but rejoice; we have seen strange things to-day, but stranger yet
remain. For now I know we shall to-day see him who may sit in the Siege
Perilous, and shall achieve the Sangreal. For as ye all well know, that
holy vessel, wherefrom at the Supper of our Lord before His death He
drank the wine with His disciples, hath been held ever since the holiest
treasure of the world, and wheresoever it hath rested peace and
prosperity have rested with it on the land. But since the dolorous
stroke which Balin gave King Pelles none have seen it, for Heaven, wroth
with that presumptuous blow, hath hid it none know where. Yet somewhere
in the world it still may be, and may be it is left to us, and to this
noble order of the Table Round, to find and bring it home, and make of
this our realm the happiest in the earth. Many great quests and perilous
adventures have ye all taken and achieved, but this high quest he only
shall attain who hath clean hands and a pure heart, and valor and
hardihood beyond all other men."
While the king spoke there came in softly an old man robed all in white,
leading with him a young knight clad in red from top to toe, but without
armor or shield, and having by his side an empty scabbard.
The old man went up to the king, and said, "Lord, here I bring thee this
young knight of royal lineage, and of the blood of Joseph of Arimathea,
by whom the marvels of thy court shall fully be accomplished."
The king was right glad at his words, and said, "Sir, ye be right
heartily welcome, and the young knight also."
Then the old man put on Sir Galahad (for it was he) a crimson robe
trimmed with fine ermine, and took him by the hand and led him to the
Perilous Seat, and lifting up the silken cloth which hung upon it, read
these words written in gold letters, "This is the seat of Sir Galahad,
the good knight."
"Sir," said the old man, "this place is thine."
Then sat Sir Galahad down firmly and surely, and said to the old man,
"Sir, ye may now go your way, for ye have done well and truly all ye
were commanded, and commend me to my grandsire, King Pelles, and say
that I shall see him soon." So the old man departed with a retinue of
twenty noble squires.
But all the knights of the Round Table marveled at Sir Galahad, and at
his tender age, and at his sitting there so surely in the Perilous Seat.
Then the king led Sir Galahad forth from the palace, to show him the
adventure of the floating stone. "Here," said he, "is as great a marvel
as I ever saw, and right good knights have tried and failed to gain that
sword."
"I marvel not thereat," said Galahad, "for this adventure is not theirs,
but mine; and for the certainty I had thereof, I brought no sword with
me, as thou mayst see here by this empty scabbard."
Anon he laid his hand upon the sword, and lightly drew it from the
stone, and put it in his sheath, and said, "This sword was that
enchanted one which erst belonged to the good knight, Sir Balin,
wherewith he slew through piteous mistake his brother Balan; who also
slew him at the same time: all which great woe befell him through the
dolorous stroke he gave my grandsire, King Pelles, the wound whereof is
not yet whole, nor shall be till I heal him."
As he stood speaking thus, they saw a lady riding swiftly down the
river's bank towards them, on a white palfrey, who, saluting the king
and queen, said, "Lord king, Nacien the hermit sendeth thee word that to
thee shall come to-day the greatest honor and worship that hath yet ever
befallen a king of Britain; for this day shall the Sangreal appear in
thy house."
With that the damsel took her leave, and departed the same way she came.
"Now," said the king, "I know that from to-day the quest of the Sangreal
shall begin, and all ye of the Round Table will be scattered so that
nevermore shall I see ye again together as ye are now; let me then see a
joust and tournament amongst ye for the last time before ye go."
So they all took their harness and met together in the meadows by
Camelot, and the queen and all her ladies sat in a tower to see.
Then Sir Galahad, at the prayer of the king and queen, put on a coat of
light armor, and a helmet, but shield he would take none, and grasping a
lance, he drove into the middle of the press of knights, and began to
break spears marvelously, so that all men were full of wonder. And in so
short a time he had surmounted and exceeded the rest, save Sir Lancelot
and Sir Percival, that he took the chief worship of the field.
Then the king and all the court and fellowship of knights went back to
the palace, and so to evensong in the great minster, a royal and goodly
company, and after that sat down to supper in the hall, every knight in
his own seat, as they had been before.
