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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:37 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:37 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10495-0.txt b/10495-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b156836 --- /dev/null +++ b/10495-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2170 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10495 *** + +Under King Constantine + +By Katrina Trask + +Third Edition + +1893 + + + + + + + +To My Husband. + + + + +_The following tales, which have no legendary warrant, are supposed to +belong to the time, lost in obscurity, immediately subsequent to King +Arthur's death; when, says Malory, in the closing chapter of LA MORT +D'ARTHURE, "Sir Constantine, which was Sir Cadors son of Cornwaile, was +chosen king of England; and hee was a full noble knight, and worshipfully +hee ruled this realme"_ + + + + +SANPEUR. + + +The great King Constantine is at the hunt; +The brilliant cavalcade of knights and dames, +On palfreys and on chargers trapped in gold +And silver and red purple, ride in mirth +Along the winding way, by hill and tarn +And violet-sprinkled dell. Impatient hounds +Sniff the keen morning air, and startled birds +Rustle the foliage redolent with spring. + +From time to time some courtier reins his steed +Beside the love-enkindling Gwendolaine, +Whose wayward moods do vary as the winds,-- +Now wooing with her soft, seductive grace; +Now fascinating with her stately pride; +Anon, bewitching by her recklessness +Of wilful daring in some wild caprice +Which no one could anticipate or stay. +How fair she is to-day! How beautiful! +Her hunting-robe is bluer than the sky,-- +Matching one phase of her great, changeful eyes,-- +Clasped with twin falcons of unburnished gold, +The colour of her brown hair in the sun. +The white plumes, drooping from her hunting-cap, +Leave her alluring lips in tempting sight, +But hide the growing shadow in her eyes. +For she marks none of all the court to-day +Save Sir Sanpeur, the passing noble knight +Whose bearing doth bespeak heroic deeds, +There where he rides with the sweet maid Ettonne. + +Sir Torm, the husband of fair Gwendolaine, +Is all unconscious of aught else beside +The outward seeming, 'tis enough for him +That she is gay and beautiful, and smiles. +He has a nature small and limited +By sight, and sense, and self, and his desires; +A heart as open as the day to all +That touches his quick impulse, when it costs +Him naught of sacrifice. The needy poor +Flock to his castle for the careless gift +Of falling dole, but his esquire is faint +From his exacting service, night and day +His Lady Gwendolaine is satiate +With costly gems, palfreys, and samite thick +With threads of gold and silver, but the sweet +Heart subtleties and fair observances +Are lost in the _of course_ of married life. +He sees, too quickly, does she fail to smile, +But never sees the shadow in her eyes +His hounds are beaten till they scarce draw breath, +And then caressed beyond the worth of hounds. +His vassals know not if, from day to day, +He will approve, or strike them with a curse. +His humours are the byword of the court, +And, were it not for his good-heartedness, +His prowess, and undaunted strength at arms, +Men would speak lightly of him in disdain; +He is so often in a stormy rage, +Or supplicating humour to atone,-- +Too petty to repent in very truth, +Too light and yielding in repentance, when +His temper's force is spent, for dignity +Of truest knighthood. No one feels his faults +So quickly, with such flushing of regret +And shame, as Gwendolaine. But she is wife, +His honour is her own, and she would hide +From all the world, and even from herself, +His pettiness and narrowness of soul. +So she forgets, or doth pretend forget, +Where he has failed, save when he passes bounds; +Then her swift scorn--a piercing force he dreads-- +Flashes upon him like a probing lance, +To silence merriment if it be coarse, +To hush his wrath when it is violent. + +Though powerful to check, she ne'er could change +The underflow and current of their life. +In the first years, gone by, ere she had grown +A woman of the world, she had essayed +To stem the tide of shallow vanity, +To realise her girlhood's high ideal, +And make her home more reverent, and more fine. +Sir Torm had overborne her words with jest +And noisy laughter, vowing she would learn +Romance and sweet simplicity were well +For harper minstrel, singing in the hall, +But not for courtiers living in the world. +Once, when she faced the thought of motherhood,-- +For some brief days of sweet expectancy +Never fulfilled for her,--she was aware +Of thirst for living water, and a dread +Of the light, shallow life she led, fell on her; +She went to Torm, and spoke, in broken words, +The unformed longing of her dawning soul. +He lightly laughed, filliped her ear, called her +"My Lady Abbess," "pretty saint," and then +Said, later, jesting, before all the court, +"Behold a lady too good for her lord!" +The blood swept up her cheeks to lose itself +In her hair's gold, then ebbed again to leave +Her paler than before. She stood in silent, +Momentary hate of Torm, all impotent. +He saw her pallor and her eyes down-dropt, +Came quickly, flung his arm around her, saying, +"God's faith, my girl, you do not mind a jest! +Where are the spirits you are wont to have?" +"My lord, they shall not fail you any more," +She answered bitterly, and after that +Torm did not see her soul unveiled again. +Thenceforth she turned her strivings after truth +To winning outward charm the more complete, +And hid her inner self more deeply 'neath +The sparkling surface of her brilliant life. + +To-day he wearies her with brutal jest +Upon the hunted boar, and calls her dull +That she laughs not as ever. + + While Sanpeur +Was far upon a distant quest, all perilous, +She thought with secret longing of the hour +When once again together they should ride. +He has returned triumphant, having won +Fresh honours. + + Now at last, the hunt has come, +The day is golden, and her beauty fair,-- +And Sir Sanpeur is riding with Ettonne. +A sudden conflict wages in her heart +As she talks lightly to each courtier gay, +Jealous impatience that the Gwendolaine +Whom all men flatter, should be thwarted, fights +A tender yearning to defy all pride +And call him to her for one spoken word. +The world seems better when he talks with her, +No one has ever lifted her above +The empty nothings of a courtly life +As Sir Sanpeur, who makes both life and death +More grandly solemn, yet more simply clear. +In a steep curving of the road, he turns +To meet her smile, which deepens as he comes. +Sanpeur, bronzed by the eastern sun, is tall, +Straight as a javelin, in each noble line +His knighthood is revealed. Slighter than Torm, +Whose strength is in his size, but full as strong, +Sanpeur's unrivalled strength is in his sinew +His scarlet garb, deep furred with miniver, +Is broidered with the cross which leaves untold +The fame he won in lands of which it tells +Upon his breast he wears the silver dove, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost, +Which Gwendolaine once noted with the words, +"What famous honours you have won, my lord!" +And he had answered with all knightly grace, +"My Lady Gwendolaine, I seldom think +Of the high honour, though I greatly prize +This recognition, far beyond my worth; +My thought is ever what it signifieth. +It is my consecration I belong +To God the Father, and this is the sign +Of His most Holy Spirit, sent to us +By our ascended Saviour, Jesu Christ, +By Whom alone I live from day to day." +His quiet words, amid the laughing court, +Had startled her, as if a solemn peal +Of full cathedral music had rung clear +Above the jousting cry of "Halt and Ho!" +Then, as she wondered if he were a man +Like other men, or priest in knightly garb, +He spoke of her rich jewels with delight +And worldly wisdom, telling her the tale +Of many jewelled mysteries she wore +"In the far East, the sapphire stone is held +To be the talisman for Love and Truth, +So is it fitly placed upon your robe; +It is the stone of stones to girdle you" +"A man, indeed," she thought, "but not like men." + +As on his foam-flecked charger, Carn-Aflang, +He rides to-day towards Lady Gwendolaine, +She draws her rein more tightly, arching more +Her palfrey's head, and all unconsciously +Uplifts her own,--for she has waited long. + +"Good morrow, my fair Lady Gwendolaine." + +"Good morrow, Sir Sanpeur, pray do you mark +My new gerfalcon, from beyond the sea? +Your eyes are just the colour of her wings." + +"Now, by my troth, I challenge any knight +To say precisely what that colour is." + +"'Tis there the likeness serves so well, Sanpeur." + +"My Lady Gwendoline, your speech is, far +Beyond your purpose, gracious, for right well +I mind me that you told me, once, your heart +Often rebelled against the well-defined, +And I should be content to have my eyes +The motley colour of your falcon's plume, +Lest they make you rebel." + + "Ah, Sir Sanpeur, +Your memory is far too steadfast!" + + "Naught +Can be too steadfast for your grace, fair dame." + +Now he has come, the wayward Gwendolaine +Is fain to punish him for his delay. +"Methinks," she says, in pique, against her will, +"The beautiful Ettonne looks for her knight; +It scarce seems chivalrous to leave her thus." + +"'Tis true, my lady, I came not to stay, +But for a greeting, which I now have said." + +He left her, the light shadow darker grew +Within her eyes, and golden hawking bells +Upon her jesses clashed with sudden clink, +As her fair hand had closed impatiently. + +Betimes came Constantine, who looked a man +Of hard-won conquests, not the least, o'er self. +Before his stately presence Gwendolaine +Bowed low with heartfelt loyalty. + + "My King, +Care rides beside you, banish him, to-day, +He will but spoil the sunshine and the hunt." + +"Alas! he is the Sovereign of the King, +And stays, defying all command, fair Gwendolaine." +Then, smiling grimly,--"My great heritage, +As heir to fragments of the Table Round, +Brings me no wealth of ease." + + In converse light +They rode together. When the hunt was done, +The King, all courteous, said, "My gracious dame, +Well have you learned of nature her great laws; +The sun, that warms with its intensity +The earth to fruitage, is the same that throws +Stray sportive gleams to beautify alone; +And you, who meet my purposes of state +With a responsive thought and sympathy, +As no dame of the court,--and scarcely knight,-- +Has ever done, are first in making me +Forget their weight. Gramercy for your grace! +It has revived me as a summer shower +Revives the parched and under-trodden grass; +It is but seldom I have time to seek +Refreshment, save of labour changed." + + "My King,"-- +She passed from gay to grave,--"my own heart aches +With life's vexed questions, and its stern demands, +Full often even in my sheltered state; +And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o'ercome +With the vast load of duties you fulfil +So nobly, to the glory of the realm. +Would I could serve you, as you well deserve; +But I am only woman, so I smile +In lieu of fighting for you, as I would +Unto the death, if I were but a knight." +And this same dame who spoke so earnestly +To Constantine, said when she next had speech +With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play +To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond +The fashion of the robe I wear!" + + Sanpeur, +Alone of all the men who came within +Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns, +And when he would not humour passing mood, +And when she felt within her wayward heart +The silent protest of his calm reserve,-- +Although a longing she had never known +Awoke in her,--her pride, in arms, cried truce +To striving spirit, and she laughed the more. +And oftentimes the stirring of new life, +Without its recognition, made her quick +To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur +Confronted to some phases of her charm; +Made her assume a wilful shallowness, +To hide the soul she was afraid to face. + +One day, at court, her restless spirits rose +To a defiant mood of recklessness, +And half because she wanted to be true, +And half because she could not act the false +Except to overdo it, her clear laugh +Rang out at witty words her heart disdained; +Some knights, ignoble, hating noble men, +Were loud decrying virtue, Gwendolaine +With laugh-begetting words made quick assent +To the unworthy wit + + She scarce had spoken, +Ere Sanpeur raised his penetrating eyes,-- +The only ones, in all that laughing group, +Which were not bright with an approving smile,-- +To meet her own, with silent gravity, +A swift arrest within their shining depths +To one more word unworthy of herself. +And Gwendolaine, the peerless queen of dames, +Cast down her eyes, for once, before Sanpeur. + +Later, he stood beside her, as she passed, +"My Lady Gwendolaine,--incomparable,-- +'Tis not your wont to be so cowardly." + +"No? Sanpeur," answered Gwendolaine, "nor yours, +It seems, to be well mannered; may I ask +Where I have failed in bravery, forsooth?" + +"You were a coward to your better self +In your light answer to the empty words +Your nature disavowed." + + "Alack, my lord! +That is my armour; warriors ever wear +A cuirass of strong steel before their breasts; +A woman carries but a little shield +Of scorn and badinage, to break the force +On her weak woman-heart, of javelins hurled." + +"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine, +But it is not the same, by your fair grace; +Our armour is our armour, nothing more; +Your shield of scorn is lasting lance of harm, +For every word a noble woman says, +And every act and influence from her, +Live on forever, to the end of time; +Your true soul is too true to be belied." + +"Who told you, Sir Sanpeur?" + + "My heart," he said. +She raised her eyes in a triumphant thrill +Of sudden rapture, and of gratitude, +And saw herself enwrapped by a long look +That came from deeper depths than she had known, +And reached a depth in her as yet unstirred. +She stood enspelled by his long silent gaze +Of subtle power. His unswerving eyes +Quelled her by steadfast calm, yet kindled her +By lavish love and light. + + Although no word +Was said between them, as they moved apart, +She knew he loved her, and he wist she knew. + +And with the revelation there was born +A wider knowledge of life's mystery. +Sir Torm had never satisfied her soul; +But though in outward seeming she was proud, +High-spirited, and passing courtly dame, +At heart the Lady Gwendolaine was still +A hungry child who craved love's nourishing, +Unconscious of her hunger; so she had clung,-- +In spite of shocks, repeated time on time,-- +Close to the thought of Torm, remembering all +He was to her in wooing her; rehearsed-- +As children count their pennies one by one +Day after day to prove their wealth--each good +And sign of promise in his nature generous, +Until her buoyant heart, quick to react, +Had warmed itself, and kept itself alive, +By its own warmth and fire of earnest zeal. +And as men, lost in a morass, feed fast +On berries, lest they starve, and call it food, +Thus, with shut eyes, had Gwendolaine, till now, +Fed on affection and chance tenderness, +And called it by the great and awful name +Of Love, not knowing what love meant. But swift +As light floods darkened chamber, when one flings +The window wide, so her unconscious soul +Was flooded with the strange incoming thought-- +In that eternal moment--of true love, +Love as a vital force within the soul, +A strength, a power, an illuming light. +And Sanpeur loved her! O immortal crown. +She was not conscious of her love for him, +Her love for his love was enough for her. + +Then she awoke to joy; all things became +Pregnant with deep significance. The sky +Flushed with the coming of the rosy dawn; +The mountains reaching heavenward; the sun +That warmed the flowers, and drank their dew; the birds +That built their nests well hid in leafy shade; +The grass that bent in homage to the wind,-- +All touched her heart anew with subtle thoughts; +And joy brought rich unfolding in her life. + +She had more pity for the men she scorned, +More quick forgiveness for the envious dames, +And when the little children crossed her path, +She stooped, and kissed them, as was not her wont. + +Alas! too often, this new harmony +Of life was clashed by discord. Sir Torm flung +Upon the homage Sanpeur rendered her +Unworthy jest and spiteful words, for well +He hated him with grudge despiteous. +Full oft his wrath was roused to such a point +He could not hold his peace; even to the King +He jeered one day at visionary knights. +The keen-eyed King, with intuition, knew +The motive of his speech,--"Our knight, Sanpeur, +But contradicts your verdict, Torm, and proves +That which the great King Arthur taught,--the man +Is strongest who can claim a strength divine +From whence to draw his own." Sir Torm had grown +More wrathful in his heart at this, and kept +Sanpeur long while from word with Gwendolaine. +Then, when Torm's anger did not baffle her, +Sometimes a doubt would come, and doubt hides joy. +Sir Sanpeur honoured her before the court +With chivalrous and frankest loyalty. +At the great tournament of Christmas-tide, +He cried, "Such peerless presence in our midst +As the unrivalled Lady Gwendolaine +Strengthens the arm to prove her without peer! +Let him who will dispute it!" Those who did, +But proved it by their fall, for worshipfully +He overthrew them with so simple ease +His cause seemed justice rather than love's boast. +Then when they met for converse face to face, +He spoke from his unsullied, fearless soul +Straight to her own, without reserve or fear. +Yet he was wrapped in a calm self-control; +No word, no whisper of his love for her +Had ever passed his lips to tell, in truth, +The love that she was sure of in her heart. +And when he lingered by some maiden fair, +With that true-hearted careful courtesy +He never for a moment's space forgot +To any woman, queen or serving-maid; +And when the maiden's eyes gave bright response +To his fair words of thought-betaking grace, +The heart of Gwendolaine would faster beat, +And all her waywardness would quick return; +Then, if Sanpeur approached her, she would mock +At life, and love, and fling the gauntlet down +As challenge for a tournament of speech. + +"And pray, Sanpeur," she said one eve to him, +When they were at a feast at Camelot, +"Why is your life so lone and incomplete, +When any lovely maiden of the court +Would follow you most gladly at your call?" + +"You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine." + +"By your kind grace, I cannot guess," she said, +Repenting as she said it, instantly. + +"Because I love you only, evermore; +You long have felt it, known it; and I thought +Cared not to hear me say it with my voice; +But, as you wish it, I have said it now, +My Lady Gwendolaine." + + They stood among +The knights and ladies, therefore he spoke low, +In quiet dignity, as he might say +"How well the colour of your robe beseems +Your beauty";--not a trace of passionate +Intensity, save in his lucent eyes. +No passion nor embrace could so have moved her, +As this calm telling her in quiet words +The secret of all secrets in God's world, +As though it were a part of daily life; +This power to hold a passion in his hand,-- +Which his true eyes declared was measureless,-- +As though he were its master, utterly. +True women are like Nature, their great mother, +Stirred on the surface by each passing wind, +But ruled by silent forces at the heart. +She caught her breath a moment in surprise,-- +For naught has to the mind more of surprise +Than the sweet long-expected, if it come +When one expects it not,--and paused a space, +With downcast eyes; and then her woman-soul +Went out in sudden impulse, graciously, +In boundless thought for him who gave her all. +"O Sanpeur, love one worthier than I, +And where your love will not be guerdonless!" + +"To love you is a guerdon of itself, +You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine." + +He passed with knightly bow, and joined the court, +And left her with a glory in her eyes. +Never was Gwendolaine so radiant +As on that evening; courtiers one by one +Drew near, and marvelled at her loveliness. +When the great feast was ended, she was well +Content to leave the court for Tormalot; +For, in the quiet of her chamber, when +Sir Torm had slept, she lived in thought again +The sure triumphant moment when she knew, +Beyond all peradventure, of a love +That her heart told her was above all love +Of other men in strength and purity. +And on the morrow, when she woke, her joy +Woke with her, and encompassed her soul. + +In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament. +The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day, +For it will be a savage tournament, +"Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her, +"Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say. + +"Come, Gwendolaine, my beauty, ere I go, +I wait to have you buckle on my sword." + +Smiling, she does his bidding. + + "Ah! my Torm, +How heavy, and how mighty is your sword; +I revel in the glory of your strength, +And in your prowess. Well I mind me, dear, +When first I saw you, on your charger black, +Riding in knightly state to my old home. +'By our King Arthur's soul,' my father said, +'There is a knight of valour and of strength!' +And then you wooed me to become your bride, +Me, scarce a maiden, naught but wilful child +So prone, alas to mischief and mistake, +Of humble fortune, with but whims for dower +You were so kind, so generous, you flashed +My low estate with splendour. I recall +How my heart laughed with girlish pride and glee +At the surpassing bounty of your gifts." + +"Ha! Gwendolaine, by the great Holy Grail +I caught an eagle when I caught that dove, +For now you are the queen of all the dames, +Even King Constantine, who seldom marks +A lady of the court, comes to your side +And flatters you with royal courtesies, +Which you receive with far too proud a grace; +For, wit ye well, I would not let it slip, +This honour of his preference for you." + +"My lord, save that I reverence him as man, +I do not care for favour of the King." + +"I care, that is enough for you," said Torm. +"No knight has charger like my Roanault, +No knight has castle like my Tormalot, +And none has mistress like my Gwendolaine-- +I choose that none approach her but the King." + +He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned +And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss. + +"I think the King is safe for you, and well +For me in my advancement. Other knights +May serve you at a distance, but had best +Not seek your side too often." + + Her sweet head +Lay like a lily on his mailed breast, +While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf +That floated from his helmet. + + "Goes Sanpeur +To the great tournament to-day?" he asked. + +"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont +To tilt in tourneys like to-day's." + + "Think not! +I want an honest answer. Do you know?" + +"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; +It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight +In these new tourneys of such savage guise." + +"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks +You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?" + +"I long have told you that I thought your strength +Was worthy finer service. You well know +I like not tournaments that waste the land +By useless bloodshed; but, my Torm, you are +Your own adviser, so I say no more. +Bend down and kiss me, Torm, before you go; +Pray be not wroth with Gwendolaine, my lord." + +"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true +You will not see that coward knight to-day." + +Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn, +"I know not whom you mean, my lord Sir Torm." + +"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur." + +"Sanpeur, the fearless knight, a coward!--_he_? +What, think you, would your great King Constantine +Say to your daring slander? Sir Sanpeur +Is the unquestioned Launcelot at court; +The King rests on him with unfailing trust +In every valiant deed and feat of arms." +She drew her beauty to its fullest height, +And swept him with her eyes. "Fear not for me, +Sir Torm. Sanpeur, alas! is too engrossed +With duties for his Master, Jesu Christ, +And for his lord, the King, to loiter here +With any woman, howe'er fair she be." + +Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made +The heart of Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce +Against its sound in spirit of revolt. + +"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused +In open court to joust with Dinadan?" + +"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave." + +"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day, +And prayers, and fasting, and such foolery." + +"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn, +"Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm, +Who never was unhorsed by knight before?" + +The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face; +His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath. + +"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry +Has won his way to your most wifely heart +By boasting of his prowess! By my sword! +That is a knightly virtue in all truth." + +"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell +The story that was waiting for your bride +In every prattling mouth about the court. +Had it been so, she never would have heard; +It lies with petty souls alone to boast, +Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur." + +"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord! +Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur." + +"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow +With exultation of defense of him, +"It well might be my glory; for there lives +No knight so stainless and so pure as he." + +"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!" + +And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand, +He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine, +And went out cursing. + + Motionless she leaned +Against the window mullion, where she reeled, +White as the pearls she wore; and love for Torm-- +The thing that she had nourished and called love-- +Fell dead within her, murdered by his blow. +And in her heart true love arose at last +for Sir Sanpeur, proclaiming need of him;-- +A love, for many days hushed and suppressed +By wifely loyalty, now well awake, +With conscious sense of immortality. + +Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went, +Stopped not to wipe the blood from her pale cheek; +Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and donned +A russet gown she kept for merry plays, +And, wrapping o'er her head a wimple, dark +As her dark gown, crept down the castle steps. +The vassals looked at her askance; she drew +Her wimple closer, and deceived their gaze, +Until the gate of Tormalot was passed, +And she was out upon the lonely moor. +Onward she went, too wrenched with pain and wrath +To fear, or wonder at her fearlessness. + +The knight Sanpeur was on his battlements, +Silvered with light from the full summer moon, +And heard his seneschal with loud replies +Denying entrance, as his orders were; +He would be left alone and undisturbed +With memory and thought of Gwendolaine. +"What sweetness infinite beneath the ebb +And flow of moods," he said, half audibly; +"What truth beneath her laughter and her mirth! +I ask but that her nature be fulfilled, +That is enough for me; it matters not +If I may only see her from afar. +My love was sent to vivify her life, +Not to imperil, and to make no claim +Of her but her unfolding; to remind +Her soul of its immortal heritage, +And teach her joy,--she knew but merriment. +And this, meseems, it hath done, Christ be praised. +Her soul asserts itself through her gay life, +And joy pervades her,--she is radiant. +How wonderful she looked, last night, at Camelot! +She moved in glowing beauty like a star." + +And with the vision of her in his heart, +In all the splendour of her state and pride, +In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls, +He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk, +And faced her in her simple russet gown, +Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind, +Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers, +Save on the one a deep and crimson stain. +"My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell. + +She told the story of her bitter wrong +In poignant words of passionate disdain. +"And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,-- +Having more faith in your true love for me +Than any woman ever had before +In love of man, or chivalry of knight,-- +To tell you that I love you more than life. +Long have I loved you, well I know it now, +Although I knew it not, until this blow +Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul. +I rose this morn resolved to be more true +To your high thought of womanhood, and wife, +To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive +To make my life more worthy of your love; +And then,--God help me,--my resolve was crushed +By Torm's fierce hand, and love for you set free. +Yea, now my heart is sure,--beyond all doubt, +Beyond all question and all fear of men,-- +That I, for ever, love you utterly. +Take me, beloved, I am yours, I want, +I need, I pant, I tremble for your care. +O meet me not so coldly! I shall die +If you repulse me; I have come so far +And fast, without a fear,--I loved you so,-- +To seek the blessed shelter of your arms. +My brain is dizzy, and my senses fail; +For God's sake tell me you are glad I came +To you--and only you--in my despair." + +He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,-- +His eyes alone embracing her the while,-- +"Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above +All women on the earth, loved with a love +That words would but conceal, were they essayed, +Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself, +If I am cold, you know it is in truth +A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. +Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so, +And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say +You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm." + +"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream. +"O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! +Save me and keep me from the bitter shame +Of such humiliation to my soul." + +"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine, +Can bring humiliation to a soul. +Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally--" + +"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn. + +"He knows his way, and in it loves you well; +Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride; +He would refuse you