VIIITHE WEREWOLF

HENRY III. SAILING HOME FROM GASCONY, 1243Drawn by Matthew ParisMS. Roy. 14 C. vii

The north wind blew and drove them down upon the coast of England near the river Humber, and there Grim landed, and the place is calledGrimsby to this day. Then Grim set himself to his old occupation of fishing, and he caught sturgeon, whale, turbot, salmon, seal, porpoise, mackerel, flounder, plaice, and thornback. And he and his sons carried the fish about in baskets and sold them.

Yet while Grim fed his family well, Havelok lay at home and did naught. And when Havelok stopped to think about that, he was ashamed, for he was a fine, strong boy.

"Work is no shame," said the King's son to himself.

And the next day he carried to market as much fish as four men could. And every bit of fish did he sell and brought back the money, keeping not a farthing for himself. Alas! there came a famine about this time, and Grim had great fear on Havelok's account lest the boy starve.

"Havelok," said Grim, "our meat is long since gone. For myself it does not matter, but I fear for thee. Thou knowest how to get to Lincoln, and there they will give thee a chance to earn thy food. Since thou art naked, I will make thee a coat from my sail."

This he did, and with the coat on and barefoot the King's son found his way to Lincoln. For two days the lad had no food. On the third day he heard some one crying, "Bearing-men, bearing-men, come here!" Havelok leaped forward to theEarl's cook and bore the food to the castle. Another time he lifted a whole cart-load of fish and bore it to the castle.

The cook looked him over and said: "Wilt thou work for me? I will feed thee gladly."

"Feed me," answered Havelok, "and I will make thy fire burn and wash thy dishes."

And because Havelok was a strong lad and a good boy, as all kings' sons are not, he worked hard from that day forth. He bore all the food in and carried all the wood and the water, and worked as hard as if he were a beast. And he was a merry lad, too, for he knew how to hide his griefs. And the old story says that all who saw him loved him, for he was meek and strong and fair. But still he had nothing but the wretched coat to wear. So the cook took pity on him and bought him span-new clothes and gave him stockings and shoes. And when he had put them on he looked the King's son he was. At the Lincoln games he was "like a mast," taller and straighter than any youth there. In wrestling he overcame every one. Yet he was known for his gentleness. Never before had Havelok seen stone-putting, but when his master told him to try, Havelok threw the stone twelve feet beyond what any one else could do.

The story of the stone-putting was being told in castle and hall when Earl Godrich heard it, and said to himself that here was the tallest, strongest, and fairest man alive, and he would fulfil hispromise and get rid of Goldborough, the King's daughter, by giving her to Havelok, whom he thought to be just a cook's boy. Now Havelok did not wish to marry any more than did Goldborough, but they were forced to. And when they were married Havelok knew not whither they could go, for he saw that Godrich hated them and that their lives were not safe.

Therefore they went on foot to Grimsby, and royal was their welcome. Grim, the fisherman, had died.

But his five children fell on their knees and said: "Welcome, dear lord. Stay here and all is thine."

And that night as they lay on their bed in the fisherman's hut, Goldborough discovered, because of the bright light which came from the mouth of Havelok, that he was a King's son. And it was not long after this they all set sail for Denmark, so that Havelok, with the help of Grim's sons and many others, might win back the kingdom of Denmark.

It was in the house of Bernard Brown, the magistrate of the Danish town, that sixty strong thieves, clad in wide sleeves and closed capes, attacked him. Bernard Brown seized an ax and leaped to the door to defend his home.

One of the thieves shouted at him, "We will go in at this door despite thee."

And he broke the door asunder with a boulder.Whereupon Havelok took the great bar from across the door. And with the bar he slew several, yet the thieves had wounded him in many places, when Grim's sons came upon the scene to defend their lord and saw the thieves treating Havelok as a smith does his anvil. Like madmen the three sons of Grim leaped into the fight, and they fought until not one of the thieves was left alive.

When Earl Ubbe heard of this he rode down to Bernard Brown's. Then he heard the story of Havelok's bravery and of the terrible wounds he had received, so that Bernard Brown feared he might die because of them.

"Fetch Havelok quickly," commanded Ubbe. "If he can be healed, I myself will dub him knight."

When a leech saw the wounds of Havelok he told Ubbe that they could be cured.

"Come forth now," said Ubbe to Havelok, "thou and Goldborough and thy three servants."

And with rejoicing did Ubbe bring them to his city. And about the middle of the night Ubbe saw a great light in the tower where Havelok was sleeping. He peered through a crack and he saw that the "sunny gleam" came from Havelok's mouth. It was as if a hundred and seven candles were burning, and on Havelok's shoulder was a clear, shining cross.

"He is Birkabeyn's heir," said Ubbe, "for neverin Denmark was brother so like to brother as this fair man is like the dead King."

And Earl Ubbe and his men fell at Havelok's feet and awoke him. And very happy was Havelok, and thankful to God. And then came barons and warriors and thanes and knights and common men, and all swore fealty to Havelok. With a bright sword Ubbe dubbed Havelok knight and made him King. And the three sons of Grim were also made knights. Thereat were all men happy, and they wrestled and played, played the harp and the pipe, read romances from a book, and sang old tales. There was every sort of sport and plenty of food.