Anon suddenly burst overhead the cracking and crying of great peals of
thunder, till the palace walls were shaken sorely, and they thought to
see them riven all to pieces.
And in the midst of the blast there entered in a sunbeam, clearer by
seven times than ever they saw day, and a marvelous great glory fell
upon them all. Then each knight, looking on his neighbor, found his face
fairer than he had ever seen, and so--all standing on their feet--they
gazed as dumb men on each other, not knowing what to say.
Then entered into the hall the Sangreal, borne aloft without hands
through the midst of the sunbeam, and covered with white samite, so that
none might see it. And all the hall was filled with perfume and incense,
and every knight was fed with the food he best loved. And when the holy
vessel had been thus borne through the hall, it suddenly departed, no
man saw whither.
When they recovered breath to speak, King Arthur first rose up, and
yielded thanks to God and to our Lord.
Then Sir Gawain sprang up and said, "Now have we all been fed by miracle
with whatsoever food we thought of or desired; but with our eyes we have
not seen the blessed vessel whence it came, so carefully and preciously
it was concealed. Therefore, I make a vow, that from to-morrow I shall
labor twelve months and a day in quest of the Sangreal, and longer if
need be; nor will I come again into this court until mine eyes have seen
it evidently."
When he had spoken thus, knight after knight rose up and vowed himself
to the same quest, till the most part of the Round Table had thus sworn.
But when King Arthur heard them all, he could not refrain his eyes from
tears, and said, "Sir Gawain, Sir Gawain, thou hast set me in great
sorrow, for I fear me my true fellowship shall never meet together here
again; and surely never Christian king had such a company of worthy
knights around his table at one time."
And when the queen and her ladies and gentlewomen heard the vows, they
had such grief and sorrow as no tongue could tell; and Queen Guinevere
cried out, "I marvel that my lord will suffer them to depart from him."
And many of the ladies who loved knights would have gone with them, but
were forbidden by the hermit Nacien, who sent this message to all who
had sworn themselves to the quest: "Take with ye no lady nor
gentlewoman, for into so high a service as ye go in, no thought but of
our Lord and heaven may enter."
On the morrow morning all the knights rose early, and when they were
fully armed, save shields and helms, they went in with the king and
queen to service in the minster. Then the king counted all who had taken
the adventure on themselves, and found them a hundred and fifty knights
of the Round Table; and so they all put on their helms, and rode away
together in the midst of cries and lamentations from the court, and from
the ladies, and from all the town.
But the queen went alone to her chamber, that no man might see her
sorrow; and Sir Lancelot followed her to say farewell.
When she saw him she cried out, "Oh, Sir Lancelot, thou hast betrayed
me; thou hast put me to death thus to depart and leave my lord the
king."
"Ah, madam," said he, "be not displeased or angry, for I shall come
again as soon as I can with honor."
"Alas!" said she, "that ever I saw thee; but He that suffered death upon
the cross for all mankind be to thee safety and good conduct, and to all
thy company."
Then Sir Lancelot saluted her and the king, and went forth with the
rest, and came with them that night to Castle Vagon, where they abode,
and on the morrow they departed from each other on their separate ways,
every knight taking the way that pleased him best.
Now Sir Galahad went forth without a shield, and rode so four days
without adventure; and on the fourth day, after evensong, he came to an
abbey of white monks, where he was received in the house, and led into a
chamber. And there he was unarmed, and met two knights of the Round
Table, King Bagdemagus, and Sir Uwaine.
"Sirs," said Sir Galahad, "what adventure hath brought ye here?"
"Within this place, as we are told," they answered, "there is a shield
no man may bear around his neck without receiving sore mischance, or
death within three days."
"To-morrow," said King Bagdemagus, "I shall attempt the adventure; and
if I fail, do thou, Sir Galahad, take it up after me."
"I will willingly," said he; "for as ye see I have no shield as yet."
So on the morrow they arose and heard mass, and afterwards King
Bagdemagus asked where the shield was kept. Then a monk led him behind
the altar, where the shield hung, as white as any snow, and with a
blood-red cross in the midst of it.
"Sir," said the monk, "this shield should hang from no knight's neck
unless he be the worthiest in the world. I warn ye, therefore, knights;
consider well before ye dare to touch it."
