Col. S. L. Brengle - "When the Holy Ghost is Come"

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The High History of the Holy Graal

U >> Unkown >> The High History of the Holy Graal





II.

The authority of the scripture telleth us that after the
crucifixion of Our Lord, no earthly King set forward the Law of
Jesus Christ so much as did King Arthur of Britain, both by
himself and by the good knights that made repair to his court.
Good King Arthur after the crucifixion of Our Lord, was such as I
tell you, and was a puissant King, and one that well believed in
God, and many were the good adventures that befel at his court.
And he had in his court the Table Round that was garnished of the
best knights in the world. King Arthur after the death of his
father led the highest life and most gracious that ever king led,
in such sort that all the princes and all the barons took
ensample of him in well-doing. For ten years was King Arthur in
such estate as I have told you, nor never was earthly king so
praised as he, until that a slothful will came upon him and he
began to lose the pleasure in doing largesse that he wont to
have, nor was he minded to hold court neither at Christmas-tide
nor at Easter nor at Pentecost. The knights of the Table Round
when they saw his well-doing wax slack departed thence and began
to hold aloof from his court, insomuch as that of three hundred
and three-score knights and six that he wont to have of his
household, there were now not more than a five-and-twenty at
most, nor did no adventure befal any more at his court. All the
other princes had slackened of their well-doing for that they saw
King Arthur maintain so feebly. Queen Guenievre was so sorrowful
thereof that she knew not what counsel to take with herself, nor
how she might so deal as to amend matters so God amended them
not. From this time beginneth the history.


III.

It was one Ascension Day that the King was at Cardoil. He was
risen from meat and went through the hall from one end to the
other, and looked and saw the Queen that was seated at a window.
The King went to sit beside her, and looked at her in the face
and saw that the tears were falling from her eyes.

"Lady," saith the King, "What aileth you, and wherefore do you
weep?"

"Sir," saith she, "And I weep, good right have I; and you
yourself have little right to make joy."

"Certes, Lady, I do not."

"Sir," saith she, "You are right. I have seen on this high day,
or on other days that were not less high than this, when you have
had such throng of knights at your court that right uneath might
any number them. Now every day are so few therein that much
shame have I thereof, nor no more do no adventures befal therein.
Wherefore great fear have I lest God hath put you into
forgetfulness."

"Certes, Lady," saith the King, "No will have I to do largesse
nor aught that turneth to honour. Rather is my desire changed
into feebleness of heart. And by this know I well that I lose my
knights and the love of my friends."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "And were you to go to the chapel of S.
Augustine, that is in the White Forest, that may not be found
save by adventure only, methinketh that on your back-repair you
would again have your desire of well-doing, for never yet did
none discounselled ask counsel of God but he would give it for
love of him so he asked it of a good heart."

"Lady," saith the King, "And willingly will I go, forasmuch as
that you say have I heard well witnessed in many places where I
have been."

"Sir," saith she, "The place is right perilous and the chapel
right adventurous. But the most worshipful hermit that is in the
Kingdom of Wales hath his dwelling beside the chapel, nor liveth
he now any longer for nought save only the glory of God."

"Lady," saith the King, "It will behove me go thither all armed
and without knights."

"Sir," saith she, "You may well take with you one knight and a
squire."

"Lady," saith the King, "That durst not I, for the place is
perilous, and the more folk one should take thither, the fewer
adventures there should he find."

"Sir," saith she, "One squire shall you take by my good will nor
shall nought betide you thereof save good only, please God!"

"Lady," saith the King, "At your pleasure be it, but much dread I
that nought shall come of it save evil only."

Thereupon the King riseth up from beside the Queen, and looketh
before him and seeth a youth tall and strong and comely and
young, that was hight Chaus, and he was the son of Ywain li
Aoutres.

"Lady," saith he to the Queen, "This one will I take with me and
you think well."

"Sir," saith she, "It pleaseth me well, for I have heard much
witness to his valour."

The King calleth the squire, and he cometh and kneeleth down
before him. The King maketh him rise and saith unto him,
"Chaus," saith he, "You shall lie within to-night, in this hall,
and take heed that my horse be saddled at break of day and mine
arms ready. For I would be moving at the time I tell you, and
yourself with me without more company."

"Sir," saith the squire, "At your pleasure."

