‘Now have I showed thee why thou art harder than the stone and bitterer than the tree, now shall I show thee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig tree. It befell that Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem, and there He found in the people that all hardness was harboured in them, and there He found in all the town not one that would harbour him. And then He went out of the town, and found in midst the way a fig tree which was right fair and well garnished of leaves, but fruit had it none. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bore no fruit; that betokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and no fruit.* So thou, Sir Lancelot, when the Holy Grail was brought before thee, He found in thee no fruit, nor good thought nor good will, and defouled with lechery.’
‘Certes,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘all that ye have said is true. And from henceforward I cast me, by the grace of God, never to be so wicked as I have been, but as to pursue knighthood and to do feats of arms.’
Then this good man enjoined Sir Lancelot such penance as he might do and to pursue knighthood, and so assoiled* him, and prayed him to abide with him all that day.
‘I will well,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘for I have neither helm, horse, nor sword.’
‘As for that,’ said the good man, ‘I shall help you or tomorrow at even of a horse,* and all that longeth unto you.’
And then Sir Lancelot repented him greatly of his misdeeds.
Here leaveth the tale of Sir Lancelot and beginneth of Sir Percival de Gales.
Of Sir Percival de Gales
[XIV.I]
Now saith the tale that when Sir Lancelot was ridden after Sir Galahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percival turned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that knight that Sir Lancelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and the recluse opened it and asked Sir Percival what he would.
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I am a knight of King Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir Percival de Gales.’
When the recluse heard his name she had great joy of him, for mickle she loved him passing any other knight, for she ought so to do, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates to be open, and there he had great cheer, as great as she might make him, or lay in her power. So on the morn Sir Percival went to the recluse and asked her if she knew that knight with the white shield.
‘Sir,’ said she, ‘why will ye wit?’
‘Truly, madam,’ said Sir Percival, ‘I shall never be well at ease till that I know of that knight’s fellowship, and that I may fight with him; for I may not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame as yet.’
‘Ah, Sir Percival,’ said she, ‘would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to be slain, as your father was through outrageousness slain.’
‘Madam, it seemeth by your words that ye know me.’
‘Yea,’ said she, ‘I well ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a poor place. For some men called me some time the Queen of the Waste Lands, and I was called the queen of most riches in the world. And it pleased me never so much my riches as doth my poverty.’
Then Percival wept for very pity when that he knew it was his aunt.
‘Ah, fair nephew,’ said she, ‘when heard you tidings of your mother?’
‘Truly,’ said he, ‘I heard none of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wot not whether she be dead or alive.’
‘Certes, fair nephew, your mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such a sorrow that anon as she was confessed, she died.’*
‘Now God have mercy on her soul,’ said Sir Percival. ‘It sore forthinketh me;* but all we must change the life. Now, fair aunt, what is that knight? I deem it be he that bore the red arms on Whitsunday.’
‘Wit you well,’ said she, ‘that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do but to go in red arms. And that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and he shall never be overcome of no earthly man’s hand.’*
[2]
‘Now, madam,’ said Sir Percival, ‘so much have I heard of you, that by my good will I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of goodness; and for God’s love, fair aunt, can ye teach me where I might find him? For much I would love the fellowship of him.’
‘Fair nephew,’ said she, ‘ye must ride straight unto the Castle of Carbonek, where the Maimed King is lying, for there shall ye hear true tidings of him.’
[3]
Then departed Sir Percival from his aunt, either making great sorrow. And so he rode till after evensong, and then he heard a clock smite;* and anon he was ware of a house closed well with walls and deep ditches, and there he knocked at the gate and anon he was let in, and he was led unto a chamber and soon unarmed. And there he had right good cheer all that night, and on the morn he heard his Mass. And in the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar, and on the right side he saw a pew closed with iron; and behind the altar he saw a rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then Sir Percival espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage was covered. Then he left off his looking and heard his service. And when it came to the sacring,* he that lay within the perclose* dressed* him up, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing old man, and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were naked and unhilled* unto his navel. And then Sir Percival espied his body was full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. And ever he held up his hands against Our Lord’s body, and cried, ‘Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, forget not me.’
