The Lady of Shalott

The Lady of Shalott

There was once a king who had a daughter whom he loved dearly. The King had a weak heart, and he became more and more frail each day. Every night, as the daughter sat by her father’s sickbed, her stepmother would stand behind her and whisper into her ear:
“If he should die, it will be you who is to blame,” and tears would trickle down the young girl’s pale cheeks.

Three days came to pass, and a great misfortune fell upon the palace. The King had drawn his last breath and died in his sleep. As the stepmother announced the sad news to the people of Camelot, it was not a mournful expression that she wore, but a cruel smile.

Night fell over the distraught kingdom; and the stepmother surged into the daughter’s luxurious royal chamber and grabbed her arm.
“You have brought misery upon us! It was your Father’s love and concern for you which killed him!” exclaimed the stepmother, as she dragged the young maiden out of the palace, and down to the small island of Shalott. There, she had ordered a tall dark tower to be built, with only a single window. The stepmother thrust the girl onto the hard stone floor of the turret prison and towered over her.

In the topmost room, sat a single wooden chair, and an ornate mirror hung on the lonely wall opposite the window. Beneath the looking-glass stood a magnificent loom, surrounded by many coloured fabrics.
“Herein you shall be imprisoned for the rest of your years,” announced the stepmother to the frightened child, “you must weave a web of fine fibres for the sorrows you have brought about.” The King’s daughter never uttered a word in her own defence, or pleaded for forgiveness, for she had no reason to doubt her second mother.

The stepmother became annoyed of the girl’s composure and innocence. The woman narrowed her eyes, turned her palms to face Hell and muttered words of many tongues under her breath. She turned to leave her captive.
“Never look down from the casement,” said she, “or your worst nightmare will ensue.” and with that left the tower and locked the great doors behind her.


Seven years came and went, and the girl remained locked away from the world within the tower. The people of Camelot, now ruled by the Step-mother, had given up hope of the King’s daughter ever returning, for they knew not where she had disappeared to.

A great mystery shrouded the tower, as none of the inhabitants of Shalott dared cross the river Eddy which surrounded it. The sage of the island insisted that evil spirits warned off anyone who went near. The reapers of the small island came to call the girl the “Lady of Shalott” as her true name and face were unknown to them. Each day and night, the Lady would weave her web of woes as she sang a sweet song from her youth. The reapers down in the fields of barley would listen, and whisper:
“’Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott.”

Through the looking glass, the lady watched the outside world. She would see market girls in their red cloaks. Smiling damsels dancing. An abbot ambling along the dirt road and Knights riding past on their steeds.
“I am half sick of shadows,” she would whisper into her mirror. The images from outside became pictures through weaving. She yearned to step outside the tower, but did not dare in fear of her curse. Tears would run down her cheeks in her darkest moments, and become woven into her tapestry.

During a bright summers day, a knight by the name of Sir Lancelot rode along the river down to Camelot. The Sun in the unclouded sky beat down onto his armour and shield, causing bright beams to reflect off in every direction. His helmet seemed to burn like an intense fire and the red plume danced in the wind like a flickering flame.. The bridle clinked in time with the blade against the great stallion’s side, as the brave knight sang. The bright light shone into the Lady’s mirror. The beautiful sight she beheld enchanted her.

In three steps, the lady moved away from her chair and magic tapestry and looked down toward the river. As large clouds rolled across the sky, she espied the shining Sir Lancelot. The web she had been working so hard on for seven years, flew out past the Lady and out towards her old home of Camelot. A drop of rain fell from the greying sky and fell onto the soft face of the Lady. She quickly turned away from the window and her eyes widened as she saw the mirror crack and fall to the ground.
“The curse is come upon me!” cried she.

With the east wind rising, and heavy rain pouring; the Lady flew out of her small, confined room and ran down the twisting stone steps which lead to the large wooden doors at the bottom of the tower. These doors had remained locked since the stepmother had left her many years ago. However, when the Lady pulled on the large brass handles, the doors easily opened.

The lady stepped outside for the first time in so many years. She looked around at the world of which she had been only a spectator. She ran down to the river that encircled her and the tower. There, she found what she sought. A small boat. It was docked beneath a weeping willow tree. Across the prow, she wrote her given name: “The Lady of Shalott.” Darkness was falling over the world, and as if in a trance, the Lady boarded the vessel and loosened the chain.

The boat went forth down the meandering river towards Camelot. The Lady lay down across the bottom of the wooden boat and imagined her Knight. Sir Lancelot. An image shone in her mind of the great brave soldier. Her snow white robe spread around her and loosely flapped in the wind.

Among the noises of the night, The Lady’s mournful singing could be heard. She was singing her last song. The cold night began to freeze her blood as her eyes became weak and the world went completely black. The first house of Camelot came into the Lady’s view; and singing in her song she died.

The boat continued into Camelot. It passed under blossom-covered balconies and tall turrets. Past neat gardens and winding cobbled lanes. Dead pale, she floated into the wharf. People of Camelot came out and gathered around the boat. They read her name “The Lady of Shalott.”
“Who is this?” inquired a dame, “and why is she here?” The town, which was full of bright lights, quietened in respect. The knights of Camelot encircled the Lady, whispering and wondering of the mystery.

From the back of the crowd, a voice was heard.
“Move aside thither,” demanded he. Sir Lancelot strode past the on-lookers and gazed down on the beautiful Lady. “She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace.” He bent down beside her cold body, and softly kissed her lips. He started to turn away, when, magically, life stirred afresh in the Lady of Shalott. She blinked slowly, and beheld her saviour.
“The curse,” she whispered so that only the Knight could hear, “is broken!” Sir Lancelot held the Lady in his arms, and requested her hand in marriage. Before she could reply, the tapestry that she had woven for so long flew down from the sky and into the Lady’s hands. They both saw the images depicted on the colourful masterpiece. A handsome knight wedding his beautiful princess. Sir Lancelot and the Lady herself. She did not need to reply for he already knew the answer.

The wicked stepmother, who had viewed all from her palace, fell into a passion as her curse had been flawed and broken. With her anger bubbling up inside of her, the evil spirits which she possessed took over and she perished. Dying an evil death.
The Lady and her knight, Sir Lancelot, walked towards the Palace- their new home, and were happy all the days of their lives.