Finally they all, a thousand knights and five thousand men, set forth that Havelok might take vengeance on the wicked Earl Godard. There was a hard fight, but at last they caught and bound Earl Godard. And he was hung on the gallows and died there. Such was the end of one who betrayed his trust.

The wicked Earl Godrich in England, who had robbed Goldborough of her kingdom, heard that Havelok was become King of Denmark and also that he was come to Grimsby. So he gathered all his army together and there was a great battle. And the battle was going against Havelok, when the wicked hand of Godrich was struck off. After that Havelok and his men were victorious. Then did they condemn the Earl Godrich to death.And he was bound to an ass and led through London and burned at the stake. Such was the end of one who betrayed his trust.

And after that Havelok and Goldborough reigned in England for sixty years. So great was the love of the King and Queen for each other that all marveled at it. Neither was happy away from the other. And never were they angry, for their love for each other was always new.

In the Great Palace of English Literature over one of the golden doors hangs a horn of ivory, and a sword of which the name is Durendal. Above that door is writtenChanson de Roland, which means the Song of Roland. Often in the stillness of the early morning or at dusk the Great Palace rings faintly with the music from that ivory horn which belonged to Roland, and which he sounded for the last time in the Pass of Roncevaux. Or there is heard the clinking of Durendal against the stone of the palace walls—no doubt the wind stirring it where it hangs beside the door it guards.

"Chanson de Roland!" You see the story is French. The Normans brought it with them when they came to conquer Britain in 1066 under William of Normandy. Before the soldiers of William, the minstrel, Taillefer, rode singing of "Charlemagne, and of Roland, and of Oliver, and the vassals who fell at Roncevaux."

"Roland, comrade," said Oliver, "blow thy horn of ivory, and Charles shall hear it and bring hither again his army, and ... succor us."

"Nay, first will I lay on with Durendal, the good sword girded at my side."

"Roland, comrade," urged Oliver, "blow thy horn of ivory, that Charles may hear it."

"God forbid that they should say I sounded my horn for dread of the heathen."

"Prithee look!" begged Oliver. "They are close upon us. Thou wouldst not deign to sound thy horn of ivory. Were the King here we should suffer no hurt."

Oliver was wise and Roland was brave, and the song that the minstrel Taillefer chanted before the conquering hosts of William of Normandy was a wonderful, stirring song. No doubt there flows in English veins to-day much of the courage of Roland and the wisdom of Oliver. Although the English continued English, yet for a long time following the conquest of England by the Normans songs were sung in French rather than in English. And ready and witty was all that was written down in French, for the literature of the Normans was as brightly colored as a jewel and not grand and melancholy as was that of the Anglo-Saxons. "Beowulf" was the battle song of the Anglo-Saxons, the "Song of Roland" that of the Normans. Melancholy was the poem of"Beowulf." White and clear, stirring and flashing in the sunshine was the "Chanson de Roland," even as Roland's beloved sword Durendal, which is heard clinking against the stone of the Great Palace of English Literature.

But "Roland" represented only a fraction of the story-telling in the French poetry of that time. The most exquisite and delightful story-teller of that twelfth century collected and wrote here charming stories on English soil and dedicated them to Henry II., who died in 1189. Her name was Marie de France, and of her lays a rival poet wrote:

All love them much and hold them dear,Baron, count and chevalier,Applaud their form and take delightTo hear them told by day and night.In chief, these tales the ladies please;They listen glad their hearts to ease.

Marie de France's lays are based on British tradition. There are many of these delightful stories. Among the most interesting of them is "The Werewolf."

Once upon a time in the days of King Arthur—for later there are some lines in Malory's "Morte d'Arthur" which tells us that this story must have been true—there lived a man who for part of the week was a wolf—that is, he had the formand the appetite of a wolf, and was called a werewolf. But nobody knew that he was a werewolf for three days in the week. Not even his wife, whom he loved well and devotedly, knew what happened to her husband while he was away from her these three days every week.

It vexed the wife very much that she did not know, but she was afraid to question her husband, lest he be angry. At last one day she did question him.

"Ask me no more," replied the husband, "for if I answered you you would cease to love me."

Nevertheless she gave him no peace until he had told her that three days in the week, because of a spell which was over him, he was forced to be a werewolf, and that when he felt the change coming over him he hid himself in the very thickest part of the forest.

Then the wife demanded to know what became of his clothes, and he answered that he laid them aside. The wife asked where he put them. He begged her not to ask him, for only the garments made it possible for him to return to human shape again. But the wife cried and begged until the knight, her husband, had told her all.

"Wife," he said, "inside the forest on a crossroad is a chapel. Near the chapel under a shrub is a stone. Beneath the stone is a hole, and in that hole do I hide my clothes until the enchantment makes it possible for me to take my human shape again."

Now the wife was not a good wife. Instead of trying to help her husband to get free from the wolf shape he had to assume three days in every week, thereafter she loathed him and was afraid of him. And what is worse still, she betrayed him to another knight. She took this other knight into her confidence and told him where her husband hid his clothes when the spell came upon him and he took the form of a wolf. Thereupon the knight to whom she had told this dreadful secret stole the clothes, and they hid them where the poor wolf could never find them again. After that these two wicked people were married, while the poor wolf wandered about in the forest, grieving, for he had loved his wife well and truly.