nothing you could ask +To gratify your pleasure and desire. +He brought you from a narrow, hidden lot, +To share with you his honours at the court. +You will not let all that be wiped away +By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm +Has bitterly repented and bewailed +Full long ere this; of that you are right sure, +Because you know his loving heart's rebound." + +"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death." + +"Naught can bring death to immortality +But sin,--and life with me, my Gwendolaine, +Would be the death of all we hold most high." + +"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off; +He does not love me! I have dreamed it all." + +Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine, +Unsay that; it is false! You know full well +How far I love you above thought of self; +If I half loved you, I would fold you close." + +"It is unsaid, Sanpeur; but woe is me +That I should fall so far from my estate +To plead in vain with any man, howe'er +He love; where is my pride, my boasted pride?" + +"'Tis in my heart, if anywhere, my love." + +"I can not go, Sanpeur. Torm forfeited +His right to loyalty by cruelty." + +"The debt of loyalty is due to self, +And we must well fulfil it, Gwendolaine, +No matter how another may have failed." + +A sudden horror crossed her thought,--"Sanpeur; +You do not love me less that I have come?" + +"Ah! my beloved woman-child, I know +Your many-sided nature far too well +To judge you or condemn you by one act, +Born of a frenzied moment of despair; +When the true Gwendolaine has time to think, +Naught I could urge would keep her, though she came." + +"But Torm would kill me if I did return"-- + +"Leave that to me; but if he should, my love, +Your soul would then be free,--what ask you more? +Now you are weary, very weary, sweet; +Go in the castle, let me call my dames +To tend and serve you until morning light; +And on the morrow you will choose to go +With me, I am full sure, and make your peace +With Torm, as worthy of your better self." + +"With you? O God! Sanpeur, if I return, +I go alone as I have come! Think you +That I would take you with me to your death?" + +"My life is yours,--how use it better, dear, +Than winning peace and happiness for you?" + +"But it would be keen misery for life"-- + +"It leadeth unto happiness and peace +In the far future, if we fail not now. +This life is but the filling of a trust, +To prove us worthy of the life beyond, +And happiness is never to be sought. +If it comes,--well; if not, we shall know why. +When we are happy in the sight of God." + +Then there was silence on the battlements; +No sound was heard but the slow measured clang +Of feet that paced the stony path below;-- +Gwendolaine pushed aside the wind-blown hair +From her wild eyes, and gazed into Sanpeur's. +As the slow minutes passed the frenzied mood +Faded away from her like fevered dream; +With hands clasped in a passion of devout, +Complete surrender, falling at his feet +She whispered, brokenly, between her sobs; + +"Sanpeur, I will go back to Torm,--for you,-- +Go back and live my life as best I may, +If he forgive me;--and if not, receive +The condemnation of my fault as meet. +Your love has done what love should ever do,-- +Illumined duty's path, and its far goal, +Hid for a moment by a dark despair. +I thought I loved you perfectly before, +But my soul tells me, deep below the pain, +I love you more than if you bade me stay." + +He took her hands and kissed them tenderly +With quiet kisses, long and calm, which held +Sure promise of the strength he fain would give; +Then, bending o'er her yearningly, he said +In tones that stilled her spirit into rest, +"God guard you, my beloved, evermore." +A new force flowed into her soul from his. + +She rose and left him. + + He gave orders strict +For her best comfort; then walked out alone, +To meet and wrestle with his passion, held +So long in leash by honour, free at last +With overmastering and giant strength. +The subtle fragrance of her hands pervades +His senses; in his veins he feels the flow +Of her warm breath, which entered into them +That moment he had caught her as she fell; +Her words of love sweep like a surging tide +Across the quiet of his self-control. +When she was there, his love for her had kept +His passion from uprising, though against +His pleading heart, so long her pleading seemed. +Now she is gone, all calm and thought are lost +In the impassioned wish for her, the thirst +To drink the sweetness of her deep, rich soul, +Without a thought of Torm, or all the world. +Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune, +And flesh and sense as much a part of him +As his clear brain and spirit consecrate. +Passion for once asserts itself; he starts, +And towards the castle strides with rapid steps; +"She is my own, Fate sent her here to me; +I cannot war against it any more; +I will go in and fold her to myself." + +He clasps his empty arms upon his breast, +In the abandonment of wild desire, +And feels, beneath the pressure of his hands, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost. +"Good Lord, deliver me from sin," he cries, +And bows his knightly head in silent prayer. + +No earnest soul can ask and not receive: +Before the warden's deep-toned voice calls out +Another watch, Sanpeur has overcome. + +He passed his night beneath the silent stars, +Below the resting-room of Gwendolaine, +Who lay within his castle, loving him, +While he kept watch, to guard her from himself. + +Just ere the morning light, there was a cry +From his most faithful seneschal to rouse +The vassals to defend the brave Sanpeur, +Loved loyally; and from the battlements +He saw Sir Torm, waging a savage fight +To win an entrance through his castle gate. +With hurried steps he reached the gate, and with +The cry,--drowned by the din of clashing arms,-- +"Withhold! it is a friend," he threw himself +Before Sir Torm, and took the mortal wound +That had been aimed by his own seneschal. + +"Let fighting cease; hurt not Sir Torm!" he cried, +And fell into the arms of grim old Ule, +Who pierced his own soul when he wounded him. + +A sudden sound of wailing rent the court; +The dames flocked from the castle in dismay, +And with them came the Lady Gwendolaine, +A pace or two, and then stood motionless; +Her limbs, that brought her quickly to confront +The evil she had wrought, grew powerless; +Her wide, tense gaze was as of one who walks +In sleep unseeing; her dishevelled hair +Veiled the abandon of her dress, her cheeks +Were colourless as marble, but for the stain +Of crimson. Paralysed and dumb she stood, +Too far to reach him, but full near to hear, +As Sanpeur, having lifted hand to hush +The wailing, broke the silence rapidly, +Like one who feels his time for speech is short. + +"In Christ's dear name, who alway doth forgive, +I pray you, hear me speak one word, Sir Torm." + +There was a force within Sir Sanpeur's eyes +Sir Torm dared not resist "Speak on," he said. + +"Your wife, my lord, is here, and in my care, +She came to me scarce knowing what she did,-- +Wounded, and driven to a wild despair +By your quick anger, which has stamped its seal +Upon the perfect beauty of her face. +The cause of that fierce blow she told me not; +Be what it may, I know full well, my lord, +It could not merit such a harsh retort +To wife whose loyalty and troth to you +Have been the marvel of the court; whose name, +Her beauty notwithstanding, has been held +As high from stain as she has e'er held yours. +She has not failed to you until this hour, +When she was not herself for one brief space, +Mad with the fever in her heated brain +You long have known I loved her,--none could well +Withhold the tribute of his life from her,-- +And you must know, my lord, beyond all doubt, +I loved her with a love that honoured you +In thought, in word, in purpose, and in deed. +She came to me because her trust in me +Was absolute as knowledge that my love +Was measureless I would not plead, Sir Torm, +Excuse for sin; alas! I know her act +Was most unworthy of her truer self. +But this I say--he should not blame her most +Who drove her to this deed against herself. +And I will tell you,--should it chance you fail +To know from your own knowledge of your wife, +Without the need of confirmation sure,-- +That when her passionate, poor, wounded heart +Had time and strength to reassert itself, +Her memory, and truth to you as wife, +Enwrapt her once again, and she withdrew +E'en from the love that, trusting, she had sought. +She lay within my castle with my dames, +Resting, and waiting for the dawn of day, +When she had bade me lead her back to you, +That she might ask forgiveness for her fault. +Now, by my knighthood and the sign I wear, +I speak the truth, Sir Torm!--With my last breath +I pray you grant her pardon, for my sake, +Who die, to save you, of wounds meant for you." + +His breath came slower. None beholding him +Could doubt him, for within his steadfast eyes, +Though growing dim with coming death, was that +The Order on his bosom symbolised. +Torm bowed before him, silent, with a sense +Of hallowed presence from beyond this earth. +Convinced of Sanpeur's truth, there flashed on him +The revelation of a better life +Than self-indulgence and the pride of arms; +And here, at last, before the passing soul, +Strong in its purity and in its peace, +He felt a new-born and a deep desire +For truer life than he had ever known. + +After the whisper, "God shield Gwendolaine," +The slow breath ceased. + + With shrill and piercing cry +Gwendolaine broke the strange, benumbing trance +That had withheld her; rushing from the dames +And falling prone upon the silent form +That gave her heart no answering throb, she cried, +With voice grief-pierced and sorrow-broken, "Wait +For Gwendolaine, O Sanpeur! Wait for Gwendolaine, +And take her with you unto death!" + + She lay +In silent desolation on his breast, +So still, awhile, they thought her spirit gone; +Then rose majestic in the dignity +Of her incomparable grief. + + "Sir Torm," +She said in tense, surcharged tones, "Sanpeur +Has told but half the story; he forgot +To tell, as noble souls are wont to do, +The measure of his own nobility. +I came to stay, my lord, to be his wife, +His serving-maid, his mistress,--what he would; +I told him that I loved him beyond men; +I pleaded and entreated him, in vain, +To keep and hold me evermore. No word +Could move him, no allurement charm; he bade +Me wait the dawn and then return to you, +To beg you with humility for grace, +And pardon for my utter want of truth, +Complete forgetfulness of womanhood, +And wifely loyalty. My lord, Sir Torm, +I promised him! and by his silent corse,-- +And with a broken heart,--I pray that you +Will grant me pardon, though you cast me off." + +"My Gwendolaine," Torm answered quickly, moved +By an uplifting impulse in his soul,-- +"For you are mine, whomever you may love,-- +I know that Sir Sanpeur did speak the truth; +You have not sinned in deed; and though you sinned +In purpose, it was more my fault than yours; +I drove you to it, and would fain atone. +Return with me, and help me overcome, +And with my temper I will tilt, until +I die or kill it. By the Blood of Christ, +I swear to you that you shall love me yet; +For I will be,--God help me,--worthier." + +Back to their home she went with Torm, and strove +With gracious sweetness to make him forget; +To banish his keen memory of her love +For Sir Sanpeur, not by disproving it, +But by new proving of new love for him. +The greater made her rich to give the less; +She, being more, had still the more to give. +The apocalyptic vision granted her +Of Love immortal, vital and supreme,-- +Kept by the grace of God all undefiled,-- +Had dowered her with largess; what she gave, +Albeit not the utmost, was more worth +Than best had been from her starved soul before. + +Sir Torm was helped in his self-given task-- +To struggle with ill humours and with pride-- +Far more by her new gentleness and grace +Than he had been by waywardness and scorn +And fitful fascination, as of old. +To help Torm was her life's new quest, and well +Did she essay to gain it. + + When the tide +Of sorrow for Sanpeur would over-sweep +Her heart; and when, sometimes, Sir Torm would lapse +Into forgetfulness of his resolve, +Confronting her o'ercome with wine or wrath, +Low to herself she whispered Sanpeur's words, +"Life is the filling of a trust," and straight +Her soul grew strong again. + + From year to year, +Beneath her planting and her fostering, +Torm's nature blossomed, and his manhood grew +More fine, more fruitful. Men, at last, could mark +In his whole bearing greater dignity; +And Constantine once gave him, for some feat, +A brilliant Order, with the meaning words, +"The greatest conquest is to conquer self." + +But there was one deep shadow in his life: +Upon the lovely face of Gwendolaine +Were two long, narrow, seamèd scars. One day +He touched them tenderly, and said, "God's faith, +I would give all but knighthood to efface +Those hellish scars that mar your peerless cheek." + +She turned her head quick to his hand's embrace, +Buried her cheek within its palm, and said, +"Those scars, my Torm, I would not now resign +For any dower that the world could give; +They are the Order of my higher life, +The birthmarks of your new nobility." + + + + +KATHANAL. + + +The sky was one unbroken pall of gray, +Casting a gloom upon the restless sea, +Dulling her sapphire splendour to a dark +And minor beauty. All the rock-bound shore +Was silent, save a widowed song-bird sang +Far off at intervals a mournful note, +And on the broken crags of dark gray rock +The waves dashed ceaselessly. Sir Kathanal +Stood with uncovered head and folded arms, +His soul as restless as the surging sea +Lashed into passion by the coming storm. +His helmet lay upon the sand; its crest, +A floating plume of deep-hued violet, +Was tossed and torn in fury by the wind +Until it seemed a thing of life. He stood +And watched it, only half aware at first +That it was there, then scarce aware of aught +Besides the plume. As in the room of death +Some iterated sound or motion holds +Attent the stricken mind, benumbed, and keeps +The horror of its grief awhile at bay +As by a spell, so now, though Kathanal +Had sought the sea-shore to be free of men +Because of his sore agony of heart, +And all the passion of his daring soul +Was tossing like the sea in fierce revolt, +His thoughts and gaze were centred on his crest. +Before the gray of sea and sky he saw +Naught but the waving, waving of the plume; +Before the vision of his love, Leorre, +Her tender eyes aglow with changeless light, +The golden splendour of her sunny hair, +Her winning smiles of grace and sweetness blent, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Between his sorrow and his weary soul, +Between his trouble and his clear-eyed self, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Until he felt, in some half-conscious way, +It was his heart, and he a stranger there +That looked down, from a height, indifferent +Upon it at the mercy of the wind. + +Sudden, with that long lingering trace of youth +That gave to him the fascinating charm +Which other men were fain to emulate, +He quickly stooped, and tore it from his helm, +And cast it far out on the tossing sea. +It lighted on the waves a purple bird, +Floating with swan-like grace before the wind. +The action quenched impatience. Kathanal, +Impulsive, passionate and sensitive, +In moods was ever ready with response +To omen and to change of circumstance. +He stood a moment, and then forward sprang +To catch it ere it vanished out of reach. +It was too late--the outward-flowing tide +Bore it from wave to wave beyond his sight. + +"Ah, God!" he cried aloud, "what have I done? +It is the omen of a curse to me; +My crest is gone, my knightly symbol lost, +My helm dishonoured through an act of mine." + +Then came the memory of early youth, +The recollection of a high resolve +To keep his manhood free from touch of stain, +To be a knight like Galahad, pure and true. +So few short years had passed since that resolve, +And yet he had forgotten loyalty +And truth and honour for the fair Leorre, +The wife of Reginault, his patron knight,-- +The brave old man who treated him as son. +Long had he loved her with a knightly love, +And fought for her, and chosen her the queen +Of many a tournament. She still was young, +Fairer than morning in the early spring. +When she had come, a gladsome bride, to grace +The castle of old Reginault, and warm +His grand old spirit into youth again, +Sir Kathanal had bowed before her, saying, +"My gracious lady, take me as your knight"; +And she had answered, with her winning smile, +"You are Sir Reginault's, and therefore mine." + +Well had he loved her from that very hour, +Giving her honour as his old friend's bride, +Making the castle ring with merriment +To do her service, and fulfil the best +Of Reginault, who bade him use his grace +To make her life a round of holidays. +But day by day his selfish love had grown +From friendly service to a lover's claim, +Until he had forgotten Reginault +In her fair eyes, and all things else but her, +Who granted him no boon, no smallest act +Of love or tenderness. + + At last the strife +Between deep yearning for some touch of love, +And brave endeavour for self-mastery, +Had driven him to madness and despair. +To the lone sea he brought his agony +To face it boldly, and his spirit, quick +To wear new moods, caught a despondent gloom +From the dark omen that oppressed his soul. + +"Love is divine," he said, "and it is well +To love Leorre, wife though she be, for love +Is free to noble natures; but at last, +When in her shining eyes I see response, +Albeit unconscious, to my longing pain, +I cannot rest content with boonless love, +Although divine. I fear me, if I stay +Within the circle of her tempting charm, +I shall, through some wild impulse, wantonly +Fling my unsullied knighthood to the winds, +As now I flung the plume from out my helm." + +He went at even-song time to Leorre, +And told her of his struggle by the sea, +Of his determined purpose and resolve. +"Leorre, I love you with a love unsung +By poets, and unknown by other men, +Undreamed by women; I must leave you, dear; +I cannot see you fair for Reginault, +I cannot watch your sweetness not for me. +I will go far upon some distant quest +Until this frenzy ceases, and the quest +Shall be for you, my love, for you alone. + +"Dear, sunny head that lights my darkened way +With its bright, golden glory, let me seek +A crown that well befits it for my quest. +Fair waist that curves beneath the heart I love, +I shall engirdle you with priceless gems +Won by my prowess for your perfect grace. +O wondrous neck! great lustrous, flawless pearls, +That shall be royal in their worth, to match +The white enchantment of your beauty fair, +Shall be my quest for you. + + "I will not come +Back to the court of Constantine, Leorre, +Until I bring that which shall honour you, +And winning which, I shall have cooled my pain." + +She came and knelt beside him, took his hand, +Looked deep into his ardent eyes,--her own +Like stars that shone into his inmost soul. + +"Will you, indeed, go forth," she answered low, +"Across the world upon a quest for me? +And will you falter not, nor swerve, nor fail, +Nor turn aside from seeking, night nor day, +Until you conquer with your prowess rare +The prize for me? And may I choose the quest +I most desire?" + + "Ah! surely, what you will," +Said Kathanal, as echo to his eyes, +Which answered ere the words could form themselves. + +She waited, silently; the room was still; +Sir Kathanal was faint from drinking deep, +With thirsty eyes, the beauty of her face. + +At last she spoke, almost inaudibly, +But evermore the thought of her low speech +Made melody within his memory. + +"Go forth, my knight of love, o'er land and sea, +And purify your spirit and your life, +And seek until you find the Holy Grail, +Keeping the vision ever in your thought, +The inspiration ever in your soul. +Let Tristram yield his loyalty and honour +For fair Isoud, and die inglorious,-- +Let Launcelot in Guenever's embrace +Forget the consecrated vows he swore, +And bring dark desolation on the land,-- +My knight must grow the greater through his love, +The better for my favour, the more pure! +More than all gifts, or wealth of royal dower, +I want, I crave, I claim this boon of thee." + +Between the bronze-brown of his eyes and her, +There sudden came a faint and misty veil; +Through the wide-open window a sun's beam +Flashed on it, making o'er her bowed head +A halo from his own unfallen tears. +He rose and lifted her, loosed her sweet hands, +And fell upon his knees low at her feet. +"Leorre, my love, my queen, my woman-saint, +I am not worthy, but I take your quest; +I will not falter and I will not swerve +Until I see the Grail, or pass to where +I see the glory it but symbols here, +In Paradise. Beloved, all the world +Is better for your living, all the air +Is sweeter for your breathing, and all love +Is holier, purer, that you may be loved." + +"Rise, Kathanal, stand still and let me gaze +Upon you with that purpose in your face! +So brave, so resolute! I love you, Kathanal! +Nay! do not touch me, listen to my words! +Surely it cannot be a sin to speak, +Perchance it is a debt I owe my knight +For his life's consecration, once to say +To him, as I have said to my own heart, +Just how I love him. + + "I would follow you +Across the world, if it might be, a slave, +To serve you at your bidding night and day; +Or I would rouse me to my highest pride +That I might be your queen, and lead you on +To glory. I am strong to do and bear +The uttermost my mind can think, for you, +To cheer you, help you, strengthen you; and yet-- +I am a woman, and my senses thrill +If you but touch the border of my robe, +And if you take my hand, before the court, +And raise it to your lips, I faint, I die, +With the vast tide of my unconquered love." + +"Great Christ! how can I hear you and depart? +I did not know you loved me. O my sweet, +Here by your side I stay; my quest shall be +The love-light dawning in your shining eyes." + +"Is this your answer, Kathanal," she sighed, +"To the unveiling of my heart of hearts? +No! now, if ever, you will surely go +On the sole quest that makes that action right." + +"Leorre, come once to me!" he said with arms +Outstretched to her. Quickly she backward drew +With one swift whispered "Kathanal!" + + "Leorre, +You cannot love and be so calm and still; +My soul would sacrifice both earth and heaven +For one full, rapturous kiss from those sweet lips +That lure me on to madness by their spell." + +"It is my love that keeps me calm," she said; +"Love makes us strong for what is bitterest; +Were we faint-hearted through imperfect love +We could not part; but loving perfectly +We are full strong for that, and all things else. + +"Farewell, my Kathanal, take as you go +This spotless scarf, the girdle from my robe, +And put it where the purple plume has been, +And wear it as my favour in your helm. +If that lost plume was darksome omen ill, +Let this defy it with an omen fair, +A prophecy to spur you on your quest. +My heart says it is better as it is; +I joy me that you flung into the sea +That purple plume my loving, longing gaze +Has often followed in the tournament. +Remember, purple doth betoken pain, +And white betokens conquest, purity; +Look, Kathanal, beloved, in my eyes! +I _know_ that you will find the Holy Grail." + +She stood immaculate, and from those eyes +That oft had kindled passionate desire +He drew an inspiration high and pure, +A prescient sense of victory and peace, +And falling on his knees once more, he bowed, +Kissed her white robe, and left her standing there. + +Then followed days of struggle and dark gloom. +Far from the court he found a lonely cell, +Where morn and night he prayed, and, praying, wrought +A score of earnest, unrecorded deeds +To purify and cleanse himself from sin. + +Oft the old passion would arise and sweep +His spirit bare of every conquest Once +The longing and the yearning were so great, +So strong beyond all thought of holiness, +He sprang up from his bed at dead of night +And stopped not, night nor day, until he reached +His old home by the sea, and saw Leorre. +Her hair had its untarnished golden glow, +Her beauty was unchanged, but her sweet mouth +Had caught a touch of pathos in its smile; +She wore a purple robe, and stood in state +Beside Sir Reginault,--who greeted him +With tender, grave, and kind solicitude,-- +And lifted eyes that smote upon his heart +With a long gaze of passionate appeal +That held a pain at bay deep in their depths. + +"So weak," he whispered to his heart, "for self, +I will be strong for her, she needs my strength." + +Again he hurried from her sight, half glad +For the remembered pain within her eyes; +Ashamed of his own soul that it was glad. + +For years he struggled, prayed, and fought his fight; +And sometimes when his soul was desolate +And he was weary from his eager quest, +When such a sense of deep humility +Would fall upon his praying, watching heart +That he would fain forego all in despair, +A marvellous ray of light, mysterious, +Would slant athwart the darkness of his cell, +Then he would rouse him to his quest once more +And say, "Perchance the Holy Grail is near!" + +One night at midnight came the ray again, +And with it came a strange expectancy +Of spirit as the light waxed radiant. +The cell was filled with spicy odours sweet, +And on the midnight stillness song was borne +As sweet as heaven's harmony--the words,-- +The same Sir Launcelot had heard of old,-- +"Honour and joy be to the Father of Heaven." +With wide eyes searching his lone cell for cause +He waited: as the ray became more clear +And more effulgent than the mid-day sun, +He trembled with that chill of mortal flesh +Beholding spiritual things. At last-- +Now vaguely as though veiled by light, and then +With shining clearness, perfectly--he saw +_The sight unspeakable, transcending words_. + +Forth from his barren cell came Kathanal, +Strong and inspired, born anew for deeds. +Straightway he grew to be the bravest knight +Under King Constantine, since Sir Sanpeur; +The boldest in the battles for the right; +The kindest in his judgment of the wrong. +His eyes that held the vision of the Grail +Were ever clear to see and know the truth; +His lips that had been touched by holy chrism +Were strong to utter holy living words; +He sang of life in life, and life in death, +And taught the lesson that his heart had learned-- +All love should be a glory, not a doom; +Love for love's sake, albeit bliss-denied. + +To his old home beside the sapphire sea +Floated his songs and his far-reaching fame; +For in the land no name was loved so well +As Kathanal the peerless Minstrel Knight. + +Lone in her chamber sat Leorre, and heard +The songs of Kathanal by courtiers sung-- +Arousing words, like a clear clarion call +To truth and virtue, purity and faith. +She clasped her hands and bent her head, and wept +In silent passion pent-up tears, for joy; +For now she knew--far off, beyond her sight-- +Her love had seen the sacred Holy Grail. +And, as she listened, inspiration came, +Irradiating all her spirit, lifting it +Beyond her sorrow and her daily want +Of Kathanal. Soft through her soul there crept +The echo of a benedicite, +Enwrapping her in calm, triumphant peace. + +Then she arose, put on her whitest robe, +And went out radiant, strong, and full of joy. + + + +Note to text beginning "A marvellous ray of light, mysterious,..." +[Transcriber's Note: "Note to Page 88" in the original text] + +"_In the midst of the blast entred a sunne beame more clear by seaven +times then ever they saw day, and all they were alighted of the grace of +the holy Ghost_" + + * * * * * + +"_Then there entred into the hall the holy grale covered with white +samite, but there was none that might see it, nor who beare it, and there +was all the hall fulfilled with good odours_." + + * * * * * + +"_Then he listned, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly, that it +seemed none earthly thing, and him thought that the voice said, 'Joy and +honour be to the Father of heaven._'" + +SIR THOMAS MALORY, "_La Mort d'Arthure_" + + + + +CHRISTALAN. + + +The yellow sunlight, coming from the east, +Through the great Minster windows, arched and high, +That tell the story of our blessed Lord +In colours royal with significance, +Takes many hues, and falls upon the head +Of a fair boy before the altar-rail. +It is the son of the brave knight Noël, +Cut off, alas! too early in his prime, +Now lying dead beneath yon sculptured stone, +But living in the hearts of the small group +In the old Minster on this sunny morn. +The proud young head is bowed in reverence +Before the holy priest of God, whose face +Is glowing with paternal love that shines +Through dignity of the official calm. +Who loves not Christalan for his blithe grace?