Then Sir Lancelot spoke again: “Now, my Lord Arthur, in my own defense it behooves me to say that never in aught have I been false to you. That I slew certain knights is true, but I hold me guiltless, seeing that they brought death upon themselves. For no sooner had I gone to the Queen’s bower, as she had commanded me, than they beset the door with shameful outcry, that all the court might hear, calling me traitor and felon knight.”

“And rightly they called you,” cried Sir Gawain fiercely.

“My Lord, Sir Gawain,” answered Sir Lancelot, “in their quarrel they proved not themselves right, else had not I, alone, encountered fourteen knights and come forth unscathed.”

Then said King Arthur: “Sir Lancelot, I have ever loved you above all other knights, and trusted you to the uttermost; but ill have ye done by me and mine.”

“My lord,” said Lancelot, “that I slew Sir Gareth I shall mourn as long as life lasts. As soon would I have slain my own nephew, Sir Bors, as have harmed Sir Gareth wittingly; for I myself made him knight, and loved him as a brother.”

“Liar and traitor,” cried Sir Gawain, “ye slew him, defenseless and unarmed.”

“It is full plain, Sir Gawain,” said Lancelot, “that never again shall I have your love; and yet there has been old kindness between us, and once ye thanked me that I saved your life.”

“It shall not avail you now,” said Sir Gawain; “traitor ye are, both to the King and to me. Know that while life lasts, never will I rest until I have avenged my brother Sir Gareth’s death upon you.”

“Fair nephew,” said the King, “cease your bawling. Sir Lancelot has come under surety of my word that none shall do him harm. Elsewhere, and at another time, fasten a quarrel upon him, if quarrel ye must.”

“I care not,” cried Sir Gawain fiercely. “The proud traitor trusts so in his own strength that he thinks none dare meet him. But here I defy him and swear that, be it in open combat or by stealth, I shall have his life. And know, mine uncle and King, if I shall not have your aid, I and mine will leave you for ever and, if need be, fight even against you.”

“Peace,” said the King, and to Sir Lancelot: “We give you fifteen days in which to leave this kingdom.”

Then Sir Lancelot sighed heavily and said, “Full well I see that no sorrow of mine for what is past availeth me.”

Then he went to the Queen where she sat, and said: “Madam, the time is come when I must leave this fair realm that I have loved. Think well of me, I pray you, and send for me if ever there be aught in which a true knight may serve a lady.” Therewith he turned him about and, without greeting to any, passed through the hall, and with his faithful knights, rode to the Joyous Garde, though ever thereafter, in memory of that sad day, he called it the Dolorous Garde.

There he called about him his friends and kinsmen, saying, “Fair knights, I must now pass into my own lands.” Then they all, with one voice, cried that they would go with him. So he thanked them, promising them all fair estates and great honor when they were come to his kingdom; for all France belonged to Sir Lancelot. Yet was he loath to leave the land where he had followed so many glorious adventures, and sore he mourned to part in anger from King Arthur.

“My mind misgives me,” said Sir Lancelot, “but that trouble shall come of Sir Modred, for he is envious and a mischief-maker, and it grieves me that never more I may serve King Arthur and his realm.”

So Sir Lancelot sorrowed; but his kinsmen, wroth for the dishonor done him, made haste to depart and, by the fifteenth day, they were all embarked to sail overseas to France.

HOW KING ARTHUR AND SIR GAWAIN WENT TO FRANCE

From the day when Sir Lancelot brought the Queen to Carlisle, never would Gawain suffer the King to be at rest; but always he desired him to call his army together that they might go to attack Sir Lancelot in his own land.

Now King Arthur was loath to war against Sir Lancelot, and seeing this, Sir Gawain upbraided him bitterly.

“I see well it is naught to you that my brother, Sir Gareth, died fulfilling your behest. Little ye care if all your knights be slain, if only the traitor Lancelot escape. Since, then, ye will not do me justice nor avenge your own nephew, I and my fellows will take the traitor when and how we may. He trusts in his own might that none can encounter with him; let see if we may not entrap him.”

Thus urged, King Arthur called his army together and ordered that a great fleet be collected; for rather would he fight openly with Sir Lancelot than that Sir Gawain should bring such dishonor upon himself as to slay a noble knight treacherously. So with a great host, the King passed overseas to France, leaving Sir Modred to rule Britain in his stead.

When Lancelot heard that King Arthur and Sir Gawain were coming against him, he withdrew into the strong castle of Benwick; for unwilling, indeed, was he to fight with the King, or to do an injury to Sir Gareth’s brother. The army passed through the land, laying it waste, and presently encamped about the castle, besieging it closely; but so thick were the walls and so watchful the garrison that in no way could they prevail against it.

One day, there came to Sir Lancelot seven brethren, brave knights of Wales, who had joined their fortunes to his, and said:

“Sir Lancelot, bid us sally forth against this host which has invaded and laid waste your lands, and we will scatter it; for we are not wont to cower behind walls.”

“Fair lords,” answered Lancelot, “it is grief to me to war on good Christian knights and especially upon my lord, King Arthur. Have but patience, and I will send to him and see if, even now, there may not be a treaty of peace between us, for better far is peace than war.”

So Sir Lancelot sought out a damsel and, mounting her upon a palfrey, bade her ride to King Arthur’s camp and require of the King to cease warring on his lands, proffering fair terms of peace. When the damsel came to the camp, there met her Sir Lucan the Butler.

“Fair damsel,” said Sir Lucan, “do ye come from Sir Lancelot?”

“Yea, in good truth,” said the damsel; “and, I pray you, lead me to King Arthur.”

“Now may ye prosper in your errand,” said Sir Lucan. “Our King loves Sir Lancelot dearly and wishes him well; but Sir Gawain will not suffer him to be reconciled to him.”

So when the damsel had come before the King, she told him all her tale, and much she said of Sir Lancelot’s love and goodwill to his lord the King, so that the tears stood in Arthur’s eyes. But Sir Gawain broke in roughly:

“My lord and uncle, shall it be said of us that we came hither with such a host to hie us home again, nothing done, to be the scoff of all men?”

“Nephew,” said the King, “methinks Sir Lancelot offers fair and generously. It were well if ye would accept his proffer. Nevertheless, as the quarrel is yours, so shall the answer be.”

“Then, damsel,” said Sir Gawain, “say unto Sir Lancelot that the time for peace is past. And tell him that I, Sir Gawain, swear by the faith I owe to knighthood that never will I forego my revenge.”

So the damsel returned to Sir Lancelot and told him all. Sir Lancelot’s heart was filled with grief nigh unto breaking; but his knights were enraged and clamored that he had endured too much of insult and wrong, and that he should lead them forth to battle. Sir Lancelot armed him sorrowfully and presently the gates were set open and he rode forth, he and all his company. But to all his knights he had given commandment that none should seek King Arthur; “for never,” said he, “will I see the noble King who made me knight, either killed or shamed.”

Fierce was the battle between those two hosts. On Lancelot’s side, Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine and many another did right well; while on the other side, King Arthur bore him as the noble knight he was, and Sir Gawain raged through the battle, seeking to come at Sir Lancelot. Presently, Sir Bors encountered King Arthur and unhorsed him. This Sir Lancelot saw and, coming to the King’s side, he alighted and raising him from the ground, mounted him upon his own horse. Then King Arthur, looking upon Lancelot, cried, “Ah! Lancelot, Lancelot! That ever there should be war between us two!” and tears stood in the King’s eyes.

“Ah! my Lord Arthur,” cried Sir Lancelot, “I pray you stop this war.”

As they spoke thus, Sir Gawain came upon them and, calling Sir Lancelot traitor and coward, had almost ridden upon him before Lancelot could find another horse. Then the two hosts drew back, each on its own side, to see the battle between Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain; for they wheeled their horses and, departing far asunder, rushed again upon each other with the noise of thunder, and each bore the other from his horse. Then they put their shields before them and set on each other with their swords; but while ever Sir Gawain smote fiercely, Sir Lancelot was content only to ward off blows, because he would not, for Sir Gareth’s sake, do any harm to Sir Gawain. But the more Sir Lancelot forebore him, the more furiously Sir Gawain struck, so that Sir Lancelot had much ado to defend himself and at the last smote Gawain on the helm so mightily that he bore him to the ground. Then Sir Lancelot stood back from Sir Gawain. But Gawain cried:

“Why do ye draw back, traitor knight? Slay ye while ye may, for never will I cease to be your enemy while my life lasts.”

“Sir,” said Lancelot, “I shall withstand you as I may; but never will I smite a fallen knight.”

Then he spoke to King Arthur: “My Lord, I pray you, if only for this day, draw off your men. And think upon our former love if ye may; but, be ye friend or foe, God keep you.”

Thereupon Sir Lancelot drew off his men into his castle and King Arthur and his company to their tents. As for Sir Gawain, his squires bore him to his tent where his wounds were dressed.

OF MODRED THE TRAITOR

So Sir Gawain lay healing of the grim wound which Sir Lancelot had given him, and there was peace between the two armies, when there came messengers from Britain bearing letters for King Arthur; and more evil news than they brought might not well be, for they told how Sir Modred had usurped his uncle’s realm. First, he had caused it to be noised abroad that King Arthur was slain in battle with Sir Lancelot and, since there be many ever ready to believe any idle rumor and eager for any change, it had been no hard task for Sir Modred to call the lords to a Parliament and persuade them to make him king. But the Queen could not be brought to believe that her lord was dead, so she took refuge in the Tower of London from Sir Modred’s violence, nor was she to be induced to leave her strong refuge for aught that Modred could promise or threaten.

