Meet us on:
Entire Site
    Try our fun game

    Dueling book covers…may the best design win!

    Random Quote
    "Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the violinist."

    Subscribe to Our Newsletter

    Follow us on Twitter

    Never miss a good book again! Follow Read Print on Twitter

    Chapter 15

    • Rate it:
    Launch Reading Mode Next Chapter
    Chapter 15
    Previous Chapter

    "-The cup itself from which our Lord
    Drank at the last sad supper with His own.
    This from the blessed land of Aromat,
    After the day of darkness, when the dead
    Went wandering over Moriah- the good saint,
    Arimathean Joseph, journeying, brought
    To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn
    Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord,
    And there awhile abode; and if a man
    Could touch or see it, he was healed at once,
    By faith, of all his ills. But then the times
    Grew to such evil that the holy cup
    Was caught away to Heaven, and disappeared."

    THE Sangreal was the cup from which our Saviour drank at his last
    supper. He was supposed to have given it to Joseph of Arimathea, who
    carried it to Europe, together with the spear with which the soldier
    pierced the Saviour's side. From generation to generation one of the
    descendants of Joseph of Arimathea had been devoted to the
    guardianship of these precious relics; but on the sole condition of
    leading a life of purity in thought, word, and deed. For a long time
    the Sangreal was visible to all pilgrims, and its presence conferred
    blessings upon the land in which it was preserved. But at length one
    of those holy men to whom its guardianship had descended so far forgot
    the obligation of his sacred office as to look with unhallowed eye
    upon a young female pilgrim whose robe was accidentally loosened as
    she knelt before him. The sacred lance instantly punished his frailty,
    spontaneously falling upon him, and inflicting a deep wound. The
    marvellous wound could by no means be healed, and the guardian of
    the Sangreal was ever after called "Le Roi Pecheur,"- the Sinner King.
    The Sangreal withdrew its visible presence from the crowds who came to
    worship, and an iron age succeeded to the happiness which its presence
    had diffused among the tribes of Britain.
    We have told in the history of Merlin how that great prophet and
    enchanter sent a message to King Arthur by Sir Gawain, directing him
    to undertake the recovery of the Sangreal, informing him at the same
    time that the knight who should accomplish that sacred quest was
    already born, and of a suitable age to enter upon it. Sir Gawain
    delivered his message, and the king was anxiously revolving in his
    mind how best to achieve the enterprise, when, at the vigil of
    Pentecost, all the fellowship of the Round Table being met together at
    Camelot, as they sat at meat, suddenly there was heard a clap of
    thunder, and then a bright light burst forth, and every knight, as
    he looked on his fellow, saw him, in seeming, fairer than ever before.
    All the hall was filled with sweet odors, and every knight had such
    meat and drink as he best loved. Then there entered into the hall
    the Holy Greal, covered with white samite, so that none could see
    it, and it passed through the hall suddenly and disappeared. During
    this time no one spoke a word, but when they had recovered breath to
    speak, King Arthur said, "Certainly we ought greatly to thank the Lord
    for what He hath showed us this day." Then Sir Gawain rose up, and
    made a vow that for twelve months and a day he would seek the
    Sangreal, and not return till he had seen it, if so he might speed.
    When they of the Round Table heard Sir Gawain say so, they arose,
    the most part of them, and vowed the same. When King Arthur heard this
    he was greatly displeased, for he knew well that they might not
    gainsay their vows. "Alas!" said he to Sir Gawain, "you have nigh
    slain me with the vow and promise that ye have made, for ye have
    bereft me of the fairest fellowship that ever was seen together in any
    realm of the world; for when they shall depart hence, I am sure that
    all shall never meet more in this world."


