SIR TRISTRAM
ON arriving in Brittany Tristram found King Hoel engaged in a war with a
rebellious vassal, and hard pressed by his enemy. His best knights had
fallen in a late battle, and he knew not where to turn for assistance.
Tristram volunteered his aid. It was accepted; and the army of Hoel, led
by Tristram, and inspired by his example, gained a complete victory. The
king, penetrated by the most lively sentiments of gratitude, and having
informed himself of Tristram’s birth, offered him his daughter in
marriage. The princess was beautiful and accomplished, and bore the same
name with the Queen of Cornwall; but this one is designated by the
Romancers as Isoude of the White Hands, to distinguish her from Isoude
the Fair.
How can we describe the conflict that agitated the heart of Tristram? He
adored the first Isoude, but his love for her was hopeless, and not
unaccompanied by remorse. Moreover, the sacred quest on which he had now
entered demanded of him perfect purity of life. It seemed as if a happy
destiny had provided for him in the charming princess Isoude of the
White Hands the best security for all his good resolutions. This last
reflection determined him. They were married, and passed some months in
tranquil happiness at the court of King Hoel. The pleasure which
Tristram felt in his wife’s society increased day by day. An inward
grace seemed to stir within him from the moment when he took the oath to
go on the quest of the Holy Greal; it seemed even to triumph over the
power of the magic love-potion.
The war, which had been quelled for a time, now burst out anew. Tristram
as usual was foremost in every danger. The enemy was worsted in
successive conflicts, and at last shut himself up in his principal city.
Tristram led on the attack of the city. As he mounted a ladder to scale
the walls he was struck on the head by a fragment of rock, which the
besieged threw down upon him. It bore him to the ground, where he lay
insensible.
As soon as he recovered consciousness he demanded to be carried to his
wife. The princess, skilled in the art of surgery, would not suffer any
one but herself to touch her beloved husband. Her fair hands bound up
his wounds; Tristram kissed them with gratitude, which began to grow
into love. At first the devoted cares of Isoude seemed to meet with
great success; but after a while these flattering appearances vanished,
and, in spite of all her care, the malady grew more serious day by day.
In this perplexity, an old squire of Tristram’s reminded his master that
the princess of Ireland, afterwards queen of Cornwall, had once cured
him under circumstances quite as discouraging. He called Isoude of the
White Hands to him, told her of his former cure, added that he believed
that the Queen Isoude could heal him, and that he felt sure that she
would come to his relief, if sent for.
Isoude of the White Hands consented that Gesnes, a trusty man and
skilful navigator, should be sent to Cornwall. Tristram called him, and,
giving him a ring, “Take this,” he said, “to the Queen of Cornwall. Tell
her that Tristram, near to death, demands her aid. If you succeed in
bringing her with you, place white sails to your vessel on your return,
that we may know of your success when the vessel first heaves in sight.
But if Queen Isoude refuses, put on black sails; they will be the
presage of my impending death.”
Gesnes performed his mission successfully. King Mark happened to be
absent from his capital, and the queen readily consented to return with
the bark to Brittany. Gesnes clothed his vessel in the whitest of sails,
and sped his way back to Brittany.
Meantime the wound of Tristram grew more desperate day by day. His
strength, quite prostrated, no longer permitted him to be carried to the
seaside daily, as had been his custom from the first moment when it was
possible for the bark to be on the way homeward. He called a young
damsel, and gave her in charge to keep watch in the direction of
Cornwall, and to come and tell him the color of the sails of the first
vessel she should see approaching.
When Isoude of the White Hands consented that the queen of Cornwall
should be sent for, she had not known all the reasons which she had for
fearing the influence which renewed intercourse with that princess might
have on her own happiness. She had now learned more, and felt the danger
more keenly. She thought, if she could only keep the knowledge of the
queen’s arrival from her husband, she might employ in his service any
resources which her skill could supply, and still avert the dangers
which she apprehended. When the vessel was seen approaching, with its
white sails sparkling in the sun, the damsel, by command of her
mistress, carried word to Tristram that the sails were black.
Tristram, penetrated with inexpressible grief, breathed a profound sigh,
turned away his face, and said, “Alas, my beloved! we shall never see
one another again!” Then he commended himself to God, and breathed his
last.
The death of Tristram was the first intelligence which the queen of
Cornwall heard on landing. She was conducted almost senseless into the
chamber of Tristram, and expired holding him in her arms.
Tristram, before his death, had requested that his body should be sent
to Cornwall, and that his sword, with a letter he had written, should be
delivered to King Mark. The remains of Tristram and Isoude were embarked
in a vessel, along with the sword, which was presented to the king of
Cornwall. He was melted with tenderness when he saw the weapon which
slew Moraunt of Ireland,—which had so often saved his life, and
redeemed the honor of his kingdom. In the letter Tristram begged pardon
of his uncle, and related the story of the amorous draught.
Mark ordered the lovers to be buried in his own chapel. From the tomb of
Tristram there sprung a vine, which went along the walls, and descended
into the grave of the queen. It was cut down three times, but each time
sprung up again more vigorous than before, and this wonderful plant has
ever since shaded the tombs of Tristram and Isoude.
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Spenser introduces Sir Tristram in his “Faery Queene.” In Book VI.,
Canto ii., Sir Calidore encounters in the forest a young hunter, whom he
thus describes:
“Him steadfastly he marked, and saw to be
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see
Yet seventeen yeares; but tall and faire of face,
That sure he deemed him borne of noble race.
All in a woodman’s jacket he was clad
Of Lincoln greene, belayed with silver lace;
And on his head an hood with aglets[52] sprad,
And by his side his hunter’s horne he hanging had.
“Buskins he wore of costliest cordawayne,
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part,[53]
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne.
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
And in his left he held a sharp bore-speare,
With which he wont to launch the salvage heart
Of many a lyon, and of many a beare,
That first unto his hand in chase did happen neare.”
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