-- +For his dear eyes, so true, so fathomless, +So full of tenderness, his mother thought +They were the reflex of the steadfast love +She bore her lord Noël? Who loves him not +For his bright joyance and his laughter sweet? + +But now he stands, all merry laughter stilled +By awe that groweth slowly in his eyes, +In silent quietude, a knightly lad, +Clad in a doublet of unspotted white, +Embroidered at the breast with these two words, +Wrought by his mother's hand, _Valiant and True_. +He hears at last the stirring words that move +His soul as it has never yet been moved; +Words that have haunted his imagining +For days and nights, making his young heart yearn +With restless longing for this present hour; +Words that presage the glory of his life, +The consecrated purpose of his youth +In its fulfilment and accomplishment; +The holy, sacred, solemn, early vow +Of future knighthood for the noble lad. +And now his father's sword is shown to him; +His daring spirit, of a knightly race, +Leaps out to grasp it, though his hand may not +Until he grows to manhood. O the years +That he must wait, and serve, and work for that! +Why is it not to-morrow? He is strong, +And, never having seen the great, wide world, +With boyish confidence, that is the germ +All undeveloped of man's later strength, +He feels he is its master. For a space +The altar and the holy man of God +Are veiled before his earnest, searching gaze, +By sudden picture which his fancy paints: +He sees a tournament, himself a knight-- + +"God's peace be with thee, valiant boy and true; +In the name of God the Father, and of the Son +And of the Holy Ghost. Amen." + + No tilt +Nor tournament before his vision now,-- +Swift in his boyish heart, so full of dreams +Of fame, there springs a new, intense resolve +Of consecration, an unconscious prayer +For God's peace, though he knows not what it means. + +The Lady Agathar stands, robed in black, +Behind the buoyant boy she loves so well. +She still has youth, and beauty, and desire; +But each full throb of her true, wifely heart +Beats for her lord, though he be gone,--all else +In life is naught to her but Christalan, +And Greane, the winsome maiden by her side. + +Sweet Greane's heart thrills with pride of Christalan, +And with the spirit of the solemn scene; +But, also, with a fierce rebellious pang, +That she is but a useless, silly girl. +She wishes she too had been born a lad, +To take the knightly vow, and leave the home, +And go forth to the world and its delight. + +Now Christalan turns from the altar-rail +To see the love upon his mother's face. +Back to the castle, in a goodly train, +They take their way, in joyous merriment +And festal cheer. + + A banquet for the lad +Is given in the hall, where gather soon +The Noël-garde retainers, come to greet +The noble boy, and say a long farewell. + +The Lady Agathar still smiles, and fills +The moment with all pleasure and delight, +No shadow of her sorrow or her pain +Shall fall upon her Christalan to-day, +But deep within her heart she maketh moan, +"My Christalan goes forth to-morrow morn." + +Amid the revel Greane and Christalan +Are missing for a time from the gay feast, +And Agathar's quick eyes have followed them +To where they sit apart, the two young heads, +Of golden beauty and of softest brown, +Forming a picture that for evermore +Her memory will hold to solace grief, +Or make it greater, as her mood may be. + +"O Christalan how can I let you go?" +Says sweet Greane, weeping "Who will climb with me +The rocks to find the bird's nest? who will play +At arms, forgetting that I am a girl, +And helping me forget it?" + + Christalan, +Lifting the nut-brown curl to find her ear, +Low whispers tenderly, "I love you, Greane, +A hundred times more than were you a boy, +And always have, e'en when I laughed at you." + +Greane nestles to him, lays her pretty head +Upon his breast, her slender shapely hand, +Sun-browned and thorn scratched, wanders lovingly +Over his face and hair,--then to the words +Upon his doublet, tracing thoughtfully +Their broidered curving with her forefinger, + +"_Valiant and True_" she says: "My Christalan, +When you are great and famous in the world, +Which would you be, could you be only one?" + +"Why, Greane, they go together, like the light +And morning: no knight could be really true +And not be valiant to the death; and yet, +No valiant knight could live and not be true." + +"But if you _could_ be only one?" says Greane, +With child's persistency. + + Quickly he starts, +Throws back his head impatiently, replies, +"I would be valiant, could I be but one." + +"O Christalan, _I_ would be true," says Greane. + +"Well, Greane, you teased me into saying it, +So do not look so scornful! I should die +If I could not exalt my father's name +In valiant deeds of knighthood and of war. +You have to choose, for you are but a girl; +I need not choose, thank God! I will be both." + +When the gray morning dawned at Noël-garde, +The Lady Agathar went to her son; +It was the last good-morrow they would say +For many years to come. At the sun's rise +He was to leave his home, to take his way +To the brave knight Sir Kathanal, to whom +Sir Noël, dying, had bade Agathar +Send the young Christalan, in time, to learn +The code of chivalry and knighthood. Back +She drew the curtains of his bed, and watched +Him sleeping, bent and kissed him: + + "Christalan, +Awake!" she said, "the day is breaking! Soon +You leave your home where now you rule as lord, +Boy though you are, and go as servitor; +You must fulfil my heart's desire, my son, +And, by God's help, bring answer to my prayers; +You must be true and valiant, Christalan." + +"Why, mother mine, is it not wrought in gold +Upon my doublet?" + + "Ah, my son," she said, +"It must be wrought upon your heart as well +As on your doublet." + + Quick he answered her, +"How can I help be valiant and most true, +With such a father and your peerless self +My mother? No, I will not fail, be sure. +Some day I shall come riding home to you +With honour, prizes, fame, and dignity, +That shall befit my father's noble name, +And all the court as I pass by will cry, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +"But, Christalan, first comes a time when you +Must serve, and work, and cheer for other knights; +No knight is fully worthy to command +Until he knows the lesson to obey; +No ruler can be great unless he learns +With dignity to be a servitor. +The least shall be the greatest, the most true +In all things, howe'er small, shall be at last +Most valiant. Will you serve as well, my son, +As now you hope to conquer?" + + "Mother mine, +Nothing will be too hard for me, I know, +With knighthood at the end. If that should fail, +I could not bear it! It will come at last! +When I shall hear the cry, that in our play +Sweet Greane is ever calling through the wood, +From all the court, and even from the King, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +Eight years had passed. The Lady Agathar, +Unaged, unchanged, in her plain robe of black, +Sat in her tower, watching for her son. +Fair Greane was with her, tall, and full of grace, +Right glad at last that she was born a maid. + +They talked together of that day, gone by, +When Christalan first left them They had heard +How nobly, to the pride of Noël-garde, +He bore his days of service, how, as squire, +He was the favoured of Sir Kathanal, +How keen and living his ambition was +To prove the motto of his boyish choice +And it was near, the mother's heart was glad +That, ere the week was ended, Christalan +Would be the knight his heart had longed to be. +His maiden shield, waiting his valour's right +To grave it as his doublet had been wrought, +And his bright armour were in readiness +For the long vigil by his arms, alone +Before the altar in that sacred place, +The holy Minster, where his father slept +First he would come, that she might bless her son. +Well did she comprehend the happiness +In his brave heart to day, the early vow +That stirred the boy so deeply, long ago, +Was near its confirmation! His intense +And solemn longing for the watch at night, +His ardent joy in knighthood, won at last,-- +She shared before she saw him, with that sense +Of subtle sympathy a mother, only, knows. +She spoke her thoughts aloud in pride-thrilled tones-- + +"Almost a knight, my Greane, is Christalan; +How valiant, faithful, noble he has been, +And will be ever, my true-hearted son!" + +"Greane! Greane! they come! I see a dusty cloud +That hides and heralds the approach of men. +Look, is it Christalan? They come more near, +Nearer and nearer! God in Heaven! Greane, +What is it that they bring? Not Christalan? +O no; that silent form they bear so slow +Can not, and must not, be my Christalan! +Come, Greane, and contradict my eyes for me." + +Greane's answer was a swift, confirming swoon. +Up through the gates they bore her Christalan, +Dressed in the garments of the neophyte, +That erst were spotless white, but then were soiled, +Bedraggled and dust-stained. His golden hair +A matted mass, of sunny curls unkempt,-- +And yet how beautiful he was withal! +Into the hall they brought and laid him down, +While Agathar gave thanks, from her despair, +That death had not yet conquered him. He lived, +Although he spoke not, moved not, scarcely breathed. + +They told her, in few words, of his brave deed. +In some lone mountain way, far from the court, +He saw a knight almost unhorsed by fraud, +And springing quickly to the knight's relief, +Unarmed, unready, without thought of self, +He had been trampled by the maddened horse, +Whose master he had saved unfair defeat. +The leech had tended him with greatest care, +Promised him life, but never more, alas! +The power to wield his sword, or wear his arms, +The strength to walk, or run, or live the life +Of manhood as men prize it. Some deep hurt, +Beyond the sight, would ever foil his strength, +And make bold effort perilous to life. +They told her how he whiter grew, at this, +And, with the one word, "Noël-garde," had passed +Into the trance, like death, that held him thus +Through all the journey they had carried him. +"My valiant boy," said Lady Agathar; +And hushed her heart, to minister to him. + +Slowly, at last, the lovely eyes unclosed +The speaking beauty of their dark-blue depths, +To meet his mother's with beseeching gaze. +"I can be true, but never valiant now," +He said in faltering accents. "Mother mine, +There is no knight for you and my sweet Greane. +God help me!" and he turned him to the wall. + +"O Christalan! my son," she answered him, +"Knighthood is in the spirit and the soul; +The deeds that show the knighthood to the world +Are but the chance and circumstance of fate; +And no knight could be truer than you proved +Yourself in self-forgetting, nor more brave +Than in foregoing knighthood for a knight. +You will be far more valiant, if you bear +This sorrow without murmur or complaint, +Than you could prove in any battle won. +The meanest varlet often wins by chance. +It needeth valour like our blessed Lord's +To forfeit glory, and to suffer pain +Unhonoured and unknown--ah, Christalan, +True knight within my heart I hold you, dear." + +"Yea, mother mine, but now my father's name +Remains without fresh glory; his last prayer +And dying wishes must be unfulfilled." + +"Sweet Christalan, when you were scarce a lad, +You saw the King and thought his shining crown +His royalty, which now you know is naught +But symbol of it. Thus your father, dear, +In larger life of knowledge of the truth, +Knows that the boon he prayed was but the sign. +'Tis yours, now, to fulfil the higher prayer; +'Tis yours to gain the inward grace, and leave +The outward sign, great in its way, but less." + +"Your words are like the first flush of the dawn +In the dark night, my mother, bringing light +To show more plain the lingering dark. O God, +It is so dark and bitter! How can you, +Yea, even you, begin to understand? +You never were a man--almost a knight." + +"But I have been a mother," she replied +In tones so strange he roused to look at her, +And saw his sorrow's kinship in her eyes. +He drew her arm beneath his head, and slept. + +They noursled him to outward show of strength, +With care and love, the best of medicines. +A brighter day now dawned for Noël-garde +With his home-coming, notwithstanding grief. +What tales there were to tell of the great court, +Of his long service with Sir Kathanal, +To which Greane listened with quick, bated breath, +Sharing each feat and play with Christalan +As he relived it for her. + + "List ye, Greane," +He said one day with ardour of brave youth +Aglow for bravery; "I met a man +Who once had seen the great Sir Launcelot, +And told me of him. How he prayed and prayed +Within the cloister; all his deeds of war, +Of prowess, and renown, were naught to him, +Though men bowed low in goodly reverence +As he walked by; and some, 'the foolish ones,' +The man said, yet they seem not so to me, +Stooped down and kissed the footprints that he left. +Although he wore but simple gown of serge, +With girdle at the waist, like any monk, +One felt, with passing glance, he had a power +Unconquerable in reserve, to swift +O'ercome whate'er approached him, if he would. +And, Greane, bend down and let me speak to you: +I saw at Camelot the great white tomb +Of sweet Elaine, and not in all the court +Saw I a maiden half so fair as she. +She lies there carved in marble, pure and white; +And, by our blessed Lord, my heart is sure +That, were she living, I should love her well." + +"O Christalan! you would not love a maid +That lost her maiden pride and dignity, +Giving her love unasked?" said Greane, in scorn. + +"Alas, Greane! have you, hidden from the world, +Learned the world's jargon and false estimates? +Do you not know that love is more than pride, +And beating heart more than cold dignity? +Men die for glory, and you all applaud. +Elaine's love was her glory; honour her +That she did die for it. That she could tell +Her story fearlessly to all the court +But proves her high, unconscious purity." + +"Well," said fair Greane, with laughter in her eyes, +"I straight will die for the next noble knight +Who comes to Noël-garde to rest awhile, +And you shall put me on a gilded barge,-- +I will not have a solemn bed of black!-- +And our old servitor shall deck--" + + "Peace, Greane!" +Said Christalan, in tones that frightened her, +Who knew no sound from him but tenderness. +"Dare not to jest about that holy maid, +Too pure to fear, too true to hide her heart." + +Then there were tales to tell of the great King +Who passed in such a wondrous mystery +From out the realm; and of King Constantine, +"Who may not be like great King Arthur, Greane, +But who deservedly has right to wear +The crown he wore; for he is brave and strong, +Mighty in battle, bountiful in peace, +To each brave knight a friend, and to the weak +As I, who never knew a father, think +A father might be. + + "When I saw him first, +He asked, 'Are you Sir Noël's son--the knight +Who, with the mighty King (peace to his soul!), +Landed at Dover, and there fought so well?' +Abashed I answered, 'Yea, my liege'; but he +Laid his great hand, that has a jagged scar +Half-way across it, on my arm and said, +'Be not afraid; I was your father's friend, +And will be yours, if you are worthy him.' + +"Often thereafter would he speak to me +So graciously, I for a time forgot +He was a king, and answered him as free +From fear or shyness as I answer you, +Told him my thirst for knighthood and for fame, +To which he listened with that strange grim smile, +So like a sunbeam in a rocky place +Then, straightway, as I watched him, in his eyes +There came the look that made me want to kneel, +Remembering he was a king indeed. +I love him, Greane, I--" + + Christalan turned quick +His face away, and strove to hide the pain +That held him in its sharp and sudden grasp, +Pain of the flesh, that was but less than pain +Of heart, that it should keep him from his King, +And knightly service worthy of his name +Greane spoke not, but she understood, and crept +Close to his side, finding his cold white hand,-- +The laughter turned to tears within her eyes. + +Great was his love for Greane, but greater far +His love for Agathar Born of his pain, +A strange dependence tinged pathetically +The proud possession of his trust as guard +Of her reft life and lonely widowhood. +He waited for her coming in the morn +With flowers he had gathered ere she woke; +At night he led her to her chamber door, +With boyish homage touched with stately grace, +And Agathar said to her widowed heart, +"How like his father in his courtesy'" +Often she kissed him, whispering the while, +"Beloved Christalan, my more than knight, +You bear your bitter lot so patiently. +Thank God you are so valiant and so true'" + +Slowly the shadow on his way grew less +Eclipsing, the brave spirit that was ripe +For doing deeds came to fulfil itself +In the far harder task of doing naught, +The courage ready for activity +But changed its course, as he forebore and smiled +And yet he oft would hasten from the sight +Of Greane and Agathar, and seek the wood, +Where he was hidden from the tender eyes +So quick to see his struggle. Lying prone +Upon the grass, he stretched his fragile form +Its fullest length to cheat himself with thought +That he was stalwart, then he closed his eyes +To generous summer's lavish golden glow +Of shimmering sunshine playing everywhere, +And the fair world of beauty, flowering; +Shut from his hearing caroling of bird, +The liquid rhythm of rivulet, the song +Of wind amid the tree-tops, all the notes +Of nature's melody; and heard alone, +With inward ear, the clanging clash of arms +And shouts of victory Through the long hours +He lay and fought his fight imaginary, +To rise, more wan, to wage his war with pain. + +One morning, when the sun rose, he was far +From Noël-garde. He had gone out to seek +The wayside lilies, fresh with early dew. +From the deep shadow of the wood he heard +A troop of mailed horsemen cry a halt +Just in the path before him. In low tones +They talked of a dark plot to kill the King. + +The heart of Christalan, that beat so faint, +And oft so wearily, beat fast and strong +In anxious listening. It was a band +Of outlawed robbers, rebels to the King, +Who planned to lay at the great undern hunt +A trap for the brave, unsuspecting King, +Spring on him unawares, and take his life, +And have revenge for justice done to them. + +His King! they spoke about his noble King, +Then in the old court castle near his home, +For a brief resting on his journey north. + +He leaned against a gnarled and twisted oak, +His soul a listening intensity, +And all his strength, seemed leaving him; he drew +A quick and stifled breath of sharpest pain, +As they rode on, and thought of Agathar, +Watching and waiting for his coming home. + +"Yes, I can save him; God be thanked for that. +I now may do one valiant deed and die." + +It was a long way to the court, through dense +Unbroken forest, with a single path +Trodden between the trees; he had no horse, +No strength, and little time before the deed-- +The dreadful deed--be done. Not since his hurt +Had he walked fast, or far, without great pain; +Now it will follow every step he takes-- +But what is that, he goes to save his King! + +Prepared to brave the pain, all stealthily +He started from the shadow of the trees; +When suddenly two of the bandit band +Came riding back again, ere he could hide-- +The one had dropped his javelin and returned +To seek it. Heavy coats of mail incased +The stalwart frames scarce needing a defense, +So strong they were. + + Silent stood Christalan +And faced their coming, not a trace of fear +Or tremor in his bearing, slight and frail +In his white doublet, holding in his hand +The wayside lilies he forgot to drop, +Which to the Lady Agathar shall come, +Alas! without his greeting or his kiss. + +"Ho!" cried the bandits. "Eavesdropping? By hell +And all the devils! we will slash his tongue +Too fine to tell our secrets, if he heard! +Speak, man, or die! Heard you our converse now?" + +"Strike, ye base cowards," answered Christalan. +"I am unarmed, alone, and weaponless: +I cannot wield the sword, nor wear my helm, +But God is with me to defend me now, +So strike against His power, if you dare!" + +The sunlight, slanting westward through the trees, +Fell first upon his lifted, golden head, +Making a shining helmet of his curls, +And then upon the lilies in his hand; +His eyes had a defiant, fearless glow; +Against the sombre background of the wood, +He looked scarce human. + + "Mother of our Lord!" +In frightened breath, the bandit rebels cried. +"It is a spirit; no mere mortal man +Would stand and face us boldly so, unarmed. +Look at the Virgin's lilies in his hand! +Great God, preserve us, save us from our doom!" + +And turning in a panic of swift fear, +They vanished quickly through the shadowed wood, +While Christalan sped on to save his King. + +He sees the castle, and he hears the horn +That calls the court together for the hunt; +His strength is failing, and his heart grows faint. +Quick, ere it cease to beat! Faster, more fast! +O but to save his noble lord! One swift, +Last run, and he has reached them; breathlessly +He stands before the charger of the King, +With arms uplifted and imploring eyes, +Until words come, between sharp gasps of pain. +"Go not, my liege, upon the hunt to-day, +I pray you, for the glory of the realm." + +With cheeks that paled and flushed, and panting breath, +He told his story in disjointed words, +And, with unconscious frank simplicity, +The tale of his high courage on the way, +To prove, what it had proved to his own heart, +The care of God to shield his lord the King. +Then he fell prostrate at the great King's feet, +And tired life ebbed fast to leave him rest. + +He lies amid the hushed and silent court, +The faded lilies still within his hand; +And with his weary, dying eyes he sees +The sword of Constantine above his head, +Giving, at last, the royal accolade, +While the King's face is full of yearning love; +And with his dying ears he hears the words, +That he has bravely striven to resign, +"Sir Christalan, my True and Valiant knight," + +And then the murmur from the assembled court, +"Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True; +God speed the soul of our beloved knight, +Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10495 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a48176a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10495 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10495) diff --git a/old/10495-8.txt b/old/10495-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6849e77 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10495-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2598 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Under King Constantine, by Katrina Trask + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Under King Constantine + +Author: Katrina Trask + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [eBook #10495] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER KING CONSTANTINE*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Rosanna Yuen, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Under King Constantine + +By Katrina Trask + +Third Edition + +1893 + + + + + + + +To My Husband. + + + + +_The following tales, which have no legendary warrant, are supposed to +belong to the time, lost in obscurity, immediately subsequent to King +Arthur's death; when, says Malory, in the closing chapter of LA MORT +D'ARTHURE, "Sir Constantine, which was Sir Cadors son of Cornwaile, was +chosen king of England; and hee was a full noble knight, and worshipfully +hee ruled this realme"_ + + + + +SANPEUR. + + +The great King Constantine is at the hunt; +The brilliant cavalcade of knights and dames, +On palfreys and on chargers trapped in gold +And silver and red purple, ride in mirth +Along the winding way, by hill and tarn +And violet-sprinkled dell. Impatient hounds +Sniff the keen morning air, and startled birds +Rustle the foliage redolent with spring. + +From time to time some courtier reins his steed +Beside the love-enkindling Gwendolaine, +Whose wayward moods do vary as the winds,-- +Now wooing with her soft, seductive grace; +Now fascinating with her stately pride; +Anon, bewitching by her recklessness +Of wilful daring in some wild caprice +Which no one could anticipate or stay. +How fair she is to-day! How beautiful! +Her hunting-robe is bluer than the sky,-- +Matching one phase of her great, changeful eyes,-- +Clasped with twin falcons of unburnished gold, +The colour of her brown hair in the sun. +The white plumes, drooping from her hunting-cap, +Leave her alluring lips in tempting sight, +But hide the growing shadow in her eyes. +For she marks none of all the court to-day +Save Sir Sanpeur, the passing noble knight +Whose bearing doth bespeak heroic deeds, +There where he rides with the sweet maid Ettonne. + +Sir Torm, the husband of fair Gwendolaine, +Is all unconscious of aught else beside +The outward seeming, 'tis enough for him +That she is gay and beautiful, and smiles. +He has a nature small and limited +By sight, and sense, and self, and his desires; +A heart as open as the day to all +That touches his quick impulse, when it costs +Him naught of sacrifice. The needy poor +Flock to his castle for the careless gift +Of falling dole, but his esquire is faint +From his exacting service, night and day +His Lady Gwendolaine is satiate +With costly gems, palfreys, and samite thick +With threads of gold and silver, but the sweet +Heart subtleties and fair observances +Are lost in the _of course_ of married life. +He sees, too quickly, does she fail to smile, +But never sees the shadow in her eyes +His hounds are beaten till they scarce draw breath, +And then caressed beyond the worth of hounds. +His vassals know not if, from day to day, +He will approve, or strike them with a curse. +His humours are the byword of the court, +And, were it not for his good-heartedness, +His prowess, and undaunted strength at arms, +Men would speak lightly of him in disdain; +He is so often in a stormy rage, +Or supplicating humour to atone,-- +Too petty to repent in very truth, +Too light and yielding in repentance, when +His temper's force is spent, for dignity +Of truest knighthood. No one feels his faults +So quickly, with such flushing of regret +And shame, as Gwendolaine. But she is wife, +His honour is her own, and she would hide +From all the world, and even from herself, +His pettiness and narrowness of soul. +So she forgets, or doth pretend forget, +Where he has failed, save when he passes bounds; +Then her swift scorn--a piercing force he dreads-- +Flashes upon him like a probing lance, +To silence merriment if it be coarse, +To hush his wrath when it is violent. + +Though powerful to check, she ne'er could change +The underflow and current of their life. +In the first years, gone by, ere she had grown +A woman of the world, she had essayed +To stem the tide of shallow vanity, +To realise her girlhood's high ideal, +And make her home more reverent, and more fine. +Sir Torm had overborne her words with jest +And noisy laughter, vowing she would learn +Romance and sweet simplicity were well +For harper minstrel, singing in the hall, +But not for courtiers living in the world. +Once, when she faced the thought of motherhood,-- +For some brief days of sweet expectancy +Never fulfilled for her,--she was aware +Of thirst for living water, and a dread +Of the light, shallow life she led, fell on her; +She went to Torm, and spoke, in broken words, +The unformed longing of her dawning soul. +He lightly laughed, filliped her ear, called her +"My Lady Abbess," "pretty saint," and then +Said, later, jesting, before all the court, +"Behold a lady too good for her lord!" +The blood swept up her cheeks to lose itself +In her hair's gold, then ebbed again to leave +Her paler than before. She stood in silent, +Momentary hate of Torm, all impotent. +He saw her pallor and her eyes down-dropt, +Came quickly, flung his arm around her, saying, +"God's faith, my girl, you do not mind a jest! +Where are the spirits you are wont to have?" +"My lord, they shall not fail you any more," +She answered bitterly, and after that +Torm did not see her soul unveiled again. +Thenceforth she turned her strivings after truth +To winning outward charm the more complete, +And hid her inner self more deeply 'neath +The sparkling surface of her brilliant life. + +To-day he wearies her with brutal jest +Upon the hunted boar, and calls her dull +That she laughs not as ever. + + While Sanpeur +Was far upon a distant quest, all perilous, +She thought with secret longing of the hour +When once again together they should ride. +He has returned triumphant, having won +Fresh honours. + + Now at last, the hunt has come, +The day is golden, and her beauty fair,-- +And Sir Sanpeur is riding with Ettonne. +A sudden conflict wages in her heart +As she talks lightly to each courtier gay, +Jealous impatience that the Gwendolaine +Whom all men flatter, should be thwarted, fights +A tender yearning to defy all pride +And call him to her for one spoken word. +The world seems better when he talks with her, +No one has ever lifted her above +The empty nothings of a courtly life +As Sir Sanpeur, who makes both life and death +More grandly solemn, yet more simply clear. +In a steep curving of the road, he turns +To meet her smile, which deepens as he comes. +Sanpeur, bronzed by the eastern sun, is tall, +Straight as a javelin, in each noble line +His knighthood is revealed. Slighter than Torm, +Whose strength is in his size, but full as strong, +Sanpeur's unrivalled strength is in his sinew +His scarlet garb, deep furred with miniver, +Is broidered with the cross which leaves untold +The fame he won in lands of which it tells +Upon his breast he wears the silver dove, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost, +Which Gwendolaine once noted with the words, +"What famous honours you have won, my lord!" +And he had answered with all knightly grace, +"My Lady Gwendolaine, I seldom think +Of the high honour, though I greatly prize +This recognition, far beyond my worth; +My thought is ever what it signifieth. +It is my consecration I belong +To God the Father, and this is the sign +Of His most Holy Spirit, sent to us +By our ascended Saviour, Jesu Christ, +By Whom alone I live from day to day." +His quiet words, amid the laughing court, +Had startled her, as if a solemn peal +Of full cathedral music had rung clear +Above the jousting cry of "Halt and Ho!" +Then, as she wondered if he were a man +Like other men, or priest in knightly garb, +He spoke of her rich jewels with delight +And worldly wisdom, telling her the tale +Of many jewelled mysteries she wore +"In the far East, the sapphire stone is held +To be the talisman for Love and Truth, +So is it fitly placed upon your robe; +It is the stone of stones to girdle you" +"A man, indeed," she thought, "but not like men." + +As on his foam-flecked charger, Carn-Aflang, +He rides to-day towards Lady Gwendolaine, +She draws her rein more tightly, arching more +Her palfrey's head, and all unconsciously +Uplifts her own,--for she has waited long. + +"Good morrow, my fair Lady Gwendolaine." + +"Good morrow, Sir Sanpeur, pray do you mark +My new gerfalcon, from beyond the sea? +Your eyes are just the colour of her wings." + +"Now, by my troth, I challenge any knight +To say precisely what that colour is." + +"'Tis there the likeness serves so well, Sanpeur." + +"My Lady Gwendoline, your speech is, far +Beyond your purpose, gracious, for right well +I mind me that you told me, once, your heart +Often rebelled against the well-defined, +And I should be content to have my eyes +The motley colour of your falcon's plume, +Lest they make you rebel." + + "Ah, Sir Sanpeur, +Your memory is far too steadfast!" + + "Naught +Can be too steadfast for your grace, fair dame." + +Now he has come, the wayward Gwendolaine +Is fain to punish him for his delay. +"Methinks," she says, in pique, against her will, +"The beautiful Ettonne looks for her knight; +It scarce seems chivalrous to leave her thus." + +"'Tis true, my lady, I came not to stay, +But for a greeting, which I now have said." + +He left her, the light shadow darker grew +Within her eyes, and golden hawking bells +Upon her jesses clashed with sudden clink, +As her fair hand had closed impatiently. + +Betimes came Constantine, who looked a man +Of hard-won conquests, not the least, o'er self. +Before his stately presence Gwendolaine +Bowed low with heartfelt loyalty. + + "My King, +Care rides beside you, banish him, to-day, +He will but spoil the sunshine and the hunt." + +"Alas! he is the Sovereign of the King, +And stays, defying all command, fair Gwendolaine." +Then, smiling grimly,--"My great heritage, +As heir to fragments of the Table Round, +Brings me no wealth of ease." + + In converse light +They rode together. When the hunt was done, +The King, all courteous, said, "My gracious dame, +Well have you learned of nature her great laws; +The sun, that warms with its intensity +The earth to fruitage, is the same that throws +Stray sportive gleams to beautify alone; +And you, who meet my purposes of state +With a responsive thought and sympathy, +As no dame of the court,--and scarcely knight,-- +Has ever done, are first in making me +Forget their weight. Gramercy for your grace! +It has revived me as a summer shower +Revives the parched and under-trodden grass; +It is but seldom I have time to seek +Refreshment, save of labour changed." + + "My King,"-- +She passed from gay to grave,--"my own heart aches +With life's vexed questions, and its stern demands, +Full often even in my sheltered state; +And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o'ercome +With the vast load of duties you fulfil +So nobly, to the glory of the realm. +Would I could serve you, as you well deserve; +But I am only woman, so I smile +In lieu of fighting for you, as I would +Unto the death, if I were but a knight." +And this same dame who spoke so earnestly +To Constantine, said when she next had speech +With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play +To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond +The fashion of the robe I wear!" + + Sanpeur, +Alone of all the men who came within +Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns, +And when he would not humour passing mood, +And when she felt within her wayward heart +The silent protest of his calm reserve,-- +Although a longing she had never known +Awoke in her,--her pride, in arms, cried truce +To striving spirit, and she laughed the more. +And oftentimes the stirring of new life, +Without its recognition, made her quick +To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur +Confronted to some phases of her charm; +Made her assume a wilful shallowness, +To hide the soul she was afraid to face. + +One day, at court, her restless spirits rose +To a defiant mood of recklessness, +And half because she wanted to be true, +And half because she could not act the false +Except to overdo it, her clear laugh +Rang out at witty words her heart disdained; +Some knights, ignoble, hating noble men, +Were loud decrying virtue, Gwendolaine +With laugh-begetting words made quick assent +To the unworthy wit + + She scarce had spoken, +Ere Sanpeur raised his penetrating eyes,-- +The only ones, in all that laughing group, +Which were not bright with an approving smile,-- +To meet her own, with silent gravity, +A swift arrest within their shining depths +To one more word unworthy of herself. +And Gwendolaine, the peerless queen of dames, +Cast down her eyes, for once, before Sanpeur. + +Later, he stood beside her, as she passed, +"My Lady Gwendolaine,--incomparable,-- +'Tis not your wont to be so cowardly." + +"No? Sanpeur," answered Gwendolaine, "nor yours, +It seems, to be well mannered; may I ask +Where I have failed in bravery, forsooth?" + +"You were a coward to your better self +In your light answer to the empty words +Your nature disavowed." + + "Alack, my lord! +That is my armour; warriors ever wear +A cuirass of strong steel before their breasts; +A woman carries but a little shield +Of scorn and badinage, to break the force +On her weak woman-heart, of javelins hurled." + +"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine, +But it is not the same, by your fair grace; +Our armour is our armour, nothing more; +Your shield of scorn is lasting lance of harm, +For every word a noble woman says, +And every act and influence from her, +Live on forever, to the end of time; +Your true soul is too true to be belied." + +"Who told you, Sir Sanpeur?" + + "My heart," he said. +She raised her eyes in a triumphant thrill +Of sudden rapture, and of gratitude, +And saw herself enwrapped by a long look +That came from deeper depths than she had known, +And reached a depth in her as yet unstirred. +She stood enspelled by his long silent gaze +Of subtle power. His unswerving eyes +Quelled her by steadfast calm, yet kindled her +By lavish love and light. + + Although no word +Was said between them, as they moved apart, +She knew he loved her, and he wist she knew. + +And with the revelation there was born +A wider knowledge of life's mystery. +Sir Torm had never satisfied her soul; +But though in outward seeming she was proud, +High-spirited, and passing courtly dame, +At heart the Lady Gwendolaine was still +A hungry child who craved love's nourishing, +Unconscious of her hunger; so she had clung,-- +In spite of shocks, repeated time on time,-- +Close to the thought of Torm, remembering all +He was to her in wooing her; rehearsed-- +As children count their pennies one by one +Day after day to prove their wealth--each good +And sign of promise in his nature generous, +Until her buoyant heart, quick to react, +Had warmed itself, and kept itself alive, +By its own warmth and fire of earnest zeal. +And as men, lost in a morass, feed fast +On berries, lest they starve, and call it food, +Thus, with shut eyes, had Gwendolaine, till now, +Fed on affection and chance tenderness, +And called it by the great and awful name +Of Love, not knowing what love meant. But swift +As light floods darkened chamber, when one flings +The window wide, so her unconscious soul +Was flooded with the strange incoming thought-- +In that eternal moment--of true love, +Love as a vital force within the soul, +A strength, a power, an illuming light. +And Sanpeur loved her! O immortal crown. +She was not conscious of her love for him, +Her love for his love was enough for her. + +Then she awoke to joy; all things became +Pregnant with deep significance. The sky +Flushed with the coming of the rosy dawn; +The mountains reaching heavenward; the sun +That warmed the flowers, and drank their dew; the birds +That built their nests well hid in leafy shade; +The grass that bent in homage to the wind,-- +All touched her heart anew with subtle thoughts; +And joy brought rich unfolding in her life. + +She had more pity for the men she scorned, +More quick forgiveness for the envious dames, +And when the little children crossed her path, +She stooped, and kissed them, as was not her wont. + +Alas! too often, this new harmony +Of life was clashed by discord. Sir Torm flung +Upon the homage Sanpeur rendered her +Unworthy jest and spiteful words, for well +He hated him with grudge despiteous. +Full oft his wrath was roused to such a point +He could not hold his peace; even to the King +He jeered one day at visionary knights. +The keen-eyed King, with intuition, knew +The motive of his speech,--"Our knight, Sanpeur, +But contradicts your verdict, Torm, and proves +That which the great King Arthur taught,--the man +Is strongest who can claim a strength divine +From whence to draw his own." Sir Torm had grown +More wrathful in his heart at this, and kept +Sanpeur long while from word with Gwendolaine. +Then, when Torm's anger did not baffle her, +Sometimes a doubt would come, and doubt hides joy. +Sir Sanpeur honoured her before the court +With chivalrous and frankest loyalty. +At the great tournament of Christmas-tide, +He cried, "Such peerless presence in our midst +As the unrivalled Lady Gwendolaine +Strengthens the arm to prove her without peer! +Let him who will dispute it!" Those who did, +But proved it by their fall, for worshipfully +He overthrew them with so simple ease +His cause seemed justice rather than love's boast. +Then when they met for converse face to face, +He spoke from his unsullied, fearless soul +Straight to her own, without reserve or fear. +Yet he was wrapped in a calm self-control; +No word, no whisper of his love for her +Had ever passed his lips to tell, in truth, +The love that she was sure of in her heart. +And when he lingered by some maiden fair, +With that true-hearted careful courtesy +He never for a moment's space forgot +To any woman, queen or serving-maid; +And when the maiden's eyes gave bright response +To his fair words of thought-betaking grace, +The heart of Gwendolaine would faster beat, +And all her waywardness would quick return; +Then, if Sanpeur approached her, she would mock +At life, and love, and fling the gauntlet down +As challenge for a tournament of speech. + +"And pray, Sanpeur," she said one eve to him, +When they were at a feast at Camelot, +"Why is your life so lone and incomplete, +When any lovely maiden of the court +Would follow you most gladly at your call?" + +"You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine." + +"By your kind grace, I cannot guess," she said, +Repenting as she said it, instantly. + +"Because I love you only, evermore; +You long have felt it, known it; and I thought +Cared not to hear me say it with my voice; +But, as you wish it, I have said it now, +My Lady Gwendolaine." + + They stood among +The knights and ladies, therefore he spoke low, +In quiet dignity, as he might say +"How well the colour of your robe beseems +Your beauty";--not a trace of passionate +Intensity, save in his lucent eyes. +No passion nor embrace could so have moved her, +As this calm telling her in quiet words +The secret of all secrets in God's world, +As though it were a part of daily life; +This power to hold a passion in his hand,-- +Which his true eyes declared was measureless,-- +As though he were its master, utterly. +True women are like Nature, their great mother, +Stirred on the surface by each passing wind, +But ruled by silent forces at the heart. +She caught her breath a moment in surprise,-- +For naught has to the mind more of surprise +Than the sweet long-expected, if it come +When one expects it not,--and paused a space, +With downcast eyes; and then her woman-soul +Went out in sudden impulse, graciously, +In boundless thought for him who gave her all. +"O Sanpeur, love one worthier than I, +And where your love will not be guerdonless!" + +"To love you is a guerdon of itself, +You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine." + +He passed with knightly bow, and joined the court, +And left her with a glory in her eyes. +Never was Gwendolaine so radiant +As on that evening; courtiers one by one +Drew near, and marvelled at her loveliness. +When the great feast was ended, she was well +Content to leave the court for Tormalot; +For, in the quiet of her chamber, when +Sir Torm had slept, she lived in thought again +The sure triumphant moment when she knew, +Beyond all peradventure, of a love +That her heart told her was above all love +Of other men in strength and purity. +And on the morrow, when she woke, her joy +Woke with her, and encompassed her soul. + +In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament. +The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day, +For it will be a savage tournament, +"Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her, +"Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say. + +"Come, Gwendolaine, my beauty, ere I go, +I wait to have you buckle on my sword." + +Smiling, she does his bidding. + + "Ah! my Torm, +How heavy, and how mighty is your sword; +I revel in the glory of your strength, +And in your prowess. Well I mind me, dear, +When first I saw you, on your charger black, +Riding in knightly state to my old home. +'By our King Arthur's soul,' my father said, +'There is a knight of valour and of strength!' +And then you wooed me to become your bride, +Me, scarce a maiden, naught but wilful child +So prone, alas to mischief and mistake, +Of humble fortune, with but whims for dower +You were so kind, so generous, you flashed +My low estate with splendour. I recall +How my heart laughed with girlish pride and glee +At the surpassing bounty of your gifts." + +"Ha! Gwendolaine, by the great Holy Grail +I caught an eagle when I caught that dove, +For now you are the queen of all the dames, +Even King Constantine, who seldom marks +A lady of the court, comes to your side +And flatters you with royal courtesies, +Which you receive with far too proud a grace; +For, wit ye well, I would not let it slip, +This honour of his preference for you." + +"My lord, save that I reverence him as man, +I do not care for favour of the King." + +"I care, that is enough for you," said Torm. +"No knight has charger like my Roanault, +No knight has castle like my Tormalot, +And none has mistress like my Gwendolaine-- +I choose that none approach her but the King." + +He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned +And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss. + +"I think the King is safe for you, and well +For me in my advancement. Other knights +May serve you at a distance, but had best +Not seek your side too often." + + Her sweet head +Lay like a lily on his mailed breast, +While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf +That floated from his helmet. + + "Goes Sanpeur +To the great tournament to-day?" he asked. + +"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont +To tilt in tourneys like to-day's." + + "Think not! +I want an honest answer. Do you know?" + +"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; +It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight +In these new tourneys of such savage guise." + +"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks +You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?" + +"I long have told you that I thought your strength +Was worthy finer service. You well know +I like not tournaments that waste the land +By useless bloodshed; but, my Torm, you are +Your own adviser, so I say no more. +Bend down and kiss me, Torm, before you go; +Pray be not wroth with Gwendolaine, my lord." + +"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true +You will not see that coward knight to-day." + +Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn, +"I know not whom you mean, my lord Sir Torm." + +"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur." + +"Sanpeur, the fearless knight, a coward!--_he_? +What, think you, would your great King Constantine +Say to your daring slander? Sir Sanpeur +Is the unquestioned Launcelot at court; +The King rests on him with unfailing trust +In every valiant deed and feat of arms." +She drew her beauty to its fullest height, +And swept him with her eyes. "Fear not for me, +Sir Torm. Sanpeur, alas! is too engrossed +With duties for his Master, Jesu Christ, +And for his lord, the King, to loiter here +With any woman, howe'er fair she be." + +Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made +The heart of Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce +Against its sound in spirit of revolt. + +"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused +In open court to joust with Dinadan?" + +"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave." + +"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day, +And prayers, and fasting, and such foolery." + +"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn, +"Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm, +Who never was unhorsed by knight before?" + +The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face; +His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath. + +"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry +Has won his way to your most wifely heart +By boasting of his prowess! By my sword! +That is a knightly virtue in all truth." + +"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell +The story that was waiting for your bride +In every prattling mouth about the court. +Had it been so, she never would have heard; +It lies with petty souls alone to boast, +Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur." + +"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord! +Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur." + +"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow +With exultation of defense of him, +"It well might be my glory; for there lives +No knight so stainless and so pure as he." + +"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!" + +And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand, +He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine, +And went out cursing. + + Motionless she leaned +Against the window mullion, where she reeled, +White as the pearls she wore; and love for Torm-- +The thing that she had nourished and called love-- +Fell dead within her, murdered by his blow. +And in her heart true love arose at last +for Sir Sanpeur, proclaiming need of him;-- +A love, for many days hushed and suppressed +By wifely loyalty, now well awake, +With conscious sense of immortality. + +Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went, +Stopped not to wipe the blood from her pale cheek; +Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and donned +A russet gown she kept for merry plays, +And, wrapping o'er her head a wimple, dark +As her dark gown, crept down the castle steps. +The vassals looked at her askance; she drew +Her wimple closer, and deceived their gaze, +Until the gate of Tormalot was passed, +And she was out upon the lonely moor. +Onward she went, too wrenched with pain and wrath +To fear, or wonder at her fearlessness. + +The knight Sanpeur was on his battlements, +Silvered with light from the full summer moon, +And heard his seneschal with loud replies +Denying entrance, as his orders were; +He would be left alone and undisturbed +With memory and thought of Gwendolaine. +"What sweetness infinite beneath the ebb +And flow of moods," he said, half audibly; +"What truth beneath her laughter and her mirth! +I ask but that her nature be fulfilled, +That is enough for me; it matters not +If I may only see her from afar. +My love was sent to vivify her life, +Not to imperil, and to make no claim +Of her but her unfolding; to remind +Her soul of its immortal heritage, +And teach her joy,--she knew but merriment. +And this, meseems, it hath done, Christ be praised. +Her soul asserts itself through her gay life, +And joy pervades her,--she is radiant. +How wonderful she looked, last night, at Camelot! +She moved in glowing beauty like a star." + +And with the vision of her in his heart, +In all the splendour of her state and pride, +In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls, +He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk, +And faced her in her simple russet gown, +Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind, +Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers, +Save on the one a deep and crimson stain. +"My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell. + +She told the story of her bitter wrong +In poignant words of passionate disdain. +"And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,-- +Having more faith in your true love for me +Than any woman ever had before +In love of man, or chivalry of knight,-- +To tell you that I love you more than life. +Long have I loved you, well I know it now, +Although I knew it not, until this blow +Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul. +I rose this morn resolved to be more true +To your high thought of womanhood, and wife, +To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive +To make my life more worthy of your love; +And then,--God help me,--my resolve was crushed +By Torm's fierce hand, and love for you set free. +Yea, now my heart is sure,--beyond all doubt, +Beyond all question and all fear of men,-- +That I, for ever, love you utterly. +Take me, beloved, I am yours, I want, +I need, I pant, I tremble for your care. +O meet me not so coldly! I shall die +If you repulse me; I have come so far +And fast, without a fear,--I loved you so,-- +To seek the blessed shelter of your arms. +My brain is dizzy, and my senses fail; +For God's sake tell me you are glad I came +To you--and only you--in my despair." + +He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,-- +His eyes alone embracing her the while,-- +"Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above +All women on the earth, loved with a love +That words would but conceal, were they essayed, +Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself, +If I am cold, you know it is in truth +A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. +Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so, +And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say +You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm." + +"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream. +"O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! +Save me and keep me from the bitter shame +Of such humiliation to my soul." + +"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine, +Can bring humiliation to a soul. +Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally--" + +"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn. + +"He knows his way, and in it loves you well; +Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride; +He would refuse you nothing you could ask +To gratify your pleasure and desire. +He brought you from a narrow, hidden lot, +To share with you his honours at the court. +You will not let all that be wiped away +By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm +Has bitterly repented and bewailed +Full long ere this; of that you are right sure, +Because you know his loving heart's rebound." + +"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death." + +"Naught can bring death to immortality +But sin,--and life with me, my Gwendolaine, +Would be the death of all we hold most high." + +"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off; +He does not love me! I have dreamed it all." + +Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine, +Unsay that; it is false! You know full well +How far I love you above thought of self; +If I half loved you, I would fold you close." + +"It is unsaid, Sanpeur; but woe is me +That I should fall so far from my estate +To plead in vain with any man, howe'er +He love; where is my pride, my boasted pride?" + +"'Tis in my heart, if anywhere, my love." + +"I can not go, Sanpeur. Torm forfeited +His right to loyalty by cruelty." + +"The debt of loyalty is due to self, +And we must well fulfil it, Gwendolaine, +No matter how another may have failed." + +A sudden horror crossed her thought,--"Sanpeur; +You do not love me less that I have come?" + +"Ah! my beloved woman-child, I know +Your many-sided nature far too well +To judge you or condemn you by one act, +Born of a frenzied moment of despair; +When the true Gwendolaine has time to think, +Naught I could urge would keep her, though she came." + +"But Torm would kill me if I did return"-- + +"Leave that to me; but if he should, my love, +Your soul would then be free,--what ask you more? +Now you are weary, very weary, sweet; +Go in the castle, let me call my dames +To tend and serve you until morning light; +And on the morrow you will choose to go +With me, I am full sure, and make your peace +With Torm, as worthy of your better self." + +"With you? O God! Sanpeur, if I return, +I go alone as I have come! Think you +That I would take you with me to your death?" + +"My life is yours,--how use it better, dear, +Than winning peace and happiness for you?" + +"But it would be keen misery for life"-- + +"It leadeth unto happiness and peace +In the far future, if we fail not now. +This life is but the filling of a trust, +To prove us worthy of the life beyond, +And happiness is never to be sought. +If it comes,--well; if not, we shall know why. +When we are happy in the sight of God." + +Then there was silence on the battlements; +No sound was heard but the slow measured clang +Of feet that paced the stony path below;-- +Gwendolaine pushed aside the wind-blown hair +From her wild eyes, and gazed into Sanpeur's. +As the slow minutes passed the frenzied mood +Faded away from her like fevered dream; +With hands clasped in a passion of devout, +Complete surrender, falling at his feet +She whispered, brokenly, between her sobs; + +"Sanpeur, I will go back to Torm,--for you,-- +Go back and live my life as best I may, +If he forgive me;--and if not, receive +The condemnation of my fault as meet. +Your love has done what love should ever do,-- +Illumined duty's path, and its far goal, +Hid for a moment by a dark despair. +I thought I loved you perfectly before, +But my soul tells me, deep below the pain, +I love you more than if you bade me stay." + +He took her hands and kissed them tenderly +With quiet kisses, long and calm, which held +Sure promise of the strength he fain would give; +Then, bending o'er her yearningly, he said +In tones that stilled her spirit into rest, +"God guard you, my beloved, evermore." +A new force flowed into her soul from his. + +She rose and left him. + + He gave orders strict +For her best comfort; then walked out alone, +To meet and wrestle with his passion, held +So long in leash by honour, free at last +With overmastering and giant strength. +The subtle fragrance of her hands pervades +His senses; in his veins he feels the flow +Of her warm breath, which entered into them +That moment he had caught her as she fell; +Her words of love sweep like a surging tide +Across the quiet of his self-control. +When she was there, his love for her had kept +His passion from uprising, though against +His pleading heart, so long her pleading seemed. +Now she is gone, all calm and thought are lost +In the impassioned wish for her, the thirst +To drink the sweetness of her deep, rich soul, +Without a thought of Torm, or all the world. +Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune, +And flesh and sense as much a part of him +As his clear brain and spirit consecrate. +Passion for once asserts itself; he starts, +And towards the castle strides with rapid steps; +"She is my own, Fate sent her here to me; +I cannot war against it any more; +I will go in and fold her to myself." + +He clasps his empty arms upon his breast, +In the abandonment of wild desire, +And feels, beneath the pressure of his hands, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost. +"Good Lord, deliver me from sin," he cries, +And bows his knightly head in silent prayer. + +No earnest soul can ask and not receive: +Before the warden's deep-toned voice calls out +Another watch, Sanpeur has overcome. + +He passed his night beneath the silent stars, +Below the resting-room of Gwendolaine, +Who lay within his castle, loving him, +While he kept watch, to guard her from himself. + +Just ere the morning light, there was a cry +From his most faithful seneschal to rouse +The vassals to defend the brave Sanpeur, +Loved loyally; and from the battlements +He saw Sir Torm, waging a savage fight +To win an entrance through his castle gate. +With hurried steps he reached the gate, and with +The cry,--drowned by the din of clashing arms,-- +"Withhold! it is a friend," he threw himself +Before Sir Torm, and took the mortal wound +That had been aimed by his own seneschal. + +"Let fighting cease; hurt not Sir Torm!" he cried, +And fell into the arms of grim old Ule, +Who pierced his own soul when he wounded him. + +A sudden sound of wailing rent the court; +The dames flocked from the castle in dismay, +And with them came the Lady Gwendolaine, +A pace or two, and then stood motionless; +Her limbs, that brought her quickly to confront +The evil she had wrought, grew powerless; +Her wide, tense gaze was as of one who walks +In sleep unseeing; her dishevelled hair +Veiled the abandon of her dress, her cheeks +Were colourless as marble, but for the stain +Of crimson. Paralysed and dumb she stood, +Too far to reach him, but full near to hear, +As Sanpeur, having lifted hand to hush +The wailing, broke the silence rapidly, +Like one who feels his time for speech is short. + +"In Christ's dear name, who alway doth forgive, +I pray you, hear me speak one word, Sir Torm." + +There was a force within Sir Sanpeur's eyes +Sir Torm dared not resist "Speak on," he said. + +"Your wife, my lord, is here, and in my care, +She came to me scarce knowing what she did,-- +Wounded, and driven to a wild despair +By your quick anger, which has stamped its seal +Upon the perfect beauty of her face. +The cause of that fierce blow she told me not; +Be what it may, I know full well, my lord, +It could not merit such a harsh retort +To wife whose loyalty and troth to you +Have been the marvel of the court; whose name, +Her beauty notwithstanding, has been held +As high from stain as she has e'er held yours. +She has not failed to you until this hour, +When she was not herself for one brief space, +Mad with the fever in her heated brain +You long have known I loved her,--none could well +Withhold the tribute of his life from her,-- +And you must know, my lord, beyond all doubt, +I loved her with a love that honoured you +In thought, in word, in purpose, and in deed. +She came to me because her trust in me +Was absolute as knowledge that my love +Was measureless I would not plead, Sir Torm, +Excuse for sin; alas! I know her act +Was most unworthy of her truer self. +But this I say--he should not blame her most +Who drove her to this deed against herself. +And I will tell you,--should it chance you fail +To know from your own knowledge of your wife, +Without the need of confirmation sure,-- +That when her passionate, poor, wounded heart +Had time and strength to reassert itself, +Her memory, and truth to you as wife, +Enwrapt her once again, and she withdrew +E'en from the love that, trusting, she had sought. +She lay within my castle with my dames, +Resting, and waiting for the dawn of day, +When she had bade me lead her back to you, +That she might ask forgiveness for her fault. +Now, by my knighthood and the sign I wear, +I speak the truth, Sir Torm!