And the evening drew on, and the King and Queen go to bed. When
they had eaten in hall, the knights went to their hostels. The
squire remained in the hall, but he would not do off his clothes
nor his shoon, for the night seemed him to be too short, and for
that he would fain be ready in the morning at the King's
commandment. The squire was lying down in such sort as I have
told you, and in the first sleep that he slept, seemed him the
King had gone without him. The squire was sore scared thereat,
and came to his hackney and set the saddle and bridle upon him,
and did on his spurs and girt on his sword, as it seemed him in
his sleep, and issued forth of the castle a great pace after the
King. And when he had ridden a long space he entered into a
great forest and looked in the way before him and saw the slot of
the King's horse and followed the track a long space, until that
he came to a launde of the forest whereat he thought that the
King had alighted. The squire thought that the hoof-marks on the
way had come to an end and so thought that the King had alighted
there or hard by there. He looketh to the right hand and seeth a
chapel in the midst of the launde, and he seeth about it a great
graveyard wherein were many coffins, as it seemed him. He
thought in his heart that he would go towards the chapel, for he
supposed that the King would have entered to pray there. He went
thitherward and alighted. When the squire was alighted, he tied
up his hackney and entered into the chapel. None did he see
there in one part nor another, save a knight that lay dead in the
midst of the chapel upon a bier, and he was covered of a rich
cloth of silk, and had around him waxen tapers burning that were
fixed in four candlesticks of gold. This squire marvelled much
how this body was left there so lonely, insomuch that none were
about him save only the images, and yet more marvelled he of the
King that he found him not, for he knew not in what part to seek
him. He taketh out one of the tall tapers, and layeth hand on
the golden candlestick, and setteth it betwixt his hose and his
thigh and issueth forth of the chapel, and remounteth on his
hackney and goeth his way back and passeth beyond the grave-yard
and issueth forth of the launde and entereth into the forest and
thinketh that he will not cease until he hath found the King.


IV.

So, as he entereth into a grassy lane in the wood, he seeth come
before him a man black and foul-favoured, and he was somewhat
taller afoot than was himself a-horseback. And he held a great
sharp knife in his hand with two edges as it seemed him. The
squire cometh over against him a great pace and saith unto him,
"You, that come there, have you met King Arthur in this forest?"

"In no wise," saith the messenger, "But you have I met, whereof
am I right glad at heart, for you have departed from the chapel
as a thief and a traitor. For you are carrying off thence the
candlestick of gold that was in honour of the knight that lieth
in the chapel dead. Wherefore I will that you yield it up to me
and so will I carry it back, otherwise, and you do not this, you
do I defy!"

"By my faith," saith the squire, "Never will I yield it you!
rather will I carry it off and make a present thereof to King
Arthur."

"By my faith," saith the other, "Right dearly shall you pay for
it, and you yield it not up forthwith."

Howbeit, the squire smiteth with his spurs and thinketh to pass
him by, but the other hasteth him, and smiteth the squire in the
left side with the knife and thrusteth it into his body up to the
haft. The squire, that lay in the hall at Cardoil, and had
dreamed this, awoke and cried in a loud voice: "Holy Mary! The
priest! Help! Help, for I am a dead man!"

The King and the Queen heard the cry, and the chamberlain leapt
up and said to the King: "sir, you may well be moving, for it is
day!"

The King made him be clad and shod. And the squire crieth with
such strength as he hath: "Fetch me the priest, for I die!"

The King goeth thither as fast as he may, and the Queen and the
chamberlain carry great torches and candles. The King asketh him
what aileth him, and he telleth him all in such wise as he had
dreamed it. "Ha," saith the King, "Is it then a dream?"

"Yea, sir," saith he, "But a right foul dream it is for me, for
right foully hath it come true!" He lifted his left arm. "Sir,"
saith he, "Look you there! Lo, here is the knife that was run
into my side up to the haft!" After that, he setteth his hand to
his hose where the candlestick was. He draweth it forth and
showeth it to the King. "Sir," saith he, "For this candlestick
that I present to you, am I wounded to the death!"

The King taketh the candlestick, and looketh thereat in
wonderment for none so rich had he never seen tofore. The King
showeth it to the Queen. "Sir," saith the squire, "Draw not
forth the knife of my body until that I be shriven."

The King sent for one of his own chaplains that made the squire
confess and do his houselling right well. The King himself
draweth forth the knife of the body, and the soul departed
forthwith. The King made do his service right richly and his
shrouding and burial. Ywain li Aoutres that was father to the
squire was right sorrowful of the death of his son. King Arthur,
with the good will of Ywain his father, gave the candlestick to
S. Paul in London, for the church was newly founded, and the King
wished that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be known,
and that prayer should be made in the church for the soul of the
squire that was slain on account of the candlestick.


V.

King Arthur armed himself in the morning, as I told you and began
to tell, to go to the chapel of S. Augustine. Said the Queen to
him. "Whom will you take with you?"

"Lady," saith he, "No company will I have thither, save God only,
for well may you understand by this adventure that hath befallen,
that God will not allow I should have none with me."

"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and grant you
return safely so as that you may have the will to do well,
whereby shall your praise be lifted up that is now sore cast
down."

"Lady," saith he, "May God remember it."

His destrier was brought to the mounting-stage, and the King
mounted thereon all armed. Messire Ywain li Aoutres lent him his
shield and spear. When the King had hung the shield at his neck
and held the spear in his hand, sword-girt, on the tall destrier
armed, well seemed he in the make of his body and in his bearing
to be a knight of great pith and hardiment. He planteth himself
so stiffly in the stirrups that he maketh the saddlebows creak
again and the destrier stagger under him that was right stout and
swift, and he smiteth him of his spurs, and the horse maketh
answer with a great leap. The Queen was at the windows of the
hall, and as many as five-and-twenty knights were all come to the
mounting-stage. When the King departed, "Lords," saith the
Queen, "How seemeth you of the King? Seemeth he not a goodly
man?"

"Yea, certes, Lady, and sore loss is it to the world that he
followeth not out his good beginning, for no king nor prince is
known better learned of all courtesy nor of all largesse than he,
so he would do like as he was wont." With that the knights hold
their peace, and King Arthur goeth away a great pace. And he
entereth into a great forest adventurous, and rideth the day long
until he cometh about evensong into the thick of the forest. And
he espied a little house beside a little chapel, and it well
seemed him to be a hermitage. King Arthur rode thitherward and
alighteth before this little house, and entereth thereinto and
draweth his horse after him, that had much pains to enter in at
the door, and laid his spear down on the ground and leant his
shield against the wall, and hath ungirded his sword and unlaced
his ventail. He looked before him and saw barley and provender,
and so led his horse thither and smote off his bridle, and
afterwards hath shut the door of the little house and locked it.
And it seemed him that there was a strife in the chapel. The
ones were weeping so tenderly and sweetly as it were angels, and
the other spake so harshly as it were fiends. The King heard
such voices in the chapel and marvelled much what it might be.
He findeth a door in the little house that openeth on a little
cloister whereby one goeth to the chapel. The King is gone
thither and entereth into the little minster, and looketh
everywhere but seeth nought there, save the images and the
crucifixes. And he supposeth not that the strife of these voices
cometh of them. The voices ceased as soon as he was within. He
marvelleth how it came that this house and hermitage were
solitary, and what had become of the hermit that dwelt therein.
He drew nigh the altar of the chapel and beheld in front thereof
a coffin all discovered, and he saw the hermit lying therein all
clad in his vestments, and seeth the long beard down to his
girdle, and his hands crossed upon his breast. There was a cross
above him, whereof the image came as far as his mouth, and he had
life in him yet, but he was nigh his end, being at the point of
death. The King was before the coffin a long space, and looked
right fainly on the hermit, for well it seemed him that he had
been of a good life. The night was fully come, but within was a
brightness of light as if a score of candles were lighted. He
had a mind to abide there until that the good man should have
passed away. He would fain have sate him down before the coffin,
when a voice warned him right horribly to begone thence, for that
it was desired to make a judgment within there, that might not be
made so long as he were there. The King departed, that would
willingly have remained there, and so returned back into the
little house, and sate him down on a seat whereon the hermit wont
to sir. And he heareth the strife and the noise begin again
within the chapel, and the ones he heareth speaking high and the
others low, and he knoweth well by the voices, that the ones are
angels and the others devils. And he heareth that the devils are
distraining on the hermit's soul, and that judgment will
presently be given in their favour, whereof make they great joy.
King Arthur is grieved in his heart when he heareth that the
angels' voices are stilled. The King is so heavy, that no desire
hath he neither to eat nor to drink. And while he sitteth thus,
stooping his head toward the ground, full of vexation and
discontent, he heareth in the chapel the voice of a Lady that
spake so sweet and clear, that no man in this earthly world, were
his grief and heaviness never so sore, but and he had heard the
sweet voice of her pleading would again have been in joy. She
saith to the devils: "Begone from hence, for no right have ye
over the soul of this good man, whatsoever he may have done
aforetime, for in my Son's service and mine own is he taken, and
his penance hath he done in this hermitage of the sins that he
hath done."