"Well," said King Bagdemagus, "I know well that I am far from the best
knight in all the world, yet shall I make the trial"; and so he took the
shield, and bore it from the monastery.
"If it please thee," said he to Sir Galahad, "abide here till thou
hearest how I speed."
"I will abide thee," said he.
Then taking with him a squire who might return with any tidings to Sir
Galahad, the king rode forth; and before he had gone two miles, he saw
in a fair valley a hermitage, and a knight who came forth dressed in
white armor, horse and all, who rode fast against him. When they
encountered, Bagdemagus brake his spear upon the White Knight's shield,
but was himself struck through the shoulder with a sore wound, and
hurled down from his horse. Then the White Knight alighting, came and
took the white shield from the king, and said, "Thou hast done great
folly, for this shield ought never to be borne but by one who hath no
living peer." And turning to the squire, he said, "Bear thou this shield
to the good knight, Sir Galahad, and greet him well from me."
"In whose name shall I greet him?" said the squire.
"Take thou no heed of that," he answered; "it is not for thee or any
earthly man to know."
"Now tell me, fair sir, at the least," said the squire, "why may this
shield be never borne except its wearer come to injury or death?"
"Because it shall belong to no man save its rightful owner, Galahad,"
replied the knight.
Then the squire went to his master, and found him wounded nigh to
death, wherefore he fetched his horse, and bore him back with him to the
abbey. And there they laid him in a bed, and looked to his wounds; and
when he had lain many days grievously sick, he at the last barely
escaped with his life.
"Sir Galahad," said the squire, "the knight who overthrew King
Bagdemagus sent you greeting, and bade you bear this shield."
"Now blessed be God and fortune," said Sir Galahad, and hung the shield
about his neck, and armed him, and rode forth.
Anon he met the White Knight by the hermitage, and each saluted
courteously the other.
"Sir," said Sir Galahad, "this shield I bear hath surely a full
marvelous history."
"Thou sayest rightly," answered he. "That shield was made in the days of
Joseph of Arimathea, the gentle knight who took our Lord down from the
cross. He, when he left Jerusalem with his kindred, came to the country
of King Evelake, who warred continually with one Tollome; and when, by
the teaching of Joseph, King Evelake became a Christian, this shield was
made for him in our Lord's name; and through its aid King Tollome was
defeated. For when King Evelake met him next in battle, he hid it in a
veil, and suddenly uncovering it, he showed his enemies the figure of a
bleeding man nailed to a cross, at sight of which they were discomfited
and fled. Presently after that, a man whose hand was smitten off touched
the cross upon the shield, and had his hand restored to him; and many
other miracles it worked. But suddenly the cross that was upon it
vanished away. Anon both Joseph and King Evelake came to Britain, and by
the preaching of Joseph the people were made Christians. And when at
length he lay upon his death-bed, King Evelake begged of him some token
ere he died. Then, calling for his shield, he dipped his finger in his
own blood, for he was bleeding fast, and none could staunch the wound,
and marked that cross upon it, saying, 'This cross shall ever show as
bright as now, and the last of my lineage shall wear this shield about
his neck, and go forth to all the marvelous deeds he will achieve.'"
When the White Knight had thus spoken he vanished suddenly away, and Sir
Galahad returned to the abbey.
As he alighted, came a monk, and prayed him to go see a tomb in the
churchyard, wherefrom came such a great and hideous noise, that none
could hear it but they went nigh mad, or lost all strength. "And, sir,"
said he, "I deem it is a fiend."
"Lead me thither," said Sir Galahad.
When they were come near the place, "Now," said the monk, "go thou to
the tomb, and lift it up."
And Galahad, nothing afraid, quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith
came out a foul smoke, and from the midst thereof leaped up the
loathliest figure that ever he had seen in the likeness of man; and
Galahad blessed himself, for he knew it was a fiend of hell. Then he
heard a voice crying out, "Oh, Galahad, I cannot tear thee as I would; I
see so many angels round thee, that I may not come at thee."
