CHAPTER XLVI
THE CASTLE OF CARBONEK
The castle stands high among vast, sharp-edged waves of sand at the edge of a cliff, and looks at the sea and a long, empty shore. At its feet a little river can be seen running in a narrow valley. A few miles off it rises in the red moorland, then it falls with many a cascade down ladders of crag, broadens among willows where long leaves are all horizontal in the wind, and here by the castle it has reached an elvish, merry old age already, as it moves clear over the brown stones and out among the rocks to the sea. Opposite the castle, across the river, the other side of the valley is clothed in dense and luminous oak wood. Where the river joins the sea both the castle hill and the wooded hill break away into a broken multitude of bristling rocks, and among their alleys and hidden corridors and halls the waves leap with the motion of a herd of ridgy cattle galloping through narrow gateways. Beyond, and away for ten miles, the high dark coast sweeps in a curve which the sea whitens by showing its teeth; and round the headland at the end the ships come and go at starry intervals. Landward, the country rises in long, steep, furzy curves, interrupted by sudden rocks, to the red moor and the autumn evening sky of towering, tumultuous and yet steady grey cloud.
The castle stands among pale sand and long plumy grasses. The sand is deep within the hollow and roofless circuit of the broken walls, through which, here and there, come glimpses of sea or sky disconnected from any fragment of the land, so that I seem to stand between the sea and sky. In the summer ivy-leaved toad-flax buds and harebells, most delicate flowers, whisper from the crevices. But nothing lives here now. The trunk of an old tree that once grew through the walls is now so much worn that what it was when it lived is not to be known. Not only is all human life gone from here, but even the signs of its decay are invisible. The noble masonry can suffer no more except at the hands of men; it is too low and too strong. It is a rude crag. Neither history nor legend speaks intelligently of it. It is but known that it was raised by hands, and each man that comes to it has to build it again out of his own life and blood, or it remains not far removed from nothing. The wayfarer starts at the sight of it, tries in vain, shuddering at the cliff and the desolate sea, to conceive a life lived by beings like himself in such a place. To have lived there men must have had fairy aids or the blood of witches or of gods in their veins.
Here might easily have been builded in a night that phantom palace and its illusive pomps, where the Corinthian Lycius dwelt with the phantasmal Lamia until a philosopher’s eye unbuilt it again.
Or on these sands might have stood Myratana and blind Tiriel before the beautiful palace, and cursed their sons.
Or up in the vanished high bowman’s window the king’s daughter sat and harped and sang:--
“There sits a bird i’ my father’s garden, An’ O! but she sings sweet! I hope to live an’ see the day When wi’ my love I’ll meet.”
When the sun has set, and land and sea are dissolved in cold mist, all but a circle of pale sand and the castle fragment, it seems true that here, to the foot of the tower that is gone, came the king’s daughter and wept and sighed and made a great moan: “Ah! he mourns not who does not mourn for love.” And the good king came and asked her if she desired to wed, and she answered, “Alas, sir, yes. Ah! he mourns not who does not mourn for love.”
“Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour: Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour. La fille du roi est au pied de la tour, Qui pleura et soupire et mène grand dolour. Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour: Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour. Le bon roi lui dit: Ma fille, qu’avez vous? Voulez-vous un mari? Hélas! oui, mon seignoux. Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour: Las! il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’amour.”
Here, away from earth and sea and sky, apart from men and time and any care, the melody and the picture are truer than before, suiting that melancholy wood, in which the heart, seeming to go back easily through unguessed deeps of time, makes all sorrows its own, airily, not without delight.
And there are others who abode here or abide here, as for example those timeless knights of no age or clime--Pelleas, Launcelot, Pellinore, Palomides, Galahad, whose armour no man pretends to show us, whom old men’s tongues and poets’ pens have lured into immortality--to whom this castle gives a home.
