An Explanation
It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company—for he did all the talking. We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things which interested me. As he talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country; and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed to move among the specters and shadows and dust and mold of a gray antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round—and how old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry and musty and ancient he came to look as he went on! Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather, or any other common matter—
It was in Warwick Castle that I met the curious stranger I am going to tell you about. Three things drew me to him: his open simplicity, his amazing knowledge of ancient armor, and his restful company. He did all the talking. As modest people will, we found ourselves together at the back of the group being shown through the castle. He immediately began saying things that interested me. He spoke softly, pleasantly, and smoothly. As he talked, he seemed to drift almost unnoticed out of this world and time, into some distant age and forgotten country. Gradually, he cast such a spell over me that I seemed to move among the ghosts, shadows, dust, and mold of a distant past, talking with a relic of that time! He spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round. He spoke of them just as I would speak of my closest friends or enemies, or the neighbors I knew best. And as he went on, how old, old, unspeakably old he came to look, how faded, dry, musty, and ancient! Before long, he turned to me and spoke as casually as if he were talking about the weather or any other ordinary matter:
“You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about transposition of epochs—and bodies?”
“You know about souls moving from one body to another. Do you know about switching eras and bodies?”
I said I had not heard of it. He was so little interested—just as when people speak of the weather—that he did not notice whether I made him any answer or not. There was half a moment of silence, immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the salaried cicerone:
I said I had not heard of it. He was so uninterested that he did not notice whether I answered. It was just like someone talking about the weather. There was a brief silence, immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the paid guide:
“Ancient hauberk, date of the sixth century, time of King Arthur and the Round Table; said to have belonged to the knight Sir Sagramor le Desirous; observe the round hole through the chain-mail in the left breast; can’t be accounted for; supposed to have been done with a bullet since invention of firearms—perhaps maliciously by Cromwell’s soldiers.”
“Ancient hauberk, or chain-mail shirt, dating from the sixth century, the time of King Arthur and the Round Table. Said to have belonged to the knight Sir Sagramor le Desirous. Notice the round hole in the chain mail over the left breast. The hole cannot be explained. It is supposed to have been made by a bullet after firearms were invented, perhaps maliciously by Cromwell’s soldiers.”
My acquaintance smiled—not a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago—and muttered apparently to himself:
My acquaintance smiled. It wasn't a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of use many, many centuries ago. He muttered, apparently to himself:
“Wit ye well, I saw it done.” Then, after a pause, added: “I did it myself.”
“You can be sure, I saw it done.” After a pause, he added: “I did it myself.”
By the time I had recovered from the electric surprise of this remark, he was gone.
By the time I recovered from the shock of his remark, he was gone.
All that evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick Arms, steeped in a dream of the olden time, while the rain beat upon the windows, and the wind roared about the eaves and corners. From time to time I dipped into old Sir Thomas Malory’s enchanting book, and fed at its rich feast of prodigies and adventures, breathed in the fragrance of its obsolete names, and dreamed again. Midnight being come at length, I read another tale, for a nightcap—this which here follows, to wit:
All evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick Arms, dreaming of olden times. Rain beat against the windows, and wind roared around the eaves and corners. From time to time, I dipped into old Sir Thomas Malory’s enchanting book. I feasted on its rich wonders and adventures, breathed in the fragrance of its old-fashioned names, and dreamed again. At last, midnight came, and I read another tale as a nightcap. Here it is:
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO GIANTS, AND MADE A CASTLE FREE
How Sir Launcelot Killed Two Giants and Freed a Castle
Anon withal came there upon him two great giants, well armed, all save the heads, with two horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Launcelot put his shield afore him, and put the stroke away of the one giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder. When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were wood [*demented], for fear of the horrible strokes, and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might, and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to the middle. Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall, and there came afore him three score ladies and damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked God and him of their deliverance. For, sir, said they, the most part of us have been here this seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all great gentle-women born, and blessed be the time, knight, that ever thou wert born; for thou hast done the most worship that ever did knight in the world, that will we bear record, and we all pray you to tell us your name, that we may tell our friends who delivered us out of prison. Fair damsels, he said, my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake. And so he departed from them and betaught them unto God. And then he mounted upon his horse, and rode into many strange and wild countries, and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. And at the last by fortune him happened against a night to come to a fair courtilage, and therein he found an old gentle-woman that lodged him with a good-will, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse. And when time was, his host brought him into a fair garret over the gate to his bed. There Sir Launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell on sleep. So, soon after there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he rose up, and looked out at the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights come riding after that one man, and all three lashed on him at once with swords, and that one knight turned on them knightly again and defended him. Truly, said Sir Launcelot, yonder one knight shall I help, for it were shame for me to see three knights on one, and if he be slain I am partner of his death. And therewith he took his harness and went out at a window by a sheet down to the four knights, and then Sir Launcelot said on high, Turn you knights unto me, and leave your fighting with that knight. And then they all three left Sir Kay, and turned unto Sir Launcelot, and there began great battle, for they alight all three, and strake many strokes at Sir Launcelot, and assailed him on every side. Then Sir Kay dressed him for to have holpen Sir Launcelot. Nay, sir, said he, I will none of your help, therefore as ye will have my help let me alone with them. Sir Kay for the pleasure of the knight suffered him for to do his will, and so stood aside. And then anon within six strokes Sir Launcelot had stricken them to the earth. And then they all three cried, Sir Knight, we yield us unto you as man of might matchless. As to that, said Sir Launcelot, I will not take your yielding unto me, but so that ye yield you unto Sir Kay the seneschal, on that covenant I will save your lives and else not. Fair knight, said they, that were we loath to do; for as for Sir Kay we chased him hither, and had overcome him had ye not been; therefore, to yield us unto him it were no reason. Well, as to that, said Sir Launcelot, advise you well, for ye may choose whether ye will die or live, for an ye be yielden, it shall be unto Sir Kay. Fair knight, then they said, in saving our lives we will do as thou commandest us. Then shall ye, said Sir Launcelot, on Whitsunday next coming go unto the court of King Arthur, and there shall ye yield you unto Queen Guenever, and put you all three in her grace and mercy, and say that Sir Kay sent you thither to be her prisoners. On the morn Sir Launcelot arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping; and Sir Launcelot took Sir Kay’s armor and his shield and armed him, and so he went to the stable and took his horse, and took his leave of his host, and so he departed. Then soon after arose Sir Kay and missed Sir Launcelot; and then he espied that he had his armor and his horse. Now by my faith I know well that he will grieve some of the court of King Arthur; for on him knights will be bold, and deem that it is I, and that will beguile them; and because of his armor and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace. And then soon after departed Sir Kay, and thanked his host.
