Idylls of the King · The Holy Grail (2/3)

“But when the next day brake from under ground⁠—

O brother, had you known our Camelot,

Built by old kings, age after age, so old

The King himself had fears that it would fall,

So strange, and rich, and dim; for where the roofs

Tottered toward each other in the sky,

Met foreheads all along the street of those

Who watched us pass; and lower, and where the long

Rich galleries, lady-laden, weighed the necks

Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls,

Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of flowers

Fell as we past; and men and boys astride

On wyvern, lion, dragon, griffin, swan,

At all the corners, named us each by name,

Calling, ‘God speed!’ but in the ways below

The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor

Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak

For grief, and all in middle street the Queen,

Who rode by Lancelot, wailed and shrieked aloud,

‘This madness has come on us for our sins.’

So to the Gate of the three Queens we came,

Where Arthur’s wars are rendered mystically,

And thence departed every one his way.

“And I was lifted up in heart, and thought

Of all my late-shown prowess in the lists,

How my strong lance had beaten down the knights,

So many and famous names; and never yet

Had heaven appeared so blue, nor earth so green,

For all my blood danced in me, and I knew

That I should light upon the Holy Grail.

“Thereafter, the dark warning of our King,

That most of us would follow wandering fires,

Came like a driving gloom across my mind.

Then every evil word I had spoken once,

And every evil thought I had thought of old,

And every evil deed I ever did,

Awoke and cried, ‘This Quest is not for thee.’

And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself

Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns,

And I was thirsty even unto death;

And I, too, cried, ‘This Quest is not for thee.’

“And on I rode, and when I thought my thirst

Would slay me, saw deep lawns, and then a brook,

With one sharp rapid, where the crisping white

Played ever back upon the sloping wave,

And took both ear and eye; and o’er the brook

Were apple-trees, and apples by the brook

Fallen, and on the lawns. ‘I will rest here,’

I said, ‘I am not worthy of the Quest;’

But even while I drank the brook, and ate

The goodly apples, all these things at once

Fell into dust, and I was left alone,

And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns.

“And then behold a woman at a door

Spinning; and fair the house whereby she sat,

And kind the woman’s eyes and innocent,

And all her bearing gracious; and she rose

Opening her arms to meet me, as who should say,

‘Rest here;’ but when I touched her, lo! she, too,

Fell into dust and nothing, and the house

Became no better than a broken shed,

And in it a dead babe; and also this

Fell into dust, and I was left alone.

“And on I rode, and greater was my thirst.

Then flashed a yellow gleam across the world,

And where it smote the plowshare in the field,

The plowman left his plowing, and fell down

Before it; where it glittered on her pail,

The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down

Before it, and I knew not why, but thought

‘The sun is rising,’ though the sun had risen.

Then was I ware of one that on me moved

In golden armour with a crown of gold

About a casque all jewels; and his horse

In golden armour jewelled everywhere:

And on the splendour came, flashing me blind;

And seemed to me the Lord of all the world,

Being so huge. But when I thought he meant

To crush me, moving on me, lo! he, too,

Opened his arms to embrace me as he came,

And up I went and touched him, and he, too,

Fell into dust, and I was left alone

And wearying in a land of sand and thorns.

“And I rode on and found a mighty hill,

And on the top, a city walled: the spires

Pricked with incredible pinnacles into heaven.

And by the gateway stirred a crowd; and these

Cried to me climbing, ‘Welcome, Percivale!

Thou mightiest and thou purest among men!’

And glad was I and clomb, but found at top

No man, nor any voice. And thence I past

Far through a ruinous city, and I saw

That man had once dwelt there; but there I found

Only one man of an exceeding age.

‘Where is that goodly company,’ said I,

‘That so cried out upon me?’ and he had

Scarce any voice to answer, and yet gasped,

‘Whence and what art thou?’ and even as he spoke

Fell into dust, and disappeared, and I

Was left alone once more, and cried in grief,

‘Lo, if I find the Holy Grail itself

And touch it, it will crumble into dust.’

