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THE 
NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 

BEQUEST OF :: 

MARY LIVINGSTON WIL^ARD 
• 1926 • 



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LE MORTE DARTHUR 

OF SIR THOMAS MALORY 

^ ITS SOURCES 9 BY VIDA 
D. SCUDDER ^ 9 » 




1917 

NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON ^ CO. 
LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. 



/" 



i PlitouC LigRARY 

279653A 

A8TOR. LKUfmX AND 
TLLfeKN MUNBATION8 



Copyright, xpi? 

BY 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



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The Morte Daithur of 
Sir Thomas Malory 



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i 



PREFACE 

OUT of the least vital period in English letters, the 
fifteenth century, comes one vital book: the 
Morte Darthur of Sir Thomas Malory . Never completely 
forgotten even when the ages of romance were most 
discredited, its fascination for all classes of readers has 
increased ever since the romantic revival of the early 
nineteenth centtuy. Poets and scholars have delighted 
in it no less than children, and its importance grows 
clearer as the importance of the Middle Ages becomes 
more recognized. 

For the time has passed when the significance of 
mediaeval literatm:^ to the modem world can be mini- 
mized. Again and again, men have tried to break with 
the great mediaeval tradition. To the Revolution, 
the exalting of humanity involved the overthrow of 
all ancient 4:hings. To the eighteenth century, even 
Shakespeare was Gothicke, and the ages behind him 
were descried only to be flouted. The Renascence 
called a sharp About Face! from the epoch of mystery 
and romance, and turned enthusiasm toward the 
precise standards of classic antiquity. But all these 
reactions are now over. It is perceived that the 
Middle Ages are not a dark, half -barbarous interlude 
between two periods of ordered light, but a world 
illumined by beauty and by law, and this world has 
an increasing attraction for us. In proportion as we 



VI PREFACE 

have learned that nothing ever truly experienced by 
the spirit can in a true sense be outgrown, we turn 
to it reverently, eager to receive its revelation and to 
drink from the sources of its joy. Mediaeval mystics 
have a word for us, mediaeval music sounds around our 
altars, mediaeval art claims an ever-larger measure of 
devotion, and medieval literature waits to be studied 
as one of the great imaginative expressions of the 
race. 

In this literature, romance holds a leading place. 
True, the Latinists of the Middle Ages have a power 
and a value hardly yet appreciated; it has been rightly 
pointed out that Carlyle, Ruskin, Bergson, would have 
written in Latin had they lived in the thirteenth cen- 
tury, and the medieval philosophers and theologians 
are as great men as their modem successors. But 
the writings in the vernacular are warmer with the 
touch <rf life. Among these, the romance-cycles axe 
of prime importance, among those cydes, none is so 
central as the Arthurian, and in the long development 
of Arthurian romance, Malory's Morte, for English 
readers at least, marks the glorious consummation. 
That is the reason for this book. 

In the revival of mediaeval studies, three phases 
may be distinguished: there is a sentimental approach, 
there is a scholastic approach, and there is an interpre- 
tive approach made possible by the other two. The 
first approach, eagerly sympathetic but uncritical, 
marked the early years of the modem romantic move- 
ment; but its superficialities were checked before long, 
and a serious scholarship arose for which one can 
hardly feel too grateful. M. Joseph B6dier, himsetE 
one of the most notable contemporary scholars, ap- 
praises its work with rare felicity: 



\ 
\ 



PREFACE vii 

After the hasty generalizations, brilliant and useless, of 
the school of Rajoiouard, Fauriel, Amp^, ' when intelligent 
understanding of the Middle Ages was compromised by the 
inaccurate and flashy tendencies of romanticism, a reaction 
to erudition had to happen. It is well that a generation 
should have sacrificed itself conscientiously and religiously 
to an obscure and necessary work. These learned men know 
as well as any one that the world of general ideas is the only 
world worth living in, — ^and they have forbidden themselves 
to penetrate it. They know that the facts which they 
exhaust themselves to establish have no value at all as 
mere facts, but are worth while only if laws can be inferred 
from them, — and they are aware tiiat usually others than 
themselves will discover these laws. They know that 
scientific labor is acquainted with no joy except synthesis, 
and they have staj^ imprisoned in minute analyses. 
They have been willing to write for twenty readers, content 
to work for those who are to come. But thanks to this 
very beautiful generation of scholars, a day will soon arrive 
when, the great works of our national adolescence being 
at last dated, localized, restored in their primal integrity 
and splendor, the image of the Middle Ages can be developed 
with the fair clarity, the logic and the harmonics, of our 
classic period.' 

This day has not yet fully arrived, but it is dawning. 
In Arthurian roooance, a portion of the medieval 
heritage which England shares with France in a peculiar 
sense, the researches of scholars will still be needed 
for many a year; but splendid results have already 
been achieved. Hidden things have been brought 
to light, misapprehensions rectified, relations deter- 
mined, sources interminably discussed and occasionally 
discovered, and although many conclusions are tenta- 

s English names might be substituted. 

* Les Lais de Marie de Fiance. Revue des Deux Mondes, 1891. 






viu PREFACE 

tive, and there are still vast lacunae in knowledge, the 
point has already been reached when Everyman can 
attain a fresh comprehension of the whole Arthurian 
development. New treasures, unsuspected by his 
fathers, are open to him. To glance at the romance 
material accessible for the general reader in the days 
of Scott or even of Tennyson, is to realize what gifts 
the scholars have brought us. Even half a century 
ago, the ordinary man of culture might have been 
hard put to it to -mention three mediaeval poets, exclu- 
sive of Dante, before the fourteenth century. To-day, a 
ntmiber of vivid figures invite his attention. They are 
coming more within his reach every year, through cheap 
editions and good translations. It is a pity to know 
literature through translation, yet better see beauty 
through a veil than not at all. Moreover, mediaeval 
poets sxifiEer less than the classics from being translated, 
for though they have pleasant qualities of style, they 
wrote when there was no "sacred language," in a 
vernacular still tentative and fluid; and they owe their 
distinction less to precision or purity of phrase than to 
opulence of invention and freshness of feeling. 

With this rich material now generally available, and 
with the many accessions to definite knowledge about 
the whole romance-development, it would seem that the 
time is ripe for interpretive study. Many mediaeval 
books, in the light thrown upon them by scholastic 
research, may now be considered from the point of 
view not of process but of product, not of scholarship 
but of pure letters. Malory's Marte Darthur is one of 
these books, it can be appreciated to-day as never 
before. Placed in its true setting and against its true 
background, rightly related to its predecessors as the 
dimax of a long development, it acquires new and 



I 



PREFACE 

striking significance, both as a social document and 
as a- work of art. 

The present volume is based on fifteen years' study of 
Arthurian romance with College classes. It makes no 
claim to explore new territory, but it hopes to fill the 
modest ftmction of guide to a lovely country which is 
too rarely visited except by pioneers. 



Wblleslet, Mass., U. S. A., 
June, 191 7 




y 



CONTENTS 

»AGJI 

Preface v 

PARTI 
MALORTS PREDECESSORS 

CHAPTSft 

I. — ^Preliminaiues 3 

II. — NEARLY Arthurian Romance on British 

Soil: Myth and Chronicle . . 13 

III- — ^French Verse Romances of the Twelfth 

Century 34 

IV. — ^French Verse Romances. {Continued) 53 

V. — ^French Prose Romances: ** The Grand 

San Graal" 73 

VI. — The Merlin Romances .... 100 

VII. — The Lancelot Romances . . - "9 

VIII. — Middle English Romances . . . 142 

part ii 

malorts morte darthur 

I. — ^The Man and His Book. . . .177 

II. — ^The Prologue to the Main Action: 

Books I. -VII 190 

d 



xu 



CX)NTENTS 



III. — ^Thb Pageant of Romantic Love: Books 

VIII.-X 226 

IV. — The Pageant of the Holy Grail: Books 

XL-XIII 259 

V. — ^The Pageant of the Holy Grail (Con- 

Hnuei): Books XIII.-XVII. . . .279 

VI.— Reaction : Books XVTII.-XIX . 



ty VII.— The Catastrophe: Books XX.-XXI1 

part III 
MALORY AND HIS SOURCES 

I. — ^Malory's Interweavings 

II.— The "Morte Darthur" and the Prose 
"Lancelot" 



III. — Parallels to Book XVIII. . 
rV.— Some Phases of Malory's Art 
V. — Causality in Arthurian Romance. 
Bibliography . . • . 