And so he lay not down, but was always in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to be of the age of three hundred winters. And when the Mass was done the priest took Our Lord’s body and bore it unto the sick king. And when he had used it,* he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on the altar. Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren what he was.
[4]
‘Sir,’ said the good man, ‘ye have heard much of Joseph of Arimathea, how he was sent into this land for to teach and preach the holy Christian faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions, the which the enemies of Christ did unto him. And in the city of Sarras he converted a king whose name was Evelake; and so the king came with Joseph into this land, and ever he was busy to be there as the Sangrail was. And on a time he nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeased with him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him almost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said, “Fair Lord, let me never die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be come, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sangrail, and that I might kiss him.” When the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said, “Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he hath kissed thee. And when that knight shall come, the clearness of your eyes shall come again, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed; and erst* shall they never close.”
‘And thus befell of King Evelake, and this same king hath lived four hundred years this holy life, and men say the knight is in this court that shall heal him. Sir,’ said the good man, ‘I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of the Round Table.’
‘Yes, forsooth; and my name is Sir Percival de Gales.’
And when the good man understood his name he made great joy of him.
And then Sir Percival departed and rode till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about twenty men of arms, which bore in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they saw Sir Percival they asked him of whence he was; and he said, of the court of King Arthur. Then they cried at once, ‘Slay him!’
Then Sir Percival smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. And then seven of the knights smote upon his shield at once, and the remnant slew his horse, that he fell to the earth, and had slain him or taken him, had not the good knight Sir Galahad with the red arms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all those knights upon one knight, he said, ‘Save me that knight’s life!’
And then he
dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in his rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand that it was marvel to see. And at every stroke he smote down one or put him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percival saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away. And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad, and cried aloud and said, ‘Fair knight, abide and suffer me to do you thankings, for much have ye done for me.’
But ever Sir Galahad rode fast, that at the last he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percival might he went after him on foot, crying.*
[5]
So in this sorrow there he abode all that day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till it was midnight. And then he awoke and saw before him a woman which said unto him right fiercely, ‘Sir Percival, what dost thou here?’
‘I do neither good nor great ill.’
‘If thou wilt assure me’, said she, ‘that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I shall lend thee mine own horse which shall bear thee whither thou wilt.’
Sir Percival was glad of her proffer, and assured her to fulfil all her desire.
‘Then abide me here, and I shall go fetch you a horse.’
And so she came soon again and brought a horse with her that was inly* black. When Sir Percival beheld that horse, he marvelled that he was so great and so well apparelled; and not for that he was so hardy he leapt upon him and took no heed of himself. And anon as he was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so rode by a forest; and the moon shone clear. And within an hour and less he bore him four days’ journey thence, until he came to a rough water which roared, and that horse would have borne him into it.
[6]
And when Sir Percival came nigh the brim, he saw the water so boisterous he doubted* to pass over it; and then he made a sign of the cross in his forehead.* When the fiend felt him so charged he shook off Sir Percival, and he went into the water crying and making great sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water burnt. Then Sir Percival perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him unto perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed Our Lord to keep him from all such temptations. And so he prayed all that night till on the morn that it was day; and anon he saw he was in a wild mountain which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that he might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild beasts.
And then he went down into a valley, and there he saw a serpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir Percival. So with that came a great lion crying and roaring after the serpent. And as fast as Sir Percival saw this he hied him thither; but the lion had overtaken the serpent and began battle with him. And then Sir Percival thought to help the lion, for he was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew his sword and set his shield before him, and there he gave the serpent such a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, he made no semblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer that a beast might make a man.*
When Sir Percival perceived it, he cast down his shield, which was broken, and then he did off his helm for to gather wind, for he was greatly chafed* with the serpent; and the lion went always about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he stroked him on the neck and on the shoulders, and thanked God of the fellowship of that beast.
And about noon the lion took his little whelp and trussed* him and bore him there he came from. Then was Sir Percival alone. And as the tale telleth, he was at that time one of the men of the world which most believed in Our Lord Jesu Christ, for in those days there were but few folks at that time that believed perfectly; for in those days the son spared not the father no more than a stranger. And so Sir Percival comforted himself in Our Lord Jesu, and besought Him that no temptation should bring him out of God’s service, but to endure as his true champion.
