OF THE HOUSE OF HOLINESS
The time was now come when, having rested sufficiently, the Red-Cross
Knight must set forth again, and Prince Arthur, being bound for another
land, must bid his companions farewell. Then said the Lady Una: “Tell us
now your name and nation, for it would be a great loss not to know to
whom we owe so great a debt.” “Fair lady,” said he, “you ask me that
which it passeth my wit to answer. This only do I know, that so soon as
I was born I was taken by a knight of Fairyland to Timon, now the
wisest, as he was once the most expert, in arms among living men, by him
to be brought up in all virtuous lore and noble accomplishment. To his
house the great Merlin would often come, for he had the chief charge of
my upbringing, and he, when I asked him of my family, answered: ‘Be
content; you are the son and heir of a king, as shall be made manifest
in due time.’” “And how,” said the Lady Una, “came you here seeking
adventure?” “You bid me renew an unspeakable grief,” he answered. “There
was a time when I laughed at the name of Love, and thought scorn of all
that suffered from its power. But there came a time when I myself
confessed it. On a certain day, being wearied out with sport, I laid me
down to sleep. And in my sleep I dreamt a dream. The Queen of Fairyland
stood by my side and told me that she loved me and would show her love
when the time should come. Such was my dream; whether it was false or
true I know not—only that never in this world did man see so fair a
sight or hear words so sweet. And when I woke I vowed in my heart that I
would seek her, and never rest till I had found her. Nine months have I
sought her, but in vain.” The Lady Una said: “Happy Queen of Fairies
that has found so gallant a champion!” and the Red-Cross Knight said: “O
sir, to whom I owe my life, if ever man was worthy of such love, you are
surely he!”
And now the time was come when they must part. Prince Arthur gave to the
Knight a box of diamonds set in gold, wherein were drops of a wondrous
liquid of a virtue so excellent that it could heal the most grievous
wounds. And the Knight gave to the Prince a book in which the Gospels
were written in golden letters.
They had not journeyed far when they were aware of a knight, in complete
armour, riding towards them as fast as his horse could gallop. He seemed
to be flying from an enemy or from some dreadful thing, for, ever and
anon, he cast a look behind him as though an enemy were close at his
heels. When he came near they saw that his head was uncovered, and that
his hair bristled with fear, while his face was as pale as death, and
that round his neck was a rope of hemp, which, indeed, ill agreed with
his shining armour. But he made no account, so overcome with fear was
he, either of rope or of arms. The Red-Cross Knight rode as fast as he
could so as to meet him as he fled, and said to him: “Tell me, Sir
Knight, what has befallen you? From whom do you flee? Never have I seen
knight in such evil plight.”
Not a word did the stranger speak, but stood staring widely out of stony
eyes. But after a while he gathered strength to speak, but full low, and
with faltering words: “For the love of God,” he said, “gentle Knight,
hinder me not: he comes; see! he comes after me, as fast as he can
ride.” But the Red-Cross Knight held him fast, and using now comfort and
now reproach, at last put some little heart into him, so that he could
tell his tale, and the tale was this—
“I chanced of late to be in company with a gentle knight, Sir Terwin by
name. He was a man of good repute for courage and skill in arms, but he
fared ill in one matter, in that he loved a fair lady who had but little
love for him, but rather took pleasure in seeing him languish and
lament. On a certain day as we were coming away from the lady’s
dwelling—for he had been paying her court, and had been most
disdainfully treated—we met a stranger who greeted us courteously, and,
as we fared on together, told us many wonderful tales of great
adventures. When he had in this way won our regard, he inquired with a
show of friendship of our condition, and when he had heard the same, and
knew that we suffered not a little distress in this matter of love, for
I, too, was not less troubled in this respect than was my friend, he
began to talk to us in the most gloomy fashion, taking from us all hope
of relief, and in the end counselling us to end our troubles with death.
And that we might do this the more easily, he gave to me this rope and
to Sir Terwin a rusty knife. With this said knife Sir Terwin, unhappy
man that he was, forthwith slew himself; but I, whether I was more faint
of heart or more fortunate I know not, fled away with all speed.”
“I would see this fellow,” said the Red-Cross Knight, “and deal with him
according to his deserts.”
“Nay,” said the other, whose name was Trevisan, “I counsel you not to go
within hearing of his speech, so powerful is he to persuade.” And when
the Red-Cross Knight was urgent to go, Sir Trevisan answered: “To do
your pleasure, friend, I will show the place, but I myself would sooner
die than enter.”
So they two rode together, and the Lady Una with them, till they came to
the place. It was a gloomy cave in the side of a rock, on the top of
which there sat an owl making a doleful screech. By the side of the cave
were stocks of trees without leaf or fruit, but with the carcases of men
hanging upon them, and on the ground beneath were other bodies, which
had fallen down by lapse of years. Sir Trevisan would have fled when he
saw the place, but the other would not suffer it. They entered the cave
and saw the man sitting on the ground within. His grisly hair fell in
long locks about his neck, and his eyes were deadly dull and his cheeks
sunken, as if it were with hunger and grief. His garments were dirty and
patched, being fastened together with thorns. And on the ground beside
him there lay the corpse of a man, newly slain, whose blood had not yet
ceased to flow from the wound. Then said the Red-Cross Knight, “What say
you, wicked man, why you should not be straightway judged for the evil
deed which you have done?” “What words are these, stranger?” said the
man, “and what judgment is this? Why should he live who desires to die?