Some time after this the King was hunting one day in the forest, and his hounds gave chase to a wolf. At last, when the wretched beast was in danger of being overtaken by the hounds and torn into a thousand pieces, he fled to the King, seized him by the stirrup, and licked his foot submissively.

The King was astonished. He called his companions, and they drove off the dogs, for the King would not have the wolf harmed. But when they started to leave the forest the wolf followed the King and would not be driven away. The King was much pleased, for he had taken a great liking to the wolf. He therefore made a pet of the lonely beast, and at night he slept in the King's ownchamber. All the courtiers came to love the wolf, too, for he was a gentle wolf and did no one any harm.

A long time had passed when one day the King had occasion to hold a court. His barons came from far and near, and among them the knight who had betrayed the werewolf. No sooner did the wolf see him than he sprang at him to kill him. And had the King not called the wolf off he would have torn the false knight to pieces. Every one was astonished that this gentle beast should show such rage. But after the court was over and as time went on they forgot the beast's savage act.

At length the King decided to make a tour throughout his kingdom. And he took the wolf with him, for that was his custom. Now the werewolf's false wife heard that the King was to spend some time in the part of the country where she lived. So she begged for an audience. But no sooner did she enter the presence-chamber than the wolf sprang at her and bit off her nose.

The courtiers were going to slay the beast, but a wise man stayed their weapons.

"Sire," said the councilor, "we have all caressed this wolf and he has never done us any harm. This lady was the wife of a man you held dear, but of whose fate we none of us know anything. Take my counsel and make this lady answer yourquestions, so shall we come to know why the wolf sprang at her."

This was done. The false knight who had married her was brought also, and they told all the wickedness they had done to the poor wolf. Then the King caused the wolf's stolen clothes to be fetched. But the wolf acted as if he did not see the clothes.

"Sire," said the councilor, "if this beast is a werewolf he will not change back into his human shape until he is alone."

They left him alone in the King's chamber, and put the clothes beside him. Then they waited for a long time. Lo, when they entered the chamber again, there lay the long-lost knight in a deep sleep on the King's bed! Quickly did the King run to him and embrace him, and after that he restored to him all his lost lands, and he banished the false wife and her second husband from the country. And they who were banished lived in a strange land, and all the girls among their children and grandchildren were without noses.

So close we this little golden door—not the less precious because little—over which is written in letters all boys and girls should love:Marie de France, who wrote "The Werewolf."

Among all the golden doors in the Great Palace of English Literature about which we are coming to know something, and through some of which we have already passed, there was one golden window on the stairway of the palace. This window on the stairway of the palace looked out upon a busy town and down upon the windings of the river Wye, and off upon hills and upon the ruins of a wonderful old abbey called Tintern Abbey, about which, some six hundred years later, an English poet called William Wordsworth was to write a poem called "Tintern Abbey." Wordsworth wrote "We Are Seven," and also this little poem about a butterfly:

I've watched you now a full half-hour,Self-poised upon that yellow flower;And, little Butterfly! indeedI know not if you sleep or feed.How motionless! Not frozen seasMore motionless! and thenWhat joy awaits you, when the breezeHath found you out among the treesAnd calls you forth again.This plot of orchard ground is ours;My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;Here rest your wings when they are weary;Here lodge as in a sanctuary!Come often to us, fear no wrong;Sit near us on the bough!We'll talk of sunshine and of song,And summer days when we were young;Sweet childish days that were as longAs twenty days are now.

But the golden window at which Geoffrey sat was in Monmouth, and he was called Geoffrey of Monmouth. That was some seven hundred years ago. No doubt the little town was very busy even in 1137 when Geoffrey sat at his window and wrote his famous chronicle calledBritish History.

Before Geoffrey began to write down his marvelous stories, other stories and poems were written. In King Alfred's time, when the home of English literature was shifted from the north to the south, two fine battle songs were written. They were the "Song of Brunanburh" and the "Song of the Fight at Maldon." These were written in the tenth century. "The Charge of the Light Brigade," composed some eight hundred years later by the poet Tennyson, is like these old songs in its short, rapid lines and in its thought. Every one should learn these lines from the poem Alfred Tennyson wrote:

Half a league, half a league,Half a league onward,All in the valley of DeathRode the six hundred."Forward the Light Brigade!Charge for the guns!" he said:Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred."Forward the Light Brigade!"Was there a man dismayed?Not tho' the soldier knewSome one had blunder'd:Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why,Theirs but to do and die:Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred.

Half a league, half a league,Half a league onward,All in the valley of DeathRode the six hundred."Forward the Light Brigade!Charge for the guns!" he said:Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!"Was there a man dismayed?Not tho' the soldier knewSome one had blunder'd:Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why,Theirs but to do and die:Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred.

But we have been long enough away from that golden window by which Geoffrey of Monmouth sat and wrote his immortal stories. Geoffrey was called a chronicler. And what he was supposed to be doing was jotting down accurately historical events year after year. Some of the chronicles written in this way have become the chief sources of English history. Among the men who wrote these chronicles were William of Malmesbury and Matthew Paris. And between them came Geoffrey himself.