When Launcelot had come to the water of Morteise, says Malory, he slept, and there in a vision he was bidden to rise and put on his armour and enter the first ship that he found. And he did so, and the ship moved without sail or oar, and in the ship was great sweetness so that “he was fulfilled with all things that he thought on or desired.” There he slept, and when he awoke there was none on board except the dead sister of Sir Percivale; and the ship went on for more than a month and Sir Launcelot fed on manna, until at last he touched land and there met Sir Galahad, his son. For half a year the two sailed together, and “often they arrived in isles far from folk, where there repaired none but wild beasts.” But one day at the edge of a forest a white knight warned Sir Galahad that he should stay with his father no more. “And therewith Galahad entered into the forest. And the wind arose, and drove Launcelot more than a month throughout the sea, where he slept but little, but prayed to God that he might see some tidings of the Sangreal. So it befell on a night, at midnight, he arrived afore a castle, on the back side, which was rich and fair, and there was a postern opened towards the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shone clear. Anon Sir Launcelot heard a voice that said: Launcelot, go out of this ship and enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a great part of thy desire. Then he ran to his arms, and so armed him, and so went to the gate and saw the lions. Then set he hand to his sword and drew it. Then there came a dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm so sore that the sword fell out of his hand. Then heard he a voice say: O man of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore trowest thou more on thy harness than in thy Maker, for He might more avail thee than thine armour, in whose service thou art set. Then said Launcelot: Fair Father Jesu Christ, I thank Thee of Thy great mercy that Thou reprovest me of my misdeed; now see I well that ye hold me for your servant. Then took he again his sword and put it up in his sheath, and made a cross in his forehead, and came to the lions, and they made semblaunt to do him harm. Notwithstanding he passed by them without hurt, and entered into the castle to the chief fortress, and there were they all at rest. Then Launcelot entered in so armed, for he found no gate nor door but it was open. And at the last he found a chamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to have opened it, but he might not.
“Then he enforced him mickle to undo the door. Then he listened and heard a voice which sung so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing; and him thought the voice said: Joy and honour be to the Father of Heaven. Then Launcelot kneeled down before the chamber, for well wist he that there was the Sangreal within that chamber. Then said he: Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that pleased Thee, Lord, for Thy pity ne have me not in despite for my foul sins done aforetime, and that Thou show me something of that I seek. And with that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright as all the torches of the world had been there. So came he to the chamber door and would have entered. And anon a voice said to him: Flee, Launcelot, and enter not, for thou oughtest not to do it; and if thou enter thou shalt forthink it. Then he withdrew him aback right heavy. Then looked he up in the middle of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the Holy Vessel, covered with red samite and many angels about it, whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and the other held a cross and the ornaments of an altar. And before the Holy Vessel he saw a good man clothed as a priest. And it seemed that he was at the sacring of the mass. And it seemed to Launcelot that above the priest’s hands were three men, whereof the two put the youngest by likeness between the priest’s hands; and so he lift it up right high, and it seemed to show so to the people. And then Launcelot marvelled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatly charged of the figure that him seemed that he should fall to the earth. And when he saw none about him that would help him, then came he to the door a great pace, and said: Fair Father Jesu Christ, ne take it for no sin though I help the good man which hath great need of help. Right so entered he into the chamber, and came toward the table of silver; and when he came nigh he felt a breath, that him thought it was intermeddled with fire, which smote him so sore in the visage that him thought it brent his visage; and therewith he fell to the earth and had no power to arise; so he was so araged, that had lost the power of his body, and his hearing, and his seeing. Then felt he many hands about him, which took him up and bare him out of the chamber door, without any amending of his swoon, and left him there, seeming dead to all people. So upon the morrow when it was fair day they within were arisen, and found Launcelot lying afore the chamber door. All they marvelled how that he came in, and so they looked upon him, and felt his pulse to wit whether there were any life in him; and so they found life in him, but he might not stand nor stir no member that he had. And so they took him by every part of the body, and bare him into a chamber, and laid him in a rich bed, far from all folk; and so he lay four days. Then the one said he was alive, and the other said, nay. In the name of God, said an old man, for I do you verily to wit he is not dead, but he is so full of life as the mightiest of you all; and therefore I counsel you that he be well kept till God send him life again.