This was the news that came to Arthur as he lay encamped about Sir Lancelot’s castle of Benwick. Forthwith, he bade his host make ready to move and, when they had reached the coast they embarked and made sail to reach Britain with all possible speed.

Sir Modred, on his part, had heard of their sailing and hasted to get together a great army. It was grievous to see how many a stout knight held by Modred, ay, even many whom Arthur himself had raised to honor and fortune; for it is the nature of men to be fickle. Thus it was that, when Arthur drew near to Dover, he found Modred with a mighty host waiting to oppose his landing. Then there was a great sea-fight, those of Modred’s party going out in boats, great and small, to board King Arthur’s ships and slay him and his men or ever they should come to land. Right valiantly, did King Arthur bear him, as was his wont, and boldly his followers fought in his cause, so that at last they drove off their enemies and landed at Dover in spite of Modred and his array. For that time Modred fled, and King Arthur bade those of his party bury the slain and tend the wounded.

So as they passed from ship to ship, salving and binding the hurts of the men, they came at last upon Sir Gawain, where he lay at the bottom of a boat, wounded to the death, for he had received a great blow on the wound that Sir Lancelot had given him. They bore him to his tent and his uncle, the King, came to him, sorrowing beyond measure.

“Methinks,” said the King, “my joy on earth is done; for never have I loved any men as I have loved you, my nephew, and Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot I have lost, and now I see you on your death-bed.”

“My King,” said Sir Gawain, “my hour is come and I have got my death at Sir Lancelot’s hand; for I am smitten on the wound he gave me. And rightly am I served, for of my wilfulness and stubbornness comes this unhappy war. I pray you, my uncle, raise me in your arms and let me write to Sir Lancelot before I die.”

Thus, then, Sir Gawain wrote: “To Sir Lancelot, the noblest of all knights, I, Gawain, send greeting before I die. For I am smitten on the wound ye gave me before your castle of Benwick in France, and I bid all men bear witness that I sought my own death and that ye are innocent of it. I pray you, by our friendship of old, come again into Britain and, when ye look upon my tomb, pray for Gawain of Orkney. Farewell.”

So Sir Gawain died and was buried in the Chapel at Dover.

OF THE BATTLE IN THE WEST

The day after the battle at Dover, King Arthur and his host pursued Sir Modred to Barham Down, where again there was a great battle fought, with much slaughter on both sides; but, in the end, Arthur was victorious, and Modred fled to Canterbury.

Now by this time, many that Modred had cheated by his lying reports, had drawn unto King Arthur, to whom at heart they had ever been loyal, knowing him for a true and noble King and hating themselves for having been deceived by such a false usurper as Sir Modred. Then when he found that he was being deserted, Sir Modred withdrew to the far West, for there men knew less of what had happened, and so he might still find some to believe in him and support him; and being without conscience, he even called to his aid the heathen hosts that his uncle, King Arthur, had driven from the land in the good years when Lancelot was of the Round Table.

King Arthur followed ever after, for in his heart was bitter anger against the false nephew who had brought woe upon him and all his realm. At the last, when Modred could flee no further, the two hosts were drawn up near the shore of the great western sea; and it was the Feast of the Holy Trinity.

That night, as King Arthur slept, he thought that Sir Gawain stood before him, looking just as he did in life, and said to him:

“My uncle and my King, God in his great love has suffered me to come unto you, to warn you that in no wise ye fight on the morrow; for if ye do, ye shall be slain and with you the most part of the people on both sides. Make ye, therefore, treaty for a month and within that time, Sir Lancelot shall come to you with all his knights and ye shall overthrow the traitor and all that hold with him.”

Therewith Sir Gawain vanished. Immediately the King awoke and called to him the best and wisest of his knights, the two brethren, Sir Lucan the Butler and Sir Bedivere and others, to whom he told his dream. Then all were agreed that, on any terms whatsoever, a treaty should be made with Sir Modred, even as Sir Gawain had said; and with the dawn, messengers went to the camp of the enemy, to call Sir Modred to a conference. So it was determined that the meeting should take place in the sight of both armies, in an open space between the two camps, and that King Arthur and Modred should each be accompanied by fourteen knights. Little enough faith had either in the other, so when they set forth to the meeting, they bade their hosts join battle if ever they saw a sword drawn. Thus they went to the conference.

Now as they talked, it happened that an adder, coming out of a bush hard by, stung a knight in the foot; and he, seeing the snake, drew his sword to kill it and thought no harm thereby. But on the instant that the sword flashed, the trumpets blared on both sides and the two hosts rushed to battle. Never was there fought a fight of such bitter enmity, for brother fought with brother, and comrade with comrade, and fiercely they cut and thrust, with many a bitter word between; while King Arthur himself, his heart hot within him, rode through and through the battle, seeking the traitor Modred. So they fought all day till at last the evening fell. Then Arthur, looking around him, saw of his valiant knights but two left, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, and these sore wounded; and there, over against him, by a great heap of the dead, stood Sir Modred, the cause of all this ruin. Thereupon the King, his heart nigh broken with grief for the loss of his true knights, cried with a loud voice, “Traitor! now is thy doom upon thee!” and with his spear gripped in both hands, he rushed upon Sir Modred and smote him that the weapon stood out a fathom behind. And Sir Modred knew that he had his death-wound. With all the might that he had, he thrust him up the spear to the haft and, with his sword, struck King Arthur upon the head that the steel pierced the helmet and bit into the head; then Sir Modred fell back, stark and dead.

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere went to the King where he lay, swooning from the blow, and bore him to a little chapel on the seashore. As they laid him on the ground, Sir Lucan fell dead beside the King, and Arthur, coming to himself, found but Sir Bedivere alive beside him.

THE DEATH OF ARTHUR

So King Arthur lay wounded to the death, grieving, not that his end was come, but for the desolation of his kingdom and the loss of his good knights. And looking upon the body of Sir Lucan, he sighed and said:

“Alas! true knight, dead for my sake! If I lived, I should ever grieve for thy death, but now mine own end draws nigh.”

Then turning to Sir Bedivere, who stood sorrowing beside him, he said: “Leave weeping now, for the time is short and much to do. Hereafter shalt thou weep if thou wilt. But take now my sword Excalibur, hasten to the water side and fling it into the deep. Then watch what happens and bring me word thereof.”

“My Lord,” said Sir Bedivere, “your command shall be obeyed”; and taking the sword, he departed. But as he went on his way he looked on the sword, how wondrously it was formed, and the hilt all studded with precious stones; and, as he looked, he called to mind the marvel by which it had come into the King’s keeping. For on a certain day, as Arthur walked on the shore of a great lake, there had appeared above the surface of the water a hand brandishing a sword. On the instant, the King had leaped into a boat, and, rowing into the lake, had got the sword and brought it back to land. Then he had seen how, on one side the blade, was written, “Keep me,” but on the other, “Throw me away,” and sore perplexed, he had shown it to Merlin, the great wizard, who said: “Keep it now. The time for casting away has not yet come.”

Thinking on this, it seemed to Bedivere that no good, but harm, must come of obeying the King’s word; so hiding the sword under a tree, he hastened back to the little chapel.

Then said the King: “What saw’st thou?”

“Sir,” answered Bedivere, “I saw naught but the waves, heard naught but the wind.”

“That is untrue,” said King Arthur; “I charge thee, as thou art true knight, go again and spare not to throw away the sword.”

Sir Bedivere departed a second time and his mind was to obey his lord; but when he took the sword in his hand, he thought:

“Sin it is and shameful, to throw away so glorious a sword.” Then hiding it again, he hastened back to the King.

“What saw’st thou?” said King Arthur.

“Sir, I saw the water lap on the crags.”

Then spoke the King in great wrath: “Traitor and unkind! Twice hast thou betrayed me! Art dazzled by the splendor of the jewels, thou that, till now, hast ever been dear and true to me? Go yet again, but if thou fail me this time, I will arise and, with mine own hands, slay thee.”

Then Sir Bedivere left the King and, that time, he took the sword quickly from the place where he had hidden it and, forbearing even to look upon it, he twisted the belt about it and flung it with all his force into the water. A wondrous sight he saw, for, as the sword touched the water, a hand rose from out the deep, caught it, brandished it thrice and threw it beneath the surface.

So Bedivere hastened back to the King and told him what he had seen.

“It is well,” said Arthur; “now, bear me to the water’s edge and hasten, I pray thee, for I have tarried over long and my wound has taken cold.”

So Sir Bedivere raised the King on his back and bore him tenderly to the lonely shore, where the lapping waves floated many an empty helmet and the fitful moonlight fell on the upturned faces of the dead. Scarce had they reached the shore when there hove in sight a barge, and on its deck stood three tall women, robed all in black and wearing crowns on their heads.

“Place me in the barge,” said Arthur, and softly Sir Bedivere lifted the King into it. And these three queens wept sore over Arthur, and one took his head in her lap and chafed his hands, crying:

“Alas! my brother, thou hast been overlong in coming, and I fear me thy wound has taken cold.”

Then the barge began to move slowly forth from the land. When Sir Bedivere saw this, he lifted up his voice and cried with a bitter cry:

“Ah! my Lord Arthur, thou art taken from me! And I, whither shall I go?”