--With my last breath +I pray you grant her pardon, for my sake, +Who die, to save you, of wounds meant for you." + +His breath came slower. None beholding him +Could doubt him, for within his steadfast eyes, +Though growing dim with coming death, was that +The Order on his bosom symbolised. +Torm bowed before him, silent, with a sense +Of hallowed presence from beyond this earth. +Convinced of Sanpeur's truth, there flashed on him +The revelation of a better life +Than self-indulgence and the pride of arms; +And here, at last, before the passing soul, +Strong in its purity and in its peace, +He felt a new-born and a deep desire +For truer life than he had ever known. + +After the whisper, "God shield Gwendolaine," +The slow breath ceased. + + With shrill and piercing cry +Gwendolaine broke the strange, benumbing trance +That had withheld her; rushing from the dames +And falling prone upon the silent form +That gave her heart no answering throb, she cried, +With voice grief-pierced and sorrow-broken, "Wait +For Gwendolaine, O Sanpeur! Wait for Gwendolaine, +And take her with you unto death!" + + She lay +In silent desolation on his breast, +So still, awhile, they thought her spirit gone; +Then rose majestic in the dignity +Of her incomparable grief. + + "Sir Torm," +She said in tense, surcharged tones, "Sanpeur +Has told but half the story; he forgot +To tell, as noble souls are wont to do, +The measure of his own nobility. +I came to stay, my lord, to be his wife, +His serving-maid, his mistress,--what he would; +I told him that I loved him beyond men; +I pleaded and entreated him, in vain, +To keep and hold me evermore. No word +Could move him, no allurement charm; he bade +Me wait the dawn and then return to you, +To beg you with humility for grace, +And pardon for my utter want of truth, +Complete forgetfulness of womanhood, +And wifely loyalty. My lord, Sir Torm, +I promised him! and by his silent corse,-- +And with a broken heart,--I pray that you +Will grant me pardon, though you cast me off." + +"My Gwendolaine," Torm answered quickly, moved +By an uplifting impulse in his soul,-- +"For you are mine, whomever you may love,-- +I know that Sir Sanpeur did speak the truth; +You have not sinned in deed; and though you sinned +In purpose, it was more my fault than yours; +I drove you to it, and would fain atone. +Return with me, and help me overcome, +And with my temper I will tilt, until +I die or kill it. By the Blood of Christ, +I swear to you that you shall love me yet; +For I will be,--God help me,--worthier." + +Back to their home she went with Torm, and strove +With gracious sweetness to make him forget; +To banish his keen memory of her love +For Sir Sanpeur, not by disproving it, +But by new proving of new love for him. +The greater made her rich to give the less; +She, being more, had still the more to give. +The apocalyptic vision granted her +Of Love immortal, vital and supreme,-- +Kept by the grace of God all undefiled,-- +Had dowered her with largess; what she gave, +Albeit not the utmost, was more worth +Than best had been from her starved soul before. + +Sir Torm was helped in his self-given task-- +To struggle with ill humours and with pride-- +Far more by her new gentleness and grace +Than he had been by waywardness and scorn +And fitful fascination, as of old. +To help Torm was her life's new quest, and well +Did she essay to gain it. + + When the tide +Of sorrow for Sanpeur would over-sweep +Her heart; and when, sometimes, Sir Torm would lapse +Into forgetfulness of his resolve, +Confronting her o'ercome with wine or wrath, +Low to herself she whispered Sanpeur's words, +"Life is the filling of a trust," and straight +Her soul grew strong again. + + From year to year, +Beneath her planting and her fostering, +Torm's nature blossomed, and his manhood grew +More fine, more fruitful. Men, at last, could mark +In his whole bearing greater dignity; +And Constantine once gave him, for some feat, +A brilliant Order, with the meaning words, +"The greatest conquest is to conquer self." + +But there was one deep shadow in his life: +Upon the lovely face of Gwendolaine +Were two long, narrow, seamèd scars. One day +He touched them tenderly, and said, "God's faith, +I would give all but knighthood to efface +Those hellish scars that mar your peerless cheek." + +She turned her head quick to his hand's embrace, +Buried her cheek within its palm, and said, +"Those scars, my Torm, I would not now resign +For any dower that the world could give; +They are the Order of my higher life, +The birthmarks of your new nobility." + + + + +KATHANAL. + + +The sky was one unbroken pall of gray, +Casting a gloom upon the restless sea, +Dulling her sapphire splendour to a dark +And minor beauty. All the rock-bound shore +Was silent, save a widowed song-bird sang +Far off at intervals a mournful note, +And on the broken crags of dark gray rock +The waves dashed ceaselessly. Sir Kathanal +Stood with uncovered head and folded arms, +His soul as restless as the surging sea +Lashed into passion by the coming storm. +His helmet lay upon the sand; its crest, +A floating plume of deep-hued violet, +Was tossed and torn in fury by the wind +Until it seemed a thing of life. He stood +And watched it, only half aware at first +That it was there, then scarce aware of aught +Besides the plume. As in the room of death +Some iterated sound or motion holds +Attent the stricken mind, benumbed, and keeps +The horror of its grief awhile at bay +As by a spell, so now, though Kathanal +Had sought the sea-shore to be free of men +Because of his sore agony of heart, +And all the passion of his daring soul +Was tossing like the sea in fierce revolt, +His thoughts and gaze were centred on his crest. +Before the gray of sea and sky he saw +Naught but the waving, waving of the plume; +Before the vision of his love, Leorre, +Her tender eyes aglow with changeless light, +The golden splendour of her sunny hair, +Her winning smiles of grace and sweetness blent, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Between his sorrow and his weary soul, +Between his trouble and his clear-eyed self, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Until he felt, in some half-conscious way, +It was his heart, and he a stranger there +That looked down, from a height, indifferent +Upon it at the mercy of the wind. + +Sudden, with that long lingering trace of youth +That gave to him the fascinating charm +Which other men were fain to emulate, +He quickly stooped, and tore it from his helm, +And cast it far out on the tossing sea. +It lighted on the waves a purple bird, +Floating with swan-like grace before the wind. +The action quenched impatience. Kathanal, +Impulsive, passionate and sensitive, +In moods was ever ready with response +To omen and to change of circumstance. +He stood a moment, and then forward sprang +To catch it ere it vanished out of reach. +It was too late--the outward-flowing tide +Bore it from wave to wave beyond his sight. + +"Ah, God!" he cried aloud, "what have I done? +It is the omen of a curse to me; +My crest is gone, my knightly symbol lost, +My helm dishonoured through an act of mine." + +Then came the memory of early youth, +The recollection of a high resolve +To keep his manhood free from touch of stain, +To be a knight like Galahad, pure and true. +So few short years had passed since that resolve, +And yet he had forgotten loyalty +And truth and honour for the fair Leorre, +The wife of Reginault, his patron knight,-- +The brave old man who treated him as son. +Long had he loved her with a knightly love, +And fought for her, and chosen her the queen +Of many a tournament. She still was young, +Fairer than morning in the early spring. +When she had come, a gladsome bride, to grace +The castle of old Reginault, and warm +His grand old spirit into youth again, +Sir Kathanal had bowed before her, saying, +"My gracious lady, take me as your knight"; +And she had answered, with her winning smile, +"You are Sir Reginault's, and therefore mine." + +Well had he loved her from that very hour, +Giving her honour as his old friend's bride, +Making the castle ring with merriment +To do her service, and fulfil the best +Of Reginault, who bade him use his grace +To make her life a round of holidays. +But day by day his selfish love had grown +From friendly service to a lover's claim, +Until he had forgotten Reginault +In her fair eyes, and all things else but her, +Who granted him no boon, no smallest act +Of love or tenderness. + + At last the strife +Between deep yearning for some touch of love, +And brave endeavour for self-mastery, +Had driven him to madness and despair. +To the lone sea he brought his agony +To face it boldly, and his spirit, quick +To wear new moods, caught a despondent gloom +From the dark omen that oppressed his soul. + +"Love is divine," he said, "and it is well +To love Leorre, wife though she be, for love +Is free to noble natures; but at last, +When in her shining eyes I see response, +Albeit unconscious, to my longing pain, +I cannot rest content with boonless love, +Although divine. I fear me, if I stay +Within the circle of her tempting charm, +I shall, through some wild impulse, wantonly +Fling my unsullied knighthood to the winds, +As now I flung the plume from out my helm." + +He went at even-song time to Leorre, +And told her of his struggle by the sea, +Of his determined purpose and resolve. +"Leorre, I love you with a love unsung +By poets, and unknown by other men, +Undreamed by women; I must leave you, dear; +I cannot see you fair for Reginault, +I cannot watch your sweetness not for me. +I will go far upon some distant quest +Until this frenzy ceases, and the quest +Shall be for you, my love, for you alone. + +"Dear, sunny head that lights my darkened way +With its bright, golden glory, let me seek +A crown that well befits it for my quest. +Fair waist that curves beneath the heart I love, +I shall engirdle you with priceless gems +Won by my prowess for your perfect grace. +O wondrous neck! great lustrous, flawless pearls, +That shall be royal in their worth, to match +The white enchantment of your beauty fair, +Shall be my quest for you. + + "I will not come +Back to the court of Constantine, Leorre, +Until I bring that which shall honour you, +And winning which, I shall have cooled my pain." + +She came and knelt beside him, took his hand, +Looked deep into his ardent eyes,--her own +Like stars that shone into his inmost soul. + +"Will you, indeed, go forth," she answered low, +"Across the world upon a quest for me? +And will you falter not, nor swerve, nor fail, +Nor turn aside from seeking, night nor day, +Until you conquer with your prowess rare +The prize for me? And may I choose the quest +I most desire?" + + "Ah! surely, what you will," +Said Kathanal, as echo to his eyes, +Which answered ere the words could form themselves. + +She waited, silently; the room was still; +Sir Kathanal was faint from drinking deep, +With thirsty eyes, the beauty of her face. + +At last she spoke, almost inaudibly, +But evermore the thought of her low speech +Made melody within his memory. + +"Go forth, my knight of love, o'er land and sea, +And purify your spirit and your life, +And seek until you find the Holy Grail, +Keeping the vision ever in your thought, +The inspiration ever in your soul. +Let Tristram yield his loyalty and honour +For fair Isoud, and die inglorious,-- +Let Launcelot in Guenever's embrace +Forget the consecrated vows he swore, +And bring dark desolation on the land,-- +My knight must grow the greater through his love, +The better for my favour, the more pure! +More than all gifts, or wealth of royal dower, +I want, I crave, I claim this boon of thee." + +Between the bronze-brown of his eyes and her, +There sudden came a faint and misty veil; +Through the wide-open window a sun's beam +Flashed on it, making o'er her bowed head +A halo from his own unfallen tears. +He rose and lifted her, loosed her sweet hands, +And fell upon his knees low at her feet. +"Leorre, my love, my queen, my woman-saint, +I am not worthy, but I take your quest; +I will not falter and I will not swerve +Until I see the Grail, or pass to where +I see the glory it but symbols here, +In Paradise. Beloved, all the world +Is better for your living, all the air +Is sweeter for your breathing, and all love +Is holier, purer, that you may be loved." + +"Rise, Kathanal, stand still and let me gaze +Upon you with that purpose in your face! +So brave, so resolute! I love you, Kathanal! +Nay! do not touch me, listen to my words! +Surely it cannot be a sin to speak, +Perchance it is a debt I owe my knight +For his life's consecration, once to say +To him, as I have said to my own heart, +Just how I love him. + + "I would follow you +Across the world, if it might be, a slave, +To serve you at your bidding night and day; +Or I would rouse me to my highest pride +That I might be your queen, and lead you on +To glory. I am strong to do and bear +The uttermost my mind can think, for you, +To cheer you, help you, strengthen you; and yet-- +I am a woman, and my senses thrill +If you but touch the border of my robe, +And if you take my hand, before the court, +And raise it to your lips, I faint, I die, +With the vast tide of my unconquered love." + +"Great Christ! how can I hear you and depart? +I did not know you loved me. O my sweet, +Here by your side I stay; my quest shall be +The love-light dawning in your shining eyes." + +"Is this your answer, Kathanal," she sighed, +"To the unveiling of my heart of hearts? +No! now, if ever, you will surely go +On the sole quest that makes that action right." + +"Leorre, come once to me!" he said with arms +Outstretched to her. Quickly she backward drew +With one swift whispered "Kathanal!" + + "Leorre, +You cannot love and be so calm and still; +My soul would sacrifice both earth and heaven +For one full, rapturous kiss from those sweet lips +That lure me on to madness by their spell." + +"It is my love that keeps me calm," she said; +"Love makes us strong for what is bitterest; +Were we faint-hearted through imperfect love +We could not part; but loving perfectly +We are full strong for that, and all things else. + +"Farewell, my Kathanal, take as you go +This spotless scarf, the girdle from my robe, +And put it where the purple plume has been, +And wear it as my favour in your helm. +If that lost plume was darksome omen ill, +Let this defy it with an omen fair, +A prophecy to spur you on your quest. +My heart says it is better as it is; +I joy me that you flung into the sea +That purple plume my loving, longing gaze +Has often followed in the tournament. +Remember, purple doth betoken pain, +And white betokens conquest, purity; +Look, Kathanal, beloved, in my eyes! +I _know_ that you will find the Holy Grail." + +She stood immaculate, and from those eyes +That oft had kindled passionate desire +He drew an inspiration high and pure, +A prescient sense of victory and peace, +And falling on his knees once more, he bowed, +Kissed her white robe, and left her standing there. + +Then followed days of struggle and dark gloom. +Far from the court he found a lonely cell, +Where morn and night he prayed, and, praying, wrought +A score of earnest, unrecorded deeds +To purify and cleanse himself from sin. + +Oft the old passion would arise and sweep +His spirit bare of every conquest Once +The longing and the yearning were so great, +So strong beyond all thought of holiness, +He sprang up from his bed at dead of night +And stopped not, night nor day, until he reached +His old home by the sea, and saw Leorre. +Her hair had its untarnished golden glow, +Her beauty was unchanged, but her sweet mouth +Had caught a touch of pathos in its smile; +She wore a purple robe, and stood in state +Beside Sir Reginault,--who greeted him +With tender, grave, and kind solicitude,-- +And lifted eyes that smote upon his heart +With a long gaze of passionate appeal +That held a pain at bay deep in their depths. + +"So weak," he whispered to his heart, "for self, +I will be strong for her, she needs my strength." + +Again he hurried from her sight, half glad +For the remembered pain within her eyes; +Ashamed of his own soul that it was glad. + +For years he struggled, prayed, and fought his fight; +And sometimes when his soul was desolate +And he was weary from his eager quest, +When such a sense of deep humility +Would fall upon his praying, watching heart +That he would fain forego all in despair, +A marvellous ray of light, mysterious, +Would slant athwart the darkness of his cell, +Then he would rouse him to his quest once more +And say, "Perchance the Holy Grail is near!" + +One night at midnight came the ray again, +And with it came a strange expectancy +Of spirit as the light waxed radiant. +The cell was filled with spicy odours sweet, +And on the midnight stillness song was borne +As sweet as heaven's harmony--the words,-- +The same Sir Launcelot had heard of old,-- +"Honour and joy be to the Father of Heaven." +With wide eyes searching his lone cell for cause +He waited: as the ray became more clear +And more effulgent than the mid-day sun, +He trembled with that chill of mortal flesh +Beholding spiritual things. At last-- +Now vaguely as though veiled by light, and then +With shining clearness, perfectly--he saw +_The sight unspeakable, transcending words_. + +Forth from his barren cell came Kathanal, +Strong and inspired, born anew for deeds. +Straightway he grew to be the bravest knight +Under King Constantine, since Sir Sanpeur; +The boldest in the battles for the right; +The kindest in his judgment of the wrong. +His eyes that held the vision of the Grail +Were ever clear to see and know the truth; +His lips that had been touched by holy chrism +Were strong to utter holy living words; +He sang of life in life, and life in death, +And taught the lesson that his heart had learned-- +All love should be a glory, not a doom; +Love for love's sake, albeit bliss-denied. + +To his old home beside the sapphire sea +Floated his songs and his far-reaching fame; +For in the land no name was loved so well +As Kathanal the peerless Minstrel Knight. + +Lone in her chamber sat Leorre, and heard +The songs of Kathanal by courtiers sung-- +Arousing words, like a clear clarion call +To truth and virtue, purity and faith. +She clasped her hands and bent her head, and wept +In silent passion pent-up tears, for joy; +For now she knew--far off, beyond her sight-- +Her love had seen the sacred Holy Grail. +And, as she listened, inspiration came, +Irradiating all her spirit, lifting it +Beyond her sorrow and her daily want +Of Kathanal. Soft through her soul there crept +The echo of a benedicite, +Enwrapping her in calm, triumphant peace. + +Then she arose, put on her whitest robe, +And went out radiant, strong, and full of joy. + + + +Note to text beginning "A marvellous ray of light, mysterious,..." +[Transcriber's Note: "Note to Page 88" in the original text] + +"_In the midst of the blast entred a sunne beame more clear by seaven +times then ever they saw day, and all they were alighted of the grace of +the holy Ghost_" + + * * * * * + +"_Then there entred into the hall the holy grale covered with white +samite, but there was none that might see it, nor who beare it, and there +was all the hall fulfilled with good odours_." + + * * * * * + +"_Then he listned, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly, that it +seemed none earthly thing, and him thought that the voice said, 'Joy and +honour be to the Father of heaven._'" + +SIR THOMAS MALORY, "_La Mort d'Arthure_" + + + + +CHRISTALAN. + + +The yellow sunlight, coming from the east, +Through the great Minster windows, arched and high, +That tell the story of our blessed Lord +In colours royal with significance, +Takes many hues, and falls upon the head +Of a fair boy before the altar-rail. +It is the son of the brave knight Noël, +Cut off, alas! too early in his prime, +Now lying dead beneath yon sculptured stone, +But living in the hearts of the small group +In the old Minster on this sunny morn. +The proud young head is bowed in reverence +Before the holy priest of God, whose face +Is glowing with paternal love that shines +Through dignity of the official calm. +Who loves not Christalan for his blithe grace?-- +For his dear eyes, so true, so fathomless, +So full of tenderness, his mother thought +They were the reflex of the steadfast love +She bore her lord Noël? Who loves him not +For his bright joyance and his laughter sweet? + +But now he stands, all merry laughter stilled +By awe that groweth slowly in his eyes, +In silent quietude, a knightly lad, +Clad in a doublet of unspotted white, +Embroidered at the breast with these two words, +Wrought by his mother's hand, _Valiant and True_. +He hears at last the stirring words that move +His soul as it has never yet been moved; +Words that have haunted his imagining +For days and nights, making his young heart yearn +With restless longing for this present hour; +Words that presage the glory of his life, +The consecrated purpose of his youth +In its fulfilment and accomplishment; +The holy, sacred, solemn, early vow +Of future knighthood for the noble lad. +And now his father's sword is shown to him; +His daring spirit, of a knightly race, +Leaps out to grasp it, though his hand may not +Until he grows to manhood. O the years +That he must wait, and serve, and work for that! +Why is it not to-morrow? He is strong, +And, never having seen the great, wide world, +With boyish confidence, that is the germ +All undeveloped of man's later strength, +He feels he is its master. For a space +The altar and the holy man of God +Are veiled before his earnest, searching gaze, +By sudden picture which his fancy paints: +He sees a tournament, himself a knight-- + +"God's peace be with thee, valiant boy and true; +In the name of God the Father, and of the Son +And of the Holy Ghost. Amen." + + No tilt +Nor tournament before his vision now,-- +Swift in his boyish heart, so full of dreams +Of fame, there springs a new, intense resolve +Of consecration, an unconscious prayer +For God's peace, though he knows not what it means. + +The Lady Agathar stands, robed in black, +Behind the buoyant boy she loves so well. +She still has youth, and beauty, and desire; +But each full throb of her true, wifely heart +Beats for her lord, though he be gone,--all else +In life is naught to her but Christalan, +And Greane, the winsome maiden by her side. + +Sweet Greane's heart thrills with pride of Christalan, +And with the spirit of the solemn scene; +But, also, with a fierce rebellious pang, +That she is but a useless, silly girl. +She wishes she too had been born a lad, +To take the knightly vow, and leave the home, +And go forth to the world and its delight. + +Now Christalan turns from the altar-rail +To see the love upon his mother's face. +Back to the castle, in a goodly train, +They take their way, in joyous merriment +And festal cheer. + + A banquet for the lad +Is given in the hall, where gather soon +The Noël-garde retainers, come to greet +The noble boy, and say a long farewell. + +The Lady Agathar still smiles, and fills +The moment with all pleasure and delight, +No shadow of her sorrow or her pain +Shall fall upon her Christalan to-day, +But deep within her heart she maketh moan, +"My Christalan goes forth to-morrow morn." + +Amid the revel Greane and Christalan +Are missing for a time from the gay feast, +And Agathar's quick eyes have followed them +To where they sit apart, the two young heads, +Of golden beauty and of softest brown, +Forming a picture that for evermore +Her memory will hold to solace grief, +Or make it greater, as her mood may be. + +"O Christalan how can I let you go?" +Says sweet Greane, weeping "Who will climb with me +The rocks to find the bird's nest? who will play +At arms, forgetting that I am a girl, +And helping me forget it?" + + Christalan, +Lifting the nut-brown curl to find her ear, +Low whispers tenderly, "I love you, Greane, +A hundred times more than were you a boy, +And always have, e'en when I laughed at you." + +Greane nestles to him, lays her pretty head +Upon his breast, her slender shapely hand, +Sun-browned and thorn scratched, wanders lovingly +Over his face and hair,--then to the words +Upon his doublet, tracing thoughtfully +Their broidered curving with her forefinger, + +"_Valiant and True_" she says: "My Christalan, +When you are great and famous in the world, +Which would you be, could you be only one?" + +"Why, Greane, they go together, like the light +And morning: no knight could be really true +And not be valiant to the death; and yet, +No valiant knight could live and not be true." + +"But if you _could_ be only one?" says Greane, +With child's persistency. + + Quickly he starts, +Throws back his head impatiently, replies, +"I would be valiant, could I be but one." + +"O Christalan, _I_ would be true," says Greane. + +"Well, Greane, you teased me into saying it, +So do not look so scornful! I should die +If I could not exalt my father's name +In valiant deeds of knighthood and of war. +You have to choose, for you are but a girl; +I need not choose, thank God! I will be both." + +When the gray morning dawned at Noël-garde, +The Lady Agathar went to her son; +It was the last good-morrow they would say +For many years to come. At the sun's rise +He was to leave his home, to take his way +To the brave knight Sir Kathanal, to whom +Sir Noël, dying, had bade Agathar +Send the young Christalan, in time, to learn +The code of chivalry and knighthood. Back +She drew the curtains of his bed, and watched +Him sleeping, bent and kissed him: + + "Christalan, +Awake!" she said, "the day is breaking! Soon +You leave your home where now you rule as lord, +Boy though you are, and go as servitor; +You must fulfil my heart's desire, my son, +And, by God's help, bring answer to my prayers; +You must be true and valiant, Christalan." + +"Why, mother mine, is it not wrought in gold +Upon my doublet?" + + "Ah, my son," she said, +"It must be wrought upon your heart as well +As on your doublet." + + Quick he answered her, +"How can I help be valiant and most true, +With such a father and your peerless self +My mother? No, I will not fail, be sure. +Some day I shall come riding home to you +With honour, prizes, fame, and dignity, +That shall befit my father's noble name, +And all the court as I pass by will cry, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +"But, Christalan, first comes a time when you +Must serve, and work, and cheer for other knights; +No knight is fully worthy to command +Until he knows the lesson to obey; +No ruler can be great unless he learns +With dignity to be a servitor. +The least shall be the greatest, the most true +In all things, howe'er small, shall be at last +Most valiant. Will you serve as well, my son, +As now you hope to conquer?" + + "Mother mine, +Nothing will be too hard for me, I know, +With knighthood at the end. If that should fail, +I could not bear it! It will come at last! +When I shall hear the cry, that in our play +Sweet Greane is ever calling through the wood, +From all the court, and even from the King, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +Eight years had passed. The Lady Agathar, +Unaged, unchanged, in her plain robe of black, +Sat in her tower, watching for her son. +Fair Greane was with her, tall, and full of grace, +Right glad at last that she was born a maid. + +They talked together of that day, gone by, +When Christalan first left them They had heard +How nobly, to the pride of Noël-garde, +He bore his days of service, how, as squire, +He was the favoured of Sir Kathanal, +How keen and living his ambition was +To prove the motto of his boyish choice +And it was near, the mother's heart was glad +That, ere the week was ended, Christalan +Would be the knight his heart had longed to be. +His maiden shield, waiting his valour's right +To grave it as his doublet had been wrought, +And his bright armour were in readiness +For the long vigil by his arms, alone +Before the altar in that sacred place, +The holy Minster, where his father slept +First he would come, that she might bless her son. +Well did she comprehend the happiness +In his brave heart to day, the early vow +That stirred the boy so deeply, long ago, +Was near its confirmation! His intense +And solemn longing for the watch at night, +His ardent joy in knighthood, won at last,-- +She shared before she saw him, with that sense +Of subtle sympathy a mother, only, knows. +She spoke her thoughts aloud in pride-thrilled tones-- + +"Almost a knight, my Greane, is Christalan; +How valiant, faithful, noble he has been, +And will be ever, my true-hearted son!" + +"Greane! Greane! they come! I see a dusty cloud +That hides and heralds the approach of men. +Look, is it Christalan? They come more near, +Nearer and nearer! God in Heaven! Greane, +What is it that they bring? Not Christalan? +O no; that silent form they bear so slow +Can not, and must not, be my Christalan! +Come, Greane, and contradict my eyes for me." + +Greane's answer was a swift, confirming swoon. +Up through the gates they bore her Christalan, +Dressed in the garments of the neophyte, +That erst were spotless white, but then were soiled, +Bedraggled and dust-stained. His golden hair +A matted mass, of sunny curls unkempt,-- +And yet how beautiful he was withal! +Into the hall they brought and laid him down, +While Agathar gave thanks, from her despair, +That death had not yet conquered him. He lived, +Although he spoke not, moved not, scarcely breathed. + +They told her, in few words, of his brave deed. +In some lone mountain way, far from the court, +He saw a knight almost unhorsed by fraud, +And springing quickly to the knight's relief, +Unarmed, unready, without thought of self, +He had been trampled by the maddened horse, +Whose master he had saved unfair defeat. +The leech had tended him with greatest care, +Promised him life, but never more, alas! +The power to wield his sword, or wear his arms, +The strength to walk, or run, or live the life +Of manhood as men prize it. Some deep hurt, +Beyond the sight, would ever foil his strength, +And make bold effort perilous to life. +They told her how he whiter grew, at this, +And, with the one word, "Noël-garde," had passed +Into the trance, like death, that held him thus +Through all the journey they had carried him. +"My valiant boy," said Lady Agathar; +And hushed her heart, to minister to him. + +Slowly, at last, the lovely eyes unclosed +The speaking beauty of their dark-blue depths, +To meet his mother's with beseeching gaze. +"I can be true, but never valiant now," +He said in faltering accents. "Mother mine, +There is no knight for you and my sweet Greane. +God help me!" and he turned him to the wall. + +"O Christalan! my son," she answered him, +"Knighthood is in the spirit and the soul; +The deeds that show the knighthood to the world +Are but the chance and circumstance of fate; +And no knight could be truer than you proved +Yourself in self-forgetting, nor more brave +Than in foregoing knighthood for a knight. +You will be far more valiant, if you bear +This sorrow without murmur or complaint, +Than you could prove in any battle won. +The meanest varlet often wins by chance. +It needeth valour like our blessed Lord's +To forfeit glory, and to suffer pain +Unhonoured and unknown--ah, Christalan, +True knight within my heart I hold you, dear." + +"Yea, mother mine, but now my father's name +Remains without fresh glory; his last prayer +And dying wishes must be unfulfilled." + +"Sweet Christalan, when you were scarce a lad, +You saw the King and thought his shining crown +His royalty, which now you know is naught +But symbol of it. Thus your father, dear, +In larger life of knowledge of the truth, +Knows that the boon he prayed was but the sign. +'Tis yours, now, to fulfil the higher prayer; +'Tis yours to gain the inward grace, and leave +The outward sign, great in its way, but less." + +"Your words are like the first flush of the dawn +In the dark night, my mother, bringing light +To show more plain the lingering dark. O God, +It is so dark and bitter! How can you, +Yea, even you, begin to understand? +You never were a man--almost a knight." + +"But I have been a mother," she replied +In tones so strange he roused to look at her, +And saw his sorrow's kinship in her eyes. +He drew her arm beneath his head, and slept. + +They noursled him to outward show of strength, +With care and love, the best of medicines. +A brighter day now dawned for Noël-garde +With his home-coming, notwithstanding grief. +What tales there were to tell of the great court, +Of his long service with Sir Kathanal, +To which Greane listened with quick, bated breath, +Sharing each feat and play with Christalan +As he relived it for her. + + "List ye, Greane," +He said one day with ardour of brave youth +Aglow for bravery; "I met a man +Who once had seen the great Sir Launcelot, +And told me of him. How he prayed and prayed +Within the cloister; all his deeds of war, +Of prowess, and renown, were naught to him, +Though men bowed low in goodly reverence +As he walked by; and some, 'the foolish ones,' +The man said, yet they seem not so to me, +Stooped down and kissed the footprints that he left. +Although he wore but simple gown of serge, +With girdle at the waist, like any monk, +One felt, with passing glance, he had a power +Unconquerable in reserve, to swift +O'ercome whate'er approached him, if he would. +And, Greane, bend down and let me speak to you: +I saw at Camelot the great white tomb +Of sweet Elaine, and not in all the court +Saw I a maiden half so fair as she. +She lies there carved in marble, pure and white; +And, by our blessed Lord, my heart is sure +That, were she living, I should love her well." + +"O Christalan! you would not love a maid +That lost her maiden pride and dignity, +Giving her love unasked?" said Greane, in scorn. + +"Alas, Greane! have you, hidden from the world, +Learned the world's jargon and false estimates? +Do you not know that love is more than pride, +And beating heart more than cold dignity? +Men die for glory, and you all applaud. +Elaine's love was her glory; honour her +That she did die for it. That she could tell +Her story fearlessly to all the court +But proves her high, unconscious purity." + +"Well," said fair Greane, with laughter in her eyes, +"I straight will die for the next noble knight +Who comes to Noël-garde to rest awhile, +And you shall put me on a gilded barge,-- +I will not have a solemn bed of black!