“In such manner they kept Launcelot four-and-twenty days and all so many nights, that ever he lay still as a dead man; and at the twenty-fifth day befell him after midday that he opened his eyes, and when he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said: Why have ye awaked me, for I was more at ease than I am now. O Jesu Christ, who might be so blessed that might see openly thy great marvels of secretness there where no sinner may be! What have ye seen? said they about him. I have seen, said he, so great marvels that no tongue may tell, and more than any heart can think, and had not my son been here afore me I had seen much more. Then they told him how he had lain there four-and-twenty days and nights. Then him thought it was punishment for the four-and-twenty years that he had been a sinner, wherefore our Lord put him in penance four-and-twenty days and nights. Then looked Sir Launcelot afore him, and saw the hair which he had borne nigh a year, for that he forthought him right much that he had broken his promise unto the hermit, which he had avowed to do. Then they asked how it stood with him. Forsooth, said he, I am whole of body, thanked be our Lord; therefore, sirs, for God’s love tell me where I am. Then said they all that he was in the Castle of Carbonek.”
And when the moon is clear, and the tingling sea is vast and alone, this castle on the sand above the grim coast is Carbonek, meet for all adventures and all dreams.
SONGS
MOWING SONG
With one man, with two men, we mow the hay to-gether; ... With three men, with four men, we mow the hay togeth-er.... My four, my three, my two, my one, no more.... We mow the hay and rake the hay and car-ry it a-way to-geth-er.
THE HOLM BANK HUNTING SONG
One morning last winter to Holm bank there came A brave, no-ble sportsman, Squire Sands was his name, Came a hunt-ing the fox, bold Reynard must die, And he flung out his train and be-gan for to cry, Tally ho! ... tally ho! ... Hark, for-ward a-way, tal-ly ho....
POOR OLD HORSE
My cloth-ing was once of the lin-sey wool-sey fine, ... My tail it grew at length ... my coat did likewise shine. But now I’m growing old my beauty does de-cay. My master frowns up-on me; one day I heard him say, Poor old horse, poor old horse.
MARY, COME INTO THE FIELD
Mary, come into the field ... To work a-long of I.... Digging up man-gel wor-zels, For they be a-growing high.... Dig ’em up by the roots, dig ’em up by the roots, Put in your spade, don’t be a-fraid, Dig ’em up by the roots....
LA FILLE DU ROI
Las! Il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour! Las! Il n’a nu! mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour! La fill-e du roi est au pied de la tour, qui pleure et sou-pir-e et mène grand dou-lour.
Las! Il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour. Las! Il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour. Le bon roi lui dit: Ma fille, qu’avez-vous? Voulez-vous un mari? Hé-las oui, mon sei-gnoux!
Las! Il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour. Las! Il n’a nul mal qui n’a le mal d’a-mour.