“Comfort thyself,” said the King, “for in me is no comfort more. I pass to the Valley of Avilion, to heal me of my grievous wound. If thou seest me never again, pray for me.”

So the barge floated away out of sight and Sir Bedivere stood straining his eyes after it till it had vanished utterly. Then he turned him about and journeyed through the forest until, at day-break, he reached a hermitage. Entering it, he prayed the holy hermit that he might abide with him and there he spent the rest of his life in prayer and holy exercise.

But of King Arthur is no more known. Some men, indeed, say that he is not dead, but abides in the happy Valley of Avilion until such time as his country’s need is sorest, when he shall come again and deliver it. Others say that, of a truth, he is dead and that, in the far West, his tomb may be seen and written on it these words:

“HERE LIES ARTHUR, ONCE KING AND KING TO BE.”

HOW QUEEN GUINEVERE BECAME A NUN AT ALMESBURY AND OF THE DEATH OF SIR LANCELOT

When news reached Sir Lancelot in his own land of the treason of Modred, he gathered his lords and knights together, and rested not till he had come to Britain to aid King Arthur. He landed at Dover and there the evil tidings were told him, how the King had met his death at the hands of his traitor nephew. Then was Sir Lancelot’s heart nigh broken for grief.

“Alas!” he cried, “that I should live to know my King overthrown by such a felon! What have I done that I should have caused the deaths of the good knights Sir Gareth, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gawain, and yet that such a villain should escape my sword!”

Then he desired to be led to Sir Gawain’s tomb, where he remained long in prayer and in great lamentation; after which, he called to him his kinsmen and friends and said to them:

“My fair lords, I thank you all most heartily that, of your courtesy, ye came with me to this land. That we be come too late is a misfortune that might not be avoided, though I shall mourn it my life long. And now I will ride forth alone to find my lady the Queen in the West, whither men say she has fled. Wait for me, I pray you, for fifteen days and then, if ye hear naught of me, return to your own lands.”

So Sir Lancelot rode forth alone, nor would he suffer any to follow him despite their prayers and entreaties.

Thus he rode some seven or eight days until, at the last, he came to a nunnery where he saw in the cloister many nuns waiting on a fair lady, none other, indeed, than Queen Guinevere herself. And she, looking up, saw Sir Lancelot and, at the sight, grew so pale that her ladies feared for her; but she recovered and bade them go and bring Sir Lancelot to her presence. When he was come, she said to him:

“Sir Lancelot, glad am I to see thee once again that I may bid thee farewell; for in this world shall we never meet again.”

“Sweet Madam,” answered Sir Lancelot, “I was minded, with your leave, to bear you to my own country, where I doubt not but I should guard you well and safely from your enemies.”

“Nay, Lancelot,” said the Queen, “that may not be; I am resolved never to look upon the world again, but here to pass my life in prayer and in such good works as I may. But thou, do thou get back to thine own land and take a fair wife, and ye both shall ever have my prayers.”

“Madam,” replied Sir Lancelot, “ye know well that shall never be. And since ye are resolved to lead a life of prayer, I, too, will forsake the world if I can find hermit to share his cell with me; for ever your will has been mine.”

Long and earnestly he looked upon her as though he might never gaze enough; then, getting to horse, he rode slowly away.

Nor did they ever meet again in life. For Queen Guinevere abode in the great nunnery of Almesbury where Sir Lancelot had found her and presently, for the holiness of her life, was made Abbess. But Sir Lancelot, after he had left her, rode on his way till he came to the cell where Sir Bedivere dwelt with the holy hermit; and when Sir Bedivere had told him all that had befallen, of the great battle in the West, and of the passing away of Arthur, Sir Lancelot flung down his arms and implored the holy hermit to let him remain there as the servant of God. So Sir Lancelot donned the serge gown and abode in the hermitage as the priest of God.

Presently, there came riding that way the good Sir Bors, Lancelot’s nephew; for, when Sir Lancelot returned not to Dover, Sir Bors and many another knight went forth in search of him. There, then, Sir Bors remained and, within a half year, there joined themselves to these three many who in former days had been fellows of the Round Table; and the fame of their piety spread far and wide.

So six years passed and then, one night, Lancelot had a vision. It seemed to him that one said to him:

“Lancelot, arise and go in haste to Almesbury. There shalt thou find Queen Guinevere dead and it shall be for thee to bury her.”

Sir Lancelot arose at once and, calling his fellows to him, told them his dream. Immediately, with all haste, they set forth toward Almesbury and, arriving there the second day, found the Queen dead, as had been foretold in the vision. So with the state and ceremony befitting a great Queen, they buried her in the Abbey of Glastonbury, in that same church where, some say, King Arthur’s tomb is to be found. Lancelot it was who performed the funeral rites and chanted the requiem; but when all was done, he pined away, growing weaker daily. So at the end of six weeks, he called to him his fellows and, bidding them all farewell, desired that his dead body should be conveyed to the Joyous Garde, there to be buried, for that in the church at Glastonbury he was not worthy to lie. And that same night he died, and was buried, as he had desired, in his own castle. So passed from the world the bold Sir Lancelot du Lac, bravest, most courteous, and most gentle of knights, whose peer the world has never seen nor ever shall see.

After Sir Lancelot’s death, Sir Bors and the pious knights, his companions, took their way to the Holy Land and there they died in battle against the Turk.

So ends this story of King Arthur and his noble fellowship of the Round Table.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Discussion.= 1. Were Arthur and his knights successful in restoring order in the kingdom? 2. Why were they so successful? 3. What value have union and loyalty in any cause? 4. When did this union of King Arthur and his knights begin to weaken? 5. Whose unfaithfulness and treachery began its destruction? 6. What was the great fault in Modred that prevented him from being loyal? 7. How did “true knights” regard Sir Lancelot? 8. Did Arthur think it right to take the law into his own hands? 9. Read lines which show that he did not think himself greater than the law. 10. Can good government exist without respect for law? 11. Trace the progress of disunion from its beginning in Modred’s jealousy as follows: jealousy; plot; combat; deaths; vengeance; false accusation; decree of death by burning; rescue; deaths; vow of vengeance; war. 12. What proof did Sir Lancelot give of his love for the King, even while at war with him? 13. Was King Arthur at fault when he allowed himself to be persuaded by Sir Gawain to make war on Sir Lancelot? 14. Read the lines that show the King loved Lancelot, in spite of all that had come between them. 15. Read lines that show how Sir Gawain’s love and generosity triumphed over his desire for vengeance. 16. Over what did King Arthur grieve when he lay wounded after the “battle in the West”? 17. Do you think it is the fine ideals of these old legends—union for defense of the weak, mercy to all, and wrongful gain to none—that make them live?

=Phrases=

boded ill, 149, 2 jealous rage, 149, 11 ill counsel, 150, 33 from the press, 151, 21 rendered me account, 152, 14 safe conduct, 152, 28 housings of the horses, 152, 33 it behooves me, 153, 17 felon knight, 153, 22 under surety of my word, 154, 8 fasten a quarrel upon him, 154, 9 by stealth, 154, 13 fulfilling your behest, 155, 14 to hie us home, 156, 25 the scoff of all men, 156, 25 faith I owe to knighthood, 156, 32 noised abroad, 158, 12 idle rumor, 158, 14 as was his wont, 158, 35 Modred and his array, 159, 2 sorrowing beyond measure, 159, 10 heathen hosts, 160, 6 I charge thee, 162, 24 chafed his hands, 163, 20 donned the serge gown, 165, 31 funeral rites, 166, 15

NARRATIVES IN VERSE

SIR PATRICK SPENS

FOLK BALLAD

The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: “O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?”

Up and spak an eldern knicht,[10] Sat at the king’s richt kne: “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That sails upon the se.”

The king has written a braid[11] letter, And signed it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red, The teir blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o’ the yeir, To sail upon the se!

“Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne.” “O say na sae[12], my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme.

“Late, late yestreen[13] saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will cum to harme.”

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith[14] To weet[15] their cork-heild schoone[16]; Bot lang owre[17] a’ the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone.[18]

O lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi thair fans into their hand, Or eir[19] they se Sir Patrick Spens, Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi thair gold kems[20] in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they’ll se thame na mair.

Haf owre[21], haf owre to Aberdour, It’s fiftie fadom[22] deip, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spens, Wi the Scots lords at his feit.[23]

[10] _knicht_, knight

[11] _braid_, long

[12] _na sae_, not so

[13] _yestreen_, yesterday evening

[14] _laith_, loath

[15] _weet_, wet

[16] _schoone_, shoes

[17] _owre_, before

[18] _aboone_, above

[19] _or eir_, before

[20] _kems_, combs

[21] _owre_, over

[22] _fadom_, fathoms

[23] _feit_, feet

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Historical Note.= The old folk ballads, of which this one is an excellent example, have all come down to us from the far-off past. Such ballads are not the work of any one author, but like the stories of King Arthur, were preserved mainly in the memories of men. Some of them were sung or recited to the music of the harp or lute by minstrels who wandered from village to village, and from castle to castle, entertaining their hearers in return for food and lodging; or by the bards and minstrels who were maintained by kings and nobles to entertain them and to celebrate their deeds and honors. Often they were made by the people, not by professional singers, and were expressions of the folk love of adventure. Indeed, the best definition of a popular, or folk, ballad is that it is “a tale telling itself in song.” This means that a ballad always tells a story; that it has no known author, being composed by several people or by a community and then handed down orally, not in writing, from generation to generation; and finally, that it is sung, not recited. In this way such folk ballads as “Sir Patrick Spens” were transmitted for generations, in different versions, before they were written down and became a part of what we call _literature_, that is, something written. When the invention of the printing press made it possible to put these old ballads in a permanent form, they were collected from the recitations of old men and women who knew them, and printed. Thus they have become a precious literary possession, telling us something of the life, the history, and the standards, superstitions, and beliefs of distant times, and thrilling us with their stirring stories. The beauty of these old ballads lies in the story they tell, and in their directness and simplicity. They are almost wholly without literary ornament; their language is the language of the people, not of the court.

