by Howard Pyle
Then that lady smiled upon Sir Gawaine with such loving-kindness that he wist not what to think, other than that this was an angel who had descended to that place out of paradise. Wherefore he stood before her for a long time and could find no more words to say, and she continued to smile upon him very kindly in that wise. Then by and by Sir Gawaine said to her, “Lady, where is that dame who is my wife?” And the lady said, “Sir Gawaine, I am she.” “It is not possible,” cried out Sir Gawaine, “for she was old and extraordinarily ugly, but I believe that thou art beautiful beyond any lady whom I have beheld.” And the lady said, “Nevertheless, I am she and because thou hast taken me for thy wife with thine own free will and with great courtesy, so is a part of that enchantment that lay upon me removed from me. For I will now be able to appear before thee in mine own true shape. For whiles I was a little while ago so ugly and foul as thou didst behold me to be, now am I to be as thou seest me, for one-half the day — and the other half thereof I must be ugly as I was before.”
Then Sir Gawaine was filled beyond all words with great joy. And with that joy there came an extreme passion of loving regard for that lady. So he cried out aloud several times, “This is surely the most wonderful thing that ever befell any man in all the world.” Therewith he fell down upon his knees and took that lady’s hands into his own hands, and kissed her hands with great fervor, and all the while she smiled upon him as she had done at first.
Then again the lady said, “Come, sit thee down beside me and let us consider what part of the day I shall be in the one guise, and what part of the day I shall be in the other guise; for all day I may have the one appearance, and all night I may have the other appearance.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “I would have thee in this guise during the night time, for then we are together at our own inn; and since thou art of this sort that I now see thee, I do not at all reckon how the world may regard thee.”
Upon this the lady spake with great animation, saying, “No, sir, I would not have it in that wise, for every woman loveth the regard of the world, and I would fain enjoy such beauty as is mine before the world, and not endure the scorn and contempt of men and women.”
To this Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I would have it the other way.”
And she said, “Nay, I would have it my way.”
Sir Gawaine giveth the lady her will.
Then Sir Gawaine said, “So be it. For since I have taken thee for my wife, so must I show thee respect in all matters; wherefore thou shalt have thy will in this and in all other things.”
Then that lady fell a-laughing beyond all measure and she said, “Sir, I did but put this as a last trial upon thee, for as I am now, so shall I always be.”
Upon this Sir Gawaine was so filled with joy that he knew not how to contain himself.
So they sat together for a long time, hand in hand. Then after a while Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, who art thou?” Unto which she made reply, “I am one of the Ladies of the Lake; but for thy sake I have become mortal like to other women and have quit that very beautiful home where I one time dwelt. I have kept thee in my heart for a considerable while, for I was not very far distant at that time when thou didst bid adieu to Sir Pellias beside the lake. There I beheld how thou didst weep and bewail thyself when Sir Pellias left thee, wherefore my heart went out to thee with great pity. So, after a while, I quitted that lake and became mortal for thy sake. Now, when I found the trouble into which King Arthur had fallen I took that occasion to have him fetch me unto thee so that I might test the entire nobility of thy knighthood; and, lo! I have found it all that I deemed it possible to be. For though I appeared to thee so aged, so ugly, and so foul, yet hast thou treated me with such kind regard that I do not believe that thou couldst have behaved with more courtesy to me had I been the daughter of a king. Wherefore it doth now afford me such pleasure for to possess thee for my knight and my true lord, that I cannot very well tell thee how great is my joy therein.”
Sir Gawaine lets make great rejoicing.
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I do not think it can be so great as my joy in possessing thee.” And thereupon he came to her and laid his hand upon her shoulder and kissed her upon the lips.
