Darker and wilder grew the night, when, just as the waves seemed
about to overwhelm the ship, a voice from the air cried, clear and
strong: "Olger, I wait for thee. Come, and fear not the waves." And
immediately he cast himself into the sea, and was borne on the crest
of a great billow high up in the air, and placed in safety among the
rocks. A weird light shone through the gloom, and showed a narrow
pathway through the crags, and, following this, Olger presently saw a
brilliant glow in front of him, which gradually took the shape of a
shining palace, which none can see by day, but which at nightfall
glows with unearthly splendour. Its walls were of ivory, inlaid with
gold and ebony, and within its spacious hall was set a most rare
banquet upon a golden table. But the only inhabitant of the palace
was a fairy horse named Papillon, who signed to Olger to seat himself
at the banquet, and brought him water in a golden pitcher for his
hands, and served him at table while he ate. When he had finished,
Papillon carried him off to a bed, in the pillars of which stood
golden candlesticks, wherein wax tapers burned the whole night
through.
So Olger slept; but when he awoke next day, the fairy palace had
vanished in the morning light, and he found himself lying in a fair
garden, where the trees were always green and the flowers unfading
and the summer never comes to an end, where no storm ever darkens the
sweet, soft sky, and the chill of sunset is not known. For it was a
garden in the vale of Avalon, in Fairyland.
And as he gazed around him, greatly wondering, there appeared at his
side Morgan le Fay, Queen of the Fairies, clothed in shining white
apparel, and said to him: "Welcome, dear knight, to Avalon. Long
have I waited and wearied for your coming. Now you are mine for
ever. The ages may roll away, and the world fall to pieces; we will
dream for ever in this vale, where all things are the same." Then
she put an enchanted ring on his finger, and immediately he became a
youth again, beautiful and vigorous. And on his head she placed a
crown of myrtle leaves and laurel, all in gold; and Olger remembered
no more his former life, for she had given him the Crown of
Forgetfulness.
So Olger sojourned in that fair land; and there he met and talked
with King Arthur, healed now of his mortal wound, and the forms of
Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram and of many other noble knights of the
Table Bound.
[Illustration: OLGER IN FAIRYLAND]
And so two hundred years passed by like a beautiful dream.
Meantime sad events had taken place in the land of France. No great
leader had arisen after Charles the Great, and the land had fallen
into poverty and shame. Everywhere the Franks were beaten back by
Paynim and by Saracen, and chivalry seemed lost for ever. In vain
the people cried out for a deliverer; and at length Morgan le Fay
heard and pitied them. So she went to Olger the Dane, and said to
him:
"Dear knight, how long have you dwelt here with me?"
"It may be a week, a month, or perchance a year," he answered,
smiling, "for I have lost all count of time."
Then Morgan le Fay lifted the Crown of Forgetfulness from his brows,
and at once his memory came to him again.
"I must go back," he cried, as though awaking from sleep. "Too long
have I tarried here. Clarice will be calling for me, and Charles, my
master, will have summoned Olger in vain. Where is my sword, my
horse! Now let me go, fair queen, but tell me first how long I have
dwelt here."
"It seems not long to me, dear knight," said she; "but you shall go
when you will."
Then Morgan le Fay brought to life again his dead squire Benoist, and
brought out Courtain, his good sword, and led forth Papillon for his
steed. "Keep safe the ring upon your hand," said she, "for so long
as you wear it, youth and vigour shall not fail you. And take also
this torch, but see you light it not, for so long as it remains
unlighted your life is safe; but, if ever it should begin to burn,
guard the flame well, for with the last spark of the torch shall your
days end."
She wove, moreover, a spell about them, so that they fell into a deep
sleep. And when Sir Olger awoke, he found himself lying by a
fountain, with his sword and armour near by, and Benoist holding
Papillon ready for him to mount. Leaping on their horses, they rode
along till, not far from a town, they overtook a horseman.
"What city is this, good sir?" asked Olger.
"Montpellier," answered the man.
"Ah, yes; I had forgotten," said Olger. "Yet I ought to know well
enough, for a kinsman of mine is governor there." And he named the
man whom he believed to be the governor.
"You are strangely in error," said the horseman, "though I remember
now to have heard there was a ruler of that name two hundred years
ago. He was a great writer of romances, and I daresay you know,
since you claim him as your ancestor, that he wrote the romance of
Olger the Dane. A good story enough, though, of course, no one
believes it now, save perhaps one man, who often sings it about the
city, and picks up money from the passers-by." Then he fell back a
few paces, and riding beside Benoist, said to him: "Who is your
master?"
"Surely you must know him," said the squire; "he is Olger the Dane."
"Rascal!" cried the stranger, "you are making a jest of me. All men
know that Olger the Dane perished in shipwreck two hundred years ago.
That is a fine story indeed!" And he rode away.
The knight and his squire pursued their journey till they came to the
market-place of Meaux, where they stopped at the door of an inn well
known to them in former days.
"Can we lodge here?" asked Olger.
"Certainly you can," replied the innkeeper.
"Then fetch the landlord to speak with me."
"Sir," said the man, "I am the landlord."
"Nay, nay," said Olger; "I wish to see Hubert the Neapolitan, the
landlord of this house."