It will never be known, unless it should prove possible to roll time back some seven hundredyears, just what Geoffrey did see from his window as he looked out upon the busy town of Monmouth, or all that went on in his nimble mind. In any event it is plain that he had the best of good times inventing or retelling stories in his chronicle. There is to be found the story of King Lear and his three daughters, Regan, Goneril, and Cordelia—Lear, the hero of Shakespeare's play, "King Lear," written over four hundred years later. There, too, is the story of Ferrex and Porrex. Geoffrey had a nimble quill pen with which to follow his nimble wit. He writes of Julius Cæsar and of how he came to Great Britain. What Geoffrey of Monmouth says may be ridiculous enough in the light of history, but there it is, and there is Cæsar himself, not only looking upon the coast of Britain but actually standing upon it. We become familiar, too, with many names known in stories about King Arthur. Perceval is one of these. And Uther Pendragon, who was the father of King Arthur, is another.

One of the marvelous facts about Geoffrey is that when he looked out of that golden window he could see so much farther than just Monmouth. He could see all the way to the sea, and on its shores that beautiful city Tintagel, where Queen Igraine, the mother of Arthur, lived. But in Geoffrey's chronicle she was called Igerna. A name is sometimes like a long, long journey, not only in its romance, but also because it takes you to other lands and other people, and passes, evenas the road upon a long journey, through many changes.

Geoffrey saw from his golden window not only Tintagel, that beautiful South Welsh city by the sea, but also a little village in North Wales called Beddgelert. This little village is set down in the midst of mountains like a lump of sugar in the bottom of a deep cup. Outside this little village is a hill called Dinas Emrys. Geoffrey looked northward out of his golden window in Monmouth, and what do you think he saw? He saw the magician, Merlin, the youth who had never had a father. And this lad was quarreling with another lad in Caernarvon, a Welsh city thirteen miles away from the little village of Beddgelert.

Now Vortigern had been attempting to build a tower on Dinas Emrys, but whatever the workmen did one day was swallowed up the next.

Then some wise men said to Vortigern: "You must find a youth who has never had a father. You must sacrifice him and sprinkle the foundations with his blood."

So Vortigern sent men to find a boy who had never had a father and who should be brought him that they might kill him. When Vortigern's messenger reached Caernarvon, thirteen miles away from Beddgelert and the hill Dinas Emrys, they found two boys playing games and quarreling about their parentage. And one of them,Dabutius, was accusing the other, Merlin, of having no father. They took him to Vortigern.

And Vortigern said, "My magicians told me to seek out a lad who had no father, with whose blood the foundations of my building are to be sprinkled to make it stand."

"Order your magicians," answered Merlin, "to come before me and I will convict them of a lie."

It is a terrible thing to be convicted of a lie, and of course the magicians did not wish to come. But King Vortigern made them come and ordered them to sit down before Merlin.

Merlin spoke to them after this manner: "Because you are ignorant what it is that hinders the foundations of the tower, you have told the King to kill me and to cement the stones with my blood. But tell me now, what is there under the foundations that will not suffer it to stand?"

To this they gave no answer, for they were frightened.

Then said Merlin, "I entreat your Majesty would command your workmen to dig into the ground, and you will find a pond which causes the foundations to sink."

This the King had done, and a pond was found there.

Then said Merlin to the King's magicians, "Tell me, ye false men, what is there under the pond?"

But they were afraid to answer.

Merlin turned to King Vortigern and said, "Command the pond to be drained, and at the bottom you will see two hollow stones, and in them are two dragons asleep."

The King had the pond drained, and he found all just as Merlin said it would be. And as the King sat on the edge of the drained pond out came the two dragons, one red and one white, and, approaching each other, they began to fight, blowing forth fire from their nostrils. At last the white dragon got the advantage and made the red dragon fly to the other end of the drained pond.

When King Vortigern asked Merlin to explain what this meant, Merlin burst into tears.

Then commanding his voice, he spoke: "In the days that are to come gold shall be squeezed from the lily and the nettle, and silver shall flow from the hoofs of bellowing cattle. The teeth of wolves shall be blunted and the lion's whelps shall be transformed into sea-fishes."

And unto this day nobody knows exactly what Merlin meant, or what Geoffrey thought he meant, although there has been much guessing.

Geoffrey must have been very fond of looking out of his window and seeing Merlin, for many a story he tells about him. There is the story of how Merlin helped to remove the stones of the Giants' Dance from Ireland. Giants of old had brought them from the farthest coast of Africa.They were mystical stones and had value to heal and cure men. When these stones were found too heavy to be lifted by human hands, Merlin found a way, nevertheless, to lift them. Then the stones of the Giants' Dance were carried across the sea and placed in England at Stonehenge. It is an exciting story Geoffrey tells about the Giants' Dance, yet I fear we know no more really how the big stones got to Stonehenge than we know about the ribs of our solid earth. Certainly those stones were set up in Stonehenge even before men began recording history or Geoffrey of Monmouth sat in his golden window.

And there is the story of the 40,060 kings who never existed—which is more almost than ever did exist. And of the coming of St. Augustine to England, bringing with him the gentle religion of Christ.

It would be very nice if all this about Merlin and the dragons and the Giants' Dance were what might be called true history. Alas, it is not! In the first place, Geoffrey tells stories which vary greatly from what was actually known to be history. Then, too, this chronicle is full, as you have seen, of miraculous stories of one sort or another. And there are other reasons, also, why these delightful stories of Geoffrey of Monmouth must be taken with a pinch of salt.

