CHAPTER IV.
CARADOC BRIEFBRAS; OR CARADOC WITH THE SHRUNKEN ARM.
CARADOC was the son of Ysenne, the beautiful niece of
Arthur. He was
ignorant who his father was, till it was discovered in
the following
manner: When the youth was of proper years to receive
the honors of
knighthood, King Arthur held a grand court for the purpose
of
knighting him. On this occasion a strange knight presented
himself,
and challenged the knights of Arthur's court to exchange
blow for blow
with him. His proposal was this,- to lay his neck on a
block for any
knight to strike, on condition that, if he survived the
blow, the
knight should submit in turn to the same experiment. Sir
Kay, who
was usually ready to accept all challenges, pronounced
this wholly
unreasonable, and declared that he would not accept it
for all the
wealth in the world. And when the knight offered his sword,
with which
the operation was to be performed, no person ventured
to accept it,
till Caradoc, growing angry at the disgrace which was
thus incurred by
the Round Table, threw aside his mantle and took it. "Do
you do this
as one of the best knights?" said the stranger. "No,"
he replied, "but
as one of the most foolish." The stranger lays his
head upon the
block, receives a blow which sends it rolling from his
shoulders,
walks after it, picks it up, replaces it with great success,
and
says he will return when the court shall be assembled
next year, and
claim his turn. When the anniversary arrived both parties
were
punctual to their engagement. Great entreaties were used
by the king
and queen, and the whole court, in behalf of Caradoc,
but the stranger
was inflexible. The young knight laid his head upon the
block, and
more than once desired him to make an end of the business,
and not
keep him longer in so disagreeable a state of expectation.
At last the
stranger strikes him gently. with the side of the sword,
bids him
rise, and reveals to him the fact that he is his father,
the enchanter
Eliaures, and that he gladly owns him for a son, having
proved his
courage, and fidelity to his word.
But the favor of enchanters is short-lived and uncertain.
Eliaures
fell under the influence of a wicked woman, who, to satisfy
her
pique against Caradoc, persuaded the enchanter to fasten
on his arm
a serpent, which remained there sucking at his flesh and
blood, no
human skill sufficing either to remove the reptile or
alleviate the
torments which Caradoc endured.
Caradoc was betrothed to Guimier, sister to his bosom
friend
Cador, and daughter to the king of Cornwall. As soon as
they were
informed of his deplorable condition, they set out for
Nantes, where
Caradoc's castle was, that Guimier might attend upon him.
When Caradoc
heard of their coming his first emotion was that of joy
and love.
But soon he began to fear that the sight of his emaciated
form and
of his sufferings would disgust Guimier; and this apprehension
became so strong that he departed secretly from Nantes,
and hid
himself in a hermitage. He was sought far and near by
the knights of
Arthur's court, and Cador made a vow never to desist from
the quest
till he should have found him. After long wandering, Cador
discovered his friend in the hermitage, reduced almost
to a
skeleton, and apparently near his death. All other means
of relief
having already been tried in vain, Cador at last prevailed
on the
enchanter Eliaures to disclose the only method which could
avail for
his rescue. A maiden must be found, his equal in birth
and beauty, and
loving him better than herself, so that she would expose
herself to
the same torment to deliver him. Two vessels were then
to be provided,
the one filled with sour wine and the other with milk.
Caradoc must
enter the first, so that the wine should reach his neck,
and the
maiden must get into the other, and, exposing her bosom
upon the
edge of the vessel, invite the serpent to forsake the
withered flesh
of his victim for this fresh and inviting food. The vessels
were to be
placed three feet apart, and as the serpent crossed from
one to the
other a knight was to cut him in two. If he failed in
his blow,
Caradoc, would indeed be delivered, but it would only
be to see his
fair champion suffering the same cruel and hopeless torment.
The
sequel may be easily foreseen. Guimier willingly exposed
herself to
the perilous adventure, and Cador, with a lucky blow,
killed the
serpent. The arm, in which Caradoc had suffered so long,
recovered its
strength, but not its shape, in consequence of which he
was called
Caradoc Briefbras, Caradoc of the Shrunken Arm.
Caradoc and Guimier are the hero and heroine of the
ballad of the
Boy and the Mantle, which follows.
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
In Carlisle dwelt King Arthur,
A prince of passing might,
And there maintained his Table
Beset with many a knight.
And there he kept his Christmas,
With mirth and princely cheer,
When lo! a strange and cunning boy
Before him did appear.
A kirtle and a mantle
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and ouches,
Full daintily bedone.
He had a sash of silk.
About his middle meet;
And thus with seemly curtesie
He did King Arthur greet:
"God speed thee, brave King Arthur,
Thus feasting in thy bower,
And Guenever, thy goodly queen,
That fair and peerless flower.