    At that time there entered the hall a good old man, and with him
    he brought a young knight, and these words he said: "Peace be with
    you, fair lords." Then the old man said unto King Arthur, "Sir, I
    bring you here a young knight that is of kings' lineage, and of the
    kindred of Joseph of Arimathea, being the son of Dame Elaine, the
    daughter of King Pelles, king of the foreign country." Now the name of
    the young knight was Sir Galahad, and he was the son of Sir
    Launcelot du Lac; but he had dwelt with his mother, at the court of
    King Pelles, his grandfather, till now he was old enough to bear arms,
    and his mother had sent him in the charge of a holy hermit to King
    Arthur's court. Then Sir Launcelot beheld his son, and had great joy
    of him. And Sir Bohort told his fellows, "Upon my life, this young
    knight shall come to great worship." The noise was great in all the
    court, so that it came to the queen. And she said, "I would fain see
    him, for he must needs be a noble knight, for so is his father." And
    the queen and her ladies all said that he resembled much unto his
    father; and he was seemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of
    good features, that in the whole world men might not find his match.
    And King Arthur said, "God make him a good man, for beauty faileth him
    not, as any that liveth."
    Then the hermit led the young knight to the Siege Perilous; and he
    lifted up the cloth, and found there letters that said, "This is the
    seat of Sir Galahad, the good knight"; and he made him sit in that
    seat. And all the knights of the Round Table marvelled greatly at
    Sir Galahad, seeing him sit securely in that seat, and said, "This
    is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for there never sat
    one before in that seat without being mischieved."
    On the next day the king said, "Now, at this quest of the Sangreal
    shall all ye of the Round Table depart, and never shall I see you
    again all together; therefore I will that ye all repair to the
    meadow of Camelot, for to joust and tourney yet once more before ye
    depart." But all the meaning of the king was to see Sir Galahad
    proved. So then were they all assembled in the meadow. Then Sir
    Galahad, by request of the king and queen, put on his harness and
    his helm, but shield would he take none for any prayer of the king.
    And the queen was in a tower, with all her ladies, to behold that
    tournament. Then Sir Galahad rode into the midst of the meadow; and
    there he began to break spears marvellously, so that all men had
    wonder of him, for he surmounted all knights that encountered with
    him, except two, Sir Launcelot and Sir Perceval. Then the king, at the
    queen's request, made him to alight, and presented him to the queen;
    and she said. "Never two men resembled one another more than he and
    Sir Launcelot, and therefore it is no marvel that he is like him in
    Then the king and the queen went to the minster, and the knights
    followed them. And after the service was done, they put on their helms
    and departed, and there was great sorrow. They rode through the
    streets of Camelot, and there was weeping of the rich and poor; and
    the king turned away, and might not speak for weeping. And so they
    departed, and every knight took the way that him best liked.
    Sir Galahad rode forth without shield, and rode four days, and found
    no adventure. And on the fourth day he came to a white abbey; and
    there he was received with great reverence, and led to a chamber. He
    met there two knights, King Bagdemagus and Sir Uwaine, and they made
    of him great solace. "Sirs," said Sir Galahad, "what adventure brought
    you hither?" "Sir," said they, "it is told us that within this place
    is a shield, which no man may bear unless he be worthy; and if one
    unworthy should attempt to bear it, it shall surely do him a
    mischief." Then King Bagdemagus said, "I fear not to bear it, and that
    shall ye see to-morrow."
    So on the morrow they arose, and heard mass; then King Bagdemagus
    asked where the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind
    an altar, where the shield hung, as white as snow; but in the midst
    there was a red cross. Then King Bagdemagus took the shield, and
    bare it out of the minster; and he said to Sir Galahad, "If it
    please you, abide here till ye know how I shall speed."
    Then King Bagdemagus and his squire rode forth; and when they had
    ridden a mile or two, they saw a goodly knight come towards them, in
    white armor, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse might
    run, with his spear in the rest; and King Bagdemagus directed his
    spear against him, and broke it upon the white knight, but the other
    struck him so hard that he broke the mails, and thrust him through the
    right shoulder, for the shield covered him not, and so he bare him
    from his horse. Then the white knight turned his horse and rode away.
    Then the squire went to King Bagdemagus, and asked him whether he
    were sore wounded or not. "I am sore wounded," said he, "and full
    hardly shall I escape death." Then the squire set him on his horse,
    and brought him to an abbey; and there he was taken down softly, and
    unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked to, for he lay
    there long, and hardly escaped with his life. And the squire brought
    the shield back to the abbey.
    The next day Sir Galahad took the shield, and within a while he came
    to the hermitage, where he met the white knight, and each saluted
    the other courteously. "Sir," said Sir Galahad, "can you tell me the
    marvel of the shield?" "Sir," said the white knight, "that shield
    belonged of old to the gentle knight, Joseph of Arimathea; and when he
    came to die, he said, 'Never shall man bear this shield about his neck
    but he shall repent it, unto the time that Sir Galahad, the good
    knight, bear it, the last of my lineage, the which shall do many
    marvellous deeds.'" And then the white knight vanished away.