3" 
334 6- 



365 

374 
381 
388 

399 
411 



Malory's Morte Darthur and 
Its Sources 



PART I 
MALORY'S PREDECESSORS/ 



CHAPTER I 

PREUMINAIUES 



THIS book is to concern itself with Arthurian ro- 
mances which are intimately connected with 
England, and which belong in the sequence leading up to 
the Marte Darthur of Sir Hiomas Malory. Three periods 
may be distinguished in the story of Arthurian ro- 
mance. The first is that of origins, and it lasts from the 
fifth century to the twelfth. Legends were doubtless 
forming long before the opening of this period; pre- 
historic race-exi)erience has bequeathed traces of mjrth 
which linger in romance to the end of the chapter. 
But the definite legend dates from the fifth century, 
when a real British chief, possibly defender of ancient 
Celtic Christianity, may have driven the heathen 
Saxon invaders temporarily back in a series of battles. 
The second period is that of literary creation. It 
begins with the pseudo-historical chronicle, Historia 
Regum BrUannuB, by the Welshman Geoffrey of Mon- 
mouth, finished before 1 139, and it lasts about a cen- 
tury — a marvelous century, in which the creative 
imagination worked at wlute heat. There are three 
phases in the Arthurian literature of this period: 
pseudo-historical chronicles, in either prose or verse, 
claiming to present authentic story; romance-poems, 

3 



4 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

frankly divorced from reality; and prose romances, 
slightly later than the poems, and the chief direct 
source of Malory. If the period opens with Geoffrey's 
History, it may be said to dose, in the first quarter of 
the thirteenth century, with the work of two German 
poets, Gottfried von Strassbtu-g and Wolfram von 
Eschenbach. During the iaterim, all the great romance 
cydes had reached full development. Lancelot, Gala- 
had, Tristan, Perceval, had rallied to the court of 
Arthur, and the ostensibly historical method of Geoffrey 
had yielded to the full romantic tone. After this 
period, little or nothing original was added to the 
stories, but the creative epoch was followed by a long 
epoch of translation and adaptation, that lasted through 
the fifteenth century, till the renascence and the inven- 
tion of printing produced a change of taste which slowly 
but surely put an end to the mediaeval world of thought 
and feding. 

Perhaps no other romances were so widely spread 
as those of Arthur and his knights. France has her 
cyde of Charlemagne stories, which spread to Italy; 
Iceland has her Sigurd, Spain has her Cid. But all 
Europe shares the tradition of Arthur. Versions of 
Arthurian romance appear not only south of the Alps 
but as far north as Iceland. Arthur, with other an- 
cestors of Maximilian, stands guard by the emperor's 
tomb in the Tyrol; his knights gave names to Italian 
babies in the deventh century, and themes to Lom- 
bard sculptors in the twelfth; his court held balanced 
sway with that of the Holy Grail to the German im- 
agination of Wolfram von Esdienbach. During the 
creative period, the great bulk of the romances is writ- 
ten in French, and bears the stamp of French ideals. 

But if Arthurian romance is thus widdy spread, its 



PRELIMINARIES s 

interest for English readers is still more due to its 
intimate relations with national life. Not France, 
the land which glorified him, but England, the land 
on which he shed his glory, is Arthur's natural back- 
ground. The fact is the more striking because the 
Anglo-Saxon race can not enter a daim to the great 
king on the score of blood-kinship. In Arthur, the 
conquered Celt took one of the revenges for which he 
is famous: he furnished the ideal hero to the people 
by whom he had been overcome. That is because 
land, not race, is habitually the important point in 
national epics, and he who has defended the soil against 
the invader lives in the heart of that very invader's 
descendants as the protector of the common country. 
Arthurian romance has its roots deep in British soil. 
This is the reason why, despite its expansion on the 
Continent, despite the fact that the greater portion 
of the literature was written in French, the story claims 
the peculiar allegiance of Englishmen. 

In the period of origins, the British Isles play, of 
course, a leading part. There has been much discus- 
sion whether the l^ends first gathered form in Wales 
or Brittany, but some of Arthur's greatest knights, as 
Gawain, Kay, Bedivere, no less than the king himself, 
were indubitably first known in Britain. There too, 
in Geoffrey's History, the legend first took literary 
shape; and other chroniders, notably the poet Laya- 
mon (1205), followed in Geoffrey's steps. During the 
creative epoch, however, the vital center passes from 
England to France, and the splendid development of 
Arthurian romance in that country is a witness to the 
intimate union of imaginative life in the two great 
peoples who to-day, after long separation, have found 
one another again. Many of the romances were writ- 



6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ten by Anglo-Normans, as much at home in England 
as in France; English influence can be traced through- 
out the stories in various interesting ways. But 
nothing of importance is written in the EngUsh lan- 
guage after Layamon till the late thirteenth century. 
Prom that time on, during the period of translation 
and transmission, a number of poems, mostly transla- 
tions or adaptations from the Prench yet not devoid of 
original elements, show that the Arthurian tradition 
still lived or had been revived on Arthur's native soil. 
No genius of the first order arose, however, to treat 
the tradition, and it seemed as if Arthur were never to 
be adequately cdebrated in his early home. One noble 
artist saved the day, and the Morte Darthur of Sir 
Thomas Malory, published by Caxton in 1485, closes 
worthily the long progress of Arthur. 

As the study of Arthurian romance proceeds, the 
variety and scope of it becomes more and more impress- 
ive. Every decade unravels a little further the in- 
terweaving of the stories, penetrates deeper into the 
region of origins, and appreciates more clearly the 
reactions of historic drctunstance. The most fasci- 
nating work is the investigation of sources. It leads 
back and back, till behind Geoffrey's Arthur fighting 
the Great Cat of Lausanne, rise all mythic heroes who 
have slain monsters of darkness, and the traits of 
Morgan le Pay are explained by her kinship to the 
Valkyrie, or the Irish war-goddess, the Morrigu. It is 
in Celtic myth and legend that the richest suggestions 
are fotmd; yet the mind is impelled to peer toward 
yet farther horizons: Guenevere borne away by Meli- 
agranoe may be own cousin to Persephone in the cotirts 
of Hades; Gawain, waxing in strength as the sun 
mounts the sky, certainly suggests the large family of 



PRELIMINARIES 7 

sun-heroes; and Perceval, dumb and puzzled as the 
Grail passes before the bier of a king dying yet never 
dead, may assist at the mystic burial rites of an Eastern 
god of vegetation. Who shall say indeed that faint 
recollections of lost Atlantis may not gleam through 
the stories? Where vision fails and theories grow 
more and more tentative, fantasy, provided only that 
it refrain from confusing itself with scientific hypothesis, 
may play almost at will. 

Just now, study has largely shifted from the alluring 
but precarious speculation concerning mythic origins, 
to a more sober investigation of literary relationships; 
yet the immemorial antiquity of many elements in 
Arthurian romance is beyond question. At every point 
of development, critical problems present their chal- 
lenge to scholarship. But scholarship alone is com- 
petent to handle them, and direct literary appreciation 
can start its work only where research ends. Romance, 
for those who would study its abiding value to the 
spirit, begins when first it is written down. Knowl- 
edge of origins and connections is indeed a help to 
romantic emotion, always quickened by **old for- 
gotten things"; but scholastic detail, once assimilated, 
would better be ignored by the seeker for beauty. 
Neither the historic nor the mythic Arthur rules our 
imagination, but the Arthur who held his sway in that 
many-towered mediaeval Camelot which is still the 
capitol of a land of dreams. 

II 

Arthur and his knights then come to life for the first 
time in twdf th-century chronicle and verse. And the 
first striking thing about them is that they are emphati- 



8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

cally men of their day. Disooncerting fairy habits 
they do, to be sure, display on occasion, yet in the main 
they and the life they share reflect with extraordinary 
accuracy the varied aspects, material and psycholo- 
gical, of contemporary Europe. Mediasval romance, 
often assumed to swing quite free from bondage to fact, 
proves on examination to be a valid social document, 
and the reader who relates it to the period in which it 
was produced will gain a sense of reality which adds 
immeasurably to its charm. It can no more be under- 
stood without some knowledge of its background than 
Dickens or Thackeray can be understood without 
knowledge of the French Revolution or the industrial 
conditions of the Victorian age. Modem realism of 
course tries to establish a different relation between 
the image and the fact from any which consciously 
obtains in that world of romance; but the difference 
is less than we think. In relating either romances or 
novels to the civilization from which they spring, one 
must be on one's guard against the personal equation; 
yet the older writers, whatever wish they may have 
had to escape the actual, never succeeded much 
better than the modems. For the best realism is not 
intentional but inevitable, and of inevitable realism 
old romance is as full as Arnold Bennett. The fahy 
mistress is arrayed in fabrics of no earthly weave, but 
the cut of her garments is frankly mediaeval. Delec- 
tably impossible giants confront the trembling knight, 
but the elements that compose Their Monstrosities 
are usual enough: ''His ears were those of an olyfant 
and his nose was cut like a cat." Imagination can 
attain a good distance from reality but it can no more 
fly away altogether than an aeroplane can escape the 
earth to which it must return. 



