Kathanal

*

An Arthurian Miscellany
The sky was one unbroken pall of gray,

Casting a gloom upon the restless sea,

Dulling her sapphire splendour to a dark

And minor beauty. All the rock-bound shore

Was silent, save a widowed song-bird sang

Far off at intervals a mournful note,

And on the broken crags of dark gray rock

The waves dashed ceaselessly. Sir Kathanal

Stood with uncovered head and folded arms,

His soul as restless as the surging sea

Lashed into passion by the coming storm.

His helmet lay upon the sand; its crest,

A floating plume of deep-hued violet,

Was tossed and torn in fury by the wind

Until it seemed a thing of life. He stood

And watched it, only half aware at first

That it was there, then scarce aware of aught

Besides the plume. As in the room of death

Some iterated sound or motion holds

Attent the stricken mind, benumbed, and keeps

The horror of its grief awhile at bay

As by a spell, so now, though Kathanal

Had sought the sea-shore to be free of men

Because of his sore agony of heart,

And all the passion of his daring soul

Was tossing like the sea in fierce revolt,

His thoughts and gaze were centred on his crest.

Before the gray of sea and sky he saw

Naught but the waving, waving of the plume;

Before the vision of his love, Leorre,

Her tender eyes aglow with changeless light,

The golden splendour of her sunny hair,

Her winning smiles of grace and sweetness blent,

There came the waving, waving, of the plume;

Between his sorrow and his weary soul,

Between his trouble and his clear-eyed self,

There came the waving, waving of the plume;

Until he felt, in some half-conscious way,

It was his heart, and he a stranger there

That looked down, from a height, indifferent

Upon it at the mercy of the wind.

Sudden, with that long lingering trace of youth

That gave to him the fascinating charm

Which other men were fain to emulate,

He quickly stooped, and tore it from his helm,

And cast it far out on the tossing sea.

It lighted on the waves a purple bird,

Floating with swan-like grace before the wind.

The action quenched impatience. Kathanal,

Impulsive, passionate and sensitive,

In moods was ever ready with response

To omen and to change of circumstance.

He stood a moment, and then forward sprang

To catch it ere it vanished out of reach.

It was too late--the outward-flowing tide

Bore it from wave to wave beyond his sight.

"Ah, God!" he cried aloud, "what have I done?

It is the omen of a curse to me;

My crest is gone, my knightly symbol lost,

My helm dishonoured through an act of mine."

Then came the memory of early youth,

The recollection of a high resolve

To keep his manhood free from touch of stain,

To be a knight like Galahad, pure and true.

So few short years had passed since that resolve,

And yet he had forgotten loyalty

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";

And she had answered, with her winning smile,

"You are Sir Reginault's, and therefore mine."

Well had he loved her from that very hour,

Giving her honour as his old friend's bride,

Making the castle ring with merriment

To do her service, and fulfil the hest

Of Reginault, who bade him use his grace

To make her life a round of holidays.

But day by day his selfish love had grown

From friendly service to a lover's claim,

Until he had forgotten Reginault

In her fair eyes, and all things else but her,

Who granted him no boon, no smallest act

Of love or tenderness.

At last the strife

Between deep yearning for some touch of love,

And brave endeavour for self-mastery,

Had driven him to madness and despair.

To the lone sea he brought his agony

To face it boldly, and his spirit, quick

To wear new moods, caught a despondent gloom

From the dark omen that oppressed his soul.

"Love is divine," he said, "and it is well

To love Leorre, wife though she be, for love

Is free to noble natures; but at last,

When in her shining eyes I see response,

Albeit unconscious, to my longing pain,

I cannot rest content with boonless love,

Although divine. I fear me, if I stay

Within the circle of her tempting charm,

I shall, through some wild impulse, wantonly

Fling my unsullied knighthood to the winds,

As now I flung the plume from out my helm."

He went at even-song time to Leorre,

And told her of his struggle by the sea,

Of his determined purpose and resolve.