Then the fiend suddenly disappeared with a marvelous great cry; and Sir
Galahad, looking in the tomb, saw there a body all armed, with a sword
beside it. "Now, fair brother," said he to the monk, "let us remove this
cursed body, which is not fit to lie in a churchyard, for when it lived,
a false and perjured Christian man dwelt in it. Cast it away, and there
shall come no more hideous noises from the tomb."
"And now must I depart," he added, "for I have much in hand, and am upon
the holy quest of the Sangreal, with many more good knights."
So he took his leave, and rode many journeys backwards and forwards as
adventure would lead him; and at last one day he departed from a castle
without first hearing mass, which was it ever his custom to hear before
he left his lodging. Anon he found a ruined chapel on a mountain, and
went in and kneeled before the altar, and prayed for wholesome counsel
what to do; and as he prayed he heard a voice, which said, "Depart,
adventurous knight, unto the Maiden's Castle, and redress the violence
and wrongs there done!"
Hearing these words he cheerfully arose, and mounted his horse, and rode
but half a mile, when he saw before him a strong castle, with deep
ditches round it, and a fair river running past. And seeing an old churl
hard by, he asked him what men called that castle.
"Fair sir," said he, "it is the Maiden's Castle."
"It is a cursed place," said Galahad, "and all its masters are but
felons, full of mischief and hardness and shame."
"For that good reason," said the old man, "thou wert well-advised to
turn thee back."
"For that same reason," quoth Sir Galahad, "will I the more certainly
ride on."
Then, looking at his armor carefully, to see that nothing failed him, he
went forward, and presently there met him seven damsels, who cried out,
"Sir knight, thou ridest in great peril, for thou hast two waters to
pass over."
"Why should I not pass over them?" said he, and rode straight on.
Anon he met a squire, who said, "Sir knight, the masters of this castle
defy thee, and bid thee go no further, till thou showest them thy
business here."
"Fair fellow," said Sir Galahad, "I am come here to destroy their wicked
customs."
"If that be thy purpose," answered he, "thou wilt have much to do."
"Go thou," said Galahad, "and hasten with my message."
In a few minutes after rode forth furiously from the gateways of the
castle seven knights, all brothers, and crying out, "Knight, keep thee,"
bore down all at once upon Sir Galahad. But thrusting forth his spear,
he smote the foremost to the earth, so that his neck was almost broken,
and warded with his shield the spears of all the others, which every one
brake off from it, and shivered into pieces. Then he drew out his sword,
and set upon them hard and fiercely, and by his wondrous force drave
them before him, and chased them to the castle gate, and there he slew
them.
At that came out to him an ancient man, in priest's vestments, saying,
"Behold, sir, here, the keys of this castle."
Then he unlocked the gates, and found within a multitude of people, who
cried out, "Sir knight, ye be welcome, for long have we waited thy
deliverance," and told him that the seven felons he had slain had long
enslaved the people round about, and killed all knights who passed that
way, because the maiden whom they had robbed of the castle had foretold
that by one knight they should themselves be overthrown.
"Where is the maiden?" asked Sir Galahad.
"She lingereth below in a dungeon," said they.
So Sir Galahad went down and released her, and restored her her
inheritance; and when he had summoned the barons of the country to do
her homage, he took his leave, and departed.
Presently thereafter, as he rode, he entered a great forest, and in a
glade thereof met two knights, disguised, who proffered him to joust.
These were Sir Lancelot, his father, and Sir Percival, but neither knew
the other. So he and Sir Lancelot encountered first, and Sir Galahad
smote down his father. Then drawing his sword, for his spear was broken,
he fought with Sir Percival, and struck so mightily that he clave Sir
Percival's helm, and smote him from his horse.
Now hard by where they fought there was a hermitage, where dwelt a pious
woman, a recluse, who, when she heard the sound, came forth, and seeing
Sir Galahad ride, she cried, "God be with thee, the best knight in the
world; had yonder knights known thee as well as I do, they would not
have encountered with thee."
When Sir Galahad heard that, fearing to be made known, he forthwith
smote his horse with his spurs, and departed at a great pace.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival heard her words also, and rode fast after
him, but within a while he was out of their sight. Then Sir Percival
rode back to ask his name of the recluse; but Sir Lancelot went forward
on his quest, and following any path his horse would take, he came
by-and-by after nightfall to a stone cross hard by an ancient chapel.
