King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemly is to see:
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre;
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round:
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone! a boone! O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and me.
At Tearne-Wadling,[4] his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May pass that castle-walle;
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
This grimme baròne, 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused me.
And when I told him, King Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd he, that cuckold kinge,
To meete me if he dare.
Upp then sterted King Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.
King Arthur sets off in a great rage. The opprobrious term, which galled
him the more because it was true, fired his blood, and he challenged the
"grimme baròne" to mortal combat.
Sir Gawaine, who seems to have been of a stature as gigantic as the
famous Sir Hugh Cæsar, who is buried at Penrith, conquered him by
enchantment: his sinews lost their strength, his arms sank powerless at
his side; and he only received the boon of life at the hands of his
enemy by swearing upon his faith as a knight, to return upon New Year's
day, and bring "true word what thing it was that women most desired."
Go fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede,
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne-Wadling,
Beneath the castle-walle;
"Come forth; come forth; thou proud baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinews lost their strengthe,
Down sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthùre,
Nowe yield thee unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better terms maye bee.
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling
Upon the New Yeare's daye:
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthùre, he says,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sweare upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme baròne,
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.
King Arthur made due inquiry; but it was not so easy a matter to
discover the secret.
Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte:
In letters all King Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe;
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
As New Year's day approached, his tribulation increased; for though he
might have told the "grimme baròne" with much truth many things that
women did much desire, he was not at all sure that his version of what
they most desired, would hit the fancy of the Lord of Tarn-Wadling, who
had set him to expound the riddle. He would not give up, however, and
one day,--
As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sitte
Between an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in "red scarlette."
Her nose was crookt and turned outwàrde,
Her chin stoode all awreye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.
This ill-conditioned damsel tells him the secret, however, upon
condition that he will bring her a "fair and courtly knight to marry
her,"--a condition which, considering all the circumstances, must have
seemed to the good king as bad as the jumping out of the frying-pan into
the fire. The great secret is, as she expresses it, "that all women will
have their wille, and this is their chief desyre," which Arthur
forthwith tells to the "grimme baròne;" and so acquits himself as far as
he is concerned. The other trouble, however, still remains, and fills
the king's mind with anxiety. Queen Guinevere, who was outraged as well
as her husband by the opprobrious message of the "grimme baròne," but
who had never thought of the very obvious solution of the riddle he had
been set, comes out to meet him on his return, and inquires how he has
sped. He details his new tribulation in having promised to procure a
fair knight to marry this ugly, mis-shapen creature. Comfort is nearer
at hand than he thought, and Sir Gawaine, his own nephew, "his sister's
son," bids him "be merrye and lighte," for he will marry her, however
foul and loathsome she may be. He does so accordingly:--
And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
"Come turne to me, mine owne wed-lord,
Come turne to mee, I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
He sawe a young ladye faire.
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe;
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Agreeably surprised at the change, Sir Gawaine soon learns to love the
lady. She informs him that, by a cruel fate, she cannot be fair both
night and day; and asks him which he prefers. He hints that the night
would be most pleasant; to which she replies:--
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not go, with mine?
"My faire ladyè, Sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art my owne ladye
Thou shalt have all thy wille."
The spell is broken. She tells him her history; and that henceforth she
shall be fair both night and day.
My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He took to wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire younge maide,
In the grene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds;
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yonge faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me for his wife:
Nor fully to game mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille;
Until he wolde yielde to be ruled by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
She witch'd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee a gentle knighte.
Another ballad, equally celebrated, though not so beautiful, also
relates to King Arthur's residence at Carlisle, and to the truth of the
imputation cast upon Queen Guinevere by the "grimme baròne" of the last
story. It is entitled "The Boy and the Mantle," commencing somewhat
uncouthly:--
In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child
That cold much of wisdome.
This "child" brings that wondrous mantle which no lady who is not chaste
can wear; and it is tried upon all the dames of the court. When Queen
Guinevere put it on, it was suddenly rent from the top to the bottom,
and turned in succession all manner of colours, and is told as
follows:--
God speed thee, king Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate;
And the goodly queene Guinevere,
I cannott her forgett.