PRELIMINARIES 9 

For eyes that can see, the romances hold a whole 
revelation of their age. In their magic mirror are 
reflected the mediaeval passion for pageant and picto- 
rial beauty, for a life brave and fine in aspect however 
violently tragedy might threaten its peace. Racial 
distinctions are evident as the stories pass through a 
Germanic, an Anglo-Norman, a Scandinavian medium. 
The reaction of historic movements and events is 
strong: of the Norman Conquest, with its call to a new 
patriotism in England, of the Crusades, with their 
Oriental contacts, of the militant Religious Orders, 
picturesque beyond the capacity of invention, of the 
marriage of an English king with a princess of Provence. 
The unique and paradoxical code of honor, the satiric 
humor, the subtle sentiments, the brutal assumptions 
underlying exquisite manners, that baffle the student 
of the times, are all in its literature. Finally, the 
leading forces in the Middle Ages are the forces which 
create romance. Feudalism and Catholicism control 
those centuries. They also control the literature, 
which reveals them as they were seen by desire rather 
than by fact, and therefore reveals them with ultimate 
truth. 

Perspective simplifies; looking back at the Middle 
Ages, their dominant moral trend is plain. The ideal 
of loyalty, — describeai5y a modem philosopher, Josiah 
Royce, as root and mother of all virtues, — evolved an 
orderly Europe from the chaos of the Dark Ages, and 
governed the systems of feudalism and Catholicism 
as the soul governs the body. This virtue took differ- 
ent forms. At first, the leading types, beautifully 
illustrated in the clanging verse of the Song of Roland, 
were loyalty to God through His Church, and loyalty 
to the feudal Overlord. To these, in course of time. 



10 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

another sentiment was added, — ^loyalty to the beloved 
among women. These three great loyalties, — religious, 
political, personal^ — created in a very real sense what 
was best and most characteristic in mediaeval life. 
They tmited to form the chivalric ideal. They are 
the true dramatis persotuB of mediaeval romance in 
general and of Arthtirian romance in particular. 

**The personal equation" was spoken of a moment 
ago. Another name for it is temperament, and there 
is quite as much temperament in the twelfth century 
as in the twentieth; but it appears in a different way. 
At times, an individual bias can be discerned. Sepa- 
rate poets are emerging from the confusion of mediaeval 
letters, and in estimating their distinctive talents the 
critic has an easy task. The personal quality of 
Wolfram von Eschenbach for instance is as marked and 
as tmrelated to the general tendencies of his age as that 
of Francis Thompson. But the larger part of mediaeval 
literature is anonymous and composite, and the tem- 
perament it expresses is that of a whole age rather than 
of any individual author. For ages, like people, have 
temperaments of their own. No one man, but an epoch, 
wrote the Arthtuiad; it is the expression of a corporate 
imagination, spanning centuries and acclimating itself 
in many lands. The collective character of the work 
is an obvious artistic handicap; but it is a peculiar asset 
also. Arthurian romance, retelling the same stories 
from the twelfth century to the fifteenth, not only 
presents the persistent factors in the Middle Ages as 
a whole, — ^and in no other epoch is continuity so 
strong, — ^it also suggests the gradual changes at work 
within seeming stability, and offers a priceless oppor- 
tunity for analyzing a progressive ideal. The simplest 
way to understand its peculiar power is to follow 



PRELIMINARIES il 

the great personages of the story. They do not develop 
in the modem sense, like a Maggie Ttdliver, a Richard 
Feverel, but the work of successive ages can be traced 
upon them. Each mediaeval author meant to preserve 
the types which he inherited; but he was impelled by 
all which divided him from earlier generations to intro- 
duce a new temper and to place his people in new atti- 
tudes. Pew critical efforts demand more insight or 
reveal the evolving psychology of the Middle Ages 
better than study of the successive handlings undergone, 
for instance, by a figure like Gawain. Sometimes an 
archaic conception is gradually outgrown till a living 
man confronts one; again, the reverse takes place and 
a figure charmingly sincere in early days ceases to be 
a man and stiffens into a pose. All these changes, — 
and they are many, — obey progressive modifications 
in mediaeval taste and instinct. To study romance is 
to watch the developing self-expression of mediaeval 
life. 

The composite character thus imparts to romance a 
social value all its own. It has also a special artistic 
power. It lends majesty and depth, for behind the 
conceptions as behind the fixed forms of mediaeval art, 
can be traced the fervid life of a changing epoch, 
expressing itself through a persistent tradition. An 
analogy for the effect may be fotmd in certain great 
rooms like the Cambio at Perugia, the Vatican Stanze, 
or the Lower Church at Assisi, where unity of concep- 
tion endures on broad lines through an amazing diver- 
sity of thought and feeling and a long development in 
technique. Another parallel, though one to be sug- 
gested cautiously, is with Gothic architecture. The 
same period built the cathedrals and wrote the ro- 
mances; and cathedrals like romances are the work of 



12 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

many hands. To study the difference in feeling be- 
tween the tale of Tristram in Gottfried von Strassburg 
and Malory, or the conception of Arthur in the Mabi- 
nogion, in Geoffrey, and in Perceval le GaUois, is as 
interesting as to compare the stained glass of Chartres 
and of Beauvais, the nave of Durham with the spire of 
Salisbury. In many cases, the changes presented are 
cognate. The finest period of the romances corresponds 
with fair exactness to the lovely Transition period; 
and the long generations during which the old ro- 
mantic motifs were worked over to suit successive 
tastes, were those in which Gothic, too, tended to 
repeat itself, becoming at once more formal and more 
elaborated. Romance and architectiu^ alike present 
the mediaeval epoch as a whole and also the significant 
changes within the epoch. 



CHAPTER II 

EASLT ARTHURIAN ROMANCE ON BRITISH SOIL. MYTH 
AND CHRONICLE 



BEFORE turning to the decorous literary opening of 
the Arthurian cyde, one book demands atten- 
tion, produced on British soil though not in the English 
tongue. Through it we can look down a long vista 
to the age of prehistoric origins, when already the 
fantasy of prinutive Celts was playing around the per- 
son and the court of Arthur, The series of Welsh 
tales known as the Mabinogion, found in a fourteenth- 
century manuscript known as the Red Book of Hergest, 
is a late reduction of early material. Five of the tales 
treat Arthurian subjects. Three of these, The Lady 
of the Fountain, Geraint and Peredur, are based on poems 
by Chrfetien de Troies, though in Peredur, a strange 
version of the Perceval Gr^-legend, barbaric traits 
are preserved unknown to the French poem, imparting 
a savage flavor to the aroma of the court, and the 
provenance has been questioned. The other two, 
KUwch and Olwen and The Dream of Shonaby, have 
no known models. They are pure detritus of myth, — 
myth no longer crjrstallized, yet sparkling even in its 
confused disintegration with the genuine light of early 
imagination. 

13 



14 MORTE DARTHUR OP TH01.1AS MALORY , 

Glimpses are obtained through these tales of a world 
where Arthur's prowess was magnified before [ever 
the Normans conquered England, or the lessons of 
chivalry were learned. It is a pre-Christian woild. 
Disquieting shadows oversweep it, from the fears and 
ardors experienced at the dawn of racial life. They 
come, they go, mingling with impressions from a later 
age. Chieftains with attributes of the gods their 
evident prototypes hold the center of the stage, domi- 
nating a rude society discernible through the web of 
fairy magic. No one has bettered Matthew Arnold's 
description of the stories: "The mediaeval story-teller 
is pillaging an antiquity of which he does not possess 
the secret, he is like a peasant building his hut on the 
side of Halicamassus or Ephesus; he builds, but what 
he builds is full of materials of which he knows not the 
history, or by a glimmering tradition merely, stones 
*not of this building,' but of an older architecture, 
greater, cunninger, more majestical."* One may add 
that of architecture proper, of plan, structure, sym- 
metry, these stories are as guileless as are the actual 
buildings fotmd among savage tribes. Their incoher- 
ence leaves in the mind a sense of pure bewilder- 
ment. 