-- +And our old servitor shall deck--" + + "Peace, Greane!" +Said Christalan, in tones that frightened her, +Who knew no sound from him but tenderness. +"Dare not to jest about that holy maid, +Too pure to fear, too true to hide her heart." + +Then there were tales to tell of the great King +Who passed in such a wondrous mystery +From out the realm; and of King Constantine, +"Who may not be like great King Arthur, Greane, +But who deservedly has right to wear +The crown he wore; for he is brave and strong, +Mighty in battle, bountiful in peace, +To each brave knight a friend, and to the weak +As I, who never knew a father, think +A father might be. + + "When I saw him first, +He asked, 'Are you Sir Noël's son--the knight +Who, with the mighty King (peace to his soul!), +Landed at Dover, and there fought so well?' +Abashed I answered, 'Yea, my liege'; but he +Laid his great hand, that has a jagged scar +Half-way across it, on my arm and said, +'Be not afraid; I was your father's friend, +And will be yours, if you are worthy him.' + +"Often thereafter would he speak to me +So graciously, I for a time forgot +He was a king, and answered him as free +From fear or shyness as I answer you, +Told him my thirst for knighthood and for fame, +To which he listened with that strange grim smile, +So like a sunbeam in a rocky place +Then, straightway, as I watched him, in his eyes +There came the look that made me want to kneel, +Remembering he was a king indeed. +I love him, Greane, I--" + + Christalan turned quick +His face away, and strove to hide the pain +That held him in its sharp and sudden grasp, +Pain of the flesh, that was but less than pain +Of heart, that it should keep him from his King, +And knightly service worthy of his name +Greane spoke not, but she understood, and crept +Close to his side, finding his cold white hand,-- +The laughter turned to tears within her eyes. + +Great was his love for Greane, but greater far +His love for Agathar Born of his pain, +A strange dependence tinged pathetically +The proud possession of his trust as guard +Of her reft life and lonely widowhood. +He waited for her coming in the morn +With flowers he had gathered ere she woke; +At night he led her to her chamber door, +With boyish homage touched with stately grace, +And Agathar said to her widowed heart, +"How like his father in his courtesy'" +Often she kissed him, whispering the while, +"Beloved Christalan, my more than knight, +You bear your bitter lot so patiently. +Thank God you are so valiant and so true'" + +Slowly the shadow on his way grew less +Eclipsing, the brave spirit that was ripe +For doing deeds came to fulfil itself +In the far harder task of doing naught, +The courage ready for activity +But changed its course, as he forebore and smiled +And yet he oft would hasten from the sight +Of Greane and Agathar, and seek the wood, +Where he was hidden from the tender eyes +So quick to see his struggle. Lying prone +Upon the grass, he stretched his fragile form +Its fullest length to cheat himself with thought +That he was stalwart, then he closed his eyes +To generous summer's lavish golden glow +Of shimmering sunshine playing everywhere, +And the fair world of beauty, flowering; +Shut from his hearing caroling of bird, +The liquid rhythm of rivulet, the song +Of wind amid the tree-tops, all the notes +Of nature's melody; and heard alone, +With inward ear, the clanging clash of arms +And shouts of victory Through the long hours +He lay and fought his fight imaginary, +To rise, more wan, to wage his war with pain. + +One morning, when the sun rose, he was far +From Noël-garde. He had gone out to seek +The wayside lilies, fresh with early dew. +From the deep shadow of the wood he heard +A troop of mailed horsemen cry a halt +Just in the path before him. In low tones +They talked of a dark plot to kill the King. + +The heart of Christalan, that beat so faint, +And oft so wearily, beat fast and strong +In anxious listening. It was a band +Of outlawed robbers, rebels to the King, +Who planned to lay at the great undern hunt +A trap for the brave, unsuspecting King, +Spring on him unawares, and take his life, +And have revenge for justice done to them. + +His King! they spoke about his noble King, +Then in the old court castle near his home, +For a brief resting on his journey north. + +He leaned against a gnarled and twisted oak, +His soul a listening intensity, +And all his strength, seemed leaving him; he drew +A quick and stifled breath of sharpest pain, +As they rode on, and thought of Agathar, +Watching and waiting for his coming home. + +"Yes, I can save him; God be thanked for that. +I now may do one valiant deed and die." + +It was a long way to the court, through dense +Unbroken forest, with a single path +Trodden between the trees; he had no horse, +No strength, and little time before the deed-- +The dreadful deed--be done. Not since his hurt +Had he walked fast, or far, without great pain; +Now it will follow every step he takes-- +But what is that, he goes to save his King! + +Prepared to brave the pain, all stealthily +He started from the shadow of the trees; +When suddenly two of the bandit band +Came riding back again, ere he could hide-- +The one had dropped his javelin and returned +To seek it. Heavy coats of mail incased +The stalwart frames scarce needing a defense, +So strong they were. + + Silent stood Christalan +And faced their coming, not a trace of fear +Or tremor in his bearing, slight and frail +In his white doublet, holding in his hand +The wayside lilies he forgot to drop, +Which to the Lady Agathar shall come, +Alas! without his greeting or his kiss. + +"Ho!" cried the bandits. "Eavesdropping? By hell +And all the devils! we will slash his tongue +Too fine to tell our secrets, if he heard! +Speak, man, or die! Heard you our converse now?" + +"Strike, ye base cowards," answered Christalan. +"I am unarmed, alone, and weaponless: +I cannot wield the sword, nor wear my helm, +But God is with me to defend me now, +So strike against His power, if you dare!" + +The sunlight, slanting westward through the trees, +Fell first upon his lifted, golden head, +Making a shining helmet of his curls, +And then upon the lilies in his hand; +His eyes had a defiant, fearless glow; +Against the sombre background of the wood, +He looked scarce human. + + "Mother of our Lord!" +In frightened breath, the bandit rebels cried. +"It is a spirit; no mere mortal man +Would stand and face us boldly so, unarmed. +Look at the Virgin's lilies in his hand! +Great God, preserve us, save us from our doom!" + +And turning in a panic of swift fear, +They vanished quickly through the shadowed wood, +While Christalan sped on to save his King. + +He sees the castle, and he hears the horn +That calls the court together for the hunt; +His strength is failing, and his heart grows faint. +Quick, ere it cease to beat! Faster, more fast! +O but to save his noble lord! One swift, +Last run, and he has reached them; breathlessly +He stands before the charger of the King, +With arms uplifted and imploring eyes, +Until words come, between sharp gasps of pain. +"Go not, my liege, upon the hunt to-day, +I pray you, for the glory of the realm." + +With cheeks that paled and flushed, and panting breath, +He told his story in disjointed words, +And, with unconscious frank simplicity, +The tale of his high courage on the way, +To prove, what it had proved to his own heart, +The care of God to shield his lord the King. +Then he fell prostrate at the great King's feet, +And tired life ebbed fast to leave him rest. + +He lies amid the hushed and silent court, +The faded lilies still within his hand; +And with his weary, dying eyes he sees +The sword of Constantine above his head, +Giving, at last, the royal accolade, +While the King's face is full of yearning love; +And with his dying ears he hears the words, +That he has bravely striven to resign, +"Sir Christalan, my True and Valiant knight," + +And then the murmur from the assembled court, +"Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True; +God speed the soul of our beloved knight, +Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER KING CONSTANTINE*** + + +******* This file should be named 10495-8.txt or 10495-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10495 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10495-8.zip b/old/10495-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac21c8c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10495-8.zip diff --git a/old/10495.txt b/old/10495.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..917a63d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10495.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2598 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Under King Constantine, by Katrina Trask + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Under King Constantine + +Author: Katrina Trask + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [eBook #10495] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER KING CONSTANTINE*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Rosanna Yuen, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Under King Constantine + +By Katrina Trask + +Third Edition + +1893 + + + + + + + +To My Husband. + + + + +_The following tales, which have no legendary warrant, are supposed to +belong to the time, lost in obscurity, immediately subsequent to King +Arthur's death; when, says Malory, in the closing chapter of LA MORT +D'ARTHURE, "Sir Constantine, which was Sir Cadors son of Cornwaile, was +chosen king of England; and hee was a full noble knight, and worshipfully +hee ruled this realme"_ + + + + +SANPEUR. + + +The great King Constantine is at the hunt; +The brilliant cavalcade of knights and dames, +On palfreys and on chargers trapped in gold +And silver and red purple, ride in mirth +Along the winding way, by hill and tarn +And violet-sprinkled dell. Impatient hounds +Sniff the keen morning air, and startled birds +Rustle the foliage redolent with spring. + +From time to time some courtier reins his steed +Beside the love-enkindling Gwendolaine, +Whose wayward moods do vary as the winds,-- +Now wooing with her soft, seductive grace; +Now fascinating with her stately pride; +Anon, bewitching by her recklessness +Of wilful daring in some wild caprice +Which no one could anticipate or stay. +How fair she is to-day! How beautiful! +Her hunting-robe is bluer than the sky,-- +Matching one phase of her great, changeful eyes,-- +Clasped with twin falcons of unburnished gold, +The colour of her brown hair in the sun. +The white plumes, drooping from her hunting-cap, +Leave her alluring lips in tempting sight, +But hide the growing shadow in her eyes. +For she marks none of all the court to-day +Save Sir Sanpeur, the passing noble knight +Whose bearing doth bespeak heroic deeds, +There where he rides with the sweet maid Ettonne. + +Sir Torm, the husband of fair Gwendolaine, +Is all unconscious of aught else beside +The outward seeming, 'tis enough for him +That she is gay and beautiful, and smiles. +He has a nature small and limited +By sight, and sense, and self, and his desires; +A heart as open as the day to all +That touches his quick impulse, when it costs +Him naught of sacrifice. The needy poor +Flock to his castle for the careless gift +Of falling dole, but his esquire is faint +From his exacting service, night and day +His Lady Gwendolaine is satiate +With costly gems, palfreys, and samite thick +With threads of gold and silver, but the sweet +Heart subtleties and fair observances +Are lost in the _of course_ of married life. +He sees, too quickly, does she fail to smile, +But never sees the shadow in her eyes +His hounds are beaten till they scarce draw breath, +And then caressed beyond the worth of hounds. +His vassals know not if, from day to day, +He will approve, or strike them with a curse. +His humours are the byword of the court, +And, were it not for his good-heartedness, +His prowess, and undaunted strength at arms, +Men would speak lightly of him in disdain; +He is so often in a stormy rage, +Or supplicating humour to atone,-- +Too petty to repent in very truth, +Too light and yielding in repentance, when +His temper's force is spent, for dignity +Of truest knighthood. No one feels his faults +So quickly, with such flushing of regret +And shame, as Gwendolaine. But she is wife, +His honour is her own, and she would hide +From all the world, and even from herself, +His pettiness and narrowness of soul. +So she forgets, or doth pretend forget, +Where he has failed, save when he passes bounds; +Then her swift scorn--a piercing force he dreads-- +Flashes upon him like a probing lance, +To silence merriment if it be coarse, +To hush his wrath when it is violent. + +Though powerful to check, she ne'er could change +The underflow and current of their life. +In the first years, gone by, ere she had grown +A woman of the world, she had essayed +To stem the tide of shallow vanity, +To realise her girlhood's high ideal, +And make her home more reverent, and more fine. +Sir Torm had overborne her words with jest +And noisy laughter, vowing she would learn +Romance and sweet simplicity were well +For harper minstrel, singing in the hall, +But not for courtiers living in the world. +Once, when she faced the thought of motherhood,-- +For some brief days of sweet expectancy +Never fulfilled for her,--she was aware +Of thirst for living water, and a dread +Of the light, shallow life she led, fell on her; +She went to Torm, and spoke, in broken words, +The unformed longing of her dawning soul. +He lightly laughed, filliped her ear, called her +"My Lady Abbess," "pretty saint," and then +Said, later, jesting, before all the court, +"Behold a lady too good for her lord!" +The blood swept up her cheeks to lose itself +In her hair's gold, then ebbed again to leave +Her paler than before. She stood in silent, +Momentary hate of Torm, all impotent. +He saw her pallor and her eyes down-dropt, +Came quickly, flung his arm around her, saying, +"God's faith, my girl, you do not mind a jest! +Where are the spirits you are wont to have?" +"My lord, they shall not fail you any more," +She answered bitterly, and after that +Torm did not see her soul unveiled again. +Thenceforth she turned her strivings after truth +To winning outward charm the more complete, +And hid her inner self more deeply 'neath +The sparkling surface of her brilliant life. + +To-day he wearies her with brutal jest +Upon the hunted boar, and calls her dull +That she laughs not as ever. + + While Sanpeur +Was far upon a distant quest, all perilous, +She thought with secret longing of the hour +When once again together they should ride. +He has returned triumphant, having won +Fresh honours. + + Now at last, the hunt has come, +The day is golden, and her beauty fair,-- +And Sir Sanpeur is riding with Ettonne. +A sudden conflict wages in her heart +As she talks lightly to each courtier gay, +Jealous impatience that the Gwendolaine +Whom all men flatter, should be thwarted, fights +A tender yearning to defy all pride +And call him to her for one spoken word. +The world seems better when he talks with her, +No one has ever lifted her above +The empty nothings of a courtly life +As Sir Sanpeur, who makes both life and death +More grandly solemn, yet more simply clear. +In a steep curving of the road, he turns +To meet her smile, which deepens as he comes. +Sanpeur, bronzed by the eastern sun, is tall, +Straight as a javelin, in each noble line +His knighthood is revealed. Slighter than Torm, +Whose strength is in his size, but full as strong, +Sanpeur's unrivalled strength is in his sinew +His scarlet garb, deep furred with miniver, +Is broidered with the cross which leaves untold +The fame he won in lands of which it tells +Upon his breast he wears the silver dove, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost, +Which Gwendolaine once noted with the words, +"What famous honours you have won, my lord!" +And he had answered with all knightly grace, +"My Lady Gwendolaine, I seldom think +Of the high honour, though I greatly prize +This recognition, far beyond my worth; +My thought is ever what it signifieth. +It is my consecration I belong +To God the Father, and this is the sign +Of His most Holy Spirit, sent to us +By our ascended Saviour, Jesu Christ, +By Whom alone I live from day to day." +His quiet words, amid the laughing court, +Had startled her, as if a solemn peal +Of full cathedral music had rung clear +Above the jousting cry of "Halt and Ho!" +Then, as she wondered if he were a man +Like other men, or priest in knightly garb, +He spoke of her rich jewels with delight +And worldly wisdom, telling her the tale +Of many jewelled mysteries she wore +"In the far East, the sapphire stone is held +To be the talisman for Love and Truth, +So is it fitly placed upon your robe; +It is the stone of stones to girdle you" +"A man, indeed," she thought, "but not like men." + +As on his foam-flecked charger, Carn-Aflang, +He rides to-day towards Lady Gwendolaine, +She draws her rein more tightly, arching more +Her palfrey's head, and all unconsciously +Uplifts her own,--for she has waited long. + +"Good morrow, my fair Lady Gwendolaine." + +"Good morrow, Sir Sanpeur, pray do you mark +My new gerfalcon, from beyond the sea? +Your eyes are just the colour of her wings." + +"Now, by my troth, I challenge any knight +To say precisely what that colour is." + +"'Tis there the likeness serves so well, Sanpeur." + +"My Lady Gwendoline, your speech is, far +Beyond your purpose, gracious, for right well +I mind me that you told me, once, your heart +Often rebelled against the well-defined, +And I should be content to have my eyes +The motley colour of your falcon's plume, +Lest they make you rebel." + + "Ah, Sir Sanpeur, +Your memory is far too steadfast!" + + "Naught +Can be too steadfast for your grace, fair dame." + +Now he has come, the wayward Gwendolaine +Is fain to punish him for his delay. +"Methinks," she says, in pique, against her will, +"The beautiful Ettonne looks for her knight; +It scarce seems chivalrous to leave her thus." + +"'Tis true, my lady, I came not to stay, +But for a greeting, which I now have said." + +He left her, the light shadow darker grew +Within her eyes, and golden hawking bells +Upon her jesses clashed with sudden clink, +As her fair hand had closed impatiently. + +Betimes came Constantine, who looked a man +Of hard-won conquests, not the least, o'er self. +Before his stately presence Gwendolaine +Bowed low with heartfelt loyalty. + + "My King, +Care rides beside you, banish him, to-day, +He will but spoil the sunshine and the hunt." + +"Alas! he is the Sovereign of the King, +And stays, defying all command, fair Gwendolaine." +Then, smiling grimly,--"My great heritage, +As heir to fragments of the Table Round, +Brings me no wealth of ease." + + In converse light +They rode together. When the hunt was done, +The King, all courteous, said, "My gracious dame, +Well have you learned of nature her great laws; +The sun, that warms with its intensity +The earth to fruitage, is the same that throws +Stray sportive gleams to beautify alone; +And you, who meet my purposes of state +With a responsive thought and sympathy, +As no dame of the court,--and scarcely knight,-- +Has ever done, are first in making me +Forget their weight. Gramercy for your grace! +It has revived me as a summer shower +Revives the parched and under-trodden grass; +It is but seldom I have time to seek +Refreshment, save of labour changed." + + "My King,"-- +She passed from gay to grave,--"my own heart aches +With life's vexed questions, and its stern demands, +Full often even in my sheltered state; +And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o'ercome +With the vast load of duties you fulfil +So nobly, to the glory of the realm. +Would I could serve you, as you well deserve; +But I am only woman, so I smile +In lieu of fighting for you, as I would +Unto the death, if I were but a knight." +And this same dame who spoke so earnestly +To Constantine, said when she next had speech +With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play +To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond +The fashion of the robe I wear!" + + Sanpeur, +Alone of all the men who came within +Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns, +And when he would not humour passing mood, +And when she felt within her wayward heart +The silent protest of his calm reserve,-- +Although a longing she had never known +Awoke in her,--her pride, in arms, cried truce +To striving spirit, and she laughed the more. +And oftentimes the stirring of new life, +Without its recognition, made her quick +To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur +Confronted to some phases of her charm; +Made her assume a wilful shallowness, +To hide the soul she was afraid to face. + +One day, at court, her restless spirits rose +To a defiant mood of recklessness, +And half because she wanted to be true, +And half because she could not act the false +Except to overdo it, her clear laugh +Rang out at witty words her heart disdained; +Some knights, ignoble, hating noble men, +Were loud decrying virtue, Gwendolaine +With laugh-begetting words made quick assent +To the unworthy wit + + She scarce had spoken, +Ere Sanpeur raised his penetrating eyes,-- +The only ones, in all that laughing group, +Which were not bright with an approving smile,-- +To meet her own, with silent gravity, +A swift arrest within their shining depths +To one more word unworthy of herself. +And Gwendolaine, the peerless queen of dames, +Cast down her eyes, for once, before Sanpeur. + +Later, he stood beside her, as she passed, +"My Lady Gwendolaine,--incomparable,-- +'Tis not your wont to be so cowardly." + +"No? Sanpeur," answered Gwendolaine, "nor yours, +It seems, to be well mannered; may I ask +Where I have failed in bravery, forsooth?" + +"You were a coward to your better self +In your light answer to the empty words +Your nature disavowed." + + "Alack, my lord! +That is my armour; warriors ever wear +A cuirass of strong steel before their breasts; +A woman carries but a little shield +Of scorn and badinage, to break the force +On her weak woman-heart, of javelins hurled." + +"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine, +But it is not the same, by your fair grace; +Our armour is our armour, nothing more; +Your shield of scorn is lasting lance of harm, +For every word a noble woman says, +And every act and influence from her, +Live on forever, to the end of time; +Your true soul is too true to be belied." + +"Who told you, Sir Sanpeur?" + + "My heart," he said. +She raised her eyes in a triumphant thrill +Of sudden rapture, and of gratitude, +And saw herself enwrapped by a long look +That came from deeper depths than she had known, +And reached a depth in her as yet unstirred. +She stood enspelled by his long silent gaze +Of subtle power. His unswerving eyes +Quelled her by steadfast calm, yet kindled her +By lavish love and light. + + Although no word +Was said between them, as they moved apart, +She knew he loved her, and he wist she knew. + +And with the revelation there was born +A wider knowledge of life's mystery. +Sir Torm had never satisfied her soul; +But though in outward seeming she was proud, +High-spirited, and passing courtly dame, +At heart the Lady Gwendolaine was still +A hungry child who craved love's nourishing, +Unconscious of her hunger; so she had clung,-- +In spite of shocks, repeated time on time,-- +Close to the thought of Torm, remembering all +He was to her in wooing her; rehearsed-- +As children count their pennies one by one +Day after day to prove their wealth--each good +And sign of promise in his nature generous, +Until her buoyant heart, quick to react, +Had warmed itself, and kept itself alive, +By its own warmth and fire of earnest zeal. +And as men, lost in a morass, feed fast +On berries, lest they starve, and call it food, +Thus, with shut eyes, had Gwendolaine, till now, +Fed on affection and chance tenderness, +And called it by the great and awful name +Of Love, not knowing what love meant. But swift +As light floods darkened chamber, when one flings +The window wide, so her unconscious soul +Was flooded with the strange incoming thought-- +In that eternal moment--of true love, +Love as a vital force within the soul, +A strength, a power, an illuming light. +And Sanpeur loved her! O immortal crown. +She was not conscious of her love for him, +Her love for his love was enough for her. + +Then she awoke to joy; all things became +Pregnant with deep significance. The sky +Flushed with the coming of the rosy dawn; +The mountains reaching heavenward; the sun +That warmed the flowers, and drank their dew; the birds +That built their nests well hid in leafy shade; +The grass that bent in homage to the wind,-- +All touched her heart anew with subtle thoughts; +And joy brought rich unfolding in her life. + +She had more pity for the men she scorned, +More quick forgiveness for the envious dames, +And when the little children crossed her path, +She stooped, and kissed them, as was not her wont. + +Alas! too often, this new harmony +Of life was clashed by discord. Sir Torm flung +Upon the homage Sanpeur rendered her +Unworthy jest and spiteful words, for well +He hated him with grudge despiteous. +Full oft his wrath was roused to such a point +He could not hold his peace; even to the King +He jeered one day at visionary knights. +The keen-eyed King, with intuition, knew +The motive of his speech,--"Our knight, Sanpeur, +But contradicts your verdict, Torm, and proves +That which the great King Arthur taught,--the man +Is strongest who can claim a strength divine +From whence to draw his own." Sir Torm had grown +More wrathful in his heart at this, and kept +Sanpeur long while from word with Gwendolaine. +Then, when Torm's anger did not baffle her, +Sometimes a doubt would come, and doubt hides joy. +Sir Sanpeur honoured her before the court +With chivalrous and frankest loyalty. +At the great tournament of Christmas-tide, +He cried, "Such peerless presence in our midst +As the unrivalled Lady Gwendolaine +Strengthens the arm to prove her without peer! +Let him who will dispute it!" Those who did, +But proved it by their fall, for worshipfully +He overthrew them with so simple ease +His cause seemed justice rather than love's boast. +Then when they met for converse face to face, +He spoke from his unsullied, fearless soul +Straight to her own, without reserve or fear. +Yet he was wrapped in a calm self-control; +No word, no whisper of his love for her +Had ever passed his lips to tell, in truth, +The love that she was sure of in her heart. +And when he lingered by some maiden fair, +With that true-hearted careful courtesy +He never for a moment's space forgot +To any woman, queen or serving-maid; +And when the maiden's eyes gave bright response +To his fair words of thought-betaking grace, +The heart of Gwendolaine would faster beat, +And all her waywardness would quick return; +Then, if Sanpeur approached her, she would mock +At life, and love, and fling the gauntlet down +As challenge for a tournament of speech. + +"And pray, Sanpeur," she said one eve to him, +When they were at a feast at Camelot, +"Why is your life so lone and incomplete, +When any lovely maiden of the court +Would follow you most gladly at your call?" + +"You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine." + +"By your kind grace, I cannot guess," she said, +Repenting as she said it, instantly. + +"Because I love you only, evermore; +You long have felt it, known it; and I thought +Cared not to hear me say it with my voice; +But, as you wish it, I have said it now, +My Lady Gwendolaine." + + They stood among +The knights and ladies, therefore he spoke low, +In quiet dignity, as he might say +"How well the colour of your robe beseems +Your beauty";--not a trace of passionate +Intensity, save in his lucent eyes. +No passion nor embrace could so have moved her, +As this calm telling her in quiet words +The secret of all secrets in God's world, +As though it were a part of daily life; +This power to hold a passion in his hand,-- +Which his true eyes declared was measureless,-- +As though he were its master, utterly. +True women are like Nature, their great mother, +Stirred on the surface by each passing wind, +But ruled by silent forces at the heart. +She caught her breath a moment in surprise,-- +For naught has to the mind more of surprise +Than the sweet long-expected, if it come +When one expects it not,--and paused a space, +With downcast eyes; and then her woman-soul +Went out in sudden impulse, graciously, +In boundless thought for him who gave her all. +"O Sanpeur, love one worthier than I, +And where your love will not be guerdonless!" + +"To love you is a guerdon of itself, +You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine." + +He passed with knightly bow, and joined the court, +And left her with a glory in her eyes. +Never was Gwendolaine so radiant +As on that evening; courtiers one by one +Drew near, and marvelled at her loveliness. +When the great feast was ended, she was well +Content to leave the court for Tormalot; +For, in the quiet of her chamber, when +Sir Torm had slept, she lived in thought again +The sure triumphant moment when she knew, +Beyond all peradventure, of a love +That her heart told her was above all love +Of other men in strength and purity. +And on the morrow, when she woke, her joy +Woke with her, and encompassed her soul. + +In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament. +The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day, +For it will be a savage tournament, +"Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her, +"Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say. + +"Come, Gwendolaine, my beauty, ere I go, +I wait to have you buckle on my sword." + +Smiling, she does his bidding. + + "Ah! my Torm, +How heavy, and how mighty is your sword; +I revel in the glory of your strength, +And in your prowess. Well I mind me, dear, +When first I saw you, on your charger black, +Riding in knightly state to my old home. +'By our King Arthur's soul,' my father said, +'There is a knight of valour and of strength!' +And then you wooed me to become your bride, +Me, scarce a maiden, naught but wilful child +So prone, alas to mischief and mistake, +Of humble fortune, with but whims for dower +You were so kind, so generous, you flashed +My low estate with splendour. I recall +How my heart laughed with girlish pride and glee +At the surpassing bounty of your gifts." + +"Ha! Gwendolaine, by the great Holy Grail +I caught an eagle when I caught that dove, +For now you are the queen of all the dames, +Even King Constantine, who seldom marks +A lady of the court, comes to your side +And flatters you with royal courtesies, +Which you receive with far too proud a grace; +For, wit ye well, I would not let it slip, +This honour of his preference for you." + +"My lord, save that I reverence him as man, +I do not care for favour of the King." + +"I care, that is enough for you," said Torm. +"No knight has charger like my Roanault, +No knight has castle like my Tormalot, +And none has mistress like my Gwendolaine-- +I choose that none approach her but the King." + +He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned +And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss. + +"I think the King is safe for you, and well +For me in my advancement. Other knights +May serve you at a distance, but had best +Not seek your side too often." + + Her sweet head +Lay like a lily on his mailed breast, +While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf +That floated from his helmet. + + "Goes Sanpeur +To the great tournament to-day?" he asked. + +"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont +To tilt in tourneys like to-day's." + + "Think not! +I want an honest answer. Do you know?" + +"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; +It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight +In these new tourneys of such savage guise." + +"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks +You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?" + +"I long have told you that I thought your strength +Was worthy finer service. You well know +I like not tournaments that waste the land +By useless bloodshed; but, my Torm, you are +Your own adviser, so I say no more. +Bend down and kiss me, Torm, before you go; +Pray be not wroth with Gwendolaine, my lord." + +"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true +You will not see that coward knight to-day." + +Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn, +"I know not whom you mean, my lord Sir Torm." + +"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur." + +"Sanpeur, the fearless knight, a coward!