How Elaine Died For Love


When Sir Bors learned that his unlucky blow had brought Lancelot nearly

to death's door, he became sore indeed at heart, and hastened to Camelot

in search of his noble kinsman. Here he met Lavaine, who knew him and

conducted him to the bedside of the wounded knight.



When he saw the pale and haggard countenance of Lancelot, he fell into a

passion of tears, and accused himself bitterly. But Lancelot consoled

him as well as he could, declaring that the fault was his own, and that

he would bear the blame. Then Bors told him of the anger of the queen,

and of his earnest but vain endeavor to overcome it.



"I deserve it not," said Lancelot. "I wore the sleeve only by way of

disguise. As for Gawaine, he would have shown more wisdom and friendship

had he been less free of speech."



"I told her all this," said Bors, "but she was past listening to reason.

Is this maiden, who is so busy about you, she whom they call the lily of

Astolat?"



"She it is," said Lancelot. "I cannot by any means put her from me."



"Why should you?" asked Bors. "She is a beautiful and tender-hearted

damsel. Would to God, fair cousin, you could love her, for I see well,

by her gentle and close care of you, that she loves you devoutedly."



"That I am sorry for," said Lancelot.



"She will not be the first that has loved you in vain," said Bors; "the

more the pity."



Many other things they talked of, and Lancelot found such comfort in the

presence of Sir Bors that in a few days he showed great signs of

improvement. Then Bors told him of another tournament that King Arthur

had ordered, to be held at Camelot on All-hallowmas day, between his

party and that of the king of North Wales.



This filled Lancelot with an earnest desire to grow strong, and during

the following month, under the kind care of his cousin, and the gentle

ministrations of Elaine, he improved greatly in health. For Elaine

waited upon him with loving diligence night and day, and never was child

or wife more gentle and heedful to father or husband than this fair maid

of Astolat to the wounded knight.



At length came a day when Lancelot felt so much stronger, through the

healing influence of a bath of herbs which the hermit had gathered in

the woods, that he determined to try if he could wear his armor and sit

in his saddle. He thereupon armed and had his horse brought out.

Mounting the mettled charger, in the high spirit of new health he

spurred it to full speed.



But the courser's long rest in the stable had made it fresh and fierce,

and on feeling the spurs it leaped forward so violently that Lancelot's

wound burst open in the strain, and the blood gushed out again.



"Bors! Lavaine! help!" he feebly cried. "I am come to my end."



As he spoke he fell from his horse to the earth, and lay there like a

corpse.



The two knights hurried up, full of fearful concern, and when Elaine,

who had heard the pitiful call, came flying to the spot, she threw

herself on the prostrate form, weeping like one beside herself with

grief, and kissing the insensible knight as if she hoped thus to recall

him to life.



"Traitors you are!" she cried wildly to her brother and Sir Bors. "Why

did you let him leave his bed? I hold you guilty of his death."



At this moment the hermit Baldwin appeared. When he saw Lancelot in that

plight he grew angry at heart, though he checked the reproachful words

that rose to his lips.



"Let us have him in," he said, briefly.



Lancelot was thereupon carried to the hermitage, his armor removed, and

the bleeding stanched, but it was long before he could be brought out of

his death-like swoon.



"Why did you put your life thus in jeopardy?" asked the hermit,

reproachfully, when the knight was again in his senses.



"I was too eager to attend the tournament, now near at hand," he said.



"Ah, Sir Lancelot, you have more courage than wisdom, I fear. As for the

tournament, let Sir Bors attend it and do what he may. By the time it is

over and he returned, I hope that you may be well once more, if you will

but be governed by my advice."



This advice was taken and Bors went to the tournament, where he bore

himself so valorously that the prize was divided between him and

Gawaine. Gareth and Palamides also did noble deeds, but they departed

suddenly before the prize was declared, as if called away by some

adventure.



All this Lancelot heard with great pleasure from Bors on his return, his

only regret being that he had not been able to take part in that

knightly sport. But the remedies of the hermit and the care of Elaine

had meanwhile done him wonderful service, and he was soon able again to

mount his horse and wear his armor in safety.



A day, therefore, quickly came when the knight felt himself in condition

for a journey, and when he and his companions took the road to Astolat,

escorting the fair Elaine back to her father's home. Here they were

gladly received by the old baron Bernard, and his son Tirre, who had now

recovered.



But when the time approached which Lancelot had set for his departure,

Elaine grew pale and drooping. At length, with the boldness of speech of

that period, she came to him and said,--



"My lord Sir Lancelot, clear and courteous sir, will you then depart,

and leave me alone with my love and sorrow? Have mercy on me, I pray

you, and suffer me not to die of grief."



"What would you have me do?" asked Lancelot.



"I brought you back to life; give me your love in return; make me your

wedded wife, and I will love you as never woman loved."



"That can I never do," said Lancelot, gravely. "I shall never wed."



"Then shall I die for your love."



"Think not of death, Elaine. If I could marry woman it would be you,

for I could love you dearly were my heart free. For your gentleness and

kindness thus only can I repay you. If you can set your heart upon some

worthy knight who is free to wed you, I shall give to you and your heirs

a thousand pounds yearly, as some small payment of the debt I owe you."



"You speak idly and coldly, Sir Lancelot. Your money I will have none

of; and as for wedding, I have but the choice to wed you or wed my

death."



"You rend my heart, fair Elaine. Would that it could be as you wish.

Alas! that can never be."



At this, with a cry of heart-pain, the distressed maiden fell swooning

at his feet. Thence she was borne by women to her chamber, where she

lay, lamenting like one whose heart is broken.



Sir Bernard now came to Lancelot, who was preparing to depart, and

said,--



"Dear sir, it grieves me to find my daughter Elaine in such a

distressful state. I fear she may die for your sake."



"It grieves me as deeply," said Lancelot. "But what can I do? That she

loves me so deeply I am sorry to learn, for I have done nothing to

encourage it, as your son can testify. I know that she is a true and

noble maiden, and will do all that I can for her as an honest knight;

but love her as she loves me I cannot, and to wed I am forbidden. Yet

her distress wounds me sorely."



"Father," said Lavaine, "I dare avow that she is as pure and good as my

lord Sir Lancelot has said. In loving him she does but what I do, for

since I first saw him I could never depart from him; nor shall I leave

him so long as he will bear my company."



Then Lancelot took his leave, and he and Lavaine rode together to

Camelot, where Arthur and the whole court received the errant knight

with the utmost joy and warmest welcome. Queen Guenever alone failed to

greet him kindly, her jealous anger continuing so bitter that she would

not give him a word or a look, seek as he would.



But the joy and brightness at Camelot were replaced by darkness at

Astolat, for the fair Elaine was in such sorrow day and night that she

neither ate, drank, nor slept; and ever she sadly moaned and bewailed

the cruelty of Sir Lancelot.



Ten days of this brought her so near her end, that her old father, with

sad heart, sent for the priest to give her the last sacraments. But even

then she made her plaints of Lancelot's coldness so mournfully, that the

ghostly father bade her cease such thoughts.



"Why should I?" she cried. "Am I not a woman, with a woman's heart and

feelings? While the breath is in my body I must lament my fate; for I

hold it no offence to love, and take God to witness that I never have

and never can love other than Lancelot du Lake. Since it is God's will

that I must die from unrequited love of so noble a knight, I pray for

his mercy and forgiveness of all my sins. Never did I offend deeply

against God's laws; but it was not in my nature to withstand the fervent

love that is bringing me to my death."



Then she sent for her father and brother, and prayed them to write a

letter as she might dictate. This they did, writing down the mournful

words which she spoke.



"Now," she said, "this more I command you to do. When I am dead, put

this letter in my right hand before my body grows cold. Then see that I

be richly dressed and laid in a fair bed, and take me in a chariot to

the river Thames. There lay my body in a barge, covered with black

samite, and with but one man to steer the barge down the river to

Camelot."



All this they, weeping sadly, agreed to do, and soon afterwards the

maiden died, slain by her love. Her sad old father then had all done as

she had requested.