"Leorre, I love you with a love unsung

By poets, and unknown by other men,

Undreamed by women; I must leave you, dear;

I cannot see you fair for Reginault,

I cannot watch your sweetness not for me.

I will go far upon some distant quest

Until this frenzy ceases, and the quest

Shall be for you, my love, for you alone.

"Dear, sunny head that lights my darkened way

With its bright, golden glory, let me seek

A crown that well befits it for my quest.

Fair waist that curves beneath the heart I love,

I shall engirdle you with priceless gems

Won by my prowess for your perfect grace.

O wondrous neck! great lustrous, flawless pearls,

That shall be royal in their worth, to match

The white enchantment of your beauty fair,

Shall be my quest for you.

"I will not come

Back to the court of Constantine, Leorre,

Until I bring that which shall honour you,

And winning which, I shall have cooled my pain."

She came and knelt beside him, took his hand,

Looked deep into his ardent eyes,--her own

Like stars that shone into his inmost soul.

"Will you, indeed, go forth," she answered low,

"Across the world upon a quest for me?

And will you falter not, nor swerve, nor fail,

Nor turn aside from seeking, night nor day,

Until you conquer with your prowess rare

The prize for me? And may I choose the quest

I most desire?"

"Ah! surely, what you will,"

Said Kathanal, as echo to his eyes,

Which answered ere the words could form themselves.

She waited, silently; the room was still;

Sir Kathanal was faint from drinking deep,

With thirsty eyes, the beauty of her face.

At last she spoke, almost inaudibly,

But evermore the thought of her low speech

Made melody within his memory.

"Go forth, my knight of love, o'er land and sea,

And purify your spirit and your life,

And seek until you find the Holy Grail,

Keeping the vision ever in your thought,

The inspiration ever in your soul.

Let Tristram yield his loyalty and honour

for fair Isoud, and die inglorious,--

Let Launcelot in Guenever's embrace

Forget the consecrated vows he swore,

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."

Between the bronze-brown of his eyes and her,

There sudden came a faint and misty veil;

Through the wide-open window a sun's beam

Flashed on it, making o'er her bowd head

A halo from his own unfallen tears.

He rose and lifted her, loosed her sweet hands,

And fell upon his knees low at her feet.

"Leorre, my love, my queen, my woman-saint,

I am not worthy, but I take your quest;

I will not falter and I will not swerve

Until I see the Grail, or pass to where

I see the glory it but symbols here,

In Paradise. Beloved, all the world

Is better for your living, all the air

Is sweeter for your breathing, and all love

Is holier, purer, that you may be loved."

"Rise, Kathanal, stand still and let me gaze

Upon you with that purpose in your face!

So brave, so resolute! I love you Kathanal!

Nay! do not touch me, listen to my words!

Surely it cannot be a sin to speak,

Perchance it is a debt I owe my knight

For his life's consecration, once to say

To him, as I have said to my own heart,

Just how I love him.

"I would follow you

Across the world, if it might be, a slave,

To serve you at your bidding night and day;

Or I would rouse me to my highest pride

That I might be your queen, and lead you on

To glory. I am strong to do and bear

The uttermost my mind can think, for you,

To cheer you, help you, strengthen you; and yet--

I am a woman, and my senses thrill

If you but touch the border of my robe,

And if you take my hand, before the court,

And raise it to your lips, I faint, I die,

With the vast tide of my unconquered love."

"Great Christ! how can I hear you and depart?

I did not know you loved me. O my sweet,

Here by your side I stay; my quest shall be

The love-light dawning in your shining eyes."

"Is this your answer, Kathanal," she sighed,

"To the unveiling of my heart of hearts?

No! now, if ever, you will surely go

On the sole quest that makes that action right."

"Leorre, come once to me!" he said with arms

Outstretched to her. Quickly she backward drew

With one swift whispered "Kathanal!"

"Leorre,

You cannot love and be so calm and still;

My soul would sacrifice both earth and heaven

For one full, rapturous kiss from those sweet lips

That lure me on to madness by their spell."