INDEX
Achilles, modern, questioning Ulysses, 189
After-harvest, stillness of, 99
Aphrodite, 169
Apollo and Pan, 27
Apple blossom, 166-169
Ash-tree, solitary, dying, endiademed with woe, 53, 54; how its leaves are shed, 124
August, 73-76; Nature’s perfect poise, 73; cool places in, 73; the woods in, 75
Autumn, 176
Autumn bells, 174, 175
Autumn garden, an, 93-96, 174, 175; farmhouse the royal flower of, 93; a farmer’s love of his, 95
Ballad, a pathetic, described, 207, 208; on the horse, 190, 237
Ballads and folk-songs, 206-208; their words and melodies richest in immortal symbols, 206, 207
Barge, a black, 143-145; its strange cargo, 145
Beech wood, a, 166
Birdnesting, 60
“Blue Bell,” the cosmic melody, 194
Bodleian Library, August in, 73
Books, a night with, 118
Boy, long thoughts of, 3
Brook, the, 88-92; its insect, mineral, and plant life, 88-91; its meandering course, 91, 92
Burns, Robert, prejudice against his poetry for epitaphs, 114
Calm, effect of, 2
Carbonek, castle of, 225-232; now only a ruined crag, 226; dreary outlook from, 226; and Sir Launcelot’s vision, 229-232
Cassiopeia, the constellation, 194
Catullus, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Centaur, farmer on horse compared to, 66
Chalk hills, the, 171
Cherry blossom, 153, 154
Cherry of Zennor, Hunt’s story of, 198-201; her dissatisfaction with home, 199; her strange adventure, 199; her curiosity and its consequences, 200, 201
Church bells, 176
Church, decorated, description of, 41-48; service in, 41-43; hymn-singing, 42; modern worshippers and mythical gods, 43; caged bells, 43
Church, village, description of, 176-178; dull worshippers, 177; a spiritless sermon, 178; dream of an earthly heaven, 178-180
Clock, a silent, 118, 119
Clouds on the sea, 216-219; their changeableness, 217, 218
Coach, London, 78
Company, good, walking in, 28-30
Country churchyard, a, 111-115; village life in, 111; life and death in, 111, 112; epitaphs, 112-115; eighteenth and nineteenth century epitaphs compared, 112
Country lover, the, 91
Crashaw’s poem, 62
Daffodils, the first, 183-191
Dante, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Dawn, beauties of nature at, 15, 16; a July, 119
Deucalion stones, 223
Dis, chariot of, coming to Persephone, 148
“Dolly Gray,” sung in July fields, 206
Downs, the, 171-3
Dream, a strange, 39, 40
Earth Children, 126-137
Elves, lingering superstitions regarding, 66
Epitaph on infant’s tomb, 24
Epitaphs, 112-115; history and progress seen in, 112; sources of, 113, 114
“Fantastic summer’s heat,” 73
Farm, an old, 64-68; relics of its long-dead generations, 67; a deserted, 69, 70
Farmer, his life and habits, 66-68; his house, 67; his library, 67, 68; relics of ancestors and thoughts of posterity, 68
Farmer’s daughter, the, 168, 169
Farmhouse, the royal flower of autumn, 93; youth and antiquity mingled in the aspect of, 93, 94; wayfarer’s first view of, 96; a little red, 100; life in, 101
Farmyard, in a, 52-55
Faunus, 21-25
Fell and moor, 184
Field, a green, 84-87; antiquity of, 86; November the notable month of, 87
Fields, antiquity of, 86
Fishing-boats in a tidal river, 214, 215
Footpaths, ancient, 115
“Four Elms, The,” typical village inn, 106, 110; its old-time furniture, 107; tramps and labourers in tap-room, 107-110
Fox-hunt, 141, 155-165
Gaberdine, a pedlar’s description of, 186
Galahad and Launcelot, 228
Gardens, summer flowers in, 170, 171; autumn flowers, 174, 175
Garland day, 44-48; song of, 48
Gods, ancient, and modern worshippers, 42, 43; and heroes, 54
Golden Age, the, 13, 15, 16, 100-102; and modern literature, 14
Goldfinches happy among thistles, 87
Good Friday and marbles, 60
Happiness, pursuit of, futile, 83
Happy Fields, 73
Harvest, a little before, 170-173
Harvest field, a moonlight love-race in, 201-204