"True, Lady," say the devils, "But longer had he served us than
he hath served you and your Son. For forty years or more hath he
been a murderer and robber in this forest, whereas in this
hermitage but five years hath he been. And now you Wish to
thieve him from us."

"I do not. No wish have I to take him from you by theft, for had
he been taken in your service in suchwise as he hath been taken
in mine, yours would he have been, all quit."

The devils go their way all discomfit and aggrieved; and the
sweet Mother of our Lord God taketh the soul of the hermit, that
was departed of his body, and so commendeth it to the angels and
archangels that they make present thereof to Her dear Son in
Paradise. And the angels take it and begin to sing for joy "Te
Deum laudamus". And the Holy Lady leadeth them and goeth her way
along with them. Josephus maketh remembrance of this history and
telleth us that this worthy man was named Calixtus.


VI.

King Arthur was in the little house beside the chapel, and had
heard the voice of the sweet Mother of God and the angels. Great
joy had he, and was right glad of the good man's soul that was
borne thence into Paradise. The King had slept right little the
night and was all armed. He saw the day break clear and fair,
and goeth his way toward the chapel to cry God mercy, thinking to
find the coffin discovered there where the hermit lay; but so did
he not! Rather, was it covered of the richest tomb-stone that
any might ever see, and had on the top a red cross, and seemed it
that the chapel was all incensed. When the King had made his
orison therein, he cometh back again and setteth on his bridle
and saddle and mounteth, and taketh his shield and spear and
departeth from the little house and entereth into the forest and
rideth a great pace, until he cometh at right hour of tierce to
one of the fairest laundes that ever a man might see. And he
seeth at the entrance a spear set bar-wise, and looketh to the
right or ever he should enter therein, and seeth a damsel sitting
under a great leafy tree, and she held the reins of her mule in
her hand. The damsel was of great beauty and full seemly clad.
The King turneth thitherward and so saluteth her and saith:
"Damsel," saith he, "God give you joy and good adventure."

"Sir," saith she, "So may He do to you!"

"Damsel," saith the King, "Is there no hold in this launde?"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "No hold is there save a most holy
chapel and a hermit that is beside S. Augustine's chapel."

"Is this then S. Augustine's chapel?" saith the King.

"Yea, Sir, I tell it you for true, but the launde and the forest
about is so perilous that no knight returneth thence but he be
dead or wounded; but the place of the chapel is of so great
worthiness that none goeth thither, be he never so discounselled,
but he cometh back counselled, so he may thence return on live.
And Lord God be guard of your body, for never yet saw I none
aforetime that seemed more like to be good knight, and sore pity
would it be and you were not, and never more shall I depart me
hence and I shall have seen your end."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Please God, you shall see me repair
back thence."

"Certes," saith the damsel, "Thereof should I be! right fain,
for then should I ask you tidings at leisure of him that I am
seeking."

The King goeth to the bar whereby one entereth into the launde,
and looketh to the right into a combe of the forest and seeth the
chapel of S. Augustine and the right fair hermitage. Thitherward
goeth he and alighteth, and it seemeth him that the hermit is
apparelled to sing the mass. He reineth up his horse to the
bough of a tree by the side of the chapel and thinketh to enter
thereinto, but, had it been to conquer all the kingdoms of the
world, thereinto might he not enter, albeit there was none made
him denial thereof, for the door was open and none saw he that
might forbid him. Sore ashamed is the King thereof. Howbeit, he
beholdeth an image of Our Lord that was there within and crieth
Him of mercy right sweetly, and looketh toward the altar. And he
looketh at the holy hermit that was robed to sing mass and said
his "Confiteor", and seeth at his right hand the fairest Child
that ever he had seen, and He was clad in an alb and had a golden
crown on his head loaded with precious stones that gave out a
full great brightness of light. On the left hand side, was a
Lady so fair that all the beauties of the world might not compare
them with her beauty. When the holy hermit had said his
"Confiteor" and went to the altar, the Lady also took her Son and
went to sit on the right hand side towards the altar upon a right
rich chair and set her Son upon her knees and began to kiss Him
full sweetly and saith: "Sir," saith she, "You are my Father and
my Son and my Lord, and guardian of me and of all the world."