But it is because Geoffrey did sit at his window in the little town of Monmouth, writing thesestories which have to be taken with a pinch of salt, that English story-telling began to grow. Geoffrey's imagination was to English story-telling what the sunlight is in making a tulip grow. Story-telling grew out of the Chronicles, the so-called historical literature. The men of Geoffrey's time said that "he had lied saucily and shamelessly." No doubt he had. Yet these same men could not help reading the stories he told, for they were so interesting that all men read them. What he had done was to take several Welsh legends, put them together cleverly, as a carpenter joins a delicate bit of woodwork, translate these Welsh legends into Latin and call the work a Chronicle. Not only was it read in England, but it was read all over the continent of Europe, too. It had great success.

Geoffrey Gaimer put these stories into French. The stories traveled to France. Once there, other legends were added, and when Geoffrey's Chronicle turned up again in England it came back as the work of Wace, a Norman trouveur, or ballad-singer. But Geoffrey's stories were too good to let drop even after they had been through so many hands. An English priest in Worcestershire by the name of Layamon, translating the French poem which Wace had made out of Geoffrey's prose stories, retold the stories in English poetry. That was in 1205, after Geoffrey had died.

Geoffrey of Monmouth must have been veryhappy as he sat in his sunny, golden window and heard about the tales he had written there. He must have chuckled many a time over what the world had made out of his nimble story-telling wits. English literature could not be at all the same, in either prose or poetry, if it were not for that golden palace door over which was writtenWelshor that window upon the stairway where Geoffrey sat.

But it was the Normans who brought the taste for history with them to England in 1066, when they conquered the land which had been King Alfred's land. It was some time before the Normans became what we call English in their feeling. Probably the Normans would never have become so strongly English in feeling if English patriotism, even after the conquest of 1066, had not remained very much alive. The English had written down in English some of the proverbs of their former King Alfred. The parents of the chronicler, William of Malmesbury, were both English and Norman. And, strangely enough, Layamon's "Brut" is not unlike the poetry of the cowherd Cædmon, the first of the great English singers, the first of English poets.

Perhaps this very hour the sun is shining down upon that golden window of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and laughing for joy because the man who "lied so saucily" was the first of the great English story-tellers.

Geoffrey's window is a very fascinating place to be—possibly the most interesting window the world has ever seen. It is not just one lifetime which has found that window interesting, but more lifetimes than we can count comfortably. Sir Thomas Malory, who wrote hisMorte d'Arthurin 1469, fairly lived in that window; so did Shakespeare when he wrote "King Lear" in 1605, and even the modern poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, who wrote "The Charge of the Light Brigade," composed a series of poems called "Idylls of the King," which return for their sources through Malory to Geoffrey at his window.

There is one story, however, which Geoffrey did not see as he looked out of his golden window—the story of the famous kitchen boy, or "Gareth and Linet." This tale is found in Sir Thomas Malory'sMorte d'Arthur, which was not completed until 1469, many years after the writingof Geoffrey's Chronicle in 1147. Clear and sunshiny is the English of this wonderful book of Malory's, and nowhere in the world can more beautiful, exciting, and marvelous stories be found than between the covers of theMorte d'Arthur. TheMorte d'Arthurwas written about twenty years after the invention of printing by Coster and Gutenberg. Sixteen years after the completion of the book by Malory, Caxton printed it in black letter in English. There is only one perfect copy of this book by Caxton, the first of the English printers, and that is in Brooklyn, New York. In the preface which Caxton wrote for theMorte d'Arthur, he says that in this book will be found "many joyous and pleasant histories, and noble and renowned acts of humanity, gentleness and chivalries.... Do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you good fame and renown." Certainly that is what the kitchen boy did, and it brought him to good fame.

It was one day when King Arthur was holding a Round Table court at Kynke Kenadonne by the sea. And they were at their meat, three hundred and fifty knights, when there came into the hall two men well clad and fine-looking. And, as the old story says, there leaned upon their shoulders "the goodliest young man and the fairest that ever they all saw, and he was large and long and broad in the shoulders, and well visaged, and the fairest and the largest-handed that ever man saw,but he fared as if he might not go or bear himself—"

KNIGHT IN ARMORMS. Roy. 2 A. xxiiLate Thirteenth Century

The two men supported the young man up to the high dais upon which Arthur was feasting. When the young man that was being helped forward was seen there was silence. Then the young man stretched up straight and besought Arthur that he would give him three gifts.

"The first gift I will ask now," he said, "but the other two gifts I will ask this day twelve months wheresoever you hold your high feast."

"Ask," replied Arthur, "and you shall have your asking."

"Sir, this is my petition for this feast: that you will give me meat and drink enough for this twelvemonth, and at that day I will ask mine other two gifts."

"My fair son," said Arthur, "ask better. This is but simple asking."

But the young man would ask no more. And when the King, who had taken a great liking to him, asked him for his name, the young man said that he could not tell him.

The King took him to Sir Kay, the steward, and charged him to give the young man the best of all the meats and drinks and to treat him as a lord's son.