Harvest moon, under a, 202-204
Haul of spring flowers, a March, 211-213
Hazlitt, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Heathland in the wind, 216, 217
Hedges, unruliness of, 84
Heroes and gods, 54
Hill, a tall beechen, 153
Holm-bank Hunting Song the, 194
“Hop-idgit,” the, or “shim,” 126
Horse, ballad on the, 190
House, white stone, 74
Hunt’s story of Cherry of Zennor, 198
Inn, the village, 205-208; metamorphosed into a temple of all souls, 208
Inns, 63, 104, 106, 123, 183, 194; a medley, 5; roadside, 5, 61
January sunshine, 140-142
July night, and dawn, a, reminiscences of a, 118, 119
Junonian woman, 73, 76; best representative of August, 73
Keats, 147, 148
Kilhwch, love of, song suggestive of, 208
King, Farmer, anecdote of his hay, 129
Labourer, aged, reminiscences of, 77-82; a memory with a voice, 79; feats of strength and endurance, 80, 81; his coaching days, 81; disciple of Culpeper, 82
Lamia and Lycius, 226
Landscapes on the walls by the roadside, 192
Lane, an ideal country, 56, 57
Launcelot, Sir, at the water of Morteise, 228; his vision of the Sangreal, 228; his adventures, 228-232; at the castle of Carbonek, 229-232
Lethe, 214
Lethe’s stream, the flotsam on, 101
Literature, modern, 14
London, 7, 188; midnight walk in, 7; pedestrians encountered, 7, 8; river, seen from bridge, 8; names of streets an epitome of the world and time, 9; can it be told? 188, 189; _The Soul of London_, 188
Love-race in a moonlit harvest-field, 201-204
Lover’s game, children playing at, 59
Lycius, Corinthian, and Lamia, 226
Malory’s story of Sir Launcelot and the Sangreal, 228
Marbles and Good Friday, 60
March doubts, 37-40
March haul, a, 211, 213
Marlowe, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Marsh, the, 220-222
“Mary, come into the Field,” a peasant song, 34, 35, 237, 238
Maypole, the village, 70
Meadowland, 56-63; pastoral inhabitants of, 58
Meadow-sweet, the, 75
Men prisons to themselves, 7
Meredith, Arabella, old man’s love-story concerning, 157-163; her prowess in the hunting-field, 158; her proposal of marriage, 159; at the Fair, 161; her lover’s daring swim, 162, 163; her death, 163
Merediths, the, 157
Metamorphosis of the trees, 124
Mind, pool an image of the, 154
Moon, reign of, 153, 154
Moor and fell, 184
Moor, under the, 198-201
Moorhen, the home of the, 85
Morning, pride of the, 121-123
Morteise, water of, Sir Launcelot at the, 228
Mountainous country, scene in, 183
Mountains haunting the day, 184
Mowing, extraordinary day’s work at, 80, 81; song, 11, 235
Music, the romantic cry of matter striving to become spirit, 206
Myratana and blind Tiriel, 226
Names, of streets, an epitome, 9; of inns, rich in suggestion, 9
Nature, sorrowing, 5; a philosopher of, 12; beauties of, at dawn, 15, 16, 119
No man’s garden, 31-36
November, the notable month of the field, 87; rain, 138, 139
Orchard, an, 167
Pace-egging Play, 179
Paganism, eternal, the multitude’s, 130, 131
Page, Margaret Helen, earth child, 127; her better days, 127; her Franciscan fondness for bird and beast, 127; her Christian-pagan prayer and aspirations, 128-130
Page, Robert, earth child, 126; his home, 127; his varied avocations, 131, 132; his belief of all things in print, 133; his strange dream of the judgment day, 133, 134; Bacchus his only god, 134; his likeness to a lesser god in mythology, 135, 136
Palomides, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Pan and Apollo, 27
Pastoral inhabitants of meadowland, 58; song, 58; valley, 174
Pedlar, a, 186; his picturesque dress, 186; his birthplace, 186; his simple life described, 187; his questionings, 187-190
Pelleas, 228
Pellinore, 228
Persephone and the chariot of Dis, 148
Pleiades, the, and clouds, 218
Ploughman, the, 22-25; his daily task, 23; his recreation, 23, 24
Poetry, pastoral, 14
Poison, slow, dream-search for, 39, 40