For the scholar, these stories are full of interest. 
They show the dose affiliation of Arthurian tradition 
with old Celtic epic, and are an intricate example of 
interplay between civilized literary influences and 
primitive tastes and motifs. For the reader, their 
charm is in a sense adventitious. Charm they have, 
of barbaric color, of delicate sentiment mingling ab- 
ruptly with fierce slaughter-lust, of romantic episodes 
charged with that illusion of which the Celt is always 

>M. Arnold, CeUk UUraiure. p. 46, MacmiUan, 1883. 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 15 

master. But shapdessness and scrappiness relegate 
them to a category far bdow the splendid old Irish 
epics, or the best sagas produced during the VOlker- 
wanderung. 

At lowest reckoning, however, they offer an invalu- 
able starting-point from which the student can estimate 
the transformation which the mediaeval mind had to 
achieve. Here are familiar names: Kay, Geraint, 
— Chnfetien's Erec, — Bedwi, and Gwalchmai (Bedivere 
and Gawain): and already Kay is crusty- tongued, 
Bedivere clings dose to Arthur, and Gawain Arthur's 
nephew is "the best of footmen and the best of knights." 
But Kay "had this peculiarity," — queer to encounter 
in the rough human seneschal of later da3rs, — "that 
his breath lasted nine da3rs and nine nights under 
water. Very subtle was Kay . . . when it pleased 
him he could render himself as tall as the tallest tree 
in the forest." Other attendants at Arthur's court 
are no less curious predecessors of his knights. There 
is he who if his way lay through a wood, went on the 
tops of the trees, and he who if he stood on the top of 
the highest mountain of the world, it would become a 
plain under his feet, and he who on the day that he was 
sad would let one of his lips drop bdow his waist, 
while he turned up the other like a cap over his head. 
More sinister are the sons of Gwawrddur K3rrvach, 
of whom it is baldly told: "These men came forth from 
the confines of hell"'; more suggestive of myth the 
splendid maiden for whom Gwythyr the son of Greid- 
awl and Gwynn the son of Nudd fight every first of 
May until the day of doom. After that, companion 
tales cause no surprise when they present the very 
Prince of Hades, or the exquisite maid Blodwenn, 

' MabiHogUm, Everyman, pp. 100-X07. 



i6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

created out of ''the blossoms of the oak and the blos- 
soms of the meadow sweet and the blossoms of the 
broom." This last example shows that men were as 
sensitive to the beautiful as to the grotesque. The 
youth Kilhwch, starting like many a successor for the 
court of Arthur, is described in the conventional deco- 
rative style sacred to Celtic heroes. Yet manners 
are as primitive as personages. Perceval, like Kilhwch, 
was to ride straight up to the steps of the throne; but 
Kilhwch's threat, to set up three deadly shouts at the 
entrance to turn the hearts of women, is a habit hap- 
pily discarded later. A distinct code of haughty honor 
is observed, but it is of pre-Christian type. There are 
startling hints of realism; a house in the opening of 
The Dream of Rhonaby might be any modem hovel in 
Wales or Ireland. But the stories as a whole are like 
a broken dream of ancient things. This is especially 
true of the quest in which many persons engage, in- 
cluding Arthur and his court: they are first to find 
the father of Olwen, then to perform the marvels he 
requires from the candidate for his daughter's hand. 
Here are met craftsmen wise as Weyland the smith, 
birds and beasts who keep the power of speech of which 
civilization is to rob them; shape-shifting, from animal 
to man, from one man to another. Old friends famil- 
iar in fairy-tale abound: the cruel stepmother, the 
magic cauldron, the ants who fetch the flax-seed needed 
to sow the barren field. The climax of the quest, the 
hunt of the great boar who has a comb between his 
ears necessary to shave the head of Olwen's very 
intractable father, is almost unmodified myth. 

Arthtu* himself in these stories is already a great 
chieftain, surrounded by his followers; the surmise is 
tempting that he was once a central magnate in a 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 17 

hierarchy of gods. But he recks not of past dignities 
and is as rude and hearty a host as any old Welsh- 
man. Lavish he is and joyous, true of his word and 
hard to withhold from any adventure going. A cer- 
tain sense of fitness dawns in his comrades: Gwyn 
tries vainly to prevent him from entering a witch's 
cave, remarking: ''It would not be fitting or seemly 
for us to see thee squabbling with a hag.'* This eager 
temper Arthur is to keep, for does not Malory tell how 
''all men said that it was merry to serve under such 
a king, that would put his person in adventure even 
as poor men do"? The future Arthur, however, is to 
retain only a few of the mythic properties in which 
he is now rich: his horse Cavall, his dog, his ship, his 
mantle; though he may retain his magic sword and his 
wife Gwenhwyvar. 

Mingled with these unmistakably pagan elements 
are others, Christian and feudal. Arthur, coming to 
the shores of Ireland in wild chase of a king transformed 
into a swine, is met by all the Irish saints, who beseech 
his protection and give him their blessing. The 
strange juxtaposition is most evident in the stories 
presumably derived in parts from French originals. 
The Lady of the Fountain, and, above all, Peredur. 
Here, chivalric formalities alternate quaintly with 
primitive episodes and touches. On the whole, how- 
ever, untutored childhood breathes through these 
tales. They are a spontaneous product of the mysti- 
fying contact of primitive man with this inexplicable 
world, and they are memorable to literature mainly 
because Arthurian romance to the end of the chapter 
never quite lost the haunting wonder and the sense of 
immemorial things which clings around the b^inning 
of conscious life. 



i8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

n 

From no reasonable standpoint can much in the 
Mabinogion be considered literature; the stories con- 
tain traces of myth crumbling into fairy-tale and at a 
late stage in the process happening to get itself written 
down. The literary beginnings of Arthur's story 
must be sought, oddly enough, in those mediaeval 
chroniclers who from a period before the Conquest to 
the end of the Middle Ages, represented scholarship. 
At once the historians and the journalists of their time» 
they looked out on the world, often from the shelter 
of monasteries, always from the point of view of the 
clerk, and, very dryly for the most part, chronicled its 
doings. Those living in England were likely when 
they looked back to mention Arthur: no fewer than 
two himdred of them allude to Arthurian matters, 
though in most cases they have little of value to offer. 

A near-contemporary of Arthur, the chronicler 
Gildas, is first to tell of the Battle of Mount Badon, 
last of those "twelve great battles in the West'' cele- 
brated by Tennyson, in which the British defeated 
their Saxon invaders and won for their people a half- 
century of peace. But Gildas does not mention 
Arthur. It is in the compilation made by Nennius, 
about 826, that a brief notice, probably derived from 
a Latin chronicle of 697, tells how one Arthtu*, dux bd- 
lorutn, fought these twelve battles, bearing on his 
shield the image of the Blessed Virgin. The passage 
may well date from an earlier time; and it tells all 
that can be even surmised of the historic foundation 
for the Arthtu^-legend. Arthtu* is here not yet king, 
simply a leader in war fighting with the kings of the 
Britons; but his fame already shines dear. That this 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 19 

fame is almost from the beguming enhanced by fable 
would be plain if only from the protest of WilUam of 
Malmesbury, perhaps cleverest of the chroniclers, 
who early in the twelfth century repeats the mention 
of Mount Badon, but gives also a gUmpse of a full- 
formed Arthurian legend by alluding to the "deceitful 
tales and dreams'' which on the lips of the Britons 
gather around Arthtu*. Of such deceitful tales the 
McUnnogian may be a specimen; and certainly its 
Arthur, irresponsibly seeking the blood of a witch or 
himting a magic boar, has little likeness to the sober 
chieftain who according to William was the prop of 
his tottering fatherland and spurred the broken spirits 
of his countrymen to war. 

Soon after William of Malmesbury, the memorable 
work of GeoflErey of Monmouth, Historia Regum 
BritannuB caught all the floating traditions about the 
historic Arthur, and gathered them in brilliant pages 
which gave Arthurian story at last the importance it 
has never lost, GeoflErey's book is the starting-point 
of Arthurian literature, and the irritation which it 
aroused in his contemporaries is doubtless one measure 
of its importance. As the word Monmouth implies, 
the chronicle still keeps near the borders of Arthur's 
native "wild Wales" ; but Geoffrey, the probable Welsh- 
man, has become the vassal of the Norman conqueror. 
His work is an amalgam of elements from the primi- 
tive culture and the advanced civilization of his time, 
and these incongruous elements are smoothed to tmity 
on the surface by the Latinized learning dear to the 
conquering race that had for seventy years ruled the 
English land. Geoffrey was a sophisticated and clever 
man of letters. Like others of the genus, he never at- 
tained distinction in the world of action; only three 



20 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

years before his death was he made Bishop of St. 
Asaph's, an insignificant see which he never visited* 
Although he was long Archdeacon of Llandaff, he did 
not receive ordination to priest's orders until he was 
on the point of being consecrated Bishop; apparently 
his interest centered in literary work. 