But Sir Kay was angry, and said: "An he had come of gentlemen, he would have asked of you horse and armor, but such as he is, so he asketh.And since he hath no name, I shall give him a name that shall be Beaumains, that is Fair-hands, and into the kitchen shall I bring him, and there he shall have fat brose every day, that he shall be as fat by the twelvemonth's end as a pork hog."

And Sir Kay scorned him and mocked at him. On hearing this both Sir Launcelot, the greatest of the Knights of the Round Table, and Sir Gawaine were wroth and bade Sir Kay leave his mocking.

"I dare lay my head," said Sir Launcelot, "he shall prove a man of great worship."

"It may not be by no reason," replied Sir Kay, "for as he is so hath he asked."

Beaumains, or Fair-hands, was put into the kitchen, and lay there nightly as the boys of the kitchen did. The old book says: "He endured all that twelvemonth, and never displeased man nor child, but always he was meek and mild. But ever when he saw any jousting of knights, that would he see an he might."

Sir Launcelot gave him gold to spend, and clothes, and whenever the boy went where there were games or feats of strength he excelled in them all.

But always Sir Kay would taunt him with these words spoken to others, "How like you my boy of the kitchen?"

And so Fair-hands, the kitchen boy, continuedin service for a year. At the close of the year came a lady to the court and told about her sister who was besieged in a castle by a tyrant who was called the Red Knight of the Red Laundes. But she would not tell her name, and therefore the King would not permit any of his knights to go with her to rescue her sister from the Red Knight, who was one of the worst knights in the world.

But at the King's refusal, Beaumains, or Fair-hands, as he was called, spoke, "Sir King, God thank you, I have been this twelvemonth in your kitchen, and have had my full sustenance, and now I will ask my two gifts that be behind."

"Ask, upon my peril," said the King.

"Sir, this shall be my two gifts: first, that you will permit me to go with this maiden that I may rescue her sister. And second, that Sir Launcelot shall ride after me and make me knight when I require it of him."

And both these requests the King granted. But the maiden was angry because, she said, he had given her naught but his kitchen page.

Then came one to Fair-hands and told him that his horse and armor were come for him. And there was a dwarf with everything that Beaumains needed, and all of it the richest and best it was possible for man to have. But though he was horsed and trapped in cloth of gold, he had neither shield nor spear.

Then said Sir Kay openly before all, "I will ride after my boy of the kitchen."

Just as Beaumains overtook the maiden, so did Sir Kay overtake his former kitchen page.

"Sir, know you not me?" he demanded.

"Yea," said Beaumains, "I know you for an ungentle knight of the court. Therefore beware of me."

Thereupon Sir Kay put his spear in the rest and ran straight upon him, and Beaumains came fast upon him with his sword in his hand. And Beaumains knocked the spear out of the knight's hand and Sir Kay fell down as he had been dead. Beaumains took Sir Kay's shield and spear and rode away upon his own horse. The dwarf took Sir Kay's horse.

Just then along came Sir Launcelot, and Beaumains challenged him to a joust. And so they fought for the better part of an hour, rushing together like infuriated boars. And Sir Launcelot marveled at the young man's strength, for he fought more like a giant than like a knight. At last he said, "Fight not so sore; your quarrel and mine is not so great but we may leave off."

"Truly that is truth," said Beaumains, "but it doth me good to feel your strength, and yet, my lord, I showed not the most I could do."

Then Sir Launcelot confessed to Beaumains that he had much ado to save himself, and that Beaumains need fear no earthly knight. Andthen Beaumains confessed to Sir Launcelot that he was the brother of Sir Gawaine and the youngest son of King Lot; that his mother, Dame Morgawse, was sister to King Arthur, and that his name was Gareth.

After that Launcelot knighted Gareth, and Gareth rode on after the maiden whose sister was kept a prisoner by the Red Knight.

When he overtook her she turned upon him and said: "Get away from me, for thou smellest all of the kitchen. Thy clothes are dirty with grease and tallow. What art thou but a ladle-washer?"

"Damosel," replied Beaumains, "say to me what you will, I will not go from you whatsoever you say, for I have undertaken to King Arthur for to achieve your adventure, and so shall I finish it to the end or I shall die therefor."

Then came a man thereby calling for help, for six thieves were after him. Even when Beaumains had slain all the six thieves and set the man free from his fears, then the maiden used him despicably, calling him kitchen boy and other shameful names.

On the next day Beaumains slew two knights who would not allow him and the maiden to cross a great river.

But all the maiden did was to taunt him. "Alas," she said, "that ever a kitchen page should have that fortune to destroy even two doughtyknights; but it was not rightly force, for the first knight stumbled and he was drowned in the water, and by mishap thou earnest up behind the last knight and thus happily slew him."

"Say what you will," said Beaumains, "but with whomsoever I have ado withall, I trust to God to serve him or he depart."

"Fie, fie, foul kitchen knave," answered the maiden, "thou shalt see knights that shall abate thy boast."

And so she continued to scold him and would not rest therefrom. And they came to a black land, and there was a black hawthorn, and thereon hung a black banner, and on the other side there hung a black shield, and by it stood a black spear great and long, and a great black horse covered with silk, and a black stone fast by.