Many modern poets have written stories in verse which are also called ballads. Some are in imitation of the old ballads, using the old ballad meter and riming system, and employing old-fashioned words and expressions, to add to the effect. Other modern ballads are simple narratives in verse—short stories dealing with stirring subjects, with battle, adventure, etc. But while the true old ballad holds the attention upon the story only, the modern ballads often introduce descriptions of the characters.

=Discussion.= 1. Why did the king choose Sir Patrick Spens? 2. What did Sir Patrick say when he had read the king’s letter? 3. What signs of a storm had been noticed? 4. Point out all the ways in which the ballad tells that the ship was wrecked. 5. How have the old ballads come down to us? 6. What other old ballad have you read? 7. Tell how the old ballads came into being, and name a characteristic of them. 8. What do the old ballads tell us of the life of the early people? 9. How does a modern ballad differ from a folk, or popular, ballad?

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?”

Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water’s flow Under December’s snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart’s chamber.

“I was a Viking old! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man’s curse; For this I sought thee.

“Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic’s strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on.

“Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grizzly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf’s bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.

“But when I older grew, Joining a corsair’s crew, O’er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led, Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.

“Many a wassail-bout Wore the long winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk’s tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o’erflowing.

“Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest’s shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

“Bright in her father’s hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter’s hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

“While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

“She was a Prince’s child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew’s flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

“Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,— Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen!— When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armèd hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen.

“Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.

“And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman’s hail, Death without quarter! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water!

“As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.

“Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o’er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; There for my lady’s bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.

“There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden’s tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne’er shall the sun arise On such another!

“Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful. In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, Oh, death was grateful!

Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior’s soul, _Skoal!_ to the Northland! _skoal!_” —Thus the tale ended.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, see page 81.

=Discussion.= 1. With which stanza does the narrative begin? 2. What may the first three stanzas be called? 3. Which of these three stanzas is descriptive? 4. In which does the Viking make himself known? 5. In what stanzas is the story told? 6. With what line does the story end? 7. What relation to the poem has the last line? 8. Describe the scene suggested by the first stanza; who is speaking? 9. Describe the guest to whom the poet speaks. 10. In using the word “fearful” to describe this guest, was the poet emphasizing only the outward appearance of his guest? 11. Can you use other words equally exact and poetical for “daunt” and “haunt”? 12. Give a name to the “flashes” that are seen when the Northern skies gleam in December. 13. To what is the voice of the skeleton compared? 14. Is it an apt comparison? 15. Does the second stanza prepare us for a story of happy things? 16. What stanzas help you to see the kind of people the Vikings were, and to imagine the life they led? 17. The Viking showed his wonderful courage in going out into the “open main” in a wild hurricane; give all the other evidences of his courage found in the poem. 18. The Introduction (pages 89 and 90) gives various motives for seeking adventures; do you think the Knights and the Vikings had the same motive? 19. How does this ballad differ from a folk ballad, such as “Sir Patrick Spens”? 20. Pronounce the following: daunt; palms; alms; haunt; launched.

=Phrases=

rude armor, 171, 3 fleshless palms, 171, 6 cavernous eyes, 171, 9 pale flashes, 171, 10 heart’s chamber, 171, 16 poor whimpering hound, 172, 3 frozen lair, 172, 5 souls that sped, 172, 18 measured in cups of ale, 172, 26 soft splendor, 173, 4 vows were plighted, 173, 8 lips unshorn, 173, 26 death without quarter, 174, 24 wings aslant, 174, 29 open main, 175, 1 stretching to leeward, 175, 8 time dried the maiden’s tears, 175, 14 stagnant fen, 175, 22 warlike gear, 175, 26 flowing bowl, 176, 1

THE THREE FISHERS

CHARLES KINGSLEY

Three fishers went sailing away to the West, Away to the West as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work and women must weep, And there’s little to earn and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall and they looked at the shower, And the nightrack came rolling up ragged and brown; But men must work and women must weep, Though storms be sudden and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands, In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the town; For men must work and women must weep, And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Charles Kingsley (1819-1875), clergyman, lecturer, poet, and novelist, was born in Dartmoor, England. During his earlier years he lived in the beautiful Fen Country, the scenery of which made a deep impression on him. He was a friend of Tennyson and a poet of real excellence. His ballads, “The Three Fishers” and “The Sands of Dee,” are widely read and admired, and his novel _Westward Ho!_ is a brilliant narrative of adventure. In “The Three Fishers” he shows that he has studied the fisher folk of his native country and sees with genuine sympathy their hard life and the courage that enables them to brave the perils of the sea.

=Discussion.= 1. What does the poem tell you about the three fishers? 2. What does it suggest? 3. Where could a stanza be inserted to tell a part of the story that is only suggested? 4. Do you think this would improve the poem? 5. What signs were there of an approaching storm? 6. Why does the occupation of deep-sea fishers train them to understand signs indicating changes in the weather? 7. Why did these fishers go out to sea notwithstanding signs of a storm? 8. What other thought do you think was in their minds as “Each thought on the woman who loved him best”? 9. What idea of the deep-sea fishers does this poem give you? 10. What idea of the sea? 11. What other poems do you know that tell of life on the sea? 12. What idea of the sea does each give?

=Phrases=

harbor bar be moaning, 177, 7 nightrack came rolling, 177, 11 morning gleam, 177, 16 the sooner to sleep, 177, 20

LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER

THOMAS CAMPBELL

A chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries “Boatman, do not tarry! And I’ll give thee a silver pound To row us o’er the ferry!”

“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?” “O I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, And this, Lord Ullin’s daughter.

“And fast before her father’s men Three days we’ve fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

“His horsemen hard behind us ride— Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?”

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, “I’ll go, my chief, I’m ready; It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady.

“And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”

By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men, Their trampling sounded nearer.

“O haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, “Though tempests round us gather; I’ll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.”

The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her— When, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gather’d o’er her.

And still they row’d amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore— His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay’d, through storm and shade His child he did discover; One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid, And one was round her lover.

“Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, “Across this stormy water; And I’ll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!—Oh, my daughter!”

’Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o’er his child, And he was left lamenting.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) was a popular Scottish poet. He was born in Glasgow, his father being a prominent merchant of that city. At an early age Campbell began to write poetry, and at twenty-one had published “The Pleasures of Hope,” a poem that was received with much favor. He excelled in war poetry, his “Hohenlinden”, “The Battle of the Baltic”, and “Ye Mariners of England” being the most widely read. His ballads “Lochiel” and “Lord Ullin’s Daughter” are the best known. Campbell is remembered not alone for these stirring narrative poems, but also for the excellence of favorite lines that he wrote, such as “To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die,” and “’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.”

=Discussion.= 1. Tell briefly the story of the poem. 2. What picture do the first two stanzas give you? 3. What reason did the boatman give for saying he would row them over the ferry? 4. What change of time do you notice in the tenth stanza? 5. What does the eleventh stanza tell you? 6. Which stanza tells you of the tragedy? 7. What other poems of the sea have you read in this book? 8. What characteristics of the ballad has this poem?

=Phrases=

to the Highlands bound, 178, 1 stain the heather, 178, 12 hardy Highland wight, 179, 1 raging white, 179, 7 grew loud apace, 179, 9 in the scowl of Heaven, 179, 11 waters fast prevailing, 179, 26 fatal shore, 179, 27

THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW

JOHN G. WHITTIER

Pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills, The droning of the torrents, The treble of the rills! Not the braes of broom and heather, Nor the mountains dark with rain, Nor maiden bower, nor border tower, Have heard your sweetest strain!

Dear to the Lowland reaper, And plaided mountaineer, To the cottage and the castle The Scottish pipes are dear; Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch O’er mountain, loch, and glade; But the sweetest of all music The Pipes at Lucknow played.

Day by day the Indian tiger Louder yelled, and nearer crept; Round and round the jungle-serpent Near and nearer circles swept. “Pray for rescue, wives and mothers— Pray today!” the soldier said; “Tomorrow, death’s between us And the wrong and shame we dread.”

O they listened, looked, and waited, Till their hope became despair; And the sobs of low bewailing Filled the pauses of their prayer. Then up spake a Scottish maiden, With her ear unto the ground: “Dinna ye hear it?—dinna ye hear it? The pipes o’ Havelock sound!”

Hushed the wounded man his groaning; Hushed the wife her little ones; Alone they heard the drum-roll And the roar of Sepoy guns. But to sounds of home and childhood The Highland ear was true; As her mother’s cradle-crooning The mountain pipes she knew.

Like the march of soundless music Through the vision of the seer, More of feeling than of hearing, Of the heart than of the ear, She knew the droning pibroch, She knew the Campbell’s call; “Hark! hear ye no’ MacGregor’s, The grandest o’ them all!”