“And thence I dropt into a lowly vale,

Low as the hill was high, and where the vale

Was lowest, found a chapel, and thereby

A holy hermit in a hermitage,

To whom I told my phantoms, and he said:

“ ‘O son, thou hast not true humility,

The highest virtue, mother of them all;

For when the Lord of all things made Himself

Naked of glory for His mortal change,

“Take thou my robe,” she said, “for all is thine,”

And all her form shone forth with sudden light

So that the angels were amazed, and she

Followed Him down, and like a flying star

Led on the gray-haired wisdom of the east;

But her thou hast not known: for what is this

Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins?

Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself

As Galahad.’ When the hermit made an end,

In silver armour suddenly Galahad shone

Before us, and against the chapel door

Laid lance, and entered, and we knelt in prayer.

And there the hermit slaked my burning thirst,

And at the sacring of the mass I saw

The holy elements alone; but he,

‘Saw ye no more? I, Galahad, saw the Grail,

The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine:

I saw the fiery face as of a child

That smote itself into the bread, and went;

And hither am I come; and never yet

Hath what thy sister taught me first to see,

This Holy Thing, failed from my side, nor come

Covered, but moving with me night and day,

Fainter by day, but always in the night

Blood-red, and sliding down the blackened marsh

Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top

Blood-red, and in the sleeping mere below

Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode,

Shattering all evil customs everywhere,

And past through Pagan realms, and made them mine,

And clashed with Pagan hordes, and bore them down,

And broke through all, and in the strength of this

Come victor. But my time is hard at hand,

And hence I go; and one will crown me king

Far in the spiritual city; and come thou, too,

For thou shalt see the vision when I go.’

“While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on mine,

Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew

One with him, to believe as he believed.

Then, when the day began to wane, we went.

“There rose a hill that none but man could climb,

Scarred with a hundred wintry water-courses⁠—

Storm at the top, and when we gained it, storm

Round us and death; for every moment glanced

His silver arms and gloomed: so quick and thick

The lightnings here and there to left and right

Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead,

Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death,

Sprang into fire: and at the base we found

On either hand, as far as eye could see,

A great black swamp and of an evil smell,

Part black, part whitened with the bones of men,

Not to be crost, save that some ancient king

Had built a way, where, linked with many a bridge,

A thousand piers ran into the great Sea.

And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge,

And every bridge as quickly as he crost

Sprang into fire and vanished, though I yearned

To follow; and thrice above him all the heavens

Opened and blazed with thunder such as seemed

Shoutings of all the sons of God: and first

At once I saw him far on the great Sea,

In silver-shining armour starry-clear;

And o’er his head the Holy Vessel hung

Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud.

And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat,

If boat it were⁠—I saw not whence it came.

And when the heavens opened and blazed again

Roaring, I saw him like a silver star⁠—

And had he set the sail, or had the boat

Become a living creature clad with wings?

And o’er his head the Holy Vessel hung

Redder than any rose, a joy to me,

For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn.

Then in a moment when they blazed again

Opening, I saw the least of little stars

Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star

I saw the spiritual city and all her spires

And gateways in a glory like one pearl⁠—

No larger, though the goal of all the saints⁠—

Strike from the sea; and from the star there shot

A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there

Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail,

Which never eyes on earth again shall see.

Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep.

And how my feet recrost the deathful ridge

No memory in me lives; but that I touched

The chapel-doors at dawn I know; and thence

Taking my warhorse from the holy man,

Glad that no phantom vext me more, returned

To whence I came, the gate of Arthur’s wars.”

“O brother,” asked Ambrosius⁠—“for in sooth

These ancient books⁠—and they would win thee⁠—teem,

Only I find not there this Holy Grail,

With miracles and marvels like to these,

Not all unlike; which oftentime I read,

Who read but on my breviary with ease,

Till my head swims; and then go forth and pass

Down to the little thorpe that lies so close,

And almost plastered like a martin’s nest

To these old walls⁠—and mingle with our folk;

And knowing every honest face of theirs

As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep,

And every homely secret in their hearts,

Delight myself with gossip and old wives,

And ills and aches, and teethings, lyings-in,

And mirthful sayings, children of the place,

That have no meaning half a league away:

Or lulling random squabbles when they rise,

Chafferings and chatterings at the market-cross,

Rejoice, small man, in this small world of mine,

Yea, even in their hens and in their eggs⁠—

O brother, saving this Sir Galahad,

Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest,

No man, no woman?”