Then, after that, he went forth and called with a great voice all through that house, and the people of the house came running from everywhere. And he commanded that the people should bring lights and refreshments, and they brought the lights, and when they had brought them and beheld that beautiful lady instead of the aged dame, they were filled with great wonder and joy; wherefore they cried out aloud and clapped their hands together and made much sound of rejoicing. And they set a great feast for Sir Gawaine and his lady, and in place of the sorrow and darkness that had been, there was joy and light, and music and singing; wherefore those of the King’s Court, beholding this from a distance, said, “It is very strange that Sir Gawaine should have taken so much joy of having wedded that old beldame.”
But when the next morning had come, that lady clad herself in raiment of yellow silk, and she hung about her many strands of precious stones of several colors, and she set a golden crown upon her head. And Sir Gawaine let call his horse, and he let call a snow-white palfrey for the lady, and thereupon they rode out from that place and entered the Court of the King. But when the King and the Queen and their several Courts beheld that lady, they were filled with such great astonishment that they wist not what to say for pure wonder. And when they heard all that had happened, they gave great joy and loud acclaim so that all their mourning was changed into rejoicing. And, indeed, there was not one knight there of all that Court who would not have given half his life to have been so fortunate in that matter as was Sir Gawaine, the son of King Lot of Orkney.
Such is the story of Sir Gawaine, and from it I draw this significance: as that poor ugly beldame appeared unto the eyes of Sir Gawaine, so doth a man’s duty sometimes appear to him to be ugly and exceedingly ill-favored unto his desires. But when he shall have wedded himself unto that duty so that he hath made it one with him as a bridegroom maketh himself one with his bride, then doth that duty become of a sudden very beautiful unto him and unto others.
So may it be with ye that you shall take duty unto yourselves no matter how much it may mislike ye to do so. For indeed a man shall hardly have any real pleasure in his life unless his inclination becometh wedded unto his duty and cleaveth unto it as a husband cleaveth unto his wife. For when inclination is thus wedded unto duty, then doth the soul take great joy unto itself as though a wedding had taken place betwixt a bridegroom and a bride within its tabernacle.
Likewise, when you shall have become entirely wedded unto your duty, then shall you become equally worthy with that good knight and gentleman Sir Gawaine; for it needs not that a man shall wear armor for to be a true knight, but only that he shall do his best endeavor with all patience and humility as it hath been ordained for him to do. Wherefore, when your time cometh unto you to display your knightness by assuming your duty, I do pray that you also may approve yourself as worthy as Sir Gawaine approved himself in this story which I have told you of as above written.
CONCLUSION
SO ENDETH THIS volume wherein hath been told, with every circumstance of narration, the history of those Three Worthies who were of the Court of King Arthur.
And now, if God will give me the grace to do so, I will some time, at no very great time from this, write the further history of sundry other knights and worthies of whom I have not yet spoken.
And among the first of these shall be Sir Launcelot, whom all the world knoweth to have been the greatest knight in prowess of arms of any who has lived, excepting Sir Galahad, who was his son. And I shall tell you the story of Sir Ewaine and Sir Geraint, and of Sir Percival and of sundry others.
But of this another time. For now, with great regret I bid you adieu and bring this history unto a close.
So may God grant us to come together at another time with such happiness and prosperity that you may
have a free and untroubled heart to enjoy the narrated history of those excellent men which I shall then set before you. Amen.
The Story of the Champions of the Round Table (1905)
CONTENTS
FOREWORD.
PROLOGUE.
The Story of Sir Launcelot
Chapter First
Chapter Second
Chapter Third
Chapter Fourth
Chapter Fifth
Chapter Sixth
Chapter Seventh
Chapter Eighth
CONCLUSION
The Book of Sir Tristram
PART I. The Story of Sir Tristram and the Lady Belle Isoult
Chapter First
Chapter Second
Chapter Third
Chapter Fourth
Chapter Fifth
Chapter Sixth
Chapter Seventh
PART II. The Story of Sir Tristram and Sir Lamorack
Chapter First
Chapter Second
Chapter Third
PART III. The Madness of Sir Tristram
Chapter First
Chapter Second
Chapter Third
Chapter Fourth
The Book of Sir Percival
Chapter First
Chapter Second
Chapter Third
Chapter Fourth
Chapter Fifth
PERCIVAL OF GALES
CONCLUSION.