Soon afterward, two great giants came at him. They were fully armed except for their heads, and each carried a horrible club. Sir Launcelot raised his shield and blocked one giant’s blow. Then he split the giant’s head with his sword. When the other giant saw this, he ran away as if he were mad with fear of those terrible blows. Sir Launcelot pursued him with all his strength. He struck the giant on the shoulder and split him down to the waist. Then Sir Launcelot entered the hall, where sixty ladies and young women came before him. They all knelt and thanked God and Sir Launcelot for delivering them. “Sir,” they said, “most of us have been their prisoners here for seven years. We have done all kinds of silk work for our food, and we are all gentlewomen of high birth. Knight, blessed be the day you were born. You have performed the most honorable deed any knight has ever done in the world, and we will testify to it. We all beg you to tell us your name, so we can tell our friends who freed us from prison.” “Fair young ladies,” he said, “my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake.” Then he left them, commending them to God. He mounted his horse and rode through many strange and wild countries, crossing many rivers and valleys. He found poor lodging along the way. At last, as night approached, he happened upon a fine courtyard. There he found an old gentlewoman who gladly gave him lodging. Both he and his horse were well cared for. When it was time for bed, his hostess led him to a fine room above the gate. Sir Launcelot removed his armor, set it beside him, and went to bed. Soon he fell asleep. A little later, someone arrived on horseback and knocked urgently at the gate. Sir Launcelot heard the knocking and rose. He looked out of the window and saw three knights riding after the man in the moonlight. All three attacked him at once with their swords. The lone knight turned on them like a true knight and defended himself. “Truly,” said Sir Launcelot, “I must help that knight. It would be a shame to watch three knights attack one. If he is killed, I will share the blame for his death.” He took his armor and climbed down from the window on a sheet to join the four knights. Then he called out, “Knights, turn and face me, and leave that knight alone.” All three left Sir Kay and turned on Sir Launcelot. A great battle began. They all dismounted, struck many blows at Sir Launcelot, and attacked him from every side. Sir Kay prepared to help him. “No, sir,” Sir Launcelot said, “I want none of your help. If you want my help, leave me alone with them.” To please the knight, Sir Kay let him have his way and stood aside. Soon, within six strokes, Sir Launcelot had knocked all three to the ground. Then all three cried, “Sir Knight, we surrender to you as a man of unmatched strength.” “As for that,” Sir Launcelot said, “I will accept your surrender only if you yield to Sir Kay the seneschal. On that condition I will spare your lives, but not otherwise.” “Fair knight,” they said, “we would be unwilling to do that. We chased Sir Kay here, and we would have defeated him if not for you. It would make no sense for us to surrender to him.” “Well,” said Sir Launcelot, “think carefully. You may choose whether to die or live. If you surrender, it will be to Sir Kay.” “Fair knight,” they said, “to save our lives, we will do as you command.” “Then next Whitsunday,” Sir Launcelot said, “you shall go to King Arthur’s court. There you shall surrender to Queen Guenever and place yourselves at her mercy. Tell her that Sir Kay sent you to be her prisoners.” The next morning, Sir Launcelot rose early and left Sir Kay sleeping. He put on Sir Kay’s armor and took his shield. Then he went to the stable, took Sir Kay’s horse, and said farewell to his hostess before departing. Soon afterward, Sir Kay rose and found Sir Launcelot gone. Then he noticed that Sir Launcelot had taken his armor and horse. “Now, by my faith, I know he will trouble some knights of King Arthur’s court,” he said. “They will dare to challenge him because they will think he is me, and that will deceive them. And because I have his armor and shield, I am sure I shall ride in peace.” Soon afterward, Sir Kay thanked his hostess and departed.
As I laid the book down there was a knock at the door, and my stranger came in. I gave him a pipe and a chair, and made him welcome. I also comforted him with a hot Scotch whisky; gave him another one; then still another—hoping always for his story. After a fourth persuader, he drifted into it himself, in a quite simple and natural way:
As I put the book down, someone knocked at the door, and my stranger came in. I gave him a pipe and a chair and made him feel welcome. I also comforted him with a hot Scotch whisky, then gave him another, and then another. All the while, I hoped he would tell me his story. After a fourth persuader, he slipped into his story on his own, quite simply and naturally: