HOW SIR GUYON CAME INTO GREAT PERIL
Many perils did Sir Guyon encounter, which it would take too long time
to tell. Nor were there perils only of battle, such as befell in the
meeting of pagan knights and the like. For such he was well prepared;
never did sturdier champion lay spear in rest or wage war at close
quarters with his sword. Force could not overcome him, but he could be
led astray by fraud. So it was when, in his journeyings, he came to a
broad water, which seemed to bar his way. While he stood at the water’s
brink, wondering how he might win his way farther, suddenly there was
seen hard by a little boat rowed by a fair damsel. When he had told his
need she said: “Be content, fair sir; step you aboard and I will take
you to the place which you desire.”
So Sir Guyon, nothing doubting, stepped into the boat. But when he would
have taken his guide, the pilgrim, with him, he was denied. “Nay, nay,”
said the damsel, “we have not space for the old man on this journey.”
And even while she was speaking the boat was already far from the land,
for indeed it was a magic craft; nor could he even say farewell.
The two had pleasant converse awhile, for the damsel was gay and
debonair, and the knight courteous. Nevertheless, he somewhat misliked
her manner, and when in a short space they came to the other side of the
water, he perceived that he had been led astray, and was not a little
displeased. “Lady,” said he, “you have done me a wrong. This is not the
place which I sought; I did not think when I followed your bidding that
you would so deceive me.”
“Sir Knight,” she answered, “he that will travel by water cannot always
command his way; winds and waves will not answer to his call: the sea is
wide, and ’tis easy to go astray thereon. Yet here, methinks, you may
abide awhile in peace.”
So Sir Guyon stepped upon the shore, though he was but half-content to
find himself in such a plight. Nevertheless, he could not but perceive
that it was a right pleasant place to which he had come, for the ground
was covered with flowers, and the trees were green with the fresh leaves
of spring, and the sweet singing of birds was heard on every side. And
fairer and more pleasant than all else was the damsel of the boat;
nevertheless, Sir Guyon was ever on the watch, nor would he suffer
himself to be beguiled. “Maybe,” he said to himself, “this fair dame
designs to turn me from my quest. Why did she, as by design, part me
from my guide? Why did she turn me aside from the way in which I desired
to go? This was more, I doubt not, than an idle whim.” She, on the other
hand, perceived that she had failed of her intent, and was, in truth, as
willing that he should go as he was eager to depart. So after a while
she said: “Fair knight, I perceive that it irks you to abide in this
place. Suffer me, therefore, to carry you to the other shore.”
Well content, he stepped into the boat, and was ferried across in the
shortest space of time. So he passed through this peril, it seemed,
without hurt, save indeed that he had lost his guide, for the damsel in
her craft took him to a place far from where the guide had been left;
and this losing of the guide was, as will be seen, a very sore hurt
indeed.
After a while he came to a gloomy valley covered in on all sides from
the light of heaven with the thick branches of trees. And here, in the
deepest and darkest shade, he saw sitting a man of a most uncouth and
savage aspect, having his face all dark with smoke, and his eyes
bleared, and the hair of his head and his beard covered with soot. His
hands were black as the hands of one who works in a forge, and his nails
were like to claws. He had an iron coat, all rusty above, but underneath
of gold, and finely wrought with curious devices, though, indeed, it was
covered with dust and grime. In his lap he had a mass of golden coin,
which he counted, turning over each piece as if he would feed his eyes
with the delight of seeing them. Round about him were great heaps of
gold, some of them of rude ore, not yet smelted in the furnace, and some
smelted newly, in great squares and ingots, and others in round plates
without device; but for the most part they bore the devices of ancient
kings and Cæsars. When the man beheld Sir Guyon he rose as in great
fear, as if he would hide this precious store from a stranger’s eyes,
and began to pour it into a great hole that was thereby. But Sir Guyon,
leaping forward, caught him by the hand, and, though he was not a little
dismayed by the things which he saw, restrained him.
“Man,” he said, “if, indeed, man you are, why sit you here apart, hiding
these piles of wealth, and keeping them from being rightly used by men?”
“Truly,” answered the man, “you are bold and careless of yourself thus
to trouble me. Know that I am the god of this world, the greatest god
under heaven, Mammon by name. From me come riches and renown, powers and
honours, and all things which men covet upon earth. Know, then, that if
you will serve me, all these mountains of riches shall be yours; and if
these do not content you, I will give you tenfold more.”