Pond, a primeval, 52, 53; the field, 85; its aspect at dawn, 86
Pond-mirror, the, 192-197; reflections on and in, 196, 197
Pool, beauties of, 73-76; an image of the mind, reflections in, 154
“Poor Mary,” children’s lovers’ game, 59, 60
Poppies, 71
_Popular Romances of the West of England_, Hunt’s, 198
Pork, roast, procuring a dinner of, 79, 80
Princess, an impossible, 72
Rain, night walk in, 5, 6
River, a tidal, fishing-heats in, 214
Robin’s eggs, superstition regarding, 60
Ruy Blas, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Sail, one, at sea, 223, 224; image of watcher’s hopes, 223
St. Martin’s Summer, 118-120
Sangreal, Sir Launcelot and the, 228, 229
Sea, clouds on the, 216, 219; one sail at, 223, 224
Seifelmolouk, modern, and his memlooks, 43
“Shim,” or “hop-idgit” of six tynes, the Sussex, 126
Sign-post, duty of, 10
Siren, melody of, 220
Song, a country marching, 11, 235
Songs, old, fragments of, 29, 30, 34
Songs with music: Mowing song, 235; Holm-bank Hunting Song, 236; Poor old Horse, song of the, 237; Mary, come into the Field 237, 238; La Fille du Roi, 238
Soul of London, the, 188
Sovereign things, three: ship, chariot, plough, 21
Spring, birds and flowers, 37-40
Squire of olden days, a, 79
Streets, as seen from railway carriage, 3, 4; a problem, 4; at night, 8; city, 9; names of, an epitome, 9
Suburban street, a, 1
Summer garden, 170, 171
Summer-time, 170
Sunday, autumn, in country, 176-180
Sunshine, January, 140-142
Superstitions: robin’s eggs, 60; elves, 66; tadpoles, 82
Swift, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Symbols that surge and satisfy, 205
Tadpoles, rustic remedy for “decline,” 82
Tartarus, 131
Ten miles drive, 155
Tennyson’s poetry as source of epitaphs, 114
Times, old-fashioned, 77-82; advantages and disadvantages, 78; were they “good”? 78
Tiriel, blind, and Myratana, 226
Tombs, only records of early races, 111, 112; life and death of, 112; various objects in, 111; bodies found in sitting posture, 112
Tower, a spectacular, 221
Town-leaving, 1-17
Tramp, a, conversations with, 31-35; his wife, 32; a murder, 32, 33; on Bank-holiday, 35, 36; at work, 36
Tramps of various nationalities, 107; strange sleeping-place of, 115
Tree-worship, mild, suggestion of, 192
Trees, 6, 16; ancient, 42; metamorphosis of, 124
Valley, a quiet, 140
Village, the, 103-117; its ancient cottages, 105; its church and churchyard, 104, 111; its inns and their frequenters, 104, 106-110; flower-gardens, 105; its eighteenth-century vicarage, 106; longevity of inhabitants, 113; its roads and footpaths, 115, 116; its archæological and historic remains, 116
Villon, love of, song suggestive of, 208
Walnut-tree, the, 97-99
Watercress-man, 2; conversation with, 11-15; as philosopher and flower-seller, 12; as landscape-painter, 12-13
Water-mill, deserted, 97
Wayfarer, the, 121
Winter morning, a, 146
Wood at sunrise, 44; antiquity of, 46; youth of, 47; an old, beauties of, 49-51; memories evoked by, 51; a triangular, 139
Woodland walk, 26, 27, 44-51
World, still primitive, the, 143
Worshipper, modern and ancient gods, 42, 43
Yeoman of long ancestry, 156; and Enid, his betrothed, 157, 160, 164
Youth, wood of, 47
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._
Transcriber's Note
Duplicate headings have been removed.
The following apparent errors have been corrected:
p. 35 "Dig ’em up by the roots, etc." changed to "‘Dig ’em up by the roots,’ etc."
p. 42 "Through all the changing scenes of life”" changed to "“Through all the changing scenes of life”"
p. 58 "Aud all" changed to "And all"
p. 65 "Si g, birds,in" changed to "Sing, birds, in"
p. 96 "declares it" changed to "declares its"
p. 243 "his home, 127:" changed to "his home, 127;"
Archaic or inconsistent language has otherwise been kept as printed.