Book VI · ARTHUR, part 8 of 12

¶And ears as a bear had Kondrie, and never the eye might trace 615 A shy glance of love, or of longing, I ween in that wondrous face. And a scourge did she bear, and the handle was a ruby, of silk the cord; And the hands of this winsome maiden like a lion's were sharply clawed, And the skin as an ape's was dusky, and the nails they were not too light, And I ween, for her maiden favours, but seldom would heroes fight! 620

¶So rode she unto the circle, and her coming did sorrow bring, And fair joy did she put in peril--Then turned she unto the king, (And Kunnewaaré sat beside him, his table-mate was she, And fair Guinevere, his consort, a queen bare her company.) Thus in royal state King Arthur as monarch sat that day-- 625 To the Breton king rode Kondrie, and in French did she speak alway; And tho' I in another language than hers shall the venture tell, Yet I rede ye to wit that the telling it pleaseth me none too well!

¶'Thou son of high Pendragon, thyself, and thy Breton host, By thy deed hast thou shamed--From all lands the noblest that they might boast 630 Once sat here a gallant circle, but poisoned is now their fame, And thy Table Round dishonoured by traitor, and brought to shame. King Arthur, o'er all thy fellows, thy praises of old stood high, But it sinketh now, thy glory, and thy fame, that did swiftly fly, Henceforward goeth halting; thine honour doth seek the ground 635 Since it showeth stain of falsehood--The fame of thy Table Round It suffered for the friendship ye with Parzival did swear, Tho' I wot well the outward token of a spotless knight he bear. "The Red Knight" ye here do call him, the name of one who lay Dead before Nantes, yet I tell thee unlike in their life are they! 640 For no mouth hath read of a hero whose fame knew nor fault nor flaw, As his!' From the king she turned her, and did rein by the Waleis draw,

¶And she quoth, 'Now sore shalt thou rue it, since I, for thy sake deny My greeting unto King Arthur, and the knights of his company. May thy fair face be dishonoured, and thy manhood I look on here. 645 Of forgiveness and joy were I merchant, in sooth shouldst thou buy them dear! And I deem thou art but a monster, and myself shall far fairer be! Speak, Sir Parzival, as I bid thee, and this riddle read thou to me, When thou sawest the fisher sit there, joyless, of comfort reft, Why didst thou not loose his sighing? Why was he in bondage left?' 650

¶'For he showed thee of his sorrow--Oh! thou false and faithless guest, For hadst thou had pity on him, his anguish had gotten rest. I would that thy mouth might perish, yea, the tongue thy mouth within, For e'en as the heart the tongue is, in thine heart is the root of sin. To Hell shalt thou be predestined, by the Ruler of Heaven high, 655 And this be on earth thy portion, that true men thy face shall fly. And ban hast thou won for blessing, and for bliss shalt thou find but bale, For too late dost thou strive for honour, and thy striving shall naught avail. And so feeble shall wax thy manhood, and thy fame it shall be so weak, That never shall soul's physician the promise of healing speak. 660 An one to the oath should drive me, on thine head were I fain to swear, That never a darker treason was wrought by a man so fair. Thou hook in fair feathers hidden, bright serpent with poisoned fang, Who ne'er of the sword was worthy, which thine host at thy side did hang! The goal of thy sins, this thy silence, of Hell's horde art thou now the sport, 665 And dishonour upon thy body, Sir Parzival, hast thou wrought. Saw'st thou not how they bare before thee the Grail, and the bleeding spear, And sharp silver? Thy joy's destruction, and thy shelter from grief were here!'

¶'Yea, hadst thou but asked at Monsalväsch; afar, in a heathen land, Rich o'er all earthly riches, doth the town of Tabronit stand; 670 Yet the riches thy speech had won thee had been greater far, I ween-- And with gallant strife of knighthood the hand of that country's queen Feirefis Angevin hath won him: no fear doth his manhood stain; One father, I ween, hath borne ye, yet unlike shall ye be, ye twain. And thy brother is strange to look on, for both white and black his face, 675 And at Zassamank he reigneth o'er the folk of his mother's race.'

¶'And my thoughts to thy sire are turning; his country was fair Anjou, And he left thee far other heirdom (for his heart never falsehood knew,) Than the heritage thou hast won thee, and the crown of an evil fame! And could I but think thy mother had wrought here a deed of shame 680 I had said that his child thou wert not! Yet her faith it but wrought her woe, And of her naught but good be spoken! And thy father, as all men know, In his manhood was true and steadfast, and in many a distant land He won for him meed of honour, and his praise o'er all men did stand. For great heart and little falsehood as a roof did defend his breast, 685 A dam 'gainst the flood of evil, and a home for his love to rest. And in manly strength and courage was his honour for aye held fast, But thy truth it is turned to falsehood, and thine honour to earth is cast! Alas! for the day I heard it, alas! for the mournful tale, That the child of fair Herzeleide in knighthood and faith should fail.' 690 She herself was the prey of sorrow, and her hands did she wring amain, While the teardrops they chased each other down her cheeks like a shower of rain. And her eyes they gave faithful witness to the grief that her bosom filled, For of true heart she spake, the maiden, nor e'en then was the sorrow stilled.

¶Then unto the king she turned her, and she spake 'Is there here a knight 695 Who yearneth for love's rewarding, and for honour and fame would fight? For I know of four queens, and maidens four hundred, and all are fair, In Château Merveil is their dwelling; and like to the empty air Shall be all knightly ventures to the venture that Burg within, Yet he who shall face its peril, from true love shall his guerdon win. 700 And tho' far be that Burg and distant, and weary and rough the way, Its walls must I seek if haply I reach them ere close of day.' And sad was the maid, not joyful, nor courteous she bade farewell, But weeping she gazed around her, and she cried as the teardrops fell, 'Ah! woe unto thee, Monsalväsch, thou dwelling and goal of grief, 705 Since no man hath pity on thee, or bringeth thy woe relief!'