    After Sir Gawain departed, he rode many days, both toward and
    forward, and at last he came to the abbey where Sir Galahad took the
    white shield. And they told Sir Gawain of the marvellous adventure
    that Sir Galahad had done. "Truly," said Sir Gawain, "I am not happy
    that I took not the way that he went, for, if I may meet with him, I
    will not part from him lightly, that I may partake with him all the
    marvellous adventures which he shall achieve." "Sir," said one of
    the monks, "he will not be of your fellowship." "Why?" said Sir
    Gawain. "Sir," said he, "because ye be sinful, and he is blissful."
    Then said the monk, "Sir Gawain, thou must do penance for thy sins."
    "Sir, what penance shall I do?" "Such as I will show," said the good
    man. "Nay," said Sir Gawain, "I will do no penance, for we knights
    adventurous often suffer great woe and pain." "Well," said the good
    man; and he held his peace. And Sir Gawain departed.
    Now it happened, not long after this, that Sir Gawain and Sir Hector
    rode together, and they came to a castle where was a great tournament.
    And Sir Gawain and Sir Hector joined themselves to the party that
    seemed the weaker, and they drove before them the other party. Then
    suddenly came into the lists a knight, bearing a white shield with a
    red cross, and by adventure he came by Sir Gawain, and he smote him so
    hard that he clave his helm and wounded his head, so that Sir Gawain
    fell to the earth. When Sir Hector saw that, he knew that the knight
    with the white shield was Sir Galahad, and he thought it no wisdom
    to abide with him, and also for natural love, that he was his uncle.
    Then Sir Galahad retired privily, so that none knew where he had gone.
    And Sir Hector raised up Sir Gawain, and said, "Sir, me seemeth your
    quest is done." "It is done," said Sir Gawain; "I shall seek no
    further." Then Gawain was borne into the castle, and unarmed, and laid
    in a rich bed, and a leech found to search his wound. And Sir Gawain
    and Sir Hector abode together, for Sir Hector would not away until Sir
    Gawain were whole.
    Now Sir Galahad, after that the white knight had vanished away, rode
    till he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelot
    and Sir Perceval, but they knew him not for he was new disguised.
    Right so, Sir Launcelot his father dressed his spear, and brake it
    upon Sir Galahad, and Sir Galahad smote him so again, that he smote
    down horse and man. And then he drew his sword, and dressed him to Sir
    Perceval, and smote him so on the helm that it rove to the coif of
    steel, and had not the sword swerved Sir Perceval had been slain,
    and with the stroke he fell out of his saddle. This joust was done
    before the hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir
    Galahad ride, she said, "God be with thee, best knight of the world.
    Ah, certes," she said all aloud, that Launcelot and Perceval might
    hear it, "and yonder two knights had known thee as well as I do,
    they would not have encountered with thee." When Sir Galahad heard her
    say so he was sore adread to be known: therewith he smote his horse
    with his spurs, and rode at a great pace away from them. Then
    perceived they both that he was Sir Galahad, and up they got on
    their horses, and rode fast after him, but in a while he was out of
    their sight. And then they turned again with heavy cheer. "Let us
    spere some tidings," said Sir Perceval, "at yonder recluse." "Do as ye
    list," said Sir Launcelot. When Sir Perceval came to the recluse,
    she knew him well enough, and Sir Launcelot both.
    But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest and
    held no path, but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came
    to a stony cross, which departed two ways in waste land, and by the
    cross was a stone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir
    Launcelot might not wit what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him,
    and saw an old chapel, and there he thought to have found people.
    And Sir Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and there he did off his
    shield, and hung it upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel
    door, and found it waste and broken. And within he found a fair
    altar full richly arrayed with cloth of clean silk, and there stood