"Ye gallant lords and lordlings,
I wish you all take heed,
Lest what ye deem a blooming rose
Should prove a cankered weed."
Then straightway from his bosom
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle,
Of wondrous shape and hue.
"Now have thou here, King Arthur,
Have this here of me,
And give unto thy comely queen,
All shapen as you see.
"No wife it shall become,
That once hath been to blame."
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Sly glanced at his dame.
And first came Lady Guenever,
The mantle she must try.
This dame she was new-fangled*
And of a roving eye.
When she had taken the mantle,
And all with it was clad,
From top to toe it shivered down,
As though with shears beshred.
One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on the shoulders,
In most unseemly sort.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue;
"Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur,
"I think thou be'st not true!"
Down she threw the mantle,
No longer would she stay;
But, storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
She cursed the rascal weaver,
That had the mantle wrought;
And doubly cursed the froward imp
Who thither had it brought.
"I had rather live in deserts,
Beneath the greenwood tree,
Than here, base king, among thy grooms,
The sport of them and thee."
Sir Kay called forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:
"Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear."
This lady, pertly giggling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had taken the mantle,
With purpose for to wear,
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her back all bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gibed and laughed and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
Down she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But, with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
Then forth came an old knight
A-pattering o'er his creed,
And proffered to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed:
"And all the time of Christmas
Plum-porridge shall be thine,
If thou wilt let my lady fair
Within the mantle shine."
A saint his lady seemed,
With step demure and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing face doth go.
When she the same had taken
That was so fine and thin,
It shrivelled all about her,
And showed her dainty skin.
Ah! little did her mincing,
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her
Than a tassel and a thread.
Down she threw the mantle,
With terror and dismay,
And with a face of scarlet
To her chamber hied away.
Sir Cradock called his lady,
And bade her to come near;
"Come win this mantle, lady,
And do me credit here:
"Come win this mantle, lady,
For now it shall be thine,
If thou hast never done amiss,
Since first I made thee mine."
The lady, gently blushing,
With modest grace came on;
And now to try the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
When she had taken the mantle,
And put it on her back,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to crack.
"Lie still," she cried, "O
mantle!
And shame me not for naught;
I'll freely own whate'er amiss
Or blameful I have wrought.
"Once I kissed Sir Cradock
Beneath the greenwood tree;
Once I kissed Sir Cradock's mouth,
Before he married me."
When she had thus her shriven,
And her worst fault had told,
The mantle soon became her,
Right comely as it should.
Most rich and fair of color,
Like gold it glittering shone,
And much the knights in Arthur's court
Admired her every one.
* New-fangled,- fond of novelty.
The ballad goes on to tell of two more trials of a similar
kind,
made by means of a boar's head and a drinking-horn, in
both of which
the result was equally favorable with the first to Sir
Cradock and his
lady. It then concludes as follows:-
Thus boar's head, horn, and mantle
Were this fair couple's meed;
And all such constant lovers,
God send them well to speed.
Percy's Reliques.
CHAPTER V.
SIR GAWAIN.
SIR GAWAIN was nephew to King Arthur, by his sister
Morgana, married
to Lot, king of Orkney, who was by Arthur made king of
Norway. Sir
Gawain was one of the most famous knights of the Round
Table, and is
characterized by the romancers as the sage and courteous
Gawain. To
this Chaucer alludes in his "Squiere's Tale,"
which the strange knight
"saluteth" all the court-
"With so high reverence and observance,
As well in speeche as in countenance,
That Gawain, with his olde curtesie,
Though he were come agen out of faerie,
Ne coude him not amenden with a word."
Gawain's brothers were Agravain, Gaharet, and Gareth.
SIR GAWAIN'S MARRIAGE.
Once upon a time King Arthur held his court in merry
Carlisle,
when a damsel came before him and craved a boon. It was
for
vengeance upon a caitiff knight, who had made her lover
captive and
despoiled her of her lands. King Arthur commanded to bring
him his
sword, Excalibar, and to saddle his steed, and rode forth
without
delay to right the lady's wrong. Ere long he reached the
castle of the
grim baron, and challenged him to the conflict. But the
castle stood
on magic ground, and the spell was such that no knight
could tread
thereon but straight his courage fell and his strength
decayed. King
Arthur felt the charm, and before a blow was struck his
sturdy limbs
lost their strength, and his head grew faint. He was fain
to yield
himself prisoner to the churlish knight, who refused to
release him
except upon condition that he should return at the end
of a year,
and bring a true answer to the question, "What thing
is it which women
most desire?" or in default thereof surrender himself
and his lands.