"It is my love that keeps me calm," she said;

"Love makes us strong for what is bitterest;

Were we faint-hearted through imperfect love

We could not part; but loving perfectly

We are full strong for that, and all things else.

"Farewell, my Kathanal, take as you go

This spotless scarf, the girdle from my robe,

And put it where the purple plume has been,

And wear it as my favour in your helm.

If that lost plume was darksome omen ill,

Let this defy it with an omen fair,

A prophecy to spur you on your quest.

My heart says it is better as it is;

I joy me that you flung into the sea

That purple plume my loving, longing gaze

Has often followed in the tournament.

Remember, purple doth betoken pain,

And white betokens conquest, purity;

Look, Kathanal, beloved, in my eyes!

I know that you will find the Holy Grail."

She stood immaculate, and from those eyes

That oft had kindled passionate desire

He drew an inspiration high and pure,

A prescient sense of victory and peace;

And falling on his knees once more, he bowed,

Kissed her white robe, and left her standing there.

Then followed days of struggle and dark gloom.

Far from the court he found a lonely cell,

Where morn and night he prayed, and, praying, wrought

A score of earnest, unrecorded deeds

To purify and cleanse himself from sin.

Oft the old passion would arise and sweep

His spirit bare of every conquest. Once

The longing and the yearning were so great,

So strong beyond all thought of holiness,

He sprang up from his bed at dead of night

And stopped not, night nor day, until he reached

His old home by the sea, and saw Leorre.

Her hair had its untarnished golden glow,

Her beauty was unchanged, but her sweet mouth

Had caught a touch of pathos in its smile;

She wore a purple robe, and stood in state

Beside Sir Reginault,--who greeted him

With tender, grave, and kind solicitude,--

And lifted eyes that smote upon his heart

With a long gaze of passionate appeal

That held a pain at bay deep in their depths.

"So weak," he whispered to his heart, "for self,

I will be strong for her; she needs my strength."

Again he hurried from her sight, half glad

For the remembered pain within her eyes;

Ashamed of his own soul that it was glad.

For years he struggled, prayed, and fought his fight;

And sometimes when his soul was desolate

And he was weary from his eager quest,

When such a sense of deep humility

Would fall upon his praying, watching heart

That he would fain forego all in despair,

A marvellous ray of light, mysterious,

Would slant athwart the darkness of his cell,

Then he would rouse him to his quest once more

And say, "Perchance the Holy Grail is near!"

One night at midnight came the ray again,

And with it came a strange expectancy

Of spirit as the light waxed radiant.

The cell was filled with spicy odours sweet,

And on the midnight stillness song was borne

As sweet as heaven's harmony--the words,--

The same Sir Launcelot had heard of old,--

"Honour and joy be to the Father of Heaven."

With wide eyes searching his lone cell for cause

He waited: as the ray became more clear

And more effulgent than the mid-day sun,

He trembled with that chill of mortal flesh

Beholding spiritual things. At last--

Now vaguely as though veiled by light, and then

With shining clearness, perfectly--he saw

" The sight unspeakable, transcending words".

Forth from his barren cell came Kathanal,

Strong and inspired, born anew for deeds.

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.

To his old home beside the sapphire sea

Floated his songs and his far-reaching fame;

For in the land no name was loved so well

As Kathanal the peerless Minstrel Knight.

Lone in her chamber sat Leorre, and heard

The songs of Kathanal by courtiers sung--

Arousing words, like a clear clarion call

To truth and virtue, purity and faith.

She clasped her hands and bent her head, and wept

In silent passion pent-up tears, for joy;

For now she knew--far off, beyond her sight--

Her love had seen the sacred Holy Grail.

And as she listened, inspiration came,

Irradiating all her spirit, lifting it

Beyond her sorrow and her daily want

Of Kathanal. soft through her soul there crept

The echo of a benedicite,

Enwrapping her in calm, triumphant peace.

Then she arose, put on her whitest robe,

And went out radiant, strong, and full of joy.