    a fair, clean candlestick which bare six great candles, and the
    candlestick was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, he
    had great will for to enter into the chapel, but he could find no
    place where he might enter: then was he passing heavy and dismayed.
    And he returned and came again to his horse, and took off his saddle
    and his bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and
    ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield
    before the cross.
    And as he lay, half waking and half sleeping, he saw come by him two
    palfreys, both fair and white, which bare a litter, on which lay a
    sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross, he there abode still. And
    Sir Launcelot heard him say, "O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow
    leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me whereby I shall be
    healed?" And thus a great while complained the knight, and Sir
    Launcelot heard it. Then Sir Launcelot saw the candlestick, with the
    lighted tapers, come before the cross, but he could see no body that
    brought it. Also there came a salver of silver and the holy vessel
    of the Sangreal; and therewith the sick knight sat him upright, and
    held up both his hands, and said, "Fair, sweet Lord, which is here
    within the holy vessel, take heed to me, that I may be whole of this
    great malady." And therewith, upon his hands and upon his knees, he
    went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it. And anon
    he was whole. Then the holy vessel went into the chapel again, with
    the candlestick and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not what
    became of it.
    Then the sick knight rose up and kissed the cross; and anon his
    squire brought him his arms, and asked his lord how he did. "I thank
    God right heartily," said he, "for, through the holy vessel, I am
    healed. But I have great marvel of this sleeping knight, who hath
    had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that the holy
    vessel hath been here present." "I dare it right well say," said the
    squire, "that this same knight is stained with some manner of deadly
    sin, whereof he was never confessed." So they departed.
    Then anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set himself upright, and
    bethought him of what he had seen, and whether it were dreams or
    not. And he was passing heavy, and wist not what to do. And he said:
    "My sin and my wretchedness hath brought me into great dishonor. For
    when I sought worldly adventures and worldly desires, I ever
    achieved them, and had the better in every place, and never was I
    discomfited in any quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take
    upon me the adventure of holy things, I see and understand that mine
    old sin hindereth me, so that I had no power to stir nor to speak when
    the holy blood appeared before me." So, thus he sorrowed till it was
    day, and heard the fowls of the air sing. Then was he somewhat
    Then he departed from the cross into the forest. And there he
    found a hermitage, and a hermit therein, who was going to mass. So
    when mass was done, Sir Launcelot called the hermit to him, and prayed
    him for charity to hear his confession. "With a good will"' said the
    good man. And then he told that good man all his life, and how he
    had loved a queen unmeasurably many years. "And all my great deeds
    of arms that I have done, I did the most part for the queen's sake,
    and for her sake would I do battle, were it right or wrong, and
    never did I battle all only for God's sake, but for to win worship,
    and to cause me to be better beloved; and little or naught I thanked
    God for it. I pray you counsel me."
    "I will counsel you," said the hermit, "if ye will insure me that ye
    will never come in that queen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear."
    And then Sir Launcelot promised the hermit, by his faith, that he
    would no more come in her company. "Look that your heart and your
    mouth accord," said the good man, "and I shall insure ye that ye shall
    have more worship than ever ye had."
    Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penance as he might
    do, and he assoiled Sir Launcelot, and made him abide with him all
    that day. And Sir Launcelot repented him greatly.