And before the Knight of the Black Lands the maiden used Beaumains despicably, calling him kitchen knave and other such names. And the Black Knight and Beaumains came together for battle as if it had been thunder. After hard struggle Beaumains killed the Black Knight and rode on after the damosel.

"Away, kitchen boy, out of the wind," she cried, "for the smell of thy clothes grieves me."

And so ever despitefully she used him. Yet he overcame the Green Knight, who was the brother of the Black Knight, and spared his life at the maiden's request.

And it was after the vanquishing of the Green Knight that they saw a tower as white as any snow, and all around the castle it was double-diked. Over the tower gate there hung fifty shields of divers colors, and under that tower was a fair meadow. And the lord of the tower looked out of his window and beheld Beaumains, the maiden, and the dwarf coming.

"With that knight will I joust," called the lord of the tower, "for I see that he is a knight errant."

And before the knight the maiden used him despitefully.

And ever he replied, patiently, "Damosel, you are uncourteous so to rebuke me, for meseemeth I have done you good service." Then did the heart of the maiden soften a little.

"I marvel what manner of man you be," she said, "for it may never be otherwise but that you come of a noble blood, for so shamefully did woman never rule a knight as I have done you, and ever courteously you have suffered me, and that comes never but of gentle blood."

"Damosel," answered Beaumains, "a knight may little do that may not suffer a damosel. And whether I be gentleman born or not, I let you wit, fair damosel, I have done you gentleman's service."

She begged him to forgive her, and this Beaumains did with all his heart.

Then they met Sir Persant of Inde, who was dwelling only seven miles from the siege, and the maiden besought Beaumains to flee while there was yet time. But he refused.

And when Sir Persant and Beaumains met they met with all that ever their horses might run, and broke their spears either into three pieces, and their horses rushed so together that both their horses fell dead to the earth. And they got off their horses and fought for more than two hours. And Beaumains spared his life only at the maiden's request.

Then Beaumains told Sir Persant that his name was Sir Gareth. And the maiden said that hers was Linet, and that she was sister to Dame Lionesse, who was besieged.

Then the dwarf took word to the lady who was besieged, and the others came on after.

"How escaped he," said the lady, Dame Lionesse, "from the brethren of Sir Persant?"

"Madam," said the dwarf, "as a noble knight should."

"Ah," said Dame Lionesse, "commend me unto your gentle knight, and pray him to eat and drink and make him strong. Also pray him that he be of good heart and courage, for he shall meet with a knight who is neither of bounty, courtesy, nor gentleness; for he attendeth unto nothing but murder, and that is the cause I cannot praise him nor love him."

All that night Beaumains lay in an hermitage, and upon the morn he and the damosel Linet broke their fast and heard mass. Then took they their horses, and, riding through a fair forest, they came out upon a plain where there were many pavilions and tents and a castle and much smoke and a great noise. When they came near the siege Beaumains espied upon great trees goodly knights hanging by the neck, their shields about their necks with their swords, and gilt spurs upon their heels. There hung high forty knights.

"What meanest this?" said Sir Beaumains.

"Fair sir, "answered the damosel, "these knights came hither to this siege to rescue my sister, Dame Lionesse, and when the Red Knight of the Red Lands had overcome them he put them to this shameful death."

Then rode they to the dikes, and saw them double-diked with full warlike walls; and there were lodged many great lords nigh the walls; and there was great noise of minstrelsy; and the sea beat upon the side of the walls, where there were many ships and mariners' noise. And also there was fast by a sycamore-tree, and there hung a horn, the greatest that ever they saw, of an elephant's bone. Therewith Beaumains spurred his horse straight to the sycamore-tree, and blew so eagerly the horn that all the siege and the castle rang thereof. And then there leaped out knights out of their tents and pavilions, and they withinthe castle looked over the walls and out of windows. Then the Red Knight of the Red Lands armed him hastily, and two barons set on his spurs upon his heels, and all was blood red, his armor, spear, and shield.

"Sir," said the damosel Linet, "look you be glad and light, for yonder is your deadly enemy, and at yonder window is my sister, Dame Lionesse."

Then Beaumains and the Red Knight put their spears in their rests, and came together with all their might, and either smote the other in the middle of their shields, that the surcingles and cruppers broke and fell to the earth both, and the two knights lay stunned upon the ground. But soon they got to their feet and drew their swords and ran together like two fierce lions. And then they fought until it was past noon, tracing, racing, and foining as two boars. Thus they endured until evensong time, and their armor was so hewn to pieces that men might see their naked sides. Then the Red Knight gave Beaumains a buffet upon the helm, so that he fell groveling to the earth.

Then cried the maiden Linet on high: "Oh, Sir Beaumains, where is thy courage? Alas! my sister beholdeth thee and she sobbeth and weepeth."

When Beaumains heard this he lifted himself up with great effort and got upon his feet, and lightly he leaped to his sword and gripped it in his hand. And he smote so thick that he smotethe sword out of the Red Knight's hand. Sir Beaumains fell upon him and unlaced his helm to have slain him. But at the request of the lords he saved his life and made him yield him to the lady.

And so it was that Beaumains, or Sir Gareth, as his real name was, came into the presence of his lady and won her love through his meekness and gentleness and courtesy and courage, as every true knight should win the love of his lady.