For it is Geoffrey's title to fame that he supplied 
the national epic craved by the sagacious Norman. 
The complex peoples living in Britain needed some 
unifying past if they were to find themselves as a 
nation. Geoffrey set out to supply it. He was auda- 
ciously eclectic in the sources from which he drew, 
scattered fragments of folk-tale, saint-legends, con- 
temporary chronicle. Whether he relied also on a 
famous book by "Walter Archdeacon of Oxford," 
to which he sedately refers, or whether he was simply 
inventing the authority demanded by the honest 
mediaeval dislike for original invention, may never be 
known. 

The first necessity for a history of England was 
some sort of tie which should connect Britain with 
an older civilization; so after a few geographical notes 
Geoffrey begins straightway with ^Eneas and the dose 
of the Trojan war, and with Brutus, the descendant 
of iEneas, who, guided by an oracle of Diana, arrived 
as an exile in Albion, ''a land of pleasant aspect, in- 
habited only by a few giants." When once the tie 
with ancient days is firm, the chronicler proceeds to 
weave into his tale all the legends indigenous to the 
soil. It was probably agreeable to his Norman masters 
that when he came to the Saxon conquest he should 
narrate it from the British or Celtic point of view. 
Saxon glories could hardly be exalted for the descend- 
ants of the victors at Hastings, but the Celts had long 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 21 

been safely submerged, and to give them a revanche 
in the story was a dever stroke. The cotmsels of 
strat^y may well have been abetted by GeoflErey's 
Wdsh blood; so, beginning with Hengist and Horsa, 
and steadily treating the Saxons as unprincipled in- 
vaders, he sweeps on con amare to the culmination of 
British glory in the magnified and magnificent career 
of Arthur. Race antagonisms are not stressed, however ; 
all readers of whatever racial strain might tmite in 
enthusiasm over the great champion of the soil, and, 
learning how under Arthur the land of Logres became 
the center of world-empire, glow with pride over a 
common past. 

In this first complete version of the Arthurian story, 
interest and emphasis are primarily political. Geof- 
frey's Arthur is a fine soldierly figure, modeled on the 
type of Charlemagne, or of a Norman king. He 
conquers Saxons, defies Romans, and gathers rotmd 
him a court wherein the new principles of feudalism 
begin to obtain. The old tone is not whoUy lost; he 
is more interesting when he fights the Giant of Mont 
St. Michel d la Jack the Giant Killer, than when he 
harangues Roman ambassadors. But on the whole 
he inhabits a cultivated world and a learned century, 
and his oratory is carefully modeled on that of Livy 
or Sallust; for Geoffrey was a cultured gentleman, at 
home in his classics, and bent on showing that the 
ancient heroes of his land could make speeches with 
the best. The days of savagery are over, elaborate 
etiquette and fine manners prevail. Yet the romantic 
and human interest that were later to add charm to the 
tale, are still absent. If the land of faerie is to be 
deserted for that of chivalry, it would be pleasant 
to meet Tristan and Lancelot and Galahad. That 



a2 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

pleasure is denied. The stories in which the Middle 
Ages were to express the depth of human passion and 
the heights of mystic aspiration have not yet become 
fused with the Arthuriad, and Geoflfrey's grave Latin 
chronicle, without an Iseult, without a ^ Holy Grail, 
leaves the modem reader cold. 

Yet the story is entirely coherent without these 
interests, though its unity is that of consecutive chron- 
icle, not of organized art. Certain elements of roman- 
tic appeal are already present. Arthur is begotten 
of enchantment tmder circumstances of such full 
romantic quality that the birth-legend never needed 
to be either discarded or amplified when chronicle had 
blossomed into romance. In GeoflErey's pages, Meilin 
first weaves his spells, and the treatment of him leaves 
little to be desired; later versions of his legend, indeed, 
omit some delightful facts which Geoffrey records. 
When once the story gets started, however, it proceeds 
soberly and dully. Arthur, chosen king at fifteen years 
of age, — ^his birth being matter of conmion knowledge, 
— ^first subdues the Saxons, then the Picts and Scots 
to the north of him; then, after dividing Scotland 
among his brother-in-law Lot and Lot's brothers, he 
wins Ireland and Iceland, invades Norway, and spends 
nine years conquering Gaul. Returned at last to 
Britain, he gathers his vassals at Pentecost for a second, 
apparently imperial, coronation; in the description of 
this festival, the tastes and manners of the age of 
chivalry significantly appear. Feudalism indeed is pre- 
supposed in the whole story. Its courtesies are here, 
its ordered pomp, its military enterprises carried 
out, not by individual exploits as in Saga-times but 
by corporate and planned movements. During the 
coronation, comes the demand for tribute from Rome; 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 23 

it is scorned in rotund speeches and it is followed by 
the Roman wars. These are interrupted by the 
news that Arthur's nephew Modred, son of Lot, has 
usurped the kingdom and married Arthtu''s apparently 
resigned wife, Guanhamara. The army returns to 
Britain; the great battle that resounds through romance 
is fought in Cornwall; Modred is slain, the queen 
retires to a convent, and Arthtu*, mortally wotmded, 
is borne to Avalon to be healed. Of the knights to 
be Arthur's famous companions in the future, none 
appear, except Kay, Gawain, and the insignificant 
Bedivere. 

It is surprising that this straightforward but rather 
tame story, in which the romantic portions are devoid 
of glamour and the seemingly historical passages are 
presented with a cold polish lacking in magnetism, 
should have expanded into the familiar Arthuriad 
in which all the forlorn hopes and abiding glories of 
mediaeval ideals are mirrored. A wealth of romantic 
motifs to be sure is preserved in the frigid narrative, 
but these things are adventitious. Geoffrey's imagina- 
tion is the pack-horse of his patriotism; he keeps the 
tone of authentic record at the expense of all free play 
of fancy, and his book is robbed of much spontaneity 
by its hybrid intellectualism. Yet by a twist of fate, 
it was his fortune to lay the basis for the structure in 
which later generations were to delight. His history 
was for centuries the most important work connect- 
ing Arthurian tradition with the British Isles. Is its 
indubitable vitality due to the national spirit in which 
it is conceived? Possibly; for romance, despite its 
characteristic indifference to the kingdoms of this 
world, often has its starting-point in love for the 
pabria. The foundation of the Arthuriad is not the 



24 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

guilty passion of Lancelot or the holy yearnings of 
Galahad; it is the ardent defense of British soil, — ^the 
exaltation of the British nation, by a king to whom all 
other interests are unknown* 



ra 

Two chroniclers who follow on Geoffrey's lines, — 
Wace and Layamon, — ^keep the story near to England. 
Wace, a native of Jersey, writes in French; he is pure 
Norman, resident in Caen, although he had long 
prosecuted his studies in Paris. Layamon, a greater 
man, is first to treat Arthur's story in the English 
tongue, and a noble treatment it is. Wace follows 
Geoffrey directly; Layamon founds his work on Wace. 
Both writers are interesting because their spirit is 
that of poets rather than historians. Writing in verse 
and in the vernacular, their poems witness to the tena- 
cious hold the story had at once taken on popular 
taste, and mark the transition from chronicle, written 
mainly perhaps for the literary classes, to romance, 
written for the bower and the hall. Moreover, the 
story, while unchanged in its main outlines, grows 
under their hands, gaining here and there important 
details and endowed in each case with an individual 
coloring. 