Meanwhile, in Camelot the world moved merrily. But one morning, by

fortune, as King Arthur and Queen Guenever stood talking at a window,

they espied a black barge drifting slowly down the river. Wondering much

what it meant, the king called Sir Kay and two other knights, and sent

them to the river, bidding them to bring him speedy word of what the

barge contained.



This they did. On reaching the river-side they found that the barge had

been turned inward, and lay beside the bank, and to their surprise they

saw in it a rich bed, on which lay the corpse of as fair a woman as they

had ever beheld. In the stern of the barge sat, with oar in hand, a poor

man who seemed dumb, for no word would he speak.



"That corpse must I see," said the king, when word of this event was

brought him. "Surely this betokens something strange."



He took the queen by the hand and went to the river-side with her. Here

the barge had been made fast, and they stepped from the shore to its

deck. There they saw the corpse of a beautiful maiden, dressed in costly

attire, and lying in a bed which was richly covered with cloth of gold.

And as she lay she seemed to smile.



The queen now espied a letter clasped closely in her right hand, and

showed it to the king.



"That will surely tell us who she is, and why she has come hither," he

said.



He thereupon took the letter and returned with the queen to the palace.

Here, surrounded by many knights, he broke the seal, and gave the

epistle to a clerk to read. This was its purport,--



"Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, now hath death made us two at debate

for your love. I was your lover, she whom men called the Fair Maid of

Astolat; therefore unto all ladies I make my moan, and I beg you to pray

for my soul, and at the least to bury me, and offer my mass-penny. This

is my last request. God is my witness that I die a pure maiden. Pray for

my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless."



When this pitiful letter had been read, all who heard it shed tears, for

never had they heard aught so moving. Then Lancelot was sent for and the

letter read to him.



"A sorrowful thing is this," he said, in grievous tones. "Then she is

dead, the fair Elaine, and thus, with silent lips, makes her last

prayer. Truly it wounds me to the heart. Yet, my lord Arthur, God knows

I had no just share in the death of this maiden, as her brother here,

Sir Lavaine, can testify. She was fair and good, and I owed her much,

but she loved me beyond measure, and her love I could not return."



"You might have shown her," said the queen, reprovingly, "some bounty

and gentleness, and thus have preserved her life."



"Madam," said Lancelot, "naught would she have but my love, and my hand

in marriage. I offered to endow her with a thousand pounds yearly, if

she should love and wed any other, but to this she would not listen. As

for me, I had no other comfort to give her, for love cannot be

constrained, but must rise of itself from the heart."



"Truly must it," said the king. "Love is free in itself, and will not be

bound, for if bonds be placed upon it, it looseth itself perforce. As

for this unhappy maiden, nothing is left for you but to obey her last

pitiful request."



"That shall I to the utmost of my power," said Lancelot.



Then many knights and ladies went to behold the fair maiden, who had

come thither in such moving wise. And in the morning she was richly

interred, and with all due honor, at Lancelot's command; and he offered

her mass-penny, as did all the knights who were there present.



Then the poor dumb servitor returned again with the barge, rowing it

slowly and sadly back to Astolat.



Afterwards the queen sent for Lancelot, and begged his pardon humbly for

her causeless anger.






"This is not the first time," said Lancelot, "that you have been

displeased with me without cause. What you will, I must bear, and keep

my sorrow within my heart; yet I would that your love were less tainted

by hasty jealousy. As for forgiving you, what else can I do, my queen?

Love cannot live without forgiveness."



After these events the winter and spring passed on, with hunting and

hawking, and jousts and tournaments, and the fate of the fair Elaine was

wellnigh forgotten in the joy of the court. But her brother Lavaine

gained great honor, and at a tournament that was given on Candlemas day

did so nobly that the king promised he should be made a Knight of the

Round Table at the next feast of Pentecost.



And at this tournament Lancelot again fought in disguise, wearing a

sleeve of gold of the queen's, and did such deeds that the prize was

adjudged to him. Thus a second time did he wear a woman's token in the

lists.



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