So ends happily one of the charming stories of adventure and knighthood in one of the greatest Cycles of Romance the world has ever known. Indeed, in that Great Palace we have entered, and some of whose golden doors we have been opening, there is no door more loved by human beings than the one over which is writtenRomance, for boys and girls and their elders have always loved a romantic story, and always will.

There are four great romantic stories in the Palace of English Literature. The first isKing Arthur and the Round Table, which Geoffrey of Monmouth discovered for us by his golden window. The second great romance is the story of Charlemagne. This was in the twelfth century, and the most valiant story which grew out of the Charlemagne Cycle was that of Roland. Every one should know the story of Roland and his famous sword, Durendal. The third is theLifeof Alexander, which came to England from the east. And the fourth is theSiege of Troy, composed in the thirteenth century and written in Latin.

It takes many, many stories to satisfy our love of Romance. As we pass through the golden door over which is writtenRomance, one whole wall is filled with the names of lesser romances forgotten long, long ago. But the stories which Sir Thomas Malory gave us in hisMorte d'Arthur, written in 1469, will never be forgotten as long as the English language is spoken.

200-600

Romans leave Britain, 409-420.

Coming of Angles and Saxons, 449.

King Arthur, d. 520.

St. Augustine, 354-430.

Earliest Gaelic lays, 200-300.

St. Patrick, d. 465.

Merlin, 475-575.

Taliesin, 500-560.

"Traveller's Song," Widsith.

Galen, the great doctor, d. 200.

Baths of Caracalla, 215.

Great Roman Roads.

Underground churches for Christians, 250-260.

Glass used in cathedral windows, 300.

First bells in Europe.

The first clock, a water-clock, 5th century.

600-1066

Charlemagne, 742-814.

First landing of Danes, 787.

Alfred, 871-900.

Battle of Brunanburh, 937.

Canute, 1016-1035.

Macbeth, 1040-1057.

Edward the Confessor, 1042.

Harold, 1066.

Beowulf, 7th century, formative period.

Cædmon, late 7th century.

Judith.

The Fight at Finnesburg.

St. Cuthbert, d. 686.

Aldhelm, 655-709.

Arabian Nights(Traditions of), c. 700.

"Deor's Lament."

Bede, 670?-735.

Cynewulf, c. 725-800.

Old German alliterative poetry, 8th poetry, 8th century

Nennius, Historia Britonum, probl. 9th century.

Alfred's translations, after 871.

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 875-1154.

_Asser's Life of Alfred_, 910.

Poems "Battle of Brunanburh," 937; "Battle of Maldon," 994.

First medieval drama, 980.

Aelfric's Homilies, 995.

Early Chanson de Gestes and Fabliaux, 1000 and later.

The first stone English churches, 680.

The organ used in a church, 757.

Worms Cathedral commenced, 996.

1066-1200

William the Conqueror, 1066-1087.

The Crusades, 1095-1270.

Feudal system in England.

_Domesday Book_, 1086.

William II., 1087-1100.

Henry I., 1100-1135.

Stephen, 1135-1154.

Civil War, 1139-1142.

Henry II., 1154-1189.

Thomas à Becket, d. 1170.

Richard I., 1189-1199.

John, 1199-1216.

"Chanson de Roland," composed 1066-1097?

Archbishop Anselm, 1093-1109.

William of Guienne, the first troubadour, late 11th century.

William of Malmesbury, 1095-1142.

Chansons d'Alexandre, 1050-1150.

Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth, 1137.

Nibelungen Lied, c. 1140.

Wace's "Brut d'Angleterre," 1155.

Minnesingers.

Arthurian legends, 12th century.

Giraldus Cambrensis, 1147-1216.

Crestien de Troyes, 1140-1227.

Gottfried von Strasburg.

Marie de France, Lais, late 12th century.

Striking clocks with wheels, late 11th century.

Westminster Hall and London Bridge built, late 11th century.

Wool manufactured in England, early 12th century.

Silk cultivated in Sicily, 1146.

Leaning Tower of Pisa commenced, 1174.

1200-1350

Magna Charta, 1215.

Henry III., 1216-1272.

The Barons' War, 1262-1266.

Edward I., 1272-1307.

Wales subdued, 1282.

William Wallace, fl. 1296-1298.

Edward II., 1307-1327.

Robert Bruce, 1306-1329.

Battle of Bannockburn, 1314,

Edward III., 1327-1377.

Scotland reorganized, 1328.

Opening of Hundred Years' War with France, 1337.

Walther von der Vogelweide, c. 1170-1235.

St. Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226.

Wolfram von Eschenbach's "Parzival," early 13th century.

The Bestiary, early 13th century.

Romance of the Rose, 13th and 14th centuries.

Havelok (English version), 1300.

Bevis of Hampton (English version), c. 1300.

Guy of Warwick (English version), c. 1300.

Mabinogion, 1250-1290.

King Horn (English version), 1250.

Dante, 1265-1321.

Jean de Meung, b. 1280.

University of Paris Charter, c. 1200.

The University of Oxford Charter, c. 1200.

The University of Cambridge Charter, c. 1231.

Roger Bacon, 1214-1292. (Reference to gunpowder.)

Cologne Cathedral commenced, 1249.

First rag paper, c. 1300.

First apothecaries in England, 1345.

Glass windows in general use, 1345.

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