Less important than Layamon, from an English 
point of view, Wace is also less interesting. Yet his 
Raman de Brut, supplanting perhaps an earlier version 
of Geoffrey by another Anglo-Norman, Gaimar, is 
infused with Norman gallantry and French spright- 
liness. Layamon sajrs that Wace dedicated his Brut 
to Queen Eleanor, that romantic Provengal princess, 
wife of Henry II. to whom, more than to any one else. 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 25 

England owed the introduction of the fervor and poetry 
of the South into its sober ways; and his book reflects 
the new influences. Knights are "right courteous" 
who in Geoflfrey are merely "renowned for their prow- 
ess/' and in Layamon, "dear-worthy warriors.'* 
Manners are finer than in Geoffrey. Arthur is not 
only proud and compassionate, brave, crafty, and 
generous; he "was one of Love's lovers. He ordained 
the courtesies of courts, and observed high state in a 
very splendid fashion." Geoffrey had already in his 
description of Arthur's second coronation, given the 
first full picture of mediaeval pageantry, and of chivalric 
etiquette at its inception. Wace develops his prede- 
cessor's hints with zest; his vivid verse delights in the 
graces and delicacies of life. Already in Geoffrey, 
knights are wearing the colors of their ladies and 
fighting the game of war beneath fair eyes. In Wace, 
the tournament is in full glory, and feminine influence 
is more fully recognized: "The ladies of the court 
climbed upon the walls, looking down on the games 
very gladly. She whose friend was beneath her in the 
field, gave him the glance of her eye and her face, so 
that he strove the more earnestly for her favor." 
Matters have gone so far that "Cador, who was a 
merry man," complains that "peace and soft living 
are rotting away the British bone. . . • Soft living 
makes a sluggard of the hardiest knight. . . . She 
cradles him with dreams of woman. . . . May the 
Lord God be praised who has jogged our elbow." 
And Gawain replies, in words that imply a whole new 
range of feeling and ideals: "Lord earl, by my faith 
be not fearful because of the young men. . . • Merry 
tales and songs and ladies' love are acceptable to 
youth. By reason of the bright eyes and the worship 



26 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

of his friend, the bachelor becomes knight and learns 
chivaky."* 

Some of Wace*s enlargements are doubtless due to 
the fascination exercised on his fancy by the rising 
pomps of the new age. Some, however, must be attri- 
buted to the French strain in him. It is characteristic 
that he mentions the Twelve Peers among Arthur's 
knights. He can evoke a whole scene in low life with 
Gallic love for vital detail. 

In every place you beheld squires leading horses and 
destriers by the bridle, setting saddles on hackneys and 
taking them off, buckling the harness and making the 
metal work shining and bright. Grooms went about their 
business. Never was such a cleansing of stables, such 
taking of horses to the meadows, such a currying and comb- 
ing, shoeing and loosing of girths, washing and watering, 
such a bearing of straw and grass for the litter, and oats 
for the manger. Nor these alone but in the courtyards 
and chambers of the hostels you might see the pages and 
chamberlains go swiftly about their tasks in diverse fashions. 
The varlets brushed and folded the habiliments and mantles 
of their lords. They looked to the stuff and the fastenings 
of their garments. You saw them hurry through the halls, 
carrying furs and furred raiment, both vair and the grey.* 

Sentiment is at work also, introducing softer notes 
into the stem record of political events. When 
Arthur visits Scotland, in Geoffrey, the clergy, as the 
chronicle briefly mentions, come to him bearing relics 
of the saints and entreating him to have mercy on the 
land. In Wace, the religious assembly is accompanied 
by a pitifid company of ladies, "naked of foot, spoiled 

* Wace, Everyman, Arthurian Chronicles^ p. 73. 
'lUa., p. 66. 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 27 

of visage, with streaming hair and rent raiment, bear- 
ing their babes in their bosoms. These with tears and 
shrill lamentations feU at Arthur's feet right humbly, 
weeping, clamoring and imploring his grace*' — true 
prototypes of the distressed damosds of romance. 

Wace dwells at length on the Roman wars, while 
Layamon was to spend more time in proportion on 
events concerned directly with England. For the 
rest, he writes in fashion direct, honest, joyous, as 
befits a good Norman clerk. And he obviously means 
to stick to fact or at least to possibilities. It is to be 
wished that he had been a little more susceptible to 
the charm of incertitudes in the Arthurian story, and 
had confined himself less scrupulously to amplifying 
the plausible GeoflErey; for he has evidently heard 
more than he deems worth narrating, and the Arthur 
romance is well known to him. With critical sense 
as aonoying as it is discriminating, he gives a capital 
account of what was happening, — an account which 
no modem scholar could better: 

The marvelous gestes and errant deeds related of King 
Arthur "have been noised about this mighty realm for 
so great a space that the truth has turned to fable and an 
idle song. Such rhymes are neither sheer bare lies nor 
gospel truths. They should not be considered either an 
idiot's tale, or given by inspiration. The minstrel has 
sung his ballad, the story-teller told over his story so fre- 
quently, little by little he has decked and painted till by 
reason of his embellishment the truth stands hid in the 
trappings of a tale. Thus to make a delectable tune to 
your ear, history goes masking as fable." 

What Wace could not foresee was that to posterity fable 
might be more precious than fact, and grave historians 



28 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

like himself and William of Malmesbury might be 
chiefly disappointing by the fidelity of their consciences I 
Occasionally, however, Wace does deign to insert 
some new element of legend. His most precious ad- 
dition is in the mention of the Table Round, imknown 
to GeoflErey, ''ordained of Arthur that when his fair 
fellowship sat to meat their chairs should be high alike, 
their service equal, and none before or after his fellow." 
It is a piquant lingering of the historic manner that 
tells us how ''at this table sat Britons, Frenchmen, 
Normans, Angevins, Flemings, Burgundians, and 
Loherins." We are still in the real Europe, not in 
that later land of pure romance where nationality has 
lost all but tenuous traces, and geography is ignored. 
Another interesting point is Wace's definite accusation 
of Guenevere. Geoffrey gives no indication whether 
her relations with Modred are volimtary or the re- 
verse. In Wace, she is a willing sinner, and the few 
lines devoted to her give the first hint of the tragic 
figure, passionate, repentant, who is henceforth to play 
her part in the sorrowful pageant of the world's Queens 
of Beauty.' Again, it is in Wace that the Hope of 
Britain first shines indubitably dear. Already in Geof- 
frey, Arthur is borne to Avalon to be healed, but there 
is no hint of his return. It is left for Wace to tell the 
important tidings, that "he is yet in Avalon, awaited 
of the Britons; for as they say and deem he will letum 
from whence he went and live again. . . . Merlin said of 
Arthur that his end should be hidden in doubtfulness. 
The prophet spoke truly. Men have alwajrs doubted 
and as I am persuaded will always doubt whether he 
liveth or is dead." 

' The text of Waoe is so oorrupt that assertions on this point are 
dangerous; but the statement above seems justified. 



A 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 29 

The value of Wace is largely in the reflection he 
affords of feudalism; he stitches with bright Norman 
embroidery Geoffrey's sober mixttue of Saxon and 
Latin weave. The value of Layamon is first and fore- 
most in his genuine greatness as a poet. 

To Layamon, personal power is at the service of a 
persistent racial tradition. He follows the general 
lines of Wace, his model, but his spirit makes his poem 
unique. He wrote in the opening years of the thir- 
teenth century, at a time when Arthurian romance 
had already been enriched by all the resources of French 
fancy, and French elements are not lacking in his own 
speech, his vocabulary showing a large percentage of 
Latin words. Yet he is direct heir of the sturdy 
Saxon strain. An often quoted introduction narrates 
how his chief wish, as he lived his tranquil priest's life 
in his dear Church on the banks of Severn, was to tell 
the noble deeds of the English; what they were named 
and whence they came who first possessed the English 
land. England, English! They are words to conjure 
with! 

It is partly because the poet uses the old alliterative 
line, as well as rhyme, and conforms to the laws of 
Old English accent and rhythm, that his poem seems 
so full of echoes from Beowulf and Judith. The strong 
swing of the measure, the rich and vigorous sx)eech, 
transitional between Anglo-Saxon and the language of 
Chaucer, transmute Geoffrey's smooth narrative and 
Wace's ringing verse into a music more akin to the 
native genius of otur people. Also, Layamon writes 
in the tone of Saga rather than romance. In Wace, 
the Britons drew "thick as rain from the woodlands 
and the mountains." But in Layamon, they "leapt 
out of the wood as if it were deer . • . and the brave 



30 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

women put on them men's clothes, and they forth 
journeyed toward the army." ' They are kin to Judith 
and Gudrun, these women: *' Wheresoever they found 
any man escaped that were with Melga the heathen 
king, the women loud laughed and tore him all to pieces, 
and prayed for the soul, that never should good be 
to it. Thus the British women killed many thousands 
and thus they freed this kingdom," ^ — ^all addition to the 
poet's original. The rehearsal of Arthur's glories has 
the ring of ancient lyric praisings, exalted, fierce and 
strong: 

When Arthur was king, — ^hearken now a wondrous 
thing, — he was liberal to each man alive, — ^knight with 
the best, wondrously keen. He was to the young for 
father, to the old for comforter, and with the unwise won- 
derfully stem. Wrong was to him exceeding loathsome 
and the right ever dear. Each of his cup-bearers and 
his chamber-thanes bare gold in hand, to back and to bed, 
dad in gold web. . . . The king held all his folk together 
with great bliss and with such things he overcame all kings, 
with fierce strength and with treasure.^ 

Have we here Arthur the flower of chivahy or 
Hrothgar the Generous? This Christian hero can fight 
like any Berserker: 

Upcaught Arthur his shield before his breast, and he 
gan to rush as the howling wolf when he cometh from the 
wood behung with snow and thinketh to bite such beasts 
as he liketh. . . . Brake the broad spears, shivered shields, 
the Saxish men fell to the ground. . . . Some they gan 
wander as the wild crane doth in the moorfen, when his 

* Layamon, Everyman, Arthurian Chronicles, p. 117. 
•Ibid., p. 117. 
ilbid., p. 184. 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 31 

ffight is impaired and swift hawks pursue after him and 
hounds with mischief meet him in the reeds. Then is 
neither good to him, the land nor the flood. The hawks 
him smite, the hounds him bite, then is the royal fowl at 
his death-time.' 