FOREWORD.
In a book which was written by me aforetime, and which was set forth in print, I therein told much of the history of King Arthur; of how he manifested his royalty in the achievement of that wonderful magic sword which he drew forth out of the anvil; of how he established his royalty; of how he found a splendid sword yclept Excalibur in a miraculously wonderful manner; of how he won the most beautiful lady in the world for his queen; and of how he established the famous Round Table of noble worthy knights, the like of whose prowess the world hath never seen, and will not be likely ever to behold again.
Also I told in that book the adventures of certain worthy knights and likewise how the magician Merlin was betrayed to his undoing by a sorceress hight Vivien.
Now, if you took any joy in reading that book, I have great hope that that which follows may be every whit as pleasing to you; for I shall hereinafter have to do with the adventures of certain other worthies with whom you may have already become acquainted through my book and otherwise; and likewise of the adventures of certain other worthies, of whom you have not yet been told by me.
More especially, I believe, you will find entertainment in what I shall have to tell you of the adventures of that great knight who was altogether the most noble of spirit, and the most beautiful, and the bravest of heart, of any knight who ever lived — excepting only his own son, Galahad, who was the crowning glory of his house and of his name and of the reign of King Arthur.
However, if Sir Launcelot of the Lake failed now and then in his behavior, who is there in the world shall say, “I never fell into error”? And if he more than once offended, who is there shall have hardihood to say, “I never committed offence”?
Yea, that which maketh Launcelot so singularly dear to all the world, is that he was not different from other men, but like other men, both in his virtues and his shortcomings; only that he was more strong and more brave and more untiring than those of us who are his brethren, both in our endeavors and in our failures.
PROLOGUE.
Of King Ban and his misfortunes.
It hath already been set forth in print in a volume written by me concerning the adventures of King Arthur when he first became king, how there were certain lesser kings who favored him and were friendly allies with him, and how there were certain others of the same sort who were his enemies.
Among those who were his friends was King Ban of Benwick, who was an exceedingly noble lord of high estate and great honor, and who was of a lineage so exalted that it is not likely that there was anyone in the world who was of a higher strain.
Now, upon a certain time, King Ban of Benwick fell into great trouble; for there came against him a very powerful enemy, to wit, King Claudas of Scotland. King Claudas brought unto Benwick a huge army of knights and lords, and these sat down before the Castle of Trible with intent to take that strong fortress and destroy it.
This noble Castle of Trible was the chiefest and the strongest place of defence in all King Ban’s dominions, wherefore he had intrenched himself there with all of his knights and with his Queen, hight Helen, and his youngest son, hight Launcelot.
Now this child, Launcelot, was dearer to Queen Helen than all the world besides, for he was not only large of limb but so extraordinarily beautiful of face that I do not believe an angel from Paradise could have been more beautiful than he. He had been born with a singular birth-mark upon his shoulder, which birth-mark had the appearance as of a golden star enstamped upon the skin; wherefore, because of this, the Queen would say: “Launcelot, by reason of that star upon thy shoulder I believe that thou shalt be the star of our house and that thou shalt shine with such remarkable glory that all the world shall behold thy lustre and shall marvel thereat for all time to come.” So the Queen took extraordinary delight in Launcelot and loved him to the very core of her heart — albeit she knew not, at the time she spake, how that prophecy of hers concerning the star was to fall so perfectly true.
Now, though King Ban thought himself very well defended at his Castle of Trible, yet King Claudas brought so terribly big an army against that place that it covered the entire plain. A great many battles were fought under the walls of the castle, but ever King Claudas waxed greater and stronger, and King Ban’s party grew weaker and more fearful.
King Ban bethinks him of King Arthur.
So by and by things came to such a pass that King Ban bethought him of King Arthur, and he said to himself: “I will go to my lord the King and beseech help and aid from him, for he will certainly give it me. Nor will I trust any messenger in this affair other than myself; for I myself will go to King Arthur and will speak to him with my own lips.”