“Mammon,” answered the knight, “in vain do you boast your godhead; in
vain do you offer me your gifts. Keep them for such as covet such idle
things, and look for a more fitting servant. I am of those who regard
honour and strive for kingdoms; fair shields and steeds gaily bedight
and shining arms are pleasant to my eyes.”
“Do you not perceive,” answered Mammon, “O foolish knight, that money
can furnish all these things in which you delight? Shields, and steeds,
and arms it can provide in the twinkling of an eye; ay, and crowns and
kingdoms also. I can throw down into the dust him that sits upon the
throne, and I can lift up to the throne him that lies in the dust.”
“But I,” said Sir Guyon, “have other thoughts of riches; that infinite
mischiefs spring from them—strife and debate and bloodshed. No crowns
nor kingdoms are yours, but you turn loyal truth to treason; you break
the sacred diadem in pieces, and rend the purple robe of kingship. It is
of you that castles are surprised, great cities sacked and burned, and
kingdoms overthrown!”
Then Mammon waxed wroth and cried: “Why, then, are men so eager to
obtain a thing so evil? Why do they so complain when they have it not,
and when they lose it, so upbraid?”
And when the knight answered these questions by telling of how in the
old time man was content without riches, and how he had been corrupted
by the lust of gold and silver, Mammon replied: “Nay, my son, let be
these stories of ancient days. You who live in these latter times must
be content to take your wage for the work you do. Come now, you shall
have what you will of these riches; and if you like them not, then you
are free to refuse. Only, if you refuse, blame me not afterwards.”
Then said the knight, for, being but mortal man, he was touched by the
sight of great riches: “I would not take aught that is offered me unless
I know that it has been rightly got. How can I be assured that you have
not taken these things unlawfully from the rightful owner?”
“Nay,” cried Mammon, “that is but idle talk. Never did eye behold these
things, never did hand handle them. I have kept them secret both from
heaven and from earth.”
“But,” said the knight, “what place is large enough to hold such store,
or safe enough to keep it from robbery?”
“Come and see,” answered Mammon. And the knight followed him, but he had
done more wisely to stay behind.
Mammon led him through the depths of the wood, till they came to a
secret way which was hollowed out in the earth. This they entered and
followed awhile, till they came to where it opened out into a wide
plain. Across the plain there was a broad highway which led to the
dwelling of Pluto. On either side of this road were dreadful shapes—Pain
holding an iron whip, and Strife with a bloody knife in his hand, and
Revenge, and Treason, and Jealousy. Fear, also, was there, ever
trembling, and seeking in vain where he might hide himself, and Sorrow,
crouching in darkness, and Shame, hiding her face from every eye. So
they came at last to a narrow door, which stood fast shut, with one
which was yawning wide open hard by. The narrow door was the door of
riches, and the wide the door of hell. This opened to Mammon of its own
accord; and Sir Guyon followed him, fearing nothing. But behind the
knight there followed close a monstrous fiend, watching him, that he
might do him to death if he should lay a covetous hand or cast a longing
eye on anything he might see; for such was the law of the place. The
walls and the floor and the roof were all gold, but covered with dust
and decay; and piled up on every side were huge chests of iron, bound
all of them with double bands, and on the floor were the bones of dead
men, who, in time past, had sought to win some spoil for themselves, and
so had come by their death. But not a word did Sir Guyon speak. So they
came to a great door of iron; this, too, opened to them as of its own
accord, and showed such a store of wealth as could not be seen in all
the world beside. Then Mammon turned to the knight and said: “See now
the happiness of the world; here is that for which men strive and
struggle. Lo! I lay before you all that you can desire.”
The knight answered: “I do refuse your proffered grace. I seek not to be
made happy in such fashion. I set before mine eyes another happiness. I
seek another end; I would spend my life in brave deeds. I desire rather
to be lord of them who have riches than to have them for myself.”
Mammon gnashed his teeth to hear such an answer, for he had thought that
the sight would overcome the soul of any mortal man, and that being so
overcome the knight would be his prey. But not yet did he give up all
hope. He led him into yet another chamber, in which were a hundred
furnaces all ablaze, and at every furnace strange creatures busy at
work. Some worked the bellows which raised the fire to white heat; and
some scummed off the dross from the molten gold, and some stirred it
with great ladles. But when they saw the shape of mortal man, they all
ceased from their work, and looked at him with wondering eyes. And he
was not a little dismayed to see them, so foul and hideous were they to
behold.
Then Mammon spoke again: “See now what mortal eye has never seen before.