The life echoing here was lived in Northem marsh 
and forest long before highly civilized Norman kings 
fostered the formalities of feudalism or fought accord- 
ing to the laws of chivalry. Is not Arthur's bymie 
made by a "witty smith" who can be no other than 
the Weyland of Saga, though his name be corrupted into 
Wygar? Has he not named magic properties wondrous 
as any owned by Sigurd ? Nor would any old champion 
have disowned his "gameful words." The sardonic 
brag, the savage thr^t, are here in full Germanic 
force; to Geoffrey's Arthur they would have seemed 
lacking in polish, but Heorot Hall would have hailed 
them with joy. 

Other traits which the English love better to trace 
in their heritage are here also: the sense of fair play, 
the gravity, the moral stress, even the religious accent. 
When Ardiur was hailed as Uther's heir, he "sate full 
still. One while he was wan and in hue exceeding pale. 
One while he was red and was moved in heart. When 
it all brake forth, it was good that he spake. And 
thus said he there right, Arthur the noble knight: 
'Lord Christ, God's Son, be to us now in aid that I 
may in life hold God's laws. ' "* 

A Celtic delicacy blends with Layamon's Saxon 
feeling; the poet lives not so far from the Welsh border 
but that a fay can now and then whisper a man in the 

* Layamon, Everyman, Arthurian Chronicles^ p. 185. 

* Ibid., p. 183. 



32 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

ear. No one else says that elves brought gifts at the 
birth of Arthur, no other has touched more exquisitely 
the departure to Avalon and the motif of the Hope of 
Britain. Merlin, whose weird form gleams faintly 
through the Latin veils of Geoffrey, here seems at once 
more human and more mysterious. Anguish precedes 
his prophecy: "Merlin sat him still a long time as if 
with dream he full greatly labored. They said who 
saw it with their own eyes that oft he ttimed him, as 
if it were a worm. At length he gan to awake, then 
gan he to quake, and these words said Merlin the 
prophet: 'Walaway, Walaway! In this world's realm, 
much is the sorrow that hath come to the land."* 

The most interesting Celtic survival in Layamon is 
the expanded story of the Rotmd Table. It is he who 
narrates the quarrel in the king's hall which preceded 
the establishment of the Table, and so connects the 
tradition with the Irish story of the Peast of Bricriu. 
Here the Board is plainly a magic object, so built 
that though sixteen htmdred men can sit at it, the 
king can easily carry it with him, "And then thou 
needest never fear to the world's end that any moody 
knight at thy board may make fight, for there shall 
the high be even as the low."* By Malory's time, 
the Table has become both smaller and more stationary ! 
It has also acquired a Christian legendary character, 
having an occult relation, unknown to the chroniclers, 
with the Table of the Last Supper. ^ 

Apart from racial traits and survivals, Layamon 
has a quality all his own. The play of an original 
genius on an accepted model is everywhere evident. 
How full of sap, for instance, is the story of the feeble 

' Layamon, Everyman, Arihurian ChromcUs, p. 165. 



EARLY ARTHURIAN ROMANCE 33 

ConstaDS lured by bad Vortigem to leave his habit 
for a crown, aad the scene in the cloister when the 
ruse is discovered, — ^a scene ignored by Wace, to make 
room for splendor and military exploits. Human 
interest is strong in Layamon and an epic depth and 
grandeur mark his work. Yet in his very originality 
he is germane to his tradition. The slow movement, 
the weighty passion, the lingering on detail, the deep 
patriotism evoked this time less by locality than by 
race, are all elements in the poetic heritage bequeathed 
from Anglo-Saxon daj^. In this solitary version, 
Arthur is of the family of Northern heroes; this noble 
English poem celebrates an English king. 



I 

J 



CHAPTER III 

FRENCH VERSB ROMANCES OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY 



THE national spirit bums like an inward fire through 
the chroniclers who developed the central Arthur- 
ian story in England, With the almost contemporary 
verse romances which were celebrating Arthur's knights 
on the Continent, England had little to do. Yet these 
poems can not be ignored in the sequence leading to 
Malory; for to them was due nearly all that the word 
"romantic'* usually means. 

While GeoSrey and Layamon dtmg to a patriotic 
purpose which forced them to remain ostensibly 
within hailing distance of fact, romance was develop- 
ing independently at its own sweet will. The Arthur 
of the French poets is not a militant monarch, defend- 
ing his country and enlarging his empire, he is a mon- 
arch in position, seldom or never the subject of the 
story. Securely established on his throne, he makes 
his court the focus of all chivalric adventiu^. Thence 
issue, thither return, his devoted knights, — sl Lancelot, 
an Erec, an Ywain, a Gawain, a Perceval. Attached 
to the king by a sentimental rather than a political 
tie, they are bound on quests in which for the first 
time may be breathed the full romantic air. The 
poems have no historic perspective and no epic scope; 

- 34 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 35 

they are episodic or biographical, interested in the 
careers of one or another hero rather than in the 
glories of the Land of Logres. 

Lay amon may be taken as a link between the saga world 
and the world of romance; these slightly earlier poets 
show us the separation already fully achieved. North- 
em Europe sang of Beowulf before it celebrated Arthur, 
and shared the sorrows of Sigurd while those of Lance- 
lot were still unknown. It is important to notice how 
decidedly the twelfth-century romantic schools had 
broken with the tradition of the period of the Folk- 
Migration. **They imply the failure of the older manner 
of thought and dder f a^on of imagination represented 
in the epic literatxire of France.** » To many readers, 
the Story of the Volsungs or the great songs of the Edda 
have a tragic sincerity which the graceful workmanship 
of the twelfth century can never equal. But to realize 
how inevitably the sterner stuff of epic crumbled 
into romance, it is only necessary to note the swift 
advent during that century of influences from the 
South and East The Crusades were setting Europe 
in motion. They brought back along the great Pro- 
vencal route stores of alluring tales, and knowledge 
of luxuries and amenities hitherto tmdreamed of. 
At the sametime, from across the Pyrenees there stole 
into southern France strains of the soft music dear to 
the Arabians, and with them the conscious cult of 
beauty. In northern France, these influences en- 
countered a Catholic civilization which had a latent 
respect for women, due in part to the heritage from 
Roman law and still more to the exaltation of a Mother 
ever Virgin. The resulting emotion gave women a 
higher position than they had ever known before, 

' W. S. Eer, Efiie and Romanu, London, 1908. 



36 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

insisted on viewing them, not as pets or mistresses but 
as saints and superiors, and tempered the hard light 
of a militant ideal by the tenderer radiance of woman- 
worship. So the chivalric attitude received its final 
enrichment, and a new mode of thought and feeling 
was given to the world. 

In the South, the blending of these elements soon 
produced a lyric of rare sweetness and of a technical 
perfection never yet excelled. In the North, fighting 
ardors such as inspire the Sang of Roland, were supple- 
mented by sentimental graces and the passion of love. 
The stress in the Northern poets is still on action rather 
than on emotion; narrative rather than l3nic thrives 
among them; but into the narrative enters the kind of 
experience which is soon to flower in the lovely verse 
of the dolce stil nuovo, inspiring a Cino, a Guido, or a 
youthful Dante. The lays sung to Iseult by Tristram, 
most accomplished of harpers, may well have been 
early models of Donne die hanno inteUetto (Tamore, and 
the feelings that shook the breast of young Lancelot 
in the presence of Guenevere can best be understood 
by reading the Vita Ntuwa. 

Singers spring up on every side,— eager, and com- 
petent to transfuse old materials with the fresh feeling. 
The new ideals settle into conventions almost before 
they are recognized, so swift is their popularity. The 
poets find for themselves an instrument endowed with 
a new delicacy in the octosyllabic rhymed couplet, 
which in its fluid charm and natural magic has approved 
itself down the centuries from Chretien de Troies to 
Chaucer and from Chaucer to William Morris; and 
the springs of romance poetry flow abundant, full, and 
sweet. 