Then Sir Percivale:

“All men, to one so bound by such a vow,

And women were as phantoms. O, my brother,

Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee

How far I faltered from my quest and vow?

For after I had lain so many nights

A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake,

In grass and burdock, I was changed to wan

And meagre, and the vision had not come;

And then I chanced upon a goodly town

With one great dwelling in the middle of it;

Thither I made, and there was I disarmed

By maidens each as fair as any flower:

But when they led me into hall, behold,

The Princess of that castle was the one,

Brother, and that one only, who had ever

Made my heart leap; for when I moved of old

A slender page about her father’s hall,

And she a slender maiden, all my heart

Went after her with longing: yet we twain

Had never kissed a kiss, or vowed a vow.

And now I came upon her once again,

And one had wedded her, and he was dead,

And all his land and wealth and state were hers.

And while I tarried, every day she set

A banquet richer than the day before

By me; for all her longing and her will

Was toward me as of old; till one fair morn,

I walking to and fro beside a stream

That flashed across her orchard underneath

Her castle-walls, she stole upon my walk,

And calling me the greatest of all knights,

Embraced me, and so kissed me the first time,

And gave herself and all her wealth to me.

Then I remembered Arthur’s warning word,

That most of us would follow wandering fires,

And the Quest faded in my heart. Anon,

The heads of all her people drew to me,

With supplication both of knees and tongue:

‘We have heard of thee: thou art our greatest knight,

Our Lady says it, and we well believe:

Wed thou our Lady, and rule over us,

And thou shalt be as Arthur in our land.’

O me, my brother! but one night my vow

Burnt me within, so that I rose and fled,

But wailed and wept, and hated mine own self,

And even the Holy Quest, and all but her;

Then after I was joined with Galahad

Cared not for her, nor anything upon earth.”

Then said the monk, “Poor men, when yule is cold,

Must be content to sit by little fires.

And this am I, so that ye care for me

Ever so little; yea, and blest be Heaven

That brought thee here to this poor house of ours

Where all the brethren are so hard, to warm

My cold heart with a friend: but O the pity

To find thine own first love once more⁠—to hold,

Hold her a wealthy bride within thine arms,

Or all but hold, and then⁠—cast her aside,

Foregoing all her sweetness, like a weed.

For we that want the warmth of double life,

We that are plagued with dreams of something sweet

Beyond all sweetness in a life so rich⁠—

Ah, blessed Lord, I speak too earthlywise,

Seeing I never strayed beyond the cell,

But live like an old badger in his earth,

With earth about him everywhere, despite

All fast and penance. Saw ye none beside,

None of your knights?”

“Yea so,” said Percivale:

“One night my pathway swerving east, I saw

The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors

All in the middle of the rising moon:

And toward him spurred, and hailed him, and he me,

And each made joy of either; then he asked,

‘Where is he? hast thou seen him⁠—Lancelot?⁠—Once,’

Said good Sir Bors, ‘he dashed across me⁠—mad,

And maddening what he rode: and when I cried,

“Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest

So holy,” Lancelot shouted, “stay me not!

I have been the sluggard, and I ride apace,

For now there is a lion in the way.”

So vanished.’

“Then Sir Bors had ridden on

Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot,

Because his former madness, once the talk

And scandal of our table, had returned;

For Lancelot’s kith and kin so worship him

That ill to him is ill to them; to Bors

Beyond the rest: he well had been content

Not to have seen, so Lancelot might have seen,

The Holy Cup of healing; and, indeed,

Being so clouded with his grief and love,

Small heart was his after the Holy Quest:

If God would send the vision, well: if not,

The Quest and he were in the hands of Heaven.