    Sir Perceval departed, and rode till the hour of noon; and he met in
    a valley about twenty men of arms. And when they saw Sir Perceval,
    they asked him whence he was; and he answered, "Of the court of King
    Arthur." Then they cried all at once, "Slay him." But Sir Perceval
    smote the first to the earth, and his horse upon him. Then seven of
    the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the remnant slew
    his horse, so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain him or
    taken him, had not the good knight Sir Galahad, with the red cross,
    come there by adventure. And when he saw all the knights upon one,
    he cried out, "Save me that knight's life." Then he rode toward the
    twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in
    the 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, that it was marvel to see; and at
    every stroke he smote down one, or put him to rebuke, so that they
    would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad
    followed them. And when Sir Perceval saw him chase them so, he made
    great sorrow that his horse was slain. And he wist well it was Sir
    Galahad. Then he cried aloud, "Ah, fair knight, abide, and suffer me
    to do thanks unto thee; for right well have ye done for me." But Sir
    Galahad rode so fast, that at last he passed out of his sight. When
    Sir Perceval saw that he would not turn, he said, "Now am I a very
    wretch, and most unhappy above all other knights." So in this sorrow
    he abode all that day till it was night; and then he was faint, and
    laid him down and slept till midnight; and then he awaked, and saw
    before him a woman, who said unto him, "Sir Perceval, what dost thou
    here?" He answered, "I do neither good, nor great ill." "If thou
    wilt promise me," said she, "that thou wilt fulfil my will when I
    summon thee, I will lend thee my own horse, which shall bear thee
    whither thou wilt." Sir Perceval was glad of her proffer, and
    insured her to fulfil all her desire. "Then abide me here, and I
    will go fetch you a horse." And so she soon came again, and brought
    a horse with her that was inky black. When Perceval beheld that horse,
    he marvelled, it was so great and so well apparelled. And he leapt
    upon him, and took no heed of himself. And he thrust him with his
    spurs, and within an hour and less he bare him four days' journey
    thence, until he came to a rough water, which roared, and his horse
    would have bare him into it. And when Sir Perceval came nigh the brim,
    and saw the water so boisterous, he doubted to overpass it. And then
    he made the sign of the cross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him
    so charged, he shook off Sir Perceval, and went into the water
    crying and roaring; and it seemed unto him that the water burned. Then
    Sir Perceval perceived it was a fiend that would have brought him unto
    his 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 it was day. Then he saw that he was in a wild place, that was
    closed with the sea nigh all about. And Sir Perceval looked forth over
    the sea and saw a ship come sailing toward him; and it came and
    stood still under the rock. And when Sir Perceval saw this, he hied
    him thither, and found the ship covered with silk; and therein was a
    lady of great beauty, and clothed so richly that none might be better.
    And when she saw Sir Perceval she saluted him, and Sir Perceval
    returned her salutation. Then he asked her of her country and her
    lineage. And she said, "I am a gentlewoman that am disinherited, and
    was once the richest woman of the world." "Damsel," said Sir Perceval,
    "who hath disinherited you? for I have great pity of you." "Sir," said
    she, "my enemy is a great and powerful lord, and aforetime he made
    much of me, so that of his favor and of my beauty I had a little pride
    more than I ought to have had. Also I said a word that pleased him
    not. So he drove me from his company and from mine heritage. Therefore
    I know no good knight nor good man but I get him on my side if I
    may. And, for that I know that thou art a good knight, I beseech
    thee to help me."
    Then Sir Perceval promised her all the help that he might, and she
    thanked him.
    And at that time the weather was hot and she called to her a
    gentlewoman, and bade her bring forth a pavilion. And she did so,
    and pitched it upon the gravel. "Sir," said she, "now may ye rest
    you in this heat of the day." Then he thanked her, and she put off his
    helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. Then he
    awoke, and asked her if she had any meat, and she said yea, and so
    there was set upon the table all manner of meats that he could think
    on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, and
    therewith he was a little chafed more than he ought to be. With that
    he beheld the lady, and he thought she was the fairest creature that
    ever he saw, And then Sir Perceval proffered her love, and prayed
    her that she would be his. Then she refused him in a manner, for the
    cause he should be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to
    pray her of love. And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said,
    "Sir Perceval, wit ye well I shall not give ye my love unless you
    swear from henceforth you will be my true servant, and do no thing but
    that I shall command you. Will you insure me this, as ye be a true
    knight?" "Yea," said he, "fair lady, by the faith of my body." And
    as he said this, by adventure and grace, he saw his sword lie on the
    ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross, and the sign of the
    crucifix thereon. Then he made the sign of the cross upon his
    forehead, and therewith the pavilion shrivelled up, and changed into a
    smoke and a black cloud. And the damsel cried aloud, and hasted into
    the ship, and so she went with the wind roaring and yelling that it
    seemed all the water burned after her. Then Sir Perceval made great
    sorrow, and called himself a wretch, saying, "How nigh was I lost!"
    Then he took his arms, and departed thence.

    Next Chapter
    Chapter 15
    Previous Chapter
    If you're writing a Thomas Bulfinch essay and need some advice, post your Thomas Bulfinch essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

    Top 5 Authors

    Top 5 Books

    Book Status
    Want to read

    Are you sure you want to leave this group?