O they listened, dumb and breathless, And they caught the sound at last; Faint and far beyond the Goomtee Rose and fell the piper’s blast! Then a burst of wild thanksgiving Mingled woman’s voice and man’s; “God be praised!—the March of Havelock! The piping of the clans!”

Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance, Sharp and shrill as swords at strife, Came the wild MacGregor’s clan-call, Stinging all the air to life. But when the far-off dust-cloud To plaided legions grew, Full tenderly and blithesomely The pipes of rescue blew!

Round the silver domes of Lucknow, Moslem mosque and pagan shrine, Breathed the air to Britons dearest, The air of Auld Lang Syne. O’er the cruel roll of war-drums Rose that sweet and homelike strain; And the tartan clove the turban, As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.

Dear to the corn-land reaper And plaided mountaineer, To the cottage and the castle The piper’s song is dear. Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch O’er mountain, glen, and glade; But the sweetest of all music The Pipes at Lucknow played!

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, see page 60.

=Historical Note.= The Indian Mutiny was the great revolt of the Bengal native army (the Sepoys) against the British rule in 1857. At Lucknow, in northern India, the English were almost overcome. The town, defended by a garrison of only 1720 men, who were protecting many women and children, was besieged by a greatly superior number. The defense, nevertheless, was maintained from the 30th of June to the 26th of September, when the relief column under the Scottish general, Sir Henry Havelock, preceded by the music of the bagpipes, reached the city.

=Discussion.= 1. What stanzas picture Scotland and the feeling her people have for the music of the bagpipe? 2. What contrasts show how universal this feeling is? 3. In the first stanza, what is this music said to be like? 4. What do you know about the bagpipe that makes this comparison especially apt? 5. The poem tells a story; with what stanzas does the story begin and end? 6. What relation to this story have the first two stanzas? 7. What do you know of the Indian Mutiny that helps you to understand this story? 8. Who first heard the sound of the pipes? 9. How is this accounted for? 10. What did this sound mean to her? 11. Read the stirring lines that give the spirit of the martial music of the pipes. 12. Why did the piper change to the air “Auld Lang Syne”? What stanzas picture the feeling of those who heard this music? 13. What people wear the “tartan”? The “turban”? 14. What is the most interesting point in the story? 15. Does the story make clear the poet’s reason for saying that the “sweetest strain” the pipes ever played was at Lucknow?

=Phrases=

droning of the torrents, 181, 3 treble of the rills, 181, 4 braes of broom, 181, 5 plaided mountaineer, 181, 10 ancient pibroch, 181, 13 the Indian tiger, 181, 17 jungle-serpent, 181, 19 low bewailing, 181, 27 cradle-crooning, 182, 11 vision of the seer, 182, 14 fierce as vengeance, 182, 29 Moslem mosque, 183, 6 pagan shrine, 183, 6 Goomtee cleaves the plain, 183, 12

SPANISH WATERS

JOHN MASEFIELD

Spanish waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears, Like a slow sweet piece of music from the gray forgotten years; Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thought to me Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.

There’s a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar, And it’s there we came to anchor, and it’s there we went ashore, Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees, Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.

We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red, We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head; And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done, We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won.

We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests, Sinking, in the sucking quagmires, to the sunburn on our breasts, Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat, Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship’s cool lazareet.

The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down, There was gear there’d make a beggarman as rich as Lima Town, Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews, Gold doubloons and double moydores, louis d’ors and ortagues.

Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil, Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stone from Guayaquil, Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica bronze, Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons.

We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree, Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see, And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers, Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

I’m the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways, Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays, And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair, And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there.

It’s not the way to end it all. I’m old and nearly blind, And an old man’s past’s a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind. And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun’s disc dipping red, And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.

I’d be glad to step ashore there. Glad to take a pick and go To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know, And lift the gold and silver that has moldered there for years By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= John Masefield (1875-⸺) is an English poet and playwright. When a small boy he had a mania for running away from home; to satisfy this longing his father sent him to sea when he was fourteen years old, in charge of the captain of a sailing vessel. During his travels he collected much material which he afterward used in his poems. On one of his trips he landed in New York City, where he acquired considerable knowledge of American customs. Next to Kipling he is England’s greatest singer of her “Seven Seas and Five Oceans.”

Early in 1916 Masefield came to the United States on a lecture tour which aroused much interest in him and his writings. During the recent World War he served in France in connection with the Red Cross. He also served in the campaign on the Gallipoli Peninsula and wrote a splendid account of that unfortunate undertaking.

=Discussion.= 1. Who is addressed in the first stanza? 2. What comparison do you find in this stanza? 3. Tell the story in your own words. 4. Where was the treasure secured? 5. What marks of the ballad do you find in this poem? 6. What do you particularly like in this poem? 7. Pronounce the following: quagmires; palm.

=Phrases=

gray forgotten years, 184, 2 bringing weary thought, 184, 3 sunburn on our breasts, 185, 2 rich as Lima Town, 185, 6 in the crude and fashioned, 185, 11 laid aboard the ship, 185, 15

KILMENY

(A SONG OF THE TRAWLERS)

ALFRED NOYES

Dark, dark lay the drifters, against the red west, As they shot their long meshes of steel overside; And the oily green waters were rocking to rest When _Kilmeny_ went out, at the turn of the tide. And nobody knew where that lassie would roam, For the magic that called her was tapping unseen. It was well nigh a week ere _Kilmeny_ came home, And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

She’d a gun at her bow that was Newcastle’s best, And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde, And a secret her skipper had never confessed, Not even at dawn, to his newly wed bride; And a wireless that whispered above like a gnome, The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin. O it may have been mermaids that lured her from home, But nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

It was dark when _Kilmeny_ came home from her quest, With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died; But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast; And “Well done, _Kilmeny_!” the admiral cried. Now at sixty-four fathom a conger may come, And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine; But late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home, And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

There’s a wandering shadow that stares at the foam, Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen, Late, late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home, And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Alfred Noyes (1880-⸺), an English poet, lives in London. He was educated at Oxford, where for three years he rowed on the college crew. As soon as his college days were over he devoted himself to literature, contributing to many English magazines. During the World War he wrote many stirring poems, of which “Kilmeny” is among the best. In 1918-1919 Mr. Noyes was professor of literature in Princeton University.

=Discussion.= 1. What picture does the first stanza give you? 2. What suggests to you the work in which the trawler was engaged? 3. Which stanza suggests the result of _Kilmeny’s_ trip? 4. What was the magic that called _Kilmeny_ to the quest? 5. What other poems of the sea have you read in this book? 6. Tell what you know about the author.

=Phrases=

against the red west, 186, 1 long meshes of steel, 186, 2 turn of the tide, 186, 4 Newcastle’s best, 187, 1 like a gnome, 187, 5 wandering shadow, 187, 17

THE GUARDS CAME THROUGH

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Men of the Twenty-first Up by the Chalk Pit Wood, Weak with our wounds and our thirst, Wanting our sleep and our food, After a day and a night— God, shall we ever forget! Beaten and broke in the fight, But sticking it—sticking it yet. Trying to hold the line, Fainting and spent and done, Always the thud and the whine, Always the yell of the Hun! Northumberland, Lancaster, York, Durham, and Somerset, Fighting alone, worn to the bone, But sticking it—sticking it yet.

Never a message of hope! Never a word of cheer! Fronting Hill 70’s shell-swept slope, With the dull dead plain in our rear. Always the whine of the shell, Always the roar of its burst, Always the tortures of hell, As waiting and wincing we cursed Our luck and the guns and the _Boche_, When our Corporal shouted, “Stand to!” And I heard someone cry, “Clear the front for the Guards!” And the Guards came through.

Our throats they were parched and hot, But Lord, if you’d heard the cheers! Irish and Welsh and Scot, Coldstream and Grenadiers. Two brigades, if you please, Dressing as straight as a hem, We—we were down on our knees, Praying for us and for them! Lord, I could speak for a week, But how could you understand! How should _your_ cheeks be wet, Such feelin’s don’t come to _you_. But when can we or my mates forget, When the Guards came through?

“Five yards left extend!” It passed from rank to rank. Line after line with never a bend, And a touch of the London swank. A trifle of swank and dash, Cool as a home parade, Twinkle and glitter and flash, Flinching never a shade, With the shrapnel right in their face Doing their Hyde Park stunt, Keeping their swing at an easy pace, Arms at the trail, eyes front! Man, it was great to see! Man, it was fine to do! It’s a cot and a hospital ward for me, But I’ll tell ’em in Blighty, wherever I be, How the Guards came through.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-⸺) is an English author. He was educated in Stonyhurst College and at the University of Edinburgh. In 1885 he was graduated as a doctor of medicine and soon afterwards began practice. It was about this time that his first book, _A Study in Scarlet_, was published. His greatest success came with the publication of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, a collection of detective stories that introduced a character who has become as famous as if he had actually lived. Other books that have added to his fame are _The Lost World_, _The New Revelation_, and _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_. He has written many interesting articles on the World War, particularly descriptions of the western campaigns. In 1902 he was knighted.

=Discussion.= 1. Who is supposed to be telling the story? 2. Why were the soldiers of the Twenty-first so disheartened? 3. What effect upon them had the arrival of the Guards? 4. Do you think that you would have felt like cheering if you had been a soldier of the Twenty-first? 5. What effect upon you has the line “Dressing as straight as a hem”? 6. What picture does the last stanza give you? 7. Does the poet make you see the Guards as they came through? 8. What do the last three lines suggest? 9. What does “Blighty” mean to you? 10. Why does the one who is telling the story say that _we_ could not understand?

=Phrases=

shell-swept slope, 188, 19 waiting and wincing, 188, 24 swank and dash, 189, 19 arms at the trail, 189, 26

STORIES OF THE SEA

A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM

EDGAR ALLAN POE

MY FIRST VIEW OF THE MAELSTROM

We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to speak.

“Not long ago,” said he at length, “and I could have guided you on this route as well as the youngest of my sons; but, about three years past, there happened to me an event such as never happened before to mortal man—or at least such as no man ever survived to tell of—and the six hours of deadly terror which I then endured have broken me up, body and soul. You suppose me a _very_ old man—but I am not. It took less than a single day to change these hairs from a jetty black to white, to weaken my limbs, and to unstring my nerves, so that I tremble at the least exertion, and am frightened at a shadow. Do you know I can scarcely look over this little cliff without getting giddy?”

The “little cliff,” upon whose edge he had so carelessly thrown himself down to rest that the weightier portion of his body hung over it, while he was only kept from falling by the tenure of his elbow on its extreme and slippery edge—this “little cliff” arose, a sheer unobstructed precipice of black shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the world of crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted me to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In truth, so deeply was I excited by the perilous position of my companion, that I fell at full length upon the ground, clung to the shrubs around me, and dared not even glance upward at the sky—while I struggled in vain to divest myself of the idea that the very foundations of the mountain were in danger from the fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason myself into sufficient courage to sit up and look out into the distance.

“You must get over these fancies,” said the guide, “for I have brought you here that you might have the best possible view of the scene of that event I mentioned—and to tell you the whole story with the spot just under your eye.

“We are now,” he continued, in that particularizing manner which distinguished him—“we are now close upon the Norwegian coast—in the sixty-eighth degree of latitude—in the great province of Nordland—and in the dreary district of Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is Helseggen, the Cloudy. Now raise yourself up a little higher—hold on to the grass if you feel giddy—so—and look out, beyond the belt of vapor beneath us, into the sea.”

I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of ocean, whose waters wore so inky a hue as to bring at once to my mind the Nubian geographer’s account of the _Mare Tenebrarum_. A panorama more deplorably desolate no human imagination can conceive. To the right and left, as far as the eye could reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts of the world, lines of horridly black and beetling cliff, whose character of gloom was but the more forcibly illustrated by the surf which reared high up against it, its white and ghastly crest, howling and shrieking forever. Just opposite the promontory upon whose apex we were placed, and at a distance of some five or six miles out at sea, there was visible a small, bleak-looking island; or, more properly, its position was discernible through the wilderness of surge in which it was enveloped. About two miles nearer the land arose another of smaller size, hideously craggy and barren, and encompassed at various intervals by a cluster of dark rocks.

The appearance of the ocean, in the space between the more distant island and the shore, had something very unusual about it. Although, at the time, so strong a gale was blowing landward that a brig in the remote offing lay to under a double-reefed try-sail, and constantly plunged her whole hull out of sight, still there was here nothing like a regular swell, but only a short, quick, angry cross-dashing of water in every direction—as well in the teeth of the wind as otherwise. Of foam there was little except in the immediate vicinity of the rocks.

“The island in the distance,” resumed the old man, “is called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The one midway is Moskoe. That a mile to the northward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Iflesen, Hoeyholm, Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farther off—between Moskoe and Vurrgh—are Otterholm, Flimen, Sandflesen, and Skarholm. These are the true names of the places—but why it had been thought necessary to name them at all is more than either you or I can understand. Do you hear anything? Do you see any change in the water?”

We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Helseggen, to which we had ascended from the interior of Lofoden, so that we had caught no glimpse of the sea until it had burst upon us from the summit. As the old man spoke, I became aware of a loud and gradually increasing sound, like the moaning of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie; and at the same moment I perceived that what seamen term the _chopping_ character of the ocean beneath us, was rapidly changing into a current which set to the eastward. Even while I gazed, this current acquired a monstrous velocity. Each moment added to its speed—to its headlong impetuosity. In five minutes the whole sea, as far as Vurrgh, was lashed into ungovernable fury; but it was between Moskoe and the coast that the main uproar held its sway. Here the vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand conflicting channels, burst suddenly into frenzied convulsion—heaving, boiling, hissing—gyrating in gigantic and innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on to the eastward with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes, except in precipitous descents.

In a few minutes more, there came over the scene another radical alteration. The general surface grew somewhat more smooth, and the whirlpools, one by one, disappeared, while prodigious streaks of foam became apparent where none had been seen before. These streaks, at length, spreading out to a great distance, and entering into combination, took unto themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided vortices, and seemed to form the germ of another more vast. Suddenly—very suddenly—this assumed a distinct and definite existence, in a circle of more than a mile in diameter. The edge of the whirl was represented by a broad belt of gleaming spray; but no particle of this slipped into the mouth of the terrific funnel, whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined to the horizon at an angle of some forty-five degrees, speeding dizzily round and round with a swaying and sweltering motion, and sending forth to the winds an appalling voice, half shriek, half roar, such as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever lifts up in its agony to Heaven.

The mountain trembled to its very base, and the rock rocked. I threw myself upon my face, and clung to the scant herbage in an excess of nervous agitation.

“This,” said I at length, to the old man—“this _can_ be nothing else than the great whirlpool of the Maelstrom.”

“So it is sometimes termed,” said he. “We Norwegians call it the Moskoe-strom, from the island of Moskoe in the midway.”

The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no means prepared me for what I saw. That of Jonas Ramus, which is perhaps the most circumstantial of any, cannot impart the faintest conception either of the magnificence or of the horror of the scene—or of the wild bewildering sense of _the novel_ which confounds the beholder. I am not sure from what point of view the writer in question surveyed it, nor at what time; but it could neither have been from the summit of Helseggen, nor during a storm. There are some passages of his description, nevertheless, which may be quoted for their details, although their effect is exceedingly feeble in conveying an impression of the spectacle.

“Between Lofoden and Moskoe,” he says, “the depth of the water is between thirty-six and forty fathoms; but on the other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh), this depth decreases so as not to afford a convenient passage for a vessel, without the risk of splitting on the rocks, which happens even in the calmest weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up the country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous rapidity; but the roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is scarce equaled by the loudest and most dreadful cataracts, the noise being heard several leagues off; and the vortices or pits are of such an extent and depth, that if a ship comes within its attraction, it is inevitably absorbed and carried down to the bottom, and there beat to pieces against the rocks; and when the water relaxes, the fragments thereof are thrown up again. But these intervals of tranquillity are only at the turn of the ebb and flood, and in calm weather, and last but a quarter of an hour, its violence gradually returning. When the stream is most boisterous, and its fury heightened by a storm, it is dangerous to come within a Norwegian mile of it. Boats, yachts, and ships have been carried away by not guarding against it before they were within its reach. It likewise happens frequently that whales come too near the stream, and are overpowered by its violence; and then it is impossible to describe their howlings and bellowings in their fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A bear once, attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, was caught by the stream and borne down, while he roared terribly, so as to be heard on shore. Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after being absorbed by the current, rise again broken and torn to such a degree as if bristles grew upon them. This plainly shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, among which they are whirled to and fro. This stream is regulated by the flux and reflux of the sea—it being constantly high and low water every six hours. In the year 1645, early in the morning of Sexagesima Sunday, it raged with such noise and impetuosity that the very stones of the houses on the coast fell to the ground.”

In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see how this could have been ascertained at all in the immediate vicinity of the vortex. The “forty fathoms” must have reference only to portions of the channel close upon the shore either of Moskoe or Lofoden. The depth in the center of the Moskoe-strom must be immeasurably greater; and no better proof of this fact is necessary than can be obtained from even the sidelong glance into the abyss of the whirl which may be had from the highest crag of Helseggen. Looking down from this pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon below, I could not help smiling at the simplicity with which the honest Jonas Ramus records, as a matter difficult of belief, the anecdotes of the whales and the bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, a self-evident thing that the largest ships of the line in existence, coming within the influence of that deadly attraction, could resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, and must disappear bodily and at once.

The attempts to account for the phenomenon—some of which, I remember, seemed to me sufficiently plausible in perusal—now wore a very different and unsatisfactory aspect. The idea generally received is that this, as well as three smaller vortices among the Faroe Islands, “have no other cause than the collision of waves rising and falling, at flux and reflux, against a ridge of rocks and shelves, which confines the water so that it precipitates itself like a cataract; and thus the higher the flood rises, the deeper must the fall be, and the natural result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the prodigious suction of which is sufficiently known by lesser experiments.”—These are the words of the _Encyclopedia Britannica_. Kircher and others imagine that in the center of the channel of the Maelstrom is an abyss penetrating the globe, and issuing in some very remote part—the Gulf of Bothnia being somewhat decidedly named in one instance. This opinion, idle in itself, was the one to which, as I gazed, my imagination most readily assented; and, mentioning it to the guide, I was rather surprised to hear him say that, although it was the view almost universally entertained of the subject by the Norwegians, it nevertheless was not his own. As to the former notion he confessed his inability to comprehend it; and here I agreed with him—for, however conclusive on paper, it becomes altogether unintelligible, and even absurd, amid the thunder of the abyss.

THE GUIDE’S MARVELOUS TALE

“You have had a good look at the whirl now,” said the old man, “and if you will creep round this crag, so as to get in its lee, and deaden the roar of the water, I will tell you a story that will convince you I ought to know something of the Moskoe-strom.”

I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded.

“Myself and my two brothers once owned a schooner-rigged smack of about seventy tons burden, with which we were in the habit of fishing among the islands beyond Moskoe, nearly to Vurrgh. In all violent eddies at sea there is good fishing, at proper opportunities, if one has only the courage to attempt it; but among the whole of the Lofoden coastmen we three were the only ones who made a regular business of going out to the islands, as I tell you. The usual grounds are a great way lower down to the southward. There fish can be got at all hours, without much risk, and therefore these places are preferred. The choice spots over here among the rocks, however, not only yield the finest variety, but in far greater abundance; so that we often got in a single day what the more timid of the craft could not scrape together in a week. In fact, we made it a matter of desperate speculation—the risk of life standing instead of labor, and courage answering for capital.

“We kept the smack in a cove about five miles higher up the coast than this; and it was our practice, in fine weather, to take advantage of the fifteen minutes’ slack to push across the main channel of the Moskoe-strom, far above the pool, and then drop down upon anchorage somewhere near Otterholm, or Sandflesen, where the eddies are not so violent as elsewhere. Here we used to remain until nearly time for slack water again, when we weighed and made for home. We never set out upon this expedition without a steady side wind for going and coming—one that we felt sure would not fail us before our return—and we seldom made a miscalculation upon this point. Twice, during six years, we were forced to stay all night at anchor on account of a dead calm, which is a rare thing indeed just about here; and once we had to remain on the ground nearly a week, starving to death, owing to a gale which blew up shortly after our arrival, and made the channel too boisterous to be thought of. Upon this occasion we should have been driven out to sea in spite of everything (for the whirlpools threw us round and round so violently that, at length, we fouled our anchor and dragged it) if it had not been that we drifted into one of the innumerable cross currents—here today and gone tomorrow—which drove us under the lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought up.

“I could not tell you the twentieth part of the difficulties we encountered ‘on the ground’—it is a bad spot to be in, even in good weather—but we made shift always to run the gauntlet of the Moskoe-strom itself without accident; although at times my heart has been in my mouth when we happened to be a minute or so behind or before the slack. The wind sometimes was not as strong as we thought it at starting, and then we made rather less way than we could wish, while the current rendered the smack unmanageable. My eldest brother had a son eighteen years old, and I had two stout boys of my own. These would have been of great assistance at such times, in using the sweeps, as well as afterward in fishing—but, somehow, although we ran the risk ourselves, we had not the heart to let the young ones get into the danger—for, after all said and done, it _was_ a horrible danger, and that is the truth.

“It is now within a few days of three years since what I am going to tell you occurred. It was on the tenth of July, 18—, a day which the people of this part of the world will never forget—for it was one in which blew the most terrible hurricane that ever came out of the heavens. And yet all the morning, and indeed until late in the afternoon, there was a gentle and steady breeze from the southwest, while the sun shone brightly, so that the oldest seaman among us could not have foreseen what was to follow.

“The three of us—my two brothers and myself—had crossed over to the islands about two o’clock P.M., and soon nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which, we all remarked, were more plenty that day than we had ever known them. It was just seven, _by my watch_, when we weighed and started for home, so as to make the worst of the Strom at slack water, which we knew would be at eight.

“We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at once we were taken aback by a breeze from over Helseggen. This was most unusual—something that had never happened to us before—and I began to feel a little uneasy, without exactly knowing why: We put the boat on the wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies, and I was upon the point of proposing to return to the anchorage, when, looking astern, we saw the whole horizon covered with a singular copper-covered cloud that rose with the most amazing velocity.

“In the meantime the breeze that had headed us off fell away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting about in every direction. This state of things, however, did not last long enough to give us time to think about it. In less than a minute the storm was upon us—in less than two the sky was entirely overcast—and what with this and the driving spray, it became suddenly so dark that we could not see each other in the smack.

“Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt describing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experienced anything like it. We had let our sails go by the run before it cleverly took us; but, at the first puff, both our masts went by the board as if they had been sawed off—the mainmast taking with it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to it for safety.

“Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that ever sat so upon water. It had a complete flush deck, with only a small hatch near the bow, and this hatch it had always been our custom to batten down when about to cross the Strom, by way of precaution against the chopping seas. But for this circumstance we should have foundered at once—for we lay entirely buried for some moments. How my elder brother escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining. For my part, as soon as I had let the foresail run, I threw myself flat on deck, with my feet against the narrow gunwale of the bow, and with my hands grasping a ringbolt near the foot of the foremast. It was mere instinct that prompted me to do this—which was undoubtedly the very best thing I could have done—for I was too much flurried to think.

SWEPT INTO THE MAELSTROM

“For some moments we were completely deluged, as I say, and all this time I held my breath, and clung to the bolt. When I could stand it no longer I raised myself upon my knees, still keeping hold with my hands, and thus got my head clear. Presently our little boat gave herself a shake, just as a dog does in coming out of the water, and thus rid herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was now trying to get the better of the stupor that had come over me, and to collect my senses so as to see what was to be done, when I felt somebody grasp my arm. It was my elder brother, and my heart leaped for joy, for I had made sure that he was overboard—but the next moment all this joy was turned into horror—for he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word ‘_Moskoe-strom!_’

“No one will ever know what my feelings were at that moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had had the most violent fit of the ague. I knew what he meant by that one word well enough—I knew what he wished to make me understand. With the wind that now drove us on, we were bound for the whirl of the Strom, and nothing could save us!

“You perceive that in crossing the Strom _channel_, we always went a long way up above the whirl, even in the calmest weather, and then had to wait and watch carefully for the slack—but now we were driving right upon the pool itself, and in such a hurricane as this! ‘To be sure,’ I thought, ‘we shall get there just about the slack—there is some little hope in that’—but in the next moment I cursed myself for being so great a fool as to dream of hope at all. I knew very well that we were doomed, had we been ten times a ninety-gun ship.

“By this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, or perhaps we did not feel it so much as we scudded before it; but at all events the seas, which at first had been kept down by the wind, and lay flat and frothing, now got up into absolute mountains. A singular change, too, had come over the heavens. Around in every direction it was still black as pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a circular rift of clear sky—as clear as I ever saw—and of a deep bright blue—and through it there blazed forth the full moon with a luster that I never before knew her to wear. She lit up everything about us with the greatest distinctness—but, oh, God, what a scene it was to light up!

“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother—but, in some manner which I could not understand, the din had so increased that I could not make him hear a single word, although I screamed at the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of his fingers, as if to say _listen_!

“At first I could not make out what he meant—but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears as I flung it far away into the ocean. _It had run down at seven o’clock! We were behind the time of the slack, and the whirl of the Strom was in full fury!_

“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her—which appears very strange to a landsman—and this is what is called _riding_, in sea phrase.

“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very cleverly; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose—up—up—as if into the sky. I would not have believed that any wave could rise so high. And then down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we were up I had thrown a quick glance around—and that one glance was all-sufficient. I saw our exact position in an instant. The Moskoe-strom whirlpool was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead—but no more like the everyday Moskoe-strom than the whirl as you now see it is like a mill-race. If I had not known where we were, and what we had to expect, I should not have recognized the place at all. As it was, I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.

“It could not have been more than two minutes afterwards until we suddenly felt the waves subside, and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a sharp half turn to larboard, and then shot off in its new direction like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in a kind of shrill shriek—such a sound as you might imagine given out by the water-pipes of many thousand steam vessels, letting off their steam all together. We were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl; and I thought, of course, that another moment would plunge us into the abyss—down which we could only see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity with which we were borne along. The boat did not seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her starboard side was next the whirl, and on the larboard arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a huge, writhing wall between us and the horizon.

“It may appear strange, but now, when we were in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than when we were only approaching it. Having made up my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of that terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my nerves.

“It may look like boasting—but what I tell you is truth—I began to reflect how magnificent a thing it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it was in me to think of so paltry a consideration as my own individual life, in view of so wonderful a manifestation of God’s power. I do believe that I blushed with shame when this idea crossed my mind. After a little while I became possessed with the keenest curiosity about the whirl itself. I positively felt a _wish_ to explore its depths, even at the sacrifice I was going to make; and my principal grief was that I should never be able to tell my old companions on shore about the mysteries I should see. These, no doubt, were singular fancies to occupy a man’s mind in such extremity—and I have often thought since, that the revolutions of the boat around the pool might have rendered me a little light-headed.

“There was another circumstance which tended to restore my self-possession; and this was the cessation of the wind, which could not reach us in our present situation—for, as you saw yourself, the belt of surf is considerably lower than the general bed of the ocean, and this latter now towered above us, a high, black, mountainous ridge. If you have never been at sea in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the confusion of mind occasioned by the wind and spray together. They blind, deafen, and strangle you, and take away all power of action or reflection. But we were now, in a great measure, rid of these annoyances—just as death-condemned felons in prisons are allowed petty indulgences forbidden them while their doom is yet uncertain.

“How often we made the circuit of the belt it is impossible to say. We careered round and round for perhaps an hour, flying rather than floating, getting gradually more and more into the middle of the surge, and then nearer and nearer to its horrible inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the ringbolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on to a small empty water-cask which had been securely lashed under the coop of the counter, and was the only thing on deck that had not been swept overboard when the gale first took us. As we approached the brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and made for the ring, from which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored to force my hands, as it was not large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I never felt deeper grief than when I saw him attempt this act—although I knew he was a madman when he did it—a raving maniac through sheer fright. I did not care, however, to contest the point with him. I knew it could make no difference whether either of us held on at all; so I let him have the bolt, and went astern to the cask. This there was no great difficulty in doing; for the smack flew round steadily enough, and upon an even keel—only swaying to and fro, with the immense sweeps and swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I secured myself in my new position, when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over.