Is it against justice that a man should have his due? Or, again, to
speak of charity rather than justice, is it not well to help him over
that comes to a great flood, or to free the feet that stick fast in the
mire? He that lies there enjoys the rest which you desire and cannot
have. Somewhat painful the passage, it cannot be denied, yet how great
and how sweet the rest! Is it not well to endure short pain for so long
a happiness? Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, ease after war,
death after life, what better can you ask?”
“Nay,” answered the Knight, “the time of a man’s life is ordered. No one
may shorten it at his will; no, nor any soldier quit the post at which
he has been set.”
“Say you so?” replied the other. “If all things have their appointed
end, who shall deny that the end which you shall yourself set is of the
things appointed by Fate? Remember also this: the longer the life the
more the sin, and the more the sin the greater the punishment. Once you
have missed the right way—and who has not missed it?—the further you
stray. And have you not strayed, Sir Knight? Bethink you what you have
endured, and what you have done amiss. What of the lady whom you swore
to champion and so shamefully deserted? What of the false Duessa to whom
you so basely pledged yourself? Does not the law say, ‘He that sins
shall die’? Die, therefore, as becomes a brave man, without delay, and
of your own accord.”
The Knight was greatly troubled by these words, for indeed there were
many things of which his conscience accused him, so that he trembled and
grew faint, which, when the Fiend perceived, he showed him a picture in
which was set forth the sufferings of lost souls; and, after this,
perceiving him to be yet more confounded, he brought to him a sword, and
poison, and a rope, bidding him choose the death by which he would
rather die. And when the Knight took none of these, he put into his hand
a sharp knife. Once and again did the Knight lift it up as if to strike;
but when the Lady Una saw it, she snatched the knife out of his hand,
crying, “Fie, fie on thee, faint hearted! Is this the battle which you
promised to fight against the dragon of the fiery mouth? Come away; let
not these idle words dismay your heart. You are chosen to a great work;
why should you despair? Surely Mercy rejoices against Judgment, and the
greater the need, the greater the grace. Come, let us leave this
accursed place.” Then the Knight rose up and departed. And when the
Fiend saw him depart, he took a halter and put it round his neck, and
was fain to hang himself. But this he could not do; many times had he
essayed the same, but had ever failed.
As they journeyed on the Lady Una perceived that her Knight, for all
that he was healed of his sickness, was feeble and faint, and unfit for
combat, if such should come in his way. Now she knew of an ancient house
of rest which was in those parts where he might have refreshment and
recover his strength. The hostess’ name was Cælia, which, being
interpreted, is Heavenly, and she had three daughters—Fidelia and
Speranza and Charissa, the last a matron with fair children, the others
maidens promised in marriage. There the Knight tarried many days. Much
discipline did he endure for the removing of his faults and weaknesses,
and much comfort also was ministered to him, and many things was he
taught. And when his heart had been thus strengthened and purified, then
did the Lady Cælia commend him to the care of a most venerable sire who
was chief among her ministers. The same showed him many fair and noble
sights, and last of all, on a mountain side, a way that was both steep
and long, and at the end of the way a fair city, whose walls were
builded high of pearls and all manner of precious stones. And as the
Knight gazed thereat, he saw angels ascending thereto and descending
therefrom. Then said he to his guide: “Tell me, sir, what city do I see
yonder?” “That,” answered he, “is the New Jerusalem which God has built
as a dwelling-place for his children.” “Verily,” said the Knight, “I
thought that Cleopolis, the abode of the great Gloriana, was the fairest
of all cities. But this does far excel it.” “Yea,” answered the holy
man, “that is true beyond all doubt; and yet this same Cleopolis is
worthy to be the abode of all true knights, and the service of Queen
Gloriana a most honourable thing. And you, fair sir, have chosen a good
part, rendering thus obedience to her command, and succouring on her
behalf this distressed lady. And I give you this counsel: When you have
won your great victory, and have hung your shield high among the shields
of the most famous knights of the world, then turn your thoughts to
better things; wash your hands clean from the stain of blood, for blood,
though it be shed in a righteous cause, must make a stain. So shall you
tread the steep and narrow path which leads to this fair city, the New
Jerusalem. There is a mansion prepared for you. Thus you shall be
numbered among the saints, and shall be the friend and patron of the
land which gave you birth, having for your style and title Saint George
of England.” Then said the Knight, “Dare I hope, being such as I am, to
attain to such a grace?” “Yea,” said the Sage, “others of the like
degree have so attained.” “But must I leave behind all the delights of
war and love?” “Be content,” answered the Sage; “in that joy are all
joys fulfilled.” “But,” said the Knight, “if this world is so vain a
thing, why should I turn to it again? May I not abide here in peace till
I can set forth on that last voyage?” “Nay,” said the Sage, “that may
not be. Thou must maintain this lady’s cause, and do the work that has
been committed to you. But now learn the secret of your birth. You are
of the ancient race of British kings; but a fairy stole you from your
cradle, and laid you in a furrow. There a certain ploughman found you,
and, designing to bring you up to his own craft, called you George,
which is by interpretation, ‘worker of the earth.’”
So the Knight went back to Cælia’s abode not a little comforted and
encouraged.