--_he_? +What, think you, would your great King Constantine +Say to your daring slander? Sir Sanpeur +Is the unquestioned Launcelot at court; +The King rests on him with unfailing trust +In every valiant deed and feat of arms." +She drew her beauty to its fullest height, +And swept him with her eyes. "Fear not for me, +Sir Torm. Sanpeur, alas! is too engrossed +With duties for his Master, Jesu Christ, +And for his lord, the King, to loiter here +With any woman, howe'er fair she be." + +Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made +The heart of Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce +Against its sound in spirit of revolt. + +"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused +In open court to joust with Dinadan?" + +"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave." + +"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day, +And prayers, and fasting, and such foolery." + +"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn, +"Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm, +Who never was unhorsed by knight before?" + +The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face; +His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath. + +"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry +Has won his way to your most wifely heart +By boasting of his prowess! By my sword! +That is a knightly virtue in all truth." + +"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell +The story that was waiting for your bride +In every prattling mouth about the court. +Had it been so, she never would have heard; +It lies with petty souls alone to boast, +Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur." + +"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord! +Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur." + +"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow +With exultation of defense of him, +"It well might be my glory; for there lives +No knight so stainless and so pure as he." + +"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!" + +And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand, +He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine, +And went out cursing. + + Motionless she leaned +Against the window mullion, where she reeled, +White as the pearls she wore; and love for Torm-- +The thing that she had nourished and called love-- +Fell dead within her, murdered by his blow. +And in her heart true love arose at last +for Sir Sanpeur, proclaiming need of him;-- +A love, for many days hushed and suppressed +By wifely loyalty, now well awake, +With conscious sense of immortality. + +Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went, +Stopped not to wipe the blood from her pale cheek; +Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and donned +A russet gown she kept for merry plays, +And, wrapping o'er her head a wimple, dark +As her dark gown, crept down the castle steps. +The vassals looked at her askance; she drew +Her wimple closer, and deceived their gaze, +Until the gate of Tormalot was passed, +And she was out upon the lonely moor. +Onward she went, too wrenched with pain and wrath +To fear, or wonder at her fearlessness. + +The knight Sanpeur was on his battlements, +Silvered with light from the full summer moon, +And heard his seneschal with loud replies +Denying entrance, as his orders were; +He would be left alone and undisturbed +With memory and thought of Gwendolaine. +"What sweetness infinite beneath the ebb +And flow of moods," he said, half audibly; +"What truth beneath her laughter and her mirth! +I ask but that her nature be fulfilled, +That is enough for me; it matters not +If I may only see her from afar. +My love was sent to vivify her life, +Not to imperil, and to make no claim +Of her but her unfolding; to remind +Her soul of its immortal heritage, +And teach her joy,--she knew but merriment. +And this, meseems, it hath done, Christ be praised. +Her soul asserts itself through her gay life, +And joy pervades her,--she is radiant. +How wonderful she looked, last night, at Camelot! +She moved in glowing beauty like a star." + +And with the vision of her in his heart, +In all the splendour of her state and pride, +In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls, +He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk, +And faced her in her simple russet gown, +Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind, +Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers, +Save on the one a deep and crimson stain. +"My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell. + +She told the story of her bitter wrong +In poignant words of passionate disdain. +"And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,-- +Having more faith in your true love for me +Than any woman ever had before +In love of man, or chivalry of knight,-- +To tell you that I love you more than life. +Long have I loved you, well I know it now, +Although I knew it not, until this blow +Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul. +I rose this morn resolved to be more true +To your high thought of womanhood, and wife, +To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive +To make my life more worthy of your love; +And then,--God help me,--my resolve was crushed +By Torm's fierce hand, and love for you set free. +Yea, now my heart is sure,--beyond all doubt, +Beyond all question and all fear of men,-- +That I, for ever, love you utterly. +Take me, beloved, I am yours, I want, +I need, I pant, I tremble for your care. +O meet me not so coldly! I shall die +If you repulse me; I have come so far +And fast, without a fear,--I loved you so,-- +To seek the blessed shelter of your arms. +My brain is dizzy, and my senses fail; +For God's sake tell me you are glad I came +To you--and only you--in my despair." + +He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,-- +His eyes alone embracing her the while,-- +"Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above +All women on the earth, loved with a love +That words would but conceal, were they essayed, +Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself, +If I am cold, you know it is in truth +A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. +Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so, +And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say +You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm." + +"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream. +"O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! +Save me and keep me from the bitter shame +Of such humiliation to my soul." + +"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine, +Can bring humiliation to a soul. +Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally--" + +"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn. + +"He knows his way, and in it loves you well; +Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride; +He would refuse you nothing you could ask +To gratify your pleasure and desire. +He brought you from a narrow, hidden lot, +To share with you his honours at the court. +You will not let all that be wiped away +By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm +Has bitterly repented and bewailed +Full long ere this; of that you are right sure, +Because you know his loving heart's rebound." + +"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death." + +"Naught can bring death to immortality +But sin,--and life with me, my Gwendolaine, +Would be the death of all we hold most high." + +"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off; +He does not love me! I have dreamed it all." + +Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine, +Unsay that; it is false! You know full well +How far I love you above thought of self; +If I half loved you, I would fold you close." + +"It is unsaid, Sanpeur; but woe is me +That I should fall so far from my estate +To plead in vain with any man, howe'er +He love; where is my pride, my boasted pride?" + +"'Tis in my heart, if anywhere, my love." + +"I can not go, Sanpeur. Torm forfeited +His right to loyalty by cruelty." + +"The debt of loyalty is due to self, +And we must well fulfil it, Gwendolaine, +No matter how another may have failed." + +A sudden horror crossed her thought,--"Sanpeur; +You do not love me less that I have come?" + +"Ah! my beloved woman-child, I know +Your many-sided nature far too well +To judge you or condemn you by one act, +Born of a frenzied moment of despair; +When the true Gwendolaine has time to think, +Naught I could urge would keep her, though she came." + +"But Torm would kill me if I did return"-- + +"Leave that to me; but if he should, my love, +Your soul would then be free,--what ask you more? +Now you are weary, very weary, sweet; +Go in the castle, let me call my dames +To tend and serve you until morning light; +And on the morrow you will choose to go +With me, I am full sure, and make your peace +With Torm, as worthy of your better self." + +"With you? O God! Sanpeur, if I return, +I go alone as I have come! Think you +That I would take you with me to your death?" + +"My life is yours,--how use it better, dear, +Than winning peace and happiness for you?" + +"But it would be keen misery for life"-- + +"It leadeth unto happiness and peace +In the far future, if we fail not now. +This life is but the filling of a trust, +To prove us worthy of the life beyond, +And happiness is never to be sought. +If it comes,--well; if not, we shall know why. +When we are happy in the sight of God." + +Then there was silence on the battlements; +No sound was heard but the slow measured clang +Of feet that paced the stony path below;-- +Gwendolaine pushed aside the wind-blown hair +From her wild eyes, and gazed into Sanpeur's. +As the slow minutes passed the frenzied mood +Faded away from her like fevered dream; +With hands clasped in a passion of devout, +Complete surrender, falling at his feet +She whispered, brokenly, between her sobs; + +"Sanpeur, I will go back to Torm,--for you,-- +Go back and live my life as best I may, +If he forgive me;--and if not, receive +The condemnation of my fault as meet. +Your love has done what love should ever do,-- +Illumined duty's path, and its far goal, +Hid for a moment by a dark despair. +I thought I loved you perfectly before, +But my soul tells me, deep below the pain, +I love you more than if you bade me stay." + +He took her hands and kissed them tenderly +With quiet kisses, long and calm, which held +Sure promise of the strength he fain would give; +Then, bending o'er her yearningly, he said +In tones that stilled her spirit into rest, +"God guard you, my beloved, evermore." +A new force flowed into her soul from his. + +She rose and left him. + + He gave orders strict +For her best comfort; then walked out alone, +To meet and wrestle with his passion, held +So long in leash by honour, free at last +With overmastering and giant strength. +The subtle fragrance of her hands pervades +His senses; in his veins he feels the flow +Of her warm breath, which entered into them +That moment he had caught her as she fell; +Her words of love sweep like a surging tide +Across the quiet of his self-control. +When she was there, his love for her had kept +His passion from uprising, though against +His pleading heart, so long her pleading seemed. +Now she is gone, all calm and thought are lost +In the impassioned wish for her, the thirst +To drink the sweetness of her deep, rich soul, +Without a thought of Torm, or all the world. +Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune, +And flesh and sense as much a part of him +As his clear brain and spirit consecrate. +Passion for once asserts itself; he starts, +And towards the castle strides with rapid steps; +"She is my own, Fate sent her here to me; +I cannot war against it any more; +I will go in and fold her to myself." + +He clasps his empty arms upon his breast, +In the abandonment of wild desire, +And feels, beneath the pressure of his hands, +The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost. +"Good Lord, deliver me from sin," he cries, +And bows his knightly head in silent prayer. + +No earnest soul can ask and not receive: +Before the warden's deep-toned voice calls out +Another watch, Sanpeur has overcome. + +He passed his night beneath the silent stars, +Below the resting-room of Gwendolaine, +Who lay within his castle, loving him, +While he kept watch, to guard her from himself. + +Just ere the morning light, there was a cry +From his most faithful seneschal to rouse +The vassals to defend the brave Sanpeur, +Loved loyally; and from the battlements +He saw Sir Torm, waging a savage fight +To win an entrance through his castle gate. +With hurried steps he reached the gate, and with +The cry,--drowned by the din of clashing arms,-- +"Withhold! it is a friend," he threw himself +Before Sir Torm, and took the mortal wound +That had been aimed by his own seneschal. + +"Let fighting cease; hurt not Sir Torm!" he cried, +And fell into the arms of grim old Ule, +Who pierced his own soul when he wounded him. + +A sudden sound of wailing rent the court; +The dames flocked from the castle in dismay, +And with them came the Lady Gwendolaine, +A pace or two, and then stood motionless; +Her limbs, that brought her quickly to confront +The evil she had wrought, grew powerless; +Her wide, tense gaze was as of one who walks +In sleep unseeing; her dishevelled hair +Veiled the abandon of her dress, her cheeks +Were colourless as marble, but for the stain +Of crimson. Paralysed and dumb she stood, +Too far to reach him, but full near to hear, +As Sanpeur, having lifted hand to hush +The wailing, broke the silence rapidly, +Like one who feels his time for speech is short. + +"In Christ's dear name, who alway doth forgive, +I pray you, hear me speak one word, Sir Torm." + +There was a force within Sir Sanpeur's eyes +Sir Torm dared not resist "Speak on," he said. + +"Your wife, my lord, is here, and in my care, +She came to me scarce knowing what she did,-- +Wounded, and driven to a wild despair +By your quick anger, which has stamped its seal +Upon the perfect beauty of her face. +The cause of that fierce blow she told me not; +Be what it may, I know full well, my lord, +It could not merit such a harsh retort +To wife whose loyalty and troth to you +Have been the marvel of the court; whose name, +Her beauty notwithstanding, has been held +As high from stain as she has e'er held yours. +She has not failed to you until this hour, +When she was not herself for one brief space, +Mad with the fever in her heated brain +You long have known I loved her,--none could well +Withhold the tribute of his life from her,-- +And you must know, my lord, beyond all doubt, +I loved her with a love that honoured you +In thought, in word, in purpose, and in deed. +She came to me because her trust in me +Was absolute as knowledge that my love +Was measureless I would not plead, Sir Torm, +Excuse for sin; alas! I know her act +Was most unworthy of her truer self. +But this I say--he should not blame her most +Who drove her to this deed against herself. +And I will tell you,--should it chance you fail +To know from your own knowledge of your wife, +Without the need of confirmation sure,-- +That when her passionate, poor, wounded heart +Had time and strength to reassert itself, +Her memory, and truth to you as wife, +Enwrapt her once again, and she withdrew +E'en from the love that, trusting, she had sought. +She lay within my castle with my dames, +Resting, and waiting for the dawn of day, +When she had bade me lead her back to you, +That she might ask forgiveness for her fault. +Now, by my knighthood and the sign I wear, +I speak the truth, Sir Torm!--With my last breath +I pray you grant her pardon, for my sake, +Who die, to save you, of wounds meant for you." + +His breath came slower. None beholding him +Could doubt him, for within his steadfast eyes, +Though growing dim with coming death, was that +The Order on his bosom symbolised. +Torm bowed before him, silent, with a sense +Of hallowed presence from beyond this earth. +Convinced of Sanpeur's truth, there flashed on him +The revelation of a better life +Than self-indulgence and the pride of arms; +And here, at last, before the passing soul, +Strong in its purity and in its peace, +He felt a new-born and a deep desire +For truer life than he had ever known. + +After the whisper, "God shield Gwendolaine," +The slow breath ceased. + + With shrill and piercing cry +Gwendolaine broke the strange, benumbing trance +That had withheld her; rushing from the dames +And falling prone upon the silent form +That gave her heart no answering throb, she cried, +With voice grief-pierced and sorrow-broken, "Wait +For Gwendolaine, O Sanpeur! Wait for Gwendolaine, +And take her with you unto death!" + + She lay +In silent desolation on his breast, +So still, awhile, they thought her spirit gone; +Then rose majestic in the dignity +Of her incomparable grief. + + "Sir Torm," +She said in tense, surcharged tones, "Sanpeur +Has told but half the story; he forgot +To tell, as noble souls are wont to do, +The measure of his own nobility. +I came to stay, my lord, to be his wife, +His serving-maid, his mistress,--what he would; +I told him that I loved him beyond men; +I pleaded and entreated him, in vain, +To keep and hold me evermore. No word +Could move him, no allurement charm; he bade +Me wait the dawn and then return to you, +To beg you with humility for grace, +And pardon for my utter want of truth, +Complete forgetfulness of womanhood, +And wifely loyalty. My lord, Sir Torm, +I promised him! and by his silent corse,-- +And with a broken heart,--I pray that you +Will grant me pardon, though you cast me off." + +"My Gwendolaine," Torm answered quickly, moved +By an uplifting impulse in his soul,-- +"For you are mine, whomever you may love,-- +I know that Sir Sanpeur did speak the truth; +You have not sinned in deed; and though you sinned +In purpose, it was more my fault than yours; +I drove you to it, and would fain atone. +Return with me, and help me overcome, +And with my temper I will tilt, until +I die or kill it. By the Blood of Christ, +I swear to you that you shall love me yet; +For I will be,--God help me,--worthier." + +Back to their home she went with Torm, and strove +With gracious sweetness to make him forget; +To banish his keen memory of her love +For Sir Sanpeur, not by disproving it, +But by new proving of new love for him. +The greater made her rich to give the less; +She, being more, had still the more to give. +The apocalyptic vision granted her +Of Love immortal, vital and supreme,-- +Kept by the grace of God all undefiled,-- +Had dowered her with largess; what she gave, +Albeit not the utmost, was more worth +Than best had been from her starved soul before. + +Sir Torm was helped in his self-given task-- +To struggle with ill humours and with pride-- +Far more by her new gentleness and grace +Than he had been by waywardness and scorn +And fitful fascination, as of old. +To help Torm was her life's new quest, and well +Did she essay to gain it. + + When the tide +Of sorrow for Sanpeur would over-sweep +Her heart; and when, sometimes, Sir Torm would lapse +Into forgetfulness of his resolve, +Confronting her o'ercome with wine or wrath, +Low to herself she whispered Sanpeur's words, +"Life is the filling of a trust," and straight +Her soul grew strong again. + + From year to year, +Beneath her planting and her fostering, +Torm's nature blossomed, and his manhood grew +More fine, more fruitful. Men, at last, could mark +In his whole bearing greater dignity; +And Constantine once gave him, for some feat, +A brilliant Order, with the meaning words, +"The greatest conquest is to conquer self." + +But there was one deep shadow in his life: +Upon the lovely face of Gwendolaine +Were two long, narrow, seamed scars. One day +He touched them tenderly, and said, "God's faith, +I would give all but knighthood to efface +Those hellish scars that mar your peerless cheek." + +She turned her head quick to his hand's embrace, +Buried her cheek within its palm, and said, +"Those scars, my Torm, I would not now resign +For any dower that the world could give; +They are the Order of my higher life, +The birthmarks of your new nobility." + + + + +KATHANAL. + + +The sky was one unbroken pall of gray, +Casting a gloom upon the restless sea, +Dulling her sapphire splendour to a dark +And minor beauty. All the rock-bound shore +Was silent, save a widowed song-bird sang +Far off at intervals a mournful note, +And on the broken crags of dark gray rock +The waves dashed ceaselessly. Sir Kathanal +Stood with uncovered head and folded arms, +His soul as restless as the surging sea +Lashed into passion by the coming storm. +His helmet lay upon the sand; its crest, +A floating plume of deep-hued violet, +Was tossed and torn in fury by the wind +Until it seemed a thing of life. He stood +And watched it, only half aware at first +That it was there, then scarce aware of aught +Besides the plume. As in the room of death +Some iterated sound or motion holds +Attent the stricken mind, benumbed, and keeps +The horror of its grief awhile at bay +As by a spell, so now, though Kathanal +Had sought the sea-shore to be free of men +Because of his sore agony of heart, +And all the passion of his daring soul +Was tossing like the sea in fierce revolt, +His thoughts and gaze were centred on his crest. +Before the gray of sea and sky he saw +Naught but the waving, waving of the plume; +Before the vision of his love, Leorre, +Her tender eyes aglow with changeless light, +The golden splendour of her sunny hair, +Her winning smiles of grace and sweetness blent, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Between his sorrow and his weary soul, +Between his trouble and his clear-eyed self, +There came the waving, waving of the plume; +Until he felt, in some half-conscious way, +It was his heart, and he a stranger there +That looked down, from a height, indifferent +Upon it at the mercy of the wind. + +Sudden, with that long lingering trace of youth +That gave to him the fascinating charm +Which other men were fain to emulate, +He quickly stooped, and tore it from his helm, +And cast it far out on the tossing sea. +It lighted on the waves a purple bird, +Floating with swan-like grace before the wind. +The action quenched impatience. Kathanal, +Impulsive, passionate and sensitive, +In moods was ever ready with response +To omen and to change of circumstance. +He stood a moment, and then forward sprang +To catch it ere it vanished out of reach. +It was too late--the outward-flowing tide +Bore it from wave to wave beyond his sight. + +"Ah, God!" he cried aloud, "what have I done? +It is the omen of a curse to me; +My crest is gone, my knightly symbol lost, +My helm dishonoured through an act of mine." + +Then came the memory of early youth, +The recollection of a high resolve +To keep his manhood free from touch of stain, +To be a knight like Galahad, pure and true. +So few short years had passed since that resolve, +And yet he had forgotten loyalty +And truth and honour for the fair Leorre, +The wife of Reginault, his patron knight,-- +The brave old man who treated him as son. +Long had he loved her with a knightly love, +And fought for her, and chosen her the queen +Of many a tournament. She still was young, +Fairer than morning in the early spring. +When she had come, a gladsome bride, to grace +The castle of old Reginault, and warm +His grand old spirit into youth again, +Sir Kathanal had bowed before her, saying, +"My gracious lady, take me as your knight"; +And she had answered, with her winning smile, +"You are Sir Reginault's, and therefore mine." + +Well had he loved her from that very hour, +Giving her honour as his old friend's bride, +Making the castle ring with merriment +To do her service, and fulfil the best +Of Reginault, who bade him use his grace +To make her life a round of holidays. +But day by day his selfish love had grown +From friendly service to a lover's claim, +Until he had forgotten Reginault +In her fair eyes, and all things else but her, +Who granted him no boon, no smallest act +Of love or tenderness. + + At last the strife +Between deep yearning for some touch of love, +And brave endeavour for self-mastery, +Had driven him to madness and despair. +To the lone sea he brought his agony +To face it boldly, and his spirit, quick +To wear new moods, caught a despondent gloom +From the dark omen that oppressed his soul. + +"Love is divine," he said, "and it is well +To love Leorre, wife though she be, for love +Is free to noble natures; but at last, +When in her shining eyes I see response, +Albeit unconscious, to my longing pain, +I cannot rest content with boonless love, +Although divine. I fear me, if I stay +Within the circle of her tempting charm, +I shall, through some wild impulse, wantonly +Fling my unsullied knighthood to the winds, +As now I flung the plume from out my helm." + +He went at even-song time to Leorre, +And told her of his struggle by the sea, +Of his determined purpose and resolve. +"Leorre, I love you with a love unsung +By poets, and unknown by other men, +Undreamed by women; I must leave you, dear; +I cannot see you fair for Reginault, +I cannot watch your sweetness not for me. +I will go far upon some distant quest +Until this frenzy ceases, and the quest +Shall be for you, my love, for you alone. + +"Dear, sunny head that lights my darkened way +With its bright, golden glory, let me seek +A crown that well befits it for my quest. +Fair waist that curves beneath the heart I love, +I shall engirdle you with priceless gems +Won by my prowess for your perfect grace. +O wondrous neck! great lustrous, flawless pearls, +That shall be royal in their worth, to match +The white enchantment of your beauty fair, +Shall be my quest for you. + + "I will not come +Back to the court of Constantine, Leorre, +Until I bring that which shall honour you, +And winning which, I shall have cooled my pain." + +She came and knelt beside him, took his hand, +Looked deep into his ardent eyes,--her own +Like stars that shone into his inmost soul. + +"Will you, indeed, go forth," she answered low, +"Across the world upon a quest for me? +And will you falter not, nor swerve, nor fail, +Nor turn aside from seeking, night nor day, +Until you conquer with your prowess rare +The prize for me? And may I choose the quest +I most desire?" + + "Ah! surely, what you will," +Said Kathanal, as echo to his eyes, +Which answered ere the words could form themselves. + +She waited, silently; the room was still; +Sir Kathanal was faint from drinking deep, +With thirsty eyes, the beauty of her face. + +At last she spoke, almost inaudibly, +But evermore the thought of her low speech +Made melody within his memory. + +"Go forth, my knight of love, o'er land and sea, +And purify your spirit and your life, +And seek until you find the Holy Grail, +Keeping the vision ever in your thought, +The inspiration ever in your soul. +Let Tristram yield his loyalty and honour +For fair Isoud, and die inglorious,-- +Let Launcelot in Guenever's embrace +Forget the consecrated vows he swore, +And bring dark desolation on the land,-- +My knight must grow the greater through his love, +The better for my favour, the more pure! +More than all gifts, or wealth of royal dower, +I want, I crave, I claim this boon of thee." + +Between the bronze-brown of his eyes and her, +There sudden came a faint and misty veil; +Through the wide-open window a sun's beam +Flashed on it, making o'er her bowed head +A halo from his own unfallen tears. +He rose and lifted her, loosed her sweet hands, +And fell upon his knees low at her feet. +"Leorre, my love, my queen, my woman-saint, +I am not worthy, but I take your quest; +I will not falter and I will not swerve +Until I see the Grail, or pass to where +I see the glory it but symbols here, +In Paradise. Beloved, all the world +Is better for your living, all the air +Is sweeter for your breathing, and all love +Is holier, purer, that you may be loved." + +"Rise, Kathanal, stand still and let me gaze +Upon you with that purpose in your face! +So brave, so resolute! I love you, Kathanal! +Nay! do not touch me, listen to my words! +Surely it cannot be a sin to speak, +Perchance it is a debt I owe my knight +For his life's consecration, once to say +To him, as I have said to my own heart, +Just how I love him. + + "I would follow you +Across the world, if it might be, a slave, +To serve you at your bidding night and day; +Or I would rouse me to my highest pride +That I might be your queen, and lead you on +To glory. I am strong to do and bear +The uttermost my mind can think, for you, +To cheer you, help you, strengthen you; and yet-- +I am a woman, and my senses thrill +If you but touch the border of my robe, +And if you take my hand, before the court, +And raise it to your lips, I faint, I die, +With the vast tide of my unconquered love." + +"Great Christ! how can I hear you and depart? +I did not know you loved me. O my sweet, +Here by your side I stay; my quest shall be +The love-light dawning in your shining eyes." + +"Is this your answer, Kathanal," she sighed, +"To the unveiling of my heart of hearts? +No! now, if ever, you will surely go +On the sole quest that makes that action right." + +"Leorre, come once to me!" he said with arms +Outstretched to her. Quickly she backward drew +With one swift whispered "Kathanal!" + + "Leorre, +You cannot love and be so calm and still; +My soul would sacrifice both earth and heaven +For one full, rapturous kiss from those sweet lips +That lure me on to madness by their spell." + +"It is my love that keeps me calm," she said; +"Love makes us strong for what is bitterest; +Were we faint-hearted through imperfect love +We could not part; but loving perfectly +We are full strong for that, and all things else. + +"Farewell, my Kathanal, take as you go +This spotless scarf, the girdle from my robe, +And put it where the purple plume has been, +And wear it as my favour in your helm. +If that lost plume was darksome omen ill, +Let this defy it with an omen fair, +A prophecy to spur you on your quest. +My heart says it is better as it is; +I joy me that you flung into the sea +That purple plume my loving, longing gaze +Has often followed in the tournament. +Remember, purple doth betoken pain, +And white betokens conquest, purity; +Look, Kathanal, beloved, in my eyes! +I _know_ that you will find the Holy Grail." + +She stood immaculate, and from those eyes +That oft had kindled passionate desire +He drew an inspiration high and pure, +A prescient sense of victory and peace, +And falling on his knees once more, he bowed, +Kissed her white robe, and left her standing there. + +Then followed days of struggle and dark gloom. +Far from the court he found a lonely cell, +Where morn and night he prayed, and, praying, wrought +A score of earnest, unrecorded deeds +To purify and cleanse himself from sin. + +Oft the old passion would arise and sweep +His spirit bare of every conquest Once +The longing and the yearning were so great, +So strong beyond all thought of holiness, +He sprang up from his bed at dead of night +And stopped not, night nor day, until he reached +His old home by the sea, and saw Leorre. +Her hair had its untarnished golden glow, +Her beauty was unchanged, but her sweet mouth +Had caught a touch of pathos in its smile; +She wore a purple robe, and stood in state +Beside Sir Reginault,--who greeted him +With tender, grave, and kind solicitude,-- +And lifted eyes that smote upon his heart +With a long gaze of passionate appeal +That held a pain at bay deep in their depths. + +"So weak," he whispered to his heart, "for self, +I will be strong for her, she needs my strength." + +Again he hurried from her sight, half glad +For the remembered pain within her eyes; +Ashamed of his own soul that it was glad. + +For years he struggled, prayed, and fought his fight; +And sometimes when his soul was desolate +And he was weary from his eager quest, +When such a sense of deep humility +Would fall upon his praying, watching heart +That he would fain forego all in despair, +A marvellous ray of light, mysterious, +Would slant athwart the darkness of his cell, +Then he would rouse him to his quest once more +And say, "Perchance the Holy Grail is near!" + +One night at midnight came the ray again, +And with it came a strange expectancy +Of spirit as the light waxed radiant. +The cell was filled with spicy odours sweet, +And on the midnight stillness song was borne +As sweet as heaven's harmony--the words,-- +The same Sir Launcelot had heard of old,-- +"Honour and joy be to the Father of Heaven." +With wide eyes searching his lone cell for cause +He waited: as the ray became more clear +And more effulgent than the mid-day sun, +He trembled with that chill of mortal flesh +Beholding spiritual things. At last-- +Now vaguely as though veiled by light, and then +With shining clearness, perfectly--he saw +_The sight unspeakable, transcending words_. + +Forth from his barren cell came Kathanal, +Strong and inspired, born anew for deeds. +Straightway he grew to be the bravest knight +Under King Constantine, since Sir Sanpeur; +The boldest in the battles for the right; +The kindest in his judgment of the wrong. +His eyes that held the vision of the Grail +Were ever clear to see and know the truth; +His lips that had been touched by holy chrism +Were strong to utter holy living words; +He sang of life in life, and life in death, +And taught the lesson that his heart had learned-- +All love should be a glory, not a doom; +Love for love's sake, albeit bliss-denied. + +To his old home beside the sapphire sea +Floated his songs and his far-reaching fame; +For in the land no name was loved so well +As Kathanal the peerless Minstrel Knight. + +Lone in her chamber sat Leorre, and heard +The songs of Kathanal by courtiers sung-- +Arousing words, like a clear clarion call +To truth and virtue, purity and faith. +She clasped her hands and bent her head, and wept +In silent passion pent-up tears, for joy; +For now she knew--far off, beyond her sight-- +Her love had seen the sacred Holy Grail. +And, as she listened, inspiration came, +Irradiating all her spirit, lifting it +Beyond her sorrow and her daily want +Of Kathanal. Soft through her soul there crept +The echo of a benedicite, +Enwrapping her in calm, triumphant peace. + +Then she arose, put on her whitest robe, +And went out radiant, strong, and full of joy. + + + +Note to text beginning "A marvellous ray of light, mysterious,..." +[Transcriber's Note: "Note to Page 88" in the original text] + +"_In the midst of the blast entred a sunne beame more clear by seaven +times then ever they saw day, and all they were alighted of the grace of +the holy Ghost_" + + * * * * * + +"_Then there entred into the hall the holy grale covered with white +samite, but there was none that might see it, nor who beare it, and there +was all the hall fulfilled with good odours_." + + * * * * * + +"_Then he listned, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly, that it +seemed none earthly thing, and him thought that the voice said, 'Joy and +honour be to the Father of heaven._'" + +SIR THOMAS MALORY, "_La Mort d'Arthure_" + + + + +CHRISTALAN. + + +The yellow sunlight, coming from the east, +Through the great Minster windows, arched and high, +That tell the story of our blessed Lord +In colours royal with significance, +Takes many hues, and falls upon the head +Of a fair boy before the altar-rail. +It is the son of the brave knight Noel, +Cut off, alas! too early in his prime, +Now lying dead beneath yon sculptured stone, +But living in the hearts of the small group +In the old Minster on this sunny morn. +The proud young head is bowed in reverence +Before the holy priest of God, whose face +Is glowing with paternal love that shines +Through dignity of the official calm. +Who loves not Christalan for his blithe grace?-- +For his dear eyes, so true, so fathomless, +So full of tenderness, his mother thought +They were the reflex of the steadfast love +She bore her lord Noel? Who loves him not +For his bright joyance and his laughter sweet? + +But now he stands, all merry laughter stilled +By awe that groweth slowly in his eyes, +In silent quietude, a knightly lad, +Clad in a doublet of unspotted white, +Embroidered at the breast with these two words, +Wrought by his mother's hand, _Valiant and True_. +He hears at last the stirring words that move +His soul as it has never yet been moved; +Words that have haunted his imagining +For days and nights, making his young heart yearn +With restless longing for this present hour; +Words that presage the glory of his life, +The consecrated purpose of his youth +In its fulfilment and accomplishment; +The holy, sacred, solemn, early vow +Of future knighthood for the noble lad. +And now his father's sword is shown to him; +His daring spirit, of a knightly race, +Leaps out to grasp it, though his hand may not +Until he grows to manhood. O the years +That he must wait, and serve, and work for that! +Why is it not to-morrow? He is strong, +And, never having seen the great, wide world, +With boyish confidence, that is the germ +All undeveloped of man's later strength, +He feels he is its master. For a space +The altar and the holy man of God +Are veiled before his earnest, searching gaze, +By sudden picture which his fancy paints: +He sees a tournament, himself a knight-- + +"God's peace be with thee, valiant boy and true; +In the name of God the Father, and of the Son +And of the Holy Ghost. Amen." + + No tilt +Nor tournament before his vision now,-- +Swift in his boyish heart, so full of dreams +Of fame, there springs a new, intense resolve +Of consecration, an unconscious prayer +For God's peace, though he knows not what it means. + +The Lady Agathar stands, robed in black, +Behind the buoyant boy she loves so well. +She still has youth, and beauty, and desire; +But each full throb of her true, wifely heart +Beats for her lord, though he be gone,--all else +In life is naught to her but Christalan, +And Greane, the winsome maiden by her side. + +Sweet Greane's heart thrills with pride of Christalan, +And with the spirit of the solemn scene; +But, also, with a fierce rebellious pang, +That she is but a useless, silly girl. +She wishes she too had been born a lad, +To take the knightly vow, and leave the home, +And go forth to the world and its delight. + +Now Christalan turns from the altar-rail +To see the love upon his mother's face. +Back to the castle, in a goodly train, +They take their way, in joyous merriment +And festal cheer. + + A banquet for the lad +Is given in the hall, where gather soon +The Noel-garde retainers, come to greet +The noble boy, and say a long farewell. + +The Lady Agathar still smiles, and fills +The moment with all pleasure and delight, +No shadow of her sorrow or her pain +Shall fall upon her Christalan to-day, +But deep within her heart she maketh moan, +"My Christalan goes forth to-morrow morn." + +Amid the revel Greane and Christalan +Are missing for a time from the gay feast, +And Agathar's quick eyes have followed them +To where they sit apart, the two young heads, +Of golden beauty and of softest brown, +Forming a picture that for evermore +Her memory will hold to solace grief, +Or make it greater, as her mood may be. + +"O Christalan how can I let you go?" +Says sweet Greane, weeping "Who will climb with me +The rocks to find the bird's nest? who will play +At arms, forgetting that I am a girl, +And helping me forget it?" + + Christalan, +Lifting the nut-brown curl to find her ear, +Low whispers tenderly, "I love you, Greane, +A hundred times more than were you a boy, +And always have, e'en when I laughed at you." + +Greane nestles to him, lays her pretty head +Upon his breast, her slender shapely hand, +Sun-browned and thorn scratched, wanders lovingly +Over his face and hair,--then to the words +Upon his doublet, tracing thoughtfully +Their broidered curving with her forefinger, + +"_Valiant and True_" she says: "My Christalan, +When you are great and famous in the world, +Which would you be, could you be only one?" + +"Why, Greane, they go together, like the light +And morning: no knight could be really true +And not be valiant to the death; and yet, +No valiant knight could live and not be true." + +"But if you _could_ be only one?" says Greane, +With child's persistency. + + Quickly he starts, +Throws back his head impatiently, replies, +"I would be valiant, could I be but one." + +"O Christalan, _I_ would be true," says Greane. + +"Well, Greane, you teased me into saying it, +So do not look so scornful! I should die +If I could not exalt my father's name +In valiant deeds of knighthood and of war. +You have to choose, for you are but a girl; +I need not choose, thank God! I will be both." + +When the gray morning dawned at Noel-garde, +The Lady Agathar went to her son; +It was the last good-morrow they would say +For many years to come. At the sun's rise +He was to leave his home, to take his way +To the brave knight Sir Kathanal, to whom +Sir Noel, dying, had bade Agathar +Send the young Christalan, in time, to learn +The code of chivalry and knighthood. Back +She drew the curtains of his bed, and watched +Him sleeping, bent and kissed him: + + "Christalan, +Awake!" she said, "the day is breaking! Soon +You leave your home where now you rule as lord, +Boy though you are, and go as servitor; +You must fulfil my heart's desire, my son, +And, by God's help, bring answer to my prayers; +You must be true and valiant, Christalan." + +"Why, mother mine, is it not wrought in gold +Upon my doublet?" + + "Ah, my son," she said, +"It must be wrought upon your heart as well +As on your doublet." + + Quick he answered her, +"How can I help be valiant and most true, +With such a father and your peerless self +My mother? No, I will not fail, be sure. +Some day I shall come riding home to you +With honour, prizes, fame, and dignity, +That shall befit my father's noble name, +And all the court as I pass by will cry, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +"But, Christalan, first comes a time when you +Must serve, and work, and cheer for other knights; +No knight is fully worthy to command +Until he knows the lesson to obey; +No ruler can be great unless he learns +With dignity to be a servitor. +The least shall be the greatest, the most true +In all things, howe'er small, shall be at last +Most valiant. Will you serve as well, my son, +As now you hope to conquer?" + + "Mother mine, +Nothing will be too hard for me, I know, +With knighthood at the end. If that should fail, +I could not bear it! It will come at last! +When I shall hear the cry, that in our play +Sweet Greane is ever calling through the wood, +From all the court, and even from the King, +'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'" + +Eight years had passed. The Lady Agathar, +Unaged, unchanged, in her plain robe of black, +Sat in her tower, watching for her son. +Fair Greane was with her, tall, and full of grace, +Right glad at last that she was born a maid. + +They talked together of that day, gone by, +When Christalan first left them They had heard +How nobly, to the pride of Noel-garde, +He bore his days of service, how, as squire, +He was the favoured of Sir Kathanal, +How keen and living his ambition was +To prove the motto of his boyish choice +And it was near, the mother's heart was glad +That, ere the week was ended, Christalan +Would be the knight his heart had longed to be. +His maiden shield, waiting his valour's right +To grave it as his doublet had been wrought, +And his bright armour were in readiness +For the long vigil by his arms, alone +Before the altar in that sacred place, +The holy Minster, where his father slept +First he would come, that she might bless her son. +Well did she comprehend the happiness +In his brave heart to day, the early vow +That stirred the boy so deeply, long ago, +Was near its confirmation! His intense +And solemn longing for the watch at night, +His ardent joy in knighthood, won at last,-- +She shared before she saw him, with that sense +Of subtle sympathy a mother, only, knows. +She spoke her thoughts aloud in pride-thrilled tones-- + +"Almost a knight, my Greane, is Christalan; +How valiant, faithful, noble he has been, +And will be ever, my true-hearted son!" + +"Greane! Greane! they come! I see a dusty cloud +That hides and heralds the approach of men. +Look, is it Christalan? They come more near, +Nearer and nearer! God in Heaven! Greane, +What is it that they bring? Not Christalan? +O no; that silent form they bear so slow +Can not, and must not, be my Christalan! +Come, Greane, and contradict my eyes for me." + +Greane's answer was a swift, confirming swoon. +Up through the gates they bore her Christalan, +Dressed in the garments of the neophyte, +That erst were spotless white, but then were soiled, +Bedraggled and dust-stained. His golden hair +A matted mass, of sunny curls unkempt,-- +And yet how beautiful he was withal! +Into the hall they brought and laid him down, +While Agathar gave thanks, from her despair, +That death had not yet conquered him. He lived, +Although he spoke not, moved not, scarcely breathed. + +They told her, in few words, of his brave deed. +In some lone mountain way, far from the court, +He saw a knight almost unhorsed by fraud, +And springing quickly to the knight's relief, +Unarmed, unready, without thought of self, +He had been trampled by the maddened horse, +Whose master he had saved unfair defeat. +The leech had tended him with greatest care, +Promised him life, but never more, alas! +The power to wield his sword, or wear his arms, +The strength to walk, or run, or live the life +Of manhood as men prize it. Some deep hurt, +Beyond the sight, would ever foil his strength, +And make bold effort perilous to life. +They told her how he whiter grew, at this, +And, with the one word, "Noel-garde," had passed +Into the trance, like death, that held him thus +Through all the journey they had carried him. +"My valiant boy," said Lady Agathar; +And hushed her heart, to minister to him. + +Slowly, at last, the lovely eyes unclosed +The speaking beauty of their dark-blue depths, +To meet his mother's with beseeching gaze. +"I can be true, but never valiant now," +He said in faltering accents. "Mother mine, +There is no knight for you and my sweet Greane. +God help me!" and he turned him to the wall. + +"O Christalan! my son," she answered him, +"Knighthood is in the spirit and the soul; +The deeds that show the knighthood to the world +Are but the chance and circumstance of fate; +And no knight could be truer than you proved +Yourself in self-forgetting, nor more brave +Than in foregoing knighthood for a knight. +You will be far more valiant, if you bear +This sorrow without murmur or complaint, +Than you could prove in any battle won. +The meanest varlet often wins by chance. +It needeth valour like our blessed Lord's +To forfeit glory, and to suffer pain +Unhonoured and unknown--ah, Christalan, +True knight within my heart I hold you, dear." + +"Yea, mother mine, but now my father's name +Remains without fresh glory; his last prayer +And dying wishes must be unfulfilled." + +"Sweet Christalan, when you were scarce a lad, +You saw the King and thought his shining crown +His royalty, which now you know is naught +But symbol of it. Thus your father, dear, +In larger life of knowledge of the truth, +Knows that the boon he prayed was but the sign. +'Tis yours, now, to fulfil the higher prayer; +'Tis yours to gain the inward grace, and leave +The outward sign, great in its way, but less." + +"Your words are like the first flush of the dawn +In the dark night, my mother, bringing light +To show more plain the lingering dark. O God, +It is so dark and bitter! How can you, +Yea, even you, begin to understand? +You never were a man--almost a knight." + +"But I have been a mother," she replied +In tones so strange he roused to look at her, +And saw his sorrow's kinship in her eyes. +He drew her arm beneath his head, and slept. + +They noursled him to outward show of strength, +With care and love, the best of medicines. +A brighter day now dawned for Noel-garde +With his home-coming, notwithstanding grief. +What tales there were to tell of the great court, +Of his long service with Sir Kathanal, +To which Greane listened with quick, bated breath, +Sharing each feat and play with Christalan +As he relived it for her. + + "List ye, Greane," +He said one day with ardour of brave youth +Aglow for bravery; "I met a man +Who once had seen the great Sir Launcelot, +And told me of him. How he prayed and prayed +Within the cloister; all his deeds of war, +Of prowess, and renown, were naught to him, +Though men bowed low in goodly reverence +As he walked by; and some, 'the foolish ones,' +The man said, yet they seem not so to me, +Stooped down and kissed the footprints that he left. +Although he wore but simple gown of serge, +With girdle at the waist, like any monk, +One felt, with passing glance, he had a power +Unconquerable in reserve, to swift +O'ercome whate'er approached him, if he would. +And, Greane, bend down and let me speak to you: +I saw at Camelot the great white tomb +Of sweet Elaine, and not in all the court +Saw I a maiden half so fair as she. +She lies there carved in marble, pure and white; +And, by our blessed Lord, my heart is sure +That, were she living, I should love her well." + +"O Christalan! you would not love a maid +That lost her maiden pride and dignity, +Giving her love unasked?" said Greane, in scorn. + +"Alas, Greane! have you, hidden from the world, +Learned the world's jargon and false estimates? +Do you not know that love is more than pride, +And beating heart more than cold dignity? +Men die for glory, and you all applaud. +Elaine's love was her glory; honour her +That she did die for it. That she could tell +Her story fearlessly to all the court +But proves her high, unconscious purity." + +"Well," said fair Greane, with laughter in her eyes, +"I straight will die for the next noble knight +Who comes to Noel-garde to rest awhile, +And you shall put me on a gilded barge,-- +I will not have a solemn bed of black!-- +And our old servitor shall deck--" + + "Peace, Greane!" +Said Christalan, in tones that frightened her, +Who knew no sound from him but tenderness. +"Dare not to jest about that holy maid, +Too pure to fear, too true to hide her heart." + +Then there were tales to tell of the great King +Who passed in such a wondrous mystery +From out the realm; and of King Constantine, +"Who may not be like great King Arthur, Greane, +But who deservedly has right to wear +The crown he wore; for he is brave and strong, +Mighty in battle, bountiful in peace, +To each brave knight a friend, and to the weak +As I, who never knew a father, think +A father might be. + + "When I saw him first, +He asked, 'Are you Sir Noel's son--the knight +Who, with the mighty King (peace to his soul!), +Landed at Dover, and there fought so well?' +Abashed I answered, 'Yea, my liege'; but he +Laid his great hand, that has a jagged scar +Half-way across it, on my arm and said, +'Be not afraid; I was your father's friend, +And will be yours, if you are worthy him.' + +"Often thereafter would he speak to me +So graciously, I for a time forgot +He was a king, and answered him as free +From fear or shyness as I answer you, +Told him my thirst for knighthood and for fame, +To which he listened with that strange grim smile, +So like a sunbeam in a rocky place +Then, straightway, as I watched him, in his eyes +There came the look that made me want to kneel, +Remembering he was a king indeed. +I love him, Greane, I--" + + Christalan turned quick +His face away, and strove to hide the pain +That held him in its sharp and sudden grasp, +Pain of the flesh, that was but less than pain +Of heart, that it should keep him from his King, +And knightly service worthy of his name +Greane spoke not, but she understood, and crept +Close to his side, finding his cold white hand,-- +The laughter turned to tears within her eyes. + +Great was his love for Greane, but greater far +His love for Agathar Born of his pain, +A strange dependence tinged pathetically +The proud possession of his trust as guard +Of her reft life and lonely widowhood. +He waited for her coming in the morn +With flowers he had gathered ere she woke; +At night he led her to her chamber door, +With boyish homage touched with stately grace, +And Agathar said to her widowed heart, +"How like his father in his courtesy'" +Often she kissed him, whispering the while, +"Beloved Christalan, my more than knight, +You bear your bitter lot so patiently. +Thank God you are so valiant and so true'" + +Slowly the shadow on his way grew less +Eclipsing, the brave spirit that was ripe +For doing deeds came to fulfil itself +In the far harder task of doing naught, +The courage ready for activity +But changed its course, as he forebore and smiled +And yet he oft would hasten from the sight +Of Greane and Agathar, and seek the wood, +Where he was hidden from the tender eyes +So quick to see his struggle. Lying prone +Upon the grass, he stretched his fragile form +Its fullest length to cheat himself with thought +That he was stalwart, then he closed his eyes +To generous summer's lavish golden glow +Of shimmering sunshine playing everywhere, +And the fair world of beauty, flowering; +Shut from his hearing caroling of bird, +The liquid rhythm of rivulet, the song +Of wind amid the tree-tops, all the notes +Of nature's melody; and heard alone, +With inward ear, the clanging clash of arms +And shouts of victory Through the long hours +He lay and fought his fight imaginary, +To rise, more wan, to wage his war with pain. + +One morning, when the sun rose, he was far +From Noel-garde. He had gone out to seek +The wayside lilies, fresh with early dew. +From the deep shadow of the wood he heard +A troop of mailed horsemen cry a halt +Just in the path before him. In low tones +They talked of a dark plot to kill the King. + +The heart of Christalan, that beat so faint, +And oft so wearily, beat fast and strong +In anxious listening. It was a band +Of outlawed robbers, rebels to the King, +Who planned to lay at the great undern hunt +A trap for the brave, unsuspecting King, +Spring on him unawares, and take his life, +And have revenge for justice done to them. + +His King! they spoke about his noble King, +Then in the old court castle near his home, +For a brief resting on his journey north. + +He leaned against a gnarled and twisted oak, +His soul a listening intensity, +And all his strength, seemed leaving him; he drew +A quick and stifled breath of sharpest pain, +As they rode on, and thought of Agathar, +Watching and waiting for his coming home. + +"Yes, I can save him; God be thanked for that. +I now may do one valiant deed and die." + +It was a long way to the court, through dense +Unbroken forest, with a single path +Trodden between the trees; he had no horse, +No strength, and little time before the deed-- +The dreadful deed--be done. Not since his hurt +Had he walked fast, or far, without great pain; +Now it will follow every step he takes-- +But what is that, he goes to save his King! + +Prepared to brave the pain, all stealthily +He started from the shadow of the trees; +When suddenly two of the bandit band +Came riding back again, ere he could hide-- +The one had dropped his javelin and returned +To seek it. Heavy coats of mail incased +The stalwart frames scarce needing a defense, +So strong they were. + + Silent stood Christalan +And faced their coming, not a trace of fear +Or tremor in his bearing, slight and frail +In his white doublet, holding in his hand +The wayside lilies he forgot to drop, +Which to the Lady Agathar shall come, +Alas! without his greeting or his kiss. + +"Ho!" cried the bandits. "Eavesdropping? By hell +And all the devils! we will slash his tongue +Too fine to tell our secrets, if he heard! +Speak, man, or die! Heard you our converse now?" + +"Strike, ye base cowards," answered Christalan. +"I am unarmed, alone, and weaponless: +I cannot wield the sword, nor wear my helm, +But God is with me to defend me now, +So strike against His power, if you dare!" + +The sunlight, slanting westward through the trees, +Fell first upon his lifted, golden head, +Making a shining helmet of his curls, +And then upon the lilies in his hand; +His eyes had a defiant, fearless glow; +Against the sombre background of the wood, +He looked scarce human. + + "Mother of our Lord!" +In frightened breath, the bandit rebels cried. +"It is a spirit; no mere mortal man +Would stand and face us boldly so, unarmed. +Look at the Virgin's lilies in his hand! +Great God, preserve us, save us from our doom!" + +And turning in a panic of swift fear, +They vanished quickly through the shadowed wood, +While Christalan sped on to save his King. + +He sees the castle, and he hears the horn +That calls the court together for the hunt; +His strength is failing, and his heart grows faint. +Quick, ere it cease to beat! Faster, more fast! +O but to save his noble lord! One swift, +Last run, and he has reached them; breathlessly +He stands before the charger of the King, +With arms uplifted and imploring eyes, +Until words come, between sharp gasps of pain. +"Go not, my liege, upon the hunt to-day, +I pray you, for the glory of the realm." + +With cheeks that paled and flushed, and panting breath, +He told his story in disjointed words, +And, with unconscious frank simplicity, +The tale of his high courage on the way, +To prove, what it had proved to his own heart, +The care of God to shield his lord the King. +Then he fell prostrate at the great King's feet, +And tired life ebbed fast to leave him rest. + +He lies amid the hushed and silent court, +The faded lilies still within his hand; +And with his weary, dying eyes he sees +The sword of Constantine above his head, +Giving, at last, the royal accolade, +While the King's face is full of yearning love; +And with his dying ears he hears the words, +That he has bravely striven to resign, +"Sir Christalan, my True and Valiant knight," + +And then the murmur from the assembled court, +"Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True; +God speed the soul of our beloved knight, +Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER KING CONSTANTINE*** + + +******* This file should be named 10495.txt or 10495.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10495 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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