The man gave him one look, and then, taking him for a madman, bolted
the door in his face, and, rushing to an upper window, cried: "Seize
that horseman for a madman. He asks to see Hubert, my grandfather's
grandfather, who has been dead two hundred years. Send for the Abbot
of St Faron, that he may drive out the evil spirit from him."
Then a crowd began to gather, and stones and darts were hurled at the
knight and his man, and in the scuffle that followed Benoist was shot
dead by an archer. And when Sir Olger saw that, he was filled with
the fiercest wrath, and rode Papillon at the crowd, and scattered
them, cutting down with his sword all who came within reach. But so
hotly burnt his wrath that it kindled the torch that he carried in
his breast, so he rode away with it to the Abbey of St Faron. There
the Abbot met him, to whom Olger said: "Is your name Simon? You at
least should know me, seeing that I founded this abbey and endowed it
with lands and money." But the Abbot answered that he knew little of
those who had preceded him, and asked the stranger's name. And when
he heard it he was greatly puzzled, and said to himself: "I do
remember me that the charters of the house say that Simon was Abbot
in the days of the founder, Olger the Dane; yet what does all this
mean?" And aloud he said: "Sir Knight, the Abbot Simon has been
buried for nigh two hundred years."
"What!" cried the knight. "Simon dead! And Charles the Great and
Caraheu and Clarice, my wife? Where are they? Not dead too? Oh,
say they are not dead!"
"Dead--dead two hundred years ago, my son," said the Abbot solemnly.
Then Sir Olger was filled with awe and wonder, as he began to realise
that his dream of Avalon was true after all. Following the Abbot
into the church he told his strange story; and the Abbot believed
him, and rejoiced to think that a deliverer had been sent to France
at last. Then Olger told him the secret of the torch, and begged him
to make an iron treasure-house beneath the church, wherein so little
air could come that the flame might dwindle to a single spark, and
yet be nourished and preserved for many years to come. And when this
was done, and the torch was safely disposed of, the Abbot begged to
see the magic ring. But when Olger heedlessly drew it from his
finger, immediately his youth and vigour vanished, and he became a
helpless old man, whose skin hung loose like withered parchment, and
whose only sign of life was the quivering of his toothless jaws. The
terrified Abbot hastily put back the ring on the fleshless finger,
and immediately Olger's strength and youth returned, and he rode off
on Papillon to fight for France. The enemy was then stationed before
Chartres, and so strong they were that the Franks were falling back
disheartened before them, when suddenly, just as in former days, a
gigantic knight riding a coal-black horse appeared in their midst,
and everywhere he rode was marked by a long line of slain. Then the
astonished Franks remembered the stories they had heard in the days
of old, and murmured to one another: "It is Olger the Dane!" One
after the other passed it on, till the murmur grew to a cry, and the
cry to a shout of "Olger! Olger the Dane!" and, rushing upon the
foe, they swept the paynims from the field. Over and over again did
Olger thus lead the Franks to victory, until at length the land was
free. And always while he fought the torch burned bright in the
Church of St Faron, but when he rested it dwindled to a spark again.
At length the renowned and glorious knight had leisure to visit the
French Court. He found that the King of France had lately died, but
the Queen received him with all kindness; and her waiting maid, the
Lady of Senlis, loved him so much that she would gladly have wedded
him, but he would have nothing to do with her. Now, one day these
ladies discovered the secret of the magic ring; for, finding him one
day asleep upon a couch after a long journey, they drew the ring from
his finger, meaning to jest with him about it when he awoke. Much to
their horror, the strong man withered up before their eyes, and
became an ancient skeleton. Then the Queen, knowing from this that
it was truly Olger the Dane, immediately replaced the ring, and he
regained his former youth. But the Lady of Senlis, determined that
since Olger did not care for her, he should love no one else, sent
thirty strong knights to waylay him as he left the Court, and to
wrest the ring of Morgan le Fay from his hand. But Sir Olger spurred
Papillon among them, with Courtain drawn in his hand, and so escaped
untouched. After this the Queen herself wished to marry Olger, for
she said: "He, and he alone, is worthy to sit upon the throne of
Charles the Great." And to this Olger agreed, for he felt to sit in
his master's seat was the highest earthly honour he could win. So
with great pomp and ceremony they prepared for the wedding. The
great church blazed with golden banners as a lordly procession
entered and proclaimed the approaching coronation of the new-made
King; and Sir Olger took the Queen by the hand, and led her forward,
and knelt with her upon the chancel pavement. But ere the marriage
vows were spoken, a brighter light than any on earth shone upon them,
and all at once a thick white cloud wrapped round the knight. Some
say that Morgan le Fay was seen floating down through the cloud, with
arms outstretched, to carry off her knight. However that may be,
when the cloud had cleared away Sir Olger was no more to be seen upon
this earth. But men whisper that Olger the Dane lives yet, for the
torch still burns in the treasure-house of the Abbey of St Faron. He
is only asleep in the faery islands of Avalon, and one day he will
awaken, and return again, return to deliver France once more in time
of need, when the Franks shall turn, and conquer their foes, with
their ancient battle-cry of "Olger! Olger the Dane!"
_From the Anglo-Norman Romance of Charlemagne, about the twelfth
century, but undoubtedly borrowed from a Celtic source, since the
whole spirit of the tale is Celtic in origin._