I tell you, lords, in this hall;
I bid you all to "heede;"
Except you be the more surer
Is you for to dread.
He plucked out of his "porterner,"
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
Have thou here, king Arthur;
Have thou here of mee,
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse.
Then every knight in the king's court
Began to care for "his."
Forth came dame Guinevere;
To the mantle shee her "hied;"
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett she was affrayd.
When she had taken the mantle;
She stoode as shee had beene madd;
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.
One while was it "gule;"
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was it wadded:
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was it blacke
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth king Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
She threw down the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver, and the walker
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne,
That hither had it broughte.
The lady of Sir Kay, another of King Arthur's knights, tries it on with
no better success; and the ballad thus corroborates the old traditions
reported by the earliest historians, that the court of the British King
was anything but a pure one, "and that Queen Guinevere was noted for
breach of faith to her husband," especially with her husband's friend,
Sir Lancelot du Lake, the hero himself of many a goodly ballad; and of
some passages in the Morte Arthur.
Mixing the real with the fabulous history of Carlisle, and taking both
in chronological order, we must leave these ancient ballads to relate
that, during the period of the British Kings, Carlisle suffered from the
incursions of the Scots and Picts, by whom it was ultimately reduced to
ruins; it was rebuilt by Egfrid, King of Northumberland, who surrounded
and fortified it with a wall; founded a monastery and a college of
secular priests. It was once more destroyed by the Danes, about the
year 900, who threw down the walls, burned its houses, chiefly built of
wood, and killed every person in it, man, woman, and child. It remained
in ruins, it is believed, for nearly 200 years. On the return of William
Rufus from Alnwick, after concluding a peace with the turbulent Scotch,
he passed over the remains of this once celebrated city, and observing
that it must have been a place of great strength, and could be made so
again, he resolved to rebuild it for the protection of the border. He
did so: and Carlisle became of more importance than it had ever been
before. Its castle was built and garrisoned; and every means taken to
render it a stronghold both for offensive and defensive warfare. Henry
the First completed what Rufus had so well begun, erected Carlisle into
an Episcopal see in the year 1132, making Athelwold, his confessor, the
first bishop.
In Evans's Collection of Old Ballads is one relating to a bishop of
Carlisle at this early period. It is entitled "Bishop Thurston and the
King of Scots," and contains some beautiful passages which render it
worthy of all the publicity that can be given to it; especially as the
whole composition inculcates sentiments of abhorrence for warfare, rare
at the time it was penned, but now, happily, in the ascendant. Soon
after King Stephen's departure for Normandy, A.D. 1137, the King of
Scotland entered England in a hostile manner. Stephen's Government was
not in a position to resist an invasion at that time; and the miseries
of war were averted by the interposition of the venerable Bishop
Thurston, who prevailed upon the Scotch King to meet him at Roxburgh,
and used such arguments as induced him to return to his own country in
peace. They are said to have been arguments of Christian charity, and
not the arguments of policy and the sword, which bishops as well as
barons could use in those days. A few stanzas will show the excellent
spirit of the ballad.
Through the fair country of Tiviotdale
King David marched forth;
King David and his princely son,
The heroes of the North.
And holy Thurston fro' merry Carlisle,
In haste his way doth wind,
With many a cross-bearer before,
And many a knight behind.
The arguments used by the bishop to dissuade the invader are of
universal interest, and as applicable now as then:--
Out then spoke the holy Thurston,
And full of woe spake he,
"O Christ, thy kingdom of heavenly bliss,
Alas, when shall we see!
For here on earth is nought but sin,
And kings for pride do ill,
And when they with each other war
The poor folks blood must spill.
What hath the husbandman done wrong
That he must spoil his grain?
What the poor widow, and what the child,
That they must all be slain?
And what is the simple maid to blame
To be made of lust the prey?
And what the lowly village priest
That they so oft do slay?
