Katrina Trask

“ And I have come straightway to you, Sanpeur,—
Having more faith in your true love for me
Than any woman ever had before
In love of man, or chivalry of knight,—
To tell you that I love you more than life.
Long have I loved you, well I know it now,
Although I knew it not, until this blow
Stamped it in blood upon my mind and soul.
I rose this morn resolved to be more true
To your high thought of womanhood, and wife,
To bear with Torm more patiently, and strive
To make my life more worthy of your love ”

“ There is no knight for you and my sweet Greane.
God help me!" and he turned him to the wall.
"O Christalan! my son," she answered him,
"Knighthood is in the spirit and the soul;
The deeds that show the knighthood to the world
Are but the chance and circumstance of fate;
And no knight could be truer than you proved
Yourself in self-forgetting, nor more brave
Than in foregoing knighthood for a knight.
You will be far more valiant, if you bear
This sorrow without murmur or complaint,
Than you could prove in any battle won.
The meanest varlet often wins by chance. ”

“ It lies with petty souls alone to boast,
Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur."
"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord!
Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur."
"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow
With exultation of defense of him,
"It well might be my glory; for there lives
No knight so stainless and so pure as he."
"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!"
And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand,
He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine,
And went out cursing. ”

“ With life's vexed questions, and its stern demands,
Full often even in my sheltered state;
And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o'ercome
With the vast load of duties you fulfil
So nobly, to the glory of the realm.
Would I could serve you, as you well deserve;
But I am only woman, so I smile
In lieu of fighting for you, as I would
Unto the death, if I were but a knight."
And this same dame who spoke so earnestly
To Constantine, said when she next had speech
With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play
To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond
The fashion of the robe I wear!" ”

“ It is the son of the brave knight Noël,
Cut off, alas! too early in his prime,
Now lying dead beneath yon sculptured stone,
But living in the hearts of the small group
In the old Minster on this sunny morn.
The proud young head is bowed in reverence
Before the holy priest of God, whose face
Is glowing with paternal love that shines
Through dignity of the official calm.
Who loves not Christalan for his blithe grace?—
For his dear eyes, so true, so fathomless,
So full of tenderness, his mother thought
They were the reflex of the steadfast love
She bore her lord Noël? ”

“ To his fair words of thought-betaking grace,
The heart of Gwendolaine would faster beat,
And all her waywardness would quick return;
Then, if Sanpeur approached her, she would mock
At life, and love, and fling the gauntlet down
As challenge for a tournament of speech.
"And pray, Sanpeur," she said one eve to him,
When they were at a feast at Camelot,
"Why is your life so lone and incomplete,
When any lovely maiden of the court
Would follow you most gladly at your call?"
"You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine." ”

“ And truth and honour for the fair Leorre,
The wife of Reginault, his patron knight,—
The brave old man who treated him as son.
Long had he loved her with a knightly love,
And fought for her, and chosen her the queen
Of many a tournament. She still was young,
Fairer than morning in the early spring.
When she had come, a gladsome bride, to grace
The castle of old Reginault, and warm
His grand old spirit into youth again,
Sir Kathanal had bowed before her, saying,
"My gracious lady, take me as your knight" ”

“ She spoke her thoughts aloud in pride-thrilled tones—
"Almost a knight, my Greane, is Christalan;
How valiant, faithful, noble he has been,
And will be ever, my true-hearted son!"
"Greane! Greane! they come! I see a dusty cloud
That hides and heralds the approach of men.
Look, is it Christalan? They come more near,
Nearer and nearer! God in Heaven! Greane,
What is it that they bring? Not Christalan?
O no; that silent form they bear so slow
Can not, and must not, be my Christalan! ”

“ Her soul asserts itself through her gay life,
And joy pervades her,—she is radiant.
How wonderful she looked, last night, at Camelot!
She moved in glowing beauty like a star."
And with the vision of her in his heart,
In all the splendour of her state and pride,
In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls,
He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk,
And faced her in her simple russet gown,
Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind,
Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers,
Save on the one a deep and crimson stain.
"My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell. ”

“ And, by our blessed Lord, my heart is sure
That, were she living, I should love her well."
"O Christalan! you would not love a maid
That lost her maiden pride and dignity,
Giving her love unasked?" said Greane, in scorn.
"Alas, Greane! have you, hidden from the world,
Learned the world's jargon and false estimates?
Do you not know that love is more than pride,
And beating heart more than cold dignity?
Men die for glory, and you all applaud. ”

“ And Sir Sanpeur is riding with Ettonne.
A sudden conflict wages in her heart
As she talks lightly to each courtier gay,
Jealous impatience that the Gwendolaine
Whom all men flatter, should be thwarted, fights
A tender yearning to defy all pride
And call him to her for one spoken word.
The world seems better when he talks with her,
No one has ever lifted her above
The empty nothings of a courtly life
As Sir Sanpeur, who makes both life and death
More grandly solemn, yet more simply clear. ”

“ His pleading heart, so long her pleading seemed.
Now she is gone, all calm and thought are lost
In the impassioned wish for her, the thirst
To drink the sweetness of her deep, rich soul,
Without a thought of Torm, or all the world.
Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune,
And flesh and sense as much a part of him
As his clear brain and spirit consecrate.
Passion for once asserts itself; he starts,
And towards the castle strides with rapid steps ”

“ Sanpeur," answered Gwendolaine, "nor yours,
It seems, to be well mannered; may I ask
Where I have failed in bravery, forsooth?"
"You were a coward to your better self
In your light answer to the empty words
Your nature disavowed."
"Alack, my lord!
That is my armour; warriors ever wear
A cuirass of strong steel before their breasts;
A woman carries but a little shield
Of scorn and badinage, to break the force
On her weak woman-heart, of javelins hurled."
"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine,
But it is not the same, by your fair grace;
Our armour is our armour, nothing more ”