When he had alighted and tied his horse up to a tree, he went and looked
in through the chapel door, which was all ruinous and wasted, and there
within he saw an altar, richly decked with silk, whereon there stood a
fair candlestick of silver, bearing six great lights. And when Sir
Lancelot saw the light, he tried to get within the chapel, but could
find no place. So, being passing weary and heavy, he came again to his
horse, and when he had unsaddled him, and set him free to pasture, he
unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep
upon his shield before the cross.
And while he lay between waking and sleeping, he saw come by him two
white palfreys bearing a litter, wherein a sick knight lay, and the
palfreys stood still by the cross. Then Sir Lancelot heard the sick man
say, "O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and the holy
vessel pass by me, wherethrough I shall be blessed? for I have long
endured."
With that Sir Lancelot saw the chapel open, and the candlestick with the
six tapers come before the cross, but he could see none who bare it.
Then came there also a table of silver, and thereon the holy vessel of
the Sangreal. And when the sick knight saw that, he sat up, and lifting
both his hands, said, "Fair Lord, sweet Lord, who art here within this
holy vessel, have mercy on me, that I may be whole"; and therewith he
crept upon his hands and knees so nigh, that he might touch the vessel;
and when he had kissed it, he leaped up, and stood and cried aloud,
"Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am made whole." Then the Holy Grail
departed with the table and the silver candlestick into the chapel, so
that Sir Lancelot saw it no more, nor for his sins' sake could he follow
it. And the knight who was healed went on his way.
Then Sir Lancelot awake, and marveled whether he had seen aught but a
dream. And as he marveled, he heard a voice saying, "Sir Lancelot, thou
art unworthy, go thou hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place."
And when he heard that, he was passing heavy, for he bethought him of
his sins.
So he departed weeping, and cursed the day of his birth, for the words
went into his heart, and he knew wherefore he was thus driven forth.
Then he went to seek his arms and horse, but could not find them; and
then he called himself the wretchedest and most unhappy of all knights,
and said, "My sin hath brought me unto great dishonor: for when I
sought earthly honors, I achieved them ever; but now I take upon me holy
things, my guilt doth hinder me, and shameth me; therefore had I no
power to stir or speak when the holy blood appeared before me."
So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then
was he somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came
into a wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a
hermitage; and, kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he
cried for mercy for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his
confession. But when he told his name, the hermit marveled to see him in
so sore a case, and said, "Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any
knight living, for He hath given thee more honor than any; yet for thy
presumption, while in deadly sin to come into the presence of His flesh
and blood, He suffered thee neither to see nor follow it. Wherefore,
believe that all thy strength and manhood will avail thee little, when
God is against thee."
Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, "Now know I well ye tell me truth."
Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for
fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and
done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or
nothing thanked God for the honor that he won. And then Sir Lancelot
said, "I pray you counsel me."
"I will counsel thee," said he: "never more enter into that queen's
company when ye can avoid it."
So Sir Lancelot promised him.
"Look that your heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and ye
shall have more honor and more nobleness than ever ye have had."
Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave,
and rode forth, repenting greatly.
Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that
knight was whom she had called the best in the world. And when he had
told her that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him,
for she was his mother's sister, wherefore she opened her door to him,
and made him good cheer. And on the morrow she told him of her kindred
to him, and they both made great rejoicing. Then he asked her who that
knight was, and she told him, "He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad
in the red robe, and bare the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he
worketh all by miracle, and shall be never overcome by any earthly
hands."
"By my goodwill," said Sir Percival, "I will never after these tidings
have to do with Sir Galahad but in the way of kindness; and I would fain
learn where I may find him."
"Fair nephew," said she, "ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he
hath a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to
go; but if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of
Carbonek, where the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely
hear true tidings of him."
So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time,
when he was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep
ditches, where he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in. And there he
had good cheer that night, and on the morrow heard mass. And beside the
altar where the priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold;
and on the bed there lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon
his head, and all his body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost
wholly blind; and ever he held up his hands and said, "Sweet Lord,
forget not me!"