And when the doleful day of doom
Shall call ye from the grave,
From the crying blood of these innocents
What tyrants shall ye save?
Now think thee well, O mortal King,
And thy misdeeds bemoan,
And think what will save thy hapless soul,
When all thy pomp is gone.
Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul,
Though bounteous they be given;
Nor the rearing of abbeys all rich endowed
Will carry thy soul to heaven."
From the time of Henry I. the place began to prosper, though it appears
from Stowe that, in 1829, a great portion of it was burned down. In the
year 1300, King Edward I. summoned his barons and knights to meet him
here on the feast-day of St. John the Baptist, to prepare for the
invasion of Scotland; which was afterwards commenced by the siege of
Carlaverock castle. The same monarch also summoned a Parliament to meet
here in the year 1307, the last parliament of his reign. A complete list
of the members who attended is to be found in Stowe's _Annals_,
including, says the historian, "eighty-seven earls and barons, twenty
bishops, sixty-one abbots, and eight priors, besides many deacons,
archdeacons and other inferior clerks. The subject of their
deliberations was the Scottish war, and the sore annoyance given by
Robert Bruce. The King remained here from January, when the Parliament
was summoned, during all the winter and summer, disposing of many things
concerning Scotland at his pleasure," but vexing himself to death at his
inability, from sickness and other causes, to march against Robert
Bruce. He had some revenge, however, for a party of his men "capturing
one Thomas, that was a knight, and one Alexander, that was a priest and
dean of Glasgow," who had been sent by Robert Bruce to "allure away the
English people by gentle persuasion;" he had them summarily hanged,
drawn, and quartered, and placed their heads upon the gates of
Carlisle--those gates where the heads of so many Scotchmen were
afterwards to grin in ghastly horror until 1745.
Among the poetical and historical associations connected with Carlisle,
the famous battle of Otterbourne, and the still more famous ballad which
celebrates it, must not be omitted. In the twelfth year of Richard II.,
A.D. 1388, the Scotch made a great raid over the border, and ravaged the
whole country about Carlisle, driving away large quantities of cattle,
and taking no less than 300 men prisoners. Another division of them
extended their ravages into the counties of Northumberland and Durham;
and grew so insolent as to render a vigorous effort necessary to crush
them, on the part of the English.
It fell about the Lammas tide
When yoemen win their hay,
The doughty Douglass 'gan to ride
In England to take a prey.
The Earl of Fife withoute strife
_He bound him over Solway_.
The great wolde even together ride
The race they may rue for aye.
The version of the ballad, as given by Percy, is the only one of the
many versions extant which makes allusion to the party that ravaged
Carlisle. The main interest is centred around Newcastle, and on the
doings of the other division of the Scotch. There is, however, another
ballad of which Carlisle is more exclusively the theme. It is somewhat
less known to the English reader, not being found in Percy's _Reliques_;
and describes a scene which was very common to the border for a long
period. Mr. Gilbert has illustrated it by a picturesque sketch. The
principal portions of this ballad, sufficient to tell the story, are
here transcribed. In the year 1596, William Armstrong, of Kinmont,
better known as Kinmont Willie, a noted reiver, or border trooper, and
stealer of Englishmen's cattle, was taken prisoner by Lord Scrope, the
Warden of the Western Marches, and safely lodged in Carlisle Castle. A
truce existed at the time between Lord Scrope and the Lord of Buccleugh,
who severally watched over the interests of the English and Scottish
sides of the border; and the Lord of Buccleugh, incensed that the truce
had been broken by the capture of Willie, demanded that he should be set
at liberty. Lord Scrope refused; and the Lord of Buccleugh, with a small
body of two hundred men, performed the daring feat of surprising the
castle of Carlisle, and rescuing his countryman. The "fause Sakelde,"
alluded to in the ballad, was the then possessor of Corby castle, and
sheriff of Cumberland--the chief of the powerful family of the
Salkeldes; and "Hairibee" was the slang phrase for the place of
execution at Carlisle.