“ Straightway he grew to be the bravest knight
Under King Constantine, since Sir Sanpeur;
The boldest in the battles for the right;
The kindest in his judgment of the wrong.
His eyes that held the vision of the Grail
Were ever clear to see and know the truth;
His lips that had been touched by holy chrism
Were strong to utter holy living words;
He sang of life in life, and life in death,
And taught the lesson that his heart had learned—
All love should be a glory, not a doom;
Love for love's sake, albeit bliss-denied. ”

“ He rides to-day towards Lady Gwendolaine,
She draws her rein more tightly, arching more
Her palfrey's head, and all unconsciously
Uplifts her own,—for she has waited long.
"Good morrow, my fair Lady Gwendolaine."
"Good morrow, Sir Sanpeur, pray do you mark
My new gerfalcon, from beyond the sea?
Your eyes are just the colour of her wings."
"Now, by my troth, I challenge any knight
To say precisely what that colour is."
"'Tis there the likeness serves so well, Sanpeur." ”

“ Save Sir Sanpeur, the passing noble knight
Whose bearing doth bespeak heroic deeds,
There where he rides with the sweet maid Ettonne.
Sir Torm, the husband of fair Gwendolaine,
Is all unconscious of aught else beside
The outward seeming, 'tis enough for him
That she is gay and beautiful, and smiles.
He has a nature small and limited
By sight, and sense, and self, and his desires ”

“ With dignity to be a servitor.
The least shall be the greatest, the most true
In all things, howe'er small, shall be at last
Most valiant. Will you serve as well, my son,
As now you hope to conquer?"
"Mother mine,
Nothing will be too hard for me, I know,
With knighthood at the end. If that should fail,
I could not bear it! It will come at last!
When I shall hear the cry, that in our play
Sweet Greane is ever calling through the wood,
From all the court, and even from the King,
'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'"
Eight years had passed. ”

“ By one swift deed of anger, which Sir Torm
Has bitterly repented and bewailed
Full long ere this; of that you are right sure,
Because you know his loving heart's rebound."
"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death."
"Naught can bring death to immortality
But sin,—and life with me, my Gwendolaine,
Would be the death of all we hold most high."
"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off;
He does not love me! I have dreamed it all."
Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine,
Unsay that; it is false! You know full well
How far I love you above thought of self ”

“ The motive of his speech,—"Our knight, Sanpeur,
But contradicts your verdict, Torm, and proves
That which the great King Arthur taught,—the man
Is strongest who can claim a strength divine
From whence to draw his own." Sir Torm had grown
More wrathful in his heart at this, and kept
Sanpeur long while from word with Gwendolaine.
Then, when Torm's anger did not baffle her,
Sometimes a doubt would come, and doubt hides joy. ”

“ Their broidered curving with her forefinger,
"Valiant and True" she says: "My Christalan, When you are great and famous in the world, Which would you be, could you be only one?"
"Why, Greane, they go together, like the light
And morning: no knight could be really true
And not be valiant to the death; and yet,
No valiant knight could live and not be true." ”

“ You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm."
"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream.
"O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ!
Save me and keep me from the bitter shame
Of such humiliation to my soul."
"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine,
Can bring humiliation to a soul.
Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally—"
"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn.
"He knows his way, and in it loves you well;
Your wit and beauty are his chiefest pride ”

“ E'en from the love that, trusting, she had sought.
She lay within my castle with my dames,
Resting, and waiting for the dawn of day,
When she had bade me lead her back to you,
That she might ask forgiveness for her fault.
Now, by my knighthood and the sign I wear,
I speak the truth, Sir Torm!—With my last breath
I pray you grant her pardon, for my sake,
Who die, to save you, of wounds meant for you. ”

“ To beg you with humility for grace,
And pardon for my utter want of truth,
Complete forgetfulness of womanhood,
And wifely loyalty. My lord, Sir Torm,
I promised him! and by his silent corse,—
And with a broken heart,—I pray that you
Will grant me pardon, though you cast me off."
"My Gwendolaine," Torm answered quickly, moved
By an uplifting impulse in his soul,—
"For you are mine, whomever you may love,—
I know that Sir Sanpeur did speak the truth;
You have not sinned in deed ”

“ And bring dark desolation on the land,—
My knight must grow the greater through his love,
The better for my favour, the more pure!
More than all gifts, or wealth of royal dower,
I want, I crave, I claim this boon of thee. ”

“ That floated from his helmet.
"Goes Sanpeur
To the great tournament to-day?" he asked.
"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont
To tilt in tourneys like to-day's."
"Think not!
I want an honest answer. Do you know?"
"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm;
It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight
In these new tourneys of such savage guise."
"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks
You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?" ”

“ SIR THOMAS MALORY, "La Mort d'Arthure"
CHRISTALAN. The yellow sunlight, coming from the east,
Through the great Minster windows, arched and high,
That tell the story of our blessed Lord
In colours royal with significance,
Takes many hues, and falls upon the head
Of a fair boy before the altar-rail. ”

“ In strides Sir Torm, equipped for tournament.
The Lady Gwendolaine goes not to-day,
For it will be a savage tournament,
"Unfit for ladies," Torm had said to her,
"Unworthy men," she thought, but did not say. ”

“ Than winning peace and happiness for you?"
"But it would be keen misery for life"—
"It leadeth unto happiness and peace
In the far future, if we fail not now.
This life is but the filling of a trust,
To prove us worthy of the life beyond,
And happiness is never to be sought. ”