Having thus bethought him, he sent for Queen Helen to come into his privy closet and he said to her: “My dear love, nothing remaineth for me but to go unto the court of King Arthur and beseech him to lend his powerful aid in this extremity of our misfortunes; nor will I trust any messenger in this affair but myself. Now, this castle is no place for thee, when I am away, therefore, when I go upon this business, I will take thee and Launcelot with me, and I will leave you both in safety at King Arthur’s court with our other son, Sir Ector, until this war be ended and done.” And to these Queen Helen lent her assent.
So King Ban summoned to him the seneschal of the castle, who was named Sir Malydor le Brun, and said to him: “Messire, I go hence to-night by a secret pass, with intent to betake me unto King Arthur, and to beseech his aid in this extremity. Moreover, I shall take with me my lady and the young child Launcelot, to place them within the care of King Arthur during these dolorous wars. But besides these, I will take no other one with me but only my favorite esquire, Foliot. Now I charge thee, sir, to hold this castle in my behalf with all thy might and main, and yield it not to our enemies upon any extremity; for I believe I shall in a little while return with sufficient aid from King Arthur to compass the relief of this place.”
King Ban with Queen Helen and Launcelot escape from Trible.
So when night had fallen very dark and still, King Ban, and Queen Helen, and the young child Launcelot, and the esquire Foliot left the town privily by means of a postern gate. Thence they went by a secret path, known only to a very few, that led down a steep declivity of rocks, with walls of rock upon either side that were very high indeed, and so they came out in safety beyond the army of King Claudas and into the forest of the valley below. And the forest lay very still and solemn and dark in the silence of the nighttime.
Having thus come out in safety into the forest, that small party
journeyed on with all celerity that they were able to achieve until, some little time before dawn, they came to where was a lake of water in an open meadow of the forest. Here they rested for a little while, for Queen Helen had fallen very weary with the rough and hasty journey which they had traveled.
Foliot seeth a light.
Now whilst they sat there resting, Foliot spake of a sudden, saying unto King Ban: “Lord, what is that light that maketh the sky so bright yonder-ways?” Then King Ban looked a little and presently said: “Methinks it must be the dawn that is breaking.” “Lord,” quoth Foliot, “that cannot very well be; for that light in the sky lieth in the south, whence we have come, and not in the east, where the sun should arise.”
Then King Ban’s heart misgave him, and his soul was shaken with a great trouble. “Foliot,” he said, “I believe that you speak sooth and that that light bodes very ill for us all.” Then he said: “Stay here for a little and I will go and discover what that light may be.” Therewith he mounted his horse and rode away in the darkness.
King Ban beholdeth the burning of Trible.
Now there was a very high hill near-by where they were, and upon the top of the hill was an open platform of rock whence a man could see a great way off in every direction. So King Ban went to this place, and, when he had come there, he cast his eyes in the direction of the light and he straightway beheld with a manner of terror that the light came from Trible; and then, with that terror still growing greater at his heart, he beheld that the town and the castle were all in one great flame of fire.
When King Ban saw this he sat for a while upon his horse like one turned into a stone. Then, after a while, he cried out in a great voice: “Woe! Woe! Woe is me!” And then he cried out still in a very loud voice, “Certes, God hath deserted me entirely.”
The death of King Ban.
Therewith a great passion of grief took hold upon him and shook him like to a leaf, and immediately after that he felt that something brake within him with a very sharp and bitter pain, and he wist that it was his heart that had broken. So being all alone there upon the hilltop, and in the perfect stillness of the night, he cried out, “My heart! My heart!” And therewith, the shadows of death coming upon him, he could not sit any longer upon his horse, but fell down upon the ground. And he knew very well that death was nigh him, so, having no cross to pray upon, he took two blades of grass and twisted them into that holy sign, and he kissed it and prayed unto it that God would forgive him his sins. So he died all alone upon that hilltop.