King Arthur heareth the words and seeth the beauty of the Lady
and of the Child, and marvelleth much of this that She should
call Him her Father and her Son. He looketh at a window behind
the altar and seeth a flame come through at the very instant that
mass was begun, clearer than any ray of sun nor moon nor star,
and evermore it threw forth a brightness of light such that and
all the lights in the world had been together it would not have
been the like. And it is come down upon the altar. King Arthur
seeth it who marvelleth him much thereof. But sore it irketh him
of this that he may not enter therewithin, and he heareth, there
where the holy hermit was singing the mass, right fair responses,
and they seem him to be the responses of angels. And when the
Holy Gospel was read, King Arthur looked toward the altar and saw
that the Lady took her Child and offered Him into the hands of
the holy hermit, but of this King Arthur made much marvel, that
the holy hermit washed not his hands when he had received the
offering. Right sore did King Arthur marvel him thereof, but
little right would he have had to marvel had he known the reason.
And when the Child was offered him, he set Him upon the altar and
thereafter began his sacrament. And King Arthur set him on his
knees before the chapel and began to pray to God and to beat his
breast. And he looked toward the altar after the preface, and it
seemed him that the holy hermit held between his hands a man
bleeding from His side and in His palms and in His feet, and
crowned with thorns, and he seeth Him in His own figure. And
when he had looked on Him so long and knoweth not what is become
of Him, the King hath pity of Him in his heart of this that he
had seen, and the tears of his heart come into his eyes. And he
looketh toward the altar and thinketh to see the figure of the
man, and seeth that it is changed into the shape of the Child
that he had seen tofore.


VII.

When the mass was sung, the voice of a holy angel said "Ite,
missa est". The Son took the Mother by the hand, and they
evanished forth of the chapel with the greatest company and the
fairest that might ever be seen. The flame that was come down
through the window went away with this company. When the hermit
had done his service and was divested of the arms of God, he went
to King Arthur that was still without the chapel. "Sir," saith
he to the King, "Now may you well enter herein and well might you
have been joyous in your heart had you deserved so much as that
you might have come in at the beginning of the mass."

King Arthur entered into the chapel without any hindrance.
"Sir," saith the hermit to the King, "I know you well, as did I
also King Uther Pendragon your father. On account of your sins
and your deserts might you not enter here while mass was being
sung. Nor will you to-morrow, save you shall first have made
amends of that you have misdone towards God and towards the saint
that is worshipped herewithin. For you are the richest King of
the world and the most adventurous, wherefore ought all the world
to take ensample of you in well-doing and in largesse and in
honour; whereas you are now an ensample of evil-doing to all rich
worshipful men that be now in the world. Wherefore shall right
sore mishap betide you and you set nor back your doing to the
point whereat you began. For your court was the sovran of all
courts and the most adventurous, whereas now is it least of
worth. Well may he be sorry that goeth from honour to shame, but
never may he have reproach that shall do him ill, that cometh
from shame to honour, for the honour wherein he is found rescueth
him to God, but blame may never rescue the man that hath
renounced honour for shame, for the shame and wickedness wherein
he is found declare him guilty."


VIII.

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "To amend me have I come hither, and to
be better counselled than I have been. Well do I see that the
place is most holy, and I beseech you that you pray God that He
counsel me and I will do my endeavour herein to amend me."

"God grant you may amend your life," saith the holy hermit, "in
such sort that you may help to do away the evil Law and to exalt
the Law that is made new by the crucifixion of the Holy Prophet.
But a great sorrow is befallen in the land of late through a
young knight that was harboured in the hostel of the rich King
Fisherman, for that the most Holy Graal appeared to him and the
Lance whereof the point runneth of blood, yet never asked he to
whom was served thereof nor whence it came, and for that he asked
it not are all the lands commoved to war, nor no knight meeteth
other in the forest but he runneth upon him and slayeth him and
he may, and you yourself shall well perceive thereof or ever you
shall depart of this launde."

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