“As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I had instinctively tightened my hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared not open them—while I expected instant destruction, and wondered that I was not already in my death-struggles with the water. But moment after moment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased; and the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been before, while in the belt of foam, with the exception that she now lay more along. I took courage and looked once again upon the scene.

“Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and admiration with which I gazed about me. The boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, midway down, upon the interior surface of a funnel vast in circumference, prodigious in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might have been mistaken for ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity with which they spun around, and for the gleaming and ghastly radiance they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from that circular rift amid the clouds which I have already described, streamed in a flood of golden glory along the black walls, and far away down into the inmost recesses of the abyss.

“At first I was too much confused to observe anything accurately. The general burst of terrific grandeur was all that I beheld. When I recovered myself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively downward. In this direction I was able to obtain an unobstructed view, from the manner in which the smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. She was quite upon an even keel—that is to say, her deck lay in a plane parallel with that of the water—but this latter sloped at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be lying upon our beam-ends. I could not help observing, nevertheless, that I had scarcely more difficulty in maintaining my hold and footing in this situation, than if we had been upon a dead level; and this, I suppose, was owing to the speed at which we revolved.

“The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom of the profound gulf; but still I could make out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in which everything there was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmans say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the great walls of the funnel, as they all met together at the bottom—but the yell that went up to the heavens from out of that mist, I dare not attempt to describe.

“Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt of foam above, had carried us to a great distance down the slope; but our farther descent was by no means proportionate. Round and round we swept—not with any uniform movement, but in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred yards—sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution, was slow, but very perceptible.

THE MARVELOUS ESCAPE

“Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid ebony on which we were thus borne, I perceived that our boat was not the only object in the embrace of the whirl. Both above and below us were visible fragments of vessels, large masses of building timber and trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, such as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels, and staves. I have already described the unnatural curiosity which had taken the place of my original terrors. It appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful doom. I now began to watch, with a strange interest, the numerous things that floated in our company. I _must_ have been delirious—for I even sought _amusement_ in speculating upon the relative velocities of their several descents toward the foam below. ‘This fir tree,’ I found myself at one time saying, ‘will certainly be the next thing that takes the awful plunge and disappears,’—and then I was disappointed to find that the wreck of a Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went down before. At length, after making several guesses of this nature, and being deceived in all—this fact—the fact of my invariable miscalculation, set me upon a train of reflection that made my limbs again tremble, and my heart beat heavily once more.

“It was not a new terror that thus affected me, but the dawn of a more exciting _hope_. This hope arose partly from memory, and partly from present observation. I called to mind the great variety of buoyant matter that strewed the coast of Lofoden, having been absorbed and then thrown forth by the Moskoe-strom. By far the greater number of the articles were shattered in the most extraordinary way—so chafed and roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of splinters—but then I distinctly recollected that there were _some_ of them which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not account for this difference except by supposing that the roughened fragments were the only ones which had been _completely absorbed_—that the others had entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide, or, from some reason, had descended so slowly after entering, that they did not reach the bottom before the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case might be. I conceived it possible, in either instance, that they might thus be whirled up again to the level of the ocean, without undergoing the fate of those which had been drawn in more early or absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three important observations. The first was, that as a general rule, the larger the bodies were, the more rapid their descent; the second, that, between two masses of equal extent, the one spherical, and the other _of any other shape_, the superiority in speed of descent was with the sphere; the third, that, between two masses of equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of any other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more slowly. Since my escape, I have had several conversations on this subject with an old schoolmaster of the district; and it was from him that I learned the use of the words ‘cylinder’ and ‘sphere.’ He explained to me—although I have forgotten the explanation—how what I observed was, in fact, the natural consequence of the forms of the floating fragments, and showed me how it happened that a cylinder, swimming in a vortex, offered more resistance to its suction, and was drawn in with greater difficulty, than an equally bulky body, of any form whatever.

“There was one startling circumstance which went a great way in enforcing these observations, and rendering me anxious to turn them to account, and this was that, at every revolution, we passed something like a barrel, or else the yard or mast of a vessel, while many of these things, which had been on our level when I first opened my eyes upon the wonders of the whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed to have moved but little from their original station.

“I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the water cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw myself with it into the water. I attracted my brother’s attention to signs, pointed to the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything in my power to make him understand what I was about to do. I thought at length that he comprehended my design—but, whether this was the case or not, he shook his head despairingly, and refused to move from his station by the ringbolt. It was impossible to reach him; the emergency admitted of no delay; and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with it into the sea, without another moment’s hesitation.

“The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. As it is myself who now tells you this tale—as you see that I _did_ escape—and as you are already in possession of the mode in which this escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate all that I have further to say—I will bring my story quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour, or thereabout, after my quitting the smack, when, having descended to a vast distance beneath me, it made three or four wild gyrations in rapid succession, and, bearing my loved brother with it, plunged headlong, at once and forever, into the chaos of foam below. The barrel to which I was attached sunk very little farther than half the distance between the bottom of the gulf and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a great change took place in the character of the whirlpool. The slope of the sides of the vast funnel became momently less and less steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew, gradually, less and less violent. By degrees, the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the surface of the ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the spot where the pool of the Moskoe-strom _had been_. It was the hour of the slack; but the sea still heaved in mountainous waves from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne violently into the channel of the strom, and in a few minutes was hurried down the coast into the ‘grounds’ of the fishermen. A boat picked me up—exhausted from fatigue—and (now that the danger was removed) speechless from the memory of its horror. Those who drew me on board were my old mates and daily companions, but they knew me no more than they would have known a traveler from the spirit-land. My hair, which had been raven-black the day before, was as white as you see it now. They say, too, that the whole expression of my countenance had changed. I told them my story—they did not believe it. I now tell it to you—and I can scarcely expect you to put more faith in it than did the merry fishermen of Lofoden.”

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) was the greatest poet and short story writer the South has produced. His parents belonged by profession to the stage; his mother was English and his father American by birth. Born in Boston, he was left an orphan at an early age, and was adopted by a Mr. Allan, a wealthy citizen of Richmond, Virginia. Poe was sent to school in London, and later he attended the University of Virginia, and the military academy at West Point. Mr. Allan lavished money and other inducements upon him in vain efforts to get him to settle down to a permanent profession, but finally abandoned him to his own resources. From that time on, Poe eked out a living by publishing poems and tales, by contributions to newspapers and magazines, and by editorial work. But he was too erratic in his habits to retain long either positions or friends. His writings, like his character, were weird, mysterious, haunted by brooding melancholy. But his poetry is perhaps the most purely musical of any in our language—for Poe believed that poetry should be the language of the feelings rather than of thought, and that it should therefore seek to produce its effects through “harmony of sweet sounds” rather than through the meaning of its lines. His prose tales of mystery and adventure are remarkable for their imaginative and poetic style; they have served as models for many well known writers. Poe was the originator of the modern short story.

Poe’s erratic, troubled life ended at Baltimore, in 1849, in the fortieth year of his age. The pathos of it is well summed up in the inscription on a memorial tablet erected to him in the New York Museum of Art: “He was great in his genius, unhappy in his life, wretched in his death, but in his fame, immortal.”

=Discussion.= 1. Locate the scene of this story on a map. 2. Read from the dictionary and encyclopedia to learn about whirlpools. 3. What do you learn from Jonas Ramus’s description of the whirlpool? 4. How does the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ account for the vortex? 5. What was the theory of Kircher? 6. How does the hero account for his apparent age? 7. Relate briefly in your own words the hero’s story of his experience in the maelstrom. 8. What tempted him to brave the dangers of the whirlpool? 9. Account for his miscalculation of the time of the slack. 10. What three observations did the hero make while descending into the maelstrom? 11. How did he make his escape? 12. How does Poe try to give an idea of the noise of the whirlpool? 13. How does it differ from Hawthorne’s description of the roar of Niagara? (See page 466.) 14. How had the “ordinary accounts of the vortex” prepared Poe to see it? 15. In what were these accounts of the vortex inadequate? 16. Compare this with Hawthorne’s statement concerning what he had read of Niagara. 17. From this story what do you think of Poe’s powers of imagination and description? 18. What other authors have you read that have similar powers? 19. Point out descriptions in this selection that you particularly like. 20. Pronounce the following: ungovernable; maelstrom; vortices; herbage; gauntlet; ague; buoyant.

=Phrases=

sheer unobstructed precipice, 192, 4 particularizing manner, 192, 18 deplorably desolate, 192, 29 precipitous descents, 194, 3 gleaming spray, 194, 15 terrific funnel, 194, 16 boisterous rapidity, 195, 10 fruitless struggles, 195, 26 flux and reflux, 195, 33 immediate vicinity, 196, 2 abyss of the whirl, 196, 8 plausible in perusal, 196, 18 collision of waves, 196, 21 desperate speculation, 197, 22 flood of golden glory, 204, 20 terrific grandeur, 204, 24 wide waste of liquid ebony, 205, 17 the gyrations of the whirl, 207, 37

THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARY

CHARLES DICKENS