Thus when Sir Percival had prayed, he saw the lion come toward him and couched down at his feet; and so all that night the lion and he slept together. And when Sir Percival slept he dreamed a marvellous dream: that two ladies met with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a serpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; and the youngest, him thought, said, ‘Sir Percival, my lord saluteth thee, and sendeth thee word thou array thee and make thee ready, for tomorrow thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And if thou be overcome, thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thy members,* but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world’s end.’ And then he asked her what was her lord; and she said, the greatest lord of the world. And so she departed suddenly that he wist not where.
[7]
Then came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent; and she said, ‘Sir Percival, I complain unto you of that ye have done unto me, and I have not offended unto you.’
‘Certes, madam,’ he said, ‘unto you nor no lady I never offended.’
‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I shall say you why. I have nourished in this place a great while a serpent which pleased me much, and yesterday ye slew him as he got his prey. Say me for what cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours.’
‘Madam, I know well the lion was not mine. But for the lion is more of gentler nature than the serpent, therefore I slew him; and me seemeth I did not amiss against you, madam,’ said he. ‘What would ye that I did?’
‘I would,’ said she, ‘for the amends of my beast that ye become my man.’
And then he answered and said, ‘That will I not grant you.’
‘No,’ said she, ‘truly ye were never my servant since ye received the homage of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore I you assure that in what place I may find you without keeping* I shall take you as he that sometime was my man.’
And so she departed from Sir Percival and left him sleeping, which was sore travailed of* his vision. And on the morn he arose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble.
Then was Sir Percival ware in the sea where came a ship sailing toward him; and Sir Percival went unto the ship and found it covered within and without with white samite. And at the helm stood an old man clothed in a surplice, in likeness of a priest.
‘Sir,’ said Sir Percival, ‘ye be welcome.’
‘God keep you,’ said the good man.’ And of whence be ye?’
‘Sir, I am a knight of King Arthur’s court and a knight of the Round Table, which am in the quest of the Sangrail; and here I am in great duress, and never like to escape out of this wilderness.’
‘Doubt ye not,’ said the good man. ‘And ye be so true a knight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to be, ye should not doubt that no enemy should slay you.’
‘What are ye?’ said Sir Percival.
‘Sir, I am of a strange country, and hither I come to comfort you.’
‘Sir,’ said Sir Percival, ‘what signifieth my dream that I dreamed this night?’ And there he told him all together.
‘She which rode upon the lion, it betokeneth the New Law of Holy Church, that is to understand, faith, good hope, belief, and baptism. For she seemed younger than that other it is great reason, for she was born in the resurrection and the passion of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And for great love she came to thee to warn thee of thy great battle that shall befall thee.’
‘With whom’, said Sir Percival, ‘shall I fight?’
‘With the most doubtful* champion of the world; for as the lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou shalt not be quit by losing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world’s end. And she that rode on the serpent signifieth the Old Law, and that serpent betokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest her servant, it betokeneth nothing but the serpent ye slew; that betokeneth the devil that thou rodest on to the rock, and when thou madest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him and put
away his power.* And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, then thou saidst nay, that was to make thee to believe on her and leave thy baptism.’*
So he commanded Sir Percival to depart; and so he leapt over the board, and the ship and all went away he wist not whither. Then he went up into the rock and found the lion which always bore him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had great joy of him.
[8]
By that Sir Percival had abided there till midday, he saw a ship come sailing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it; and so it landed under that rock. And when Sir Percival saw this he hied him thither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any bear. And therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was clothed richly, there might be none better. And when she saw Sir Percival she asked him who brought him into this wilderness, ‘where ye be never like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger and mischief.’
‘Damosel,’ said Sir Percival, ‘I serve the best man of the world, and in His service He will not suffer me to die; for who that knocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that seeketh Him, He hideth Him not unto his words.’*
But then she said, ‘Sir Percival, wot ye what I am?’
‘Who taught you my name now?’ said Sir Percival.
Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics) Page 44