King Arthur accepted the terms, and gave his oath to return
at the
time appointed. During the year the king rode east, and
he rode
west, and inquired of all whom he met what thing it is
which all women
most desire. Some told him riches; some pomp and state;
some mirth;
some flattery; and some a gallant knight. But in the diversity
of
answers he could find no sure dependence. The year was
well nigh spent
when, one day, as he rode thoughtfully through a forest,
he saw
sitting beneath a tree a lady of such hideous aspect that
he turned
away his eyes, and when she greeted him in seemly sort
made no answer.
"What wight art thou," the lady said, "that
will not speak to me? It
may chance that I may resolve thy doubts, though I be
not fair of
aspect." "If thou wilt do so," said King
Arthur, "choose what reward
thou wilt, thou grim lady, and it shall be given thee."
"Swear me this
upon thy faith," she said, and Arthur swore it. Then
the lady told him
the secret, and demanded her reward, which was that the
king should
find some fair and courtly knight to be her husband.
King Arthur hastened to the grim baron's castle and
told him one
by one all the answers which he had received from his
various
advisers, except the last, and not one was admitted as
the true one.
"Now yield thee, Arthur," the giant said, "for
thou hast not paid
thy ransom, and thou and thy lands are forfeited to me."
Then King
Arthur said:-
"Yet hold thy hand, thou proud baron,
I pray thee hold thy hand.
And give me leave to speak once more,
In rescue of my land.
This morn, as I came over a moor,
I saw a lady set,
Between an oak and a green holly,
All clad in red scarlet.
She says all women would have their will,
This is their chief desire;
Now yield, as thou art a baron true,
That I have paid my hire."
"It was my sister that told thee this," the
churlish baron
exclaimed. "Vengeance light on her! I will some time
or other do her
as ill a turn."
King Arthur rode homeward, but not light of heart; for
he remembered
the promise he was under to the loathly lady to give her
one of his
young and gallant knights for a husband. He told his grief
to Sir
Gawain, his nephew, and he replied, "Be not sad,
my lord, for I will
marry the loathly lady." King Arthur replied:-
"Now nay, now nay, good Sir Gawaine,
My sister's son ye be;
The loathly lady's all too grim,
And all too foule for thee."
But Gawain persisted, and the king at last, with sorrow
of heart,
consented that Gawain should be his ransom. So, one day,
the king
and his knights rode to the forest, met the loathly lady,
and
brought her to the court. Sir Gawain stood the scoffs
and jeers of his
companions as he best might, and the marriage was solemnized,
but
not with the usual festivities, Chaucer tells us:-
"There was no joye, ne feste at alle;
There n'as but hevinesse and mochel sorwe,
For prively he wed her on the morwe,
And all day after hid him as an owle,
So wo was him his wife loked so foule!"*
* N'as is not was, contracted; in modern phrase, there
was not.
Mockel sorwe is much sorrow: morwe is morrow.
When night came, and they were alone together, Sir Gawain
could
not conceal his aversion; and the lady asked him why he
sighed so
heavily, and turned away his face. He candidly confessed
it was on
account of three things, her age, her ugliness, and her
low degree.
The lady, not at all offended, replied with excellent
arguments to all
his objections. She showed him that with age is discretion,
with
ugliness security from rivals, and that all true gentility
depends,
not upon the accident of birth, but upon the character
of the
individual.
Sir Gawain made no reply; but, turning his eyes on his
bride, what
was his amazement to perceive that she wore no longer
the unseemly
aspect that had so distressed him. She then told him that
the form she
had worn was not her true form, but a disguise imposed
upon her by a
wicked enchanter, and that she was condemned to wear it
until two
things should happen; one, that she should obtain some
young and
gallant knight to be her husband. This having been done,
one half of
the charm was removed. She was now at liberty to wear
her true form
for half the time, and she bade him choose whether he
would have her
fair by day and ugly by night, or the reverse. Sir Gawain
would fain
have had her look, her best by night, when he alone should
see her,
and show her repulsive visage, if at all, to others. But
she
reminded him how much more pleasant it would be to her
to wear her
best looks in the throng of knights and ladies by day.
Sir Gawain
yielded, and gave up his will to hers. This alone was
wanting to
dissolve the charm. The lovely lady now with joy assured
him that
she should change no more; but as she now was so would
she remain by
night as well as by day.
"Sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheek,
Her eyen were black as sloe,
The ripening cherrye swelled her lippe,
And all her neck was snow.
Sir Gawain kist that ladye faire
Lying upon the sheete,
And swore, as he was a true knight,
The spice was never so swete."
The dissolution of the charm which had held the lady
also released
her brother, the "grim baron," for he too had
been implicated in it.
He ceased to be a churlish oppressor, and became a gallant
and
generous knight as any at Arthur's court.
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