You would know whence come the riches which men so fervently desire.
Look, here you see their source and origin. Here is the fountain of the
world’s whole wealth. Think, and change your mood, lest haply hereafter
you may wish and not be able to obtain.”
Said the knight, “Mammon, once more I refuse the thing which you offer.
I have all that I need; why should I ask for more? Suffer me to follow
my own way.”
Great was Mammon’s wrath to hear his offers so refused, but he would try
yet another temptation. He took the Knight into a very lofty, spacious
chamber in which was assembled a great company of people from every
nation under heaven. All of them were pressing forward with great uproar
to the chamber’s upper end, where, upon a dais, was set a lofty throne.
On the throne there sat a woman gorgeously attired, clad in such royal
robes as never were worn by earthly prince. Right fair of face was she
to behold, of such a beauty that she seemed, as it were, to make a
brightness in the chamber. But the beauty was not indeed her own. It was
but a pretence, cunningly devised to delude the hearts of men. In her
hand she held a great chain, of which the upper end was fastened to the
sky, and the lower went down into hell. All the crowd that thronged
about her sought to lay hold of this same chain, hoping thereby to climb
to some high estate. Some were fain to rise by the help of riches, and
some by flattery, and some by help of friendship, but all thought only
of themselves. And they that were high kept others down, and they that
were low would not suffer others to rise; every man was against his
fellow.
Then said Sir Guyon: “What means this that I see? What is this throng
that crowds about the lady’s throne? And the lady, who is she?”
Mammon answered: “That fair lady about whom these people crowd is my own
dear daughter. Her name is Philotime (which, being interpreted, is Love
of Honour). She is the fairest woman on the earth, could you but see her
in the upper air, for the darkness of the place hides her beauty. Her,
if you will, you shall have to wife, that she may advance you to high
dignity.”
“I thank you, sir,” said the knight, “for the honour which you design
for me. But I am only mortal man, and not fit match for an immortal
mate. And were it otherwise, my troth is given to another, and it would
ill become a loyal knight to break his faith.”
Again was Mammon greatly moved to wrath, but he hid it in his heart, and
led the knight into a garden full of herbs and trees, not such as earth
puts forth, in the upper air, to delight the souls of men: but such as
have about them the atmosphere of death. The cypress was there, and the
black ebony, and hemlock, which unjust Athens gave in old times to
Socrates, wisest of mortal men. These were gloomy to behold. But in the
midst was a tree, splendid with apples of gold. Hercules planted it with
the apples which he won from the garden of the daughters of Atlas, and
it bore fruits which were the occasions of strife, such as that which
Discord threw among the guests at the marriage-feast of Peleus and
Thetis. “For the Fairest!” was written on it. Hence came the strife of
the goddesses, and the Judgment of Paris, and the stealing of Helen, and
the bringing to the ground of the towers of Troy.
Much did the knight marvel to see the tree, for it spread its branches
far and wide across the garden, and even beyond the garden’s bounds; for
it was compassed about with a great mound. And the knight, desiring to
see all that could be seen of so strange a place, climbed upon the bank
and looked. And lo! there flowed below it a dark and dismal stream,
which men call the River of Wailing. In this he saw many miserable
creatures; and one he noted especially, who was always clutching at the
fruit which hung from the tree, and making as though he would drink from
the stream; and still the fruit seemed to draw back from his hand and
the water from his mouth. The knight, seeing him so tormented, asked him
who he was and how he came to be in such a plight.
“I am Tantalus,” answered the wretch, “the most miserable of all men; in
old time I feasted with the gods, and now I die of hunger and thirst.”
Looking a little further he saw one who sought to wash in the stream
hands covered with filth; but for all that he washed they were not one
whit the cleaner. And when the knight inquired of him who he might be,
he answered: “I am Pontius Pilate, most unjust of judges. I condemned
most unrighteously the Lord of Life to die, and washed my hands to show
that I was innocent of his blood, but in truth I was most guilty.”
Then Mammon, coming to him again, said: “Will you not even now take of
the good things which I offer you, for yet there is time?”
But Sir Guyon was aware of his guile, and would not. “Take me back,” he
said, “to the place from which I came,” and Mammon was constrained to
obey, for it was not permitted to him to keep the knight or any man
against his will. He led him back, therefore, to the upper air; but as
soon as Sir Guyon felt the wind blow upon his face, for want of food and
sleep he fell into a swoon, and lay without sense upon the ground.