Yet it would be a mistake, as Professor Ker reminds 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 37 

us, to seek in the poetry that has come down to our 
day the very f otintainhead of romantic impulse. That 
poetry represents a late stage in the mediaeval school. 
Behind it lies the minstrel tradition, but the minstrel 
has been succeeded by the man of letters, often at- 
tached to one definite center and writing for some spe- 
cial overlord. It "has come through the mills of a 
thousand active literary men,"' and abotmds in for- 
malisms and mannerisms. It is emphatically poetry 
of the court, not of the commons; the full sophistica- 
tion of the age is in it and it carries choice workman- 
ship and fine-spun analysis of sentiment to the farthest 
point of contemporary refinement. The whole body 
of romance presents an elaborated literary form, tran- 
scribed by clerks, meant for reading rather than reci- 
tation, though retaining many characteristics from 
the days, not so very remote, of oral transmisaon. 

II 

One of the earliest of these Romance poets makes 
the sittiation perfectly dear. It is Marie de Prance, 
a woman singer. She dedicates her work to ''that 
most noble and courteous king to whom joy is a hand- 
maid, and in whose heart all gracious things are rooted." 
Whether the description be thought to fit or no, this 
monarch is supposed to have been Henry II. of Eng- 
land. And this is what she says: 

I considered within myself what fair story in the Latin 
or Romance I could turn into the common tongue. But 
I found that all the stories had been written, and scarcely 
it seemed the worth my doing what so many had already 

> E^ and Romanu, p. 324. 



38 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

done. Then I called to mind those Lays I had so often 
heard. I doubted nothing, — ^for well I know, — ^that our 
fathers fashioned them that men should bear in remem- 
brance the deeds of those who have gone before. Many 
a one on many a day the minstrel has chanted to my ear. 
I would not that they should perish by the roadside. In 
my turn therefore I have made of them a song, rhymed 
as well as I am able, and often has their shaping kept me 
sleepless in my bed.' 

And truly, again and again in Marie's brief story- 
poems can be caught the lyric quality of words meant 
for music. Such echoes become more rare as time 
goes on.* 

The English connections of Marie's work are dose. 
There can be little doubt that she spent a large part of 
her life in England, and every now and then an English 
word creeps into her pretty French. K she lived at 
the court of Henry II., she was at the very heart of 
the new feeling; for Eleanor of Acquitaine, Henry's 
queen, was the chief patroness in Europe of Courteous 
Love and all that appertained thereto. Troubadours 
frequented her presence; and the palace in the East End 
of London where she held court was center of the Gai 
Science. It is no wonder if Marie's poems open a 
world of tradition far different from that exploited by 
the chroniclers. 

These poems are little tales, drawn, so she says, from 
Breton Lays. They are the closest representatives 
extant of true minstrel song, translucent and perfectly 
shaped as dewdrops. Only a few, from the dozen that 

' French Mediaval Romances^ Everyman, p. 2. 

' The best manuscript of her works is in the British Museum. One 
theory makes her an illegitimate sister of Henry II., and in her later 
life Abbess of Shaftesbury. See Eng. HisL Repiew^ 1910, p. 303. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 39 

can be ascribed to Marie with fair certainty, have 
Arthurian connections, but these make it dear that 
Arthur is a well-known figure in her day. They tell 
of Sir Launf al and his fairy mistress, who awoke 
the jealousy of Arthur's queen; of Arthur's knight 
Guigemar, in his magic boat; of the lad Tyolet* son 
of the widow lady in the forest, and how he was 
bewitched with a knight-beast, and would fain go to 
court; of Tristan, carving a message for Iseult upon 
a hazel wand. As Mr. Mason says in the preface of 
his translation, ''Marie's romances derive farther 
back than any Breton or Celtic dream. They were 
so old that they had blown like thistledown around 
the four quarters of the world," and the motifs they 
embody were to persist through the most intricate 
devdopments of romance, to the very end of the 
Middle Ages. 

Yet these andent and imperishable things are ar- 
rayed in delicate fabrics, gay with twdfth-century 
sheen. The touch upon them is feminine and French, 
it has prepared them for courtly use. Love-stories 
are Marie's stock-in-trade; already the new absorbing 
interest is established in a formal code of etiquette, 
and regarded as the i»ime duty of man or woman. 
Guigemar "perverted nature in that he cared nothing 
for love," and a knight seeking the favor of a hesitant 
lady, lectures her in a tone of severe rebuke to which 
her position of wife is quite irrdevant : 

" It is well enough for a light woman to make herself 
long entreated; it will increase her value to be thought 
unused to love. But the pure-hearted woman who is 
virtuous and of good discretion if she find a man to her 

* Tbts Lai is not surely by Marie. 



40 MORTE DARTHXJR OF THOMAS MALORY 

lildng ought not to treat him too haughtily before she 
consent to love him. Before any one should know or hear 
of it, they might have much joy together. Pair lady, let 
us end this debate."' 

Sentiment, suddenly, is oversweeping the hard old 
fighting world; with it comes delight in all sweet breed- 
ing, in refined beauty, in gracious ways. The arts 
flourish and the world is gay: no wonder that ladies 
who live in chambers where frescoed walls record 
Love's gentle triumphs should yield to his blandish- 
ments! 

The first room was the Queen's Chapel. Beyond this 
was the lady's bedchamber, painted all over with shapes 
and colors most wonderful to behold. On one wall might 
be seen Dame Venus, the goddess of love, sweetly flushed 
as when she walked the water, lovely as life, teaching men 
how they should bear them in loyal service to their lady. 
On another wall, the goddess threw Ovid's book within a 
fire of coals. A scroll issuing from her lips proclaimed 
that those who read therein and strove to ease them of 
their pains would find from her neither service nor favor.* 

Fabrics tenuous and rich; fairy palaces of clouded 
green marble, maidens bathing rotmded limbs in dear 
fountains paved with glimmering silver and gold, — 
such are the joys encotmtered, in the same century that 
sang of Roland at Roncevalles! 

The sterner virtues, the clash of arms, the anguish 
of souls, echo but faintly here. Only brave knights, 
it is assumed, may win fair ladies — ^but their cotirage 

* Seoen Lais of Marie de France: Done into English by Edith Rickert, 
p. 21. Nutt, 1904. 

^French Medugoal Romances, tr. by Eugdne Mason, Everyman, p. 8. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 41 

is no theme of Marie's. Good Catholics are they all: 
but as a rale the sentiment is as naive as it is honest. 
In the Lay of Yonec, a lady imprisoned in a tower by 
a curmudgeon husband, is visited by a splendid knight 
who flies to her window in the guise of a falcx)n.' She 
has but one scrapie in yielding to his will: is he perhaps 
no christened man? Granting the reasonableness of 
her fear, he reassures her by changing himself into her 
likeness and receiving the Sacrament at the hands of 
her diaplain, after which she gladly surrenders. Such 
things can happen in the delightfully unmoral, but 
unimpeachably orthodox world of Marie. 

And for aU the fairy glamour, it is a real world. 
Marie's verse is subtly dose to twelfth-centtuy life. 
To treat these little fairy-tales and love-stories as social 
documents may seem absurd; but their light touch re- 
veals not only the fantasies that charmed the educated 
public, but also the civilization, fine, new, immensely 
pleased with itself, which was swiftly developing 
under the joint influence of feudalism and Catholicism. 
They show a society prepared to find the focus of its 
enthusiasms in the full chivalric ideal. 

Ill 

Much said concerning Marie de France applies to 
her slightly later contemporary, Chretien de Troies. 
Marie dedicated her works to the English husband of 
Eleanor of Acquitaine; Chr6tien wrote at the court of 
the daughter of Eleanor by a French husband, the 
Countess Marie de Champagne. Wherever one strikes 

' In a follower of Wace, the father of Merlin thus visits the nun his 
mother. The motif Is a stock one, though not common in Arthurian 
xomance. 



42 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

romanoe poetry, traces of Eleanor's influence are likdy 
to appear. 

Chr6tien, however, is a far more important figure 
than Marie, both in himself and in his relation to 
Arthurian story. He is the most significant author 
in the French romance-school, and the first to form 
and fix many phases of Arthurian tradition; he in- 
troduces many a hero dear during long generations 
to the European heart. Lancelot is first encountered 
in his Chevalier de la Charrette; his unfinished Perceval 
is in point of date the earliest written story of the 
Grail-knight; if it be true that he wrote a lost poem on 
Tristan he presented his public with nearly all the 
chief personages of future Arthuriad. In addition, 
he told the stories of several other knights whom the 
later prose romances unluckily ignored. His Chevalier 
au Lion, the story of Ywain, son to King Uriens, gives 
a picture of representative and almost ideal knight- 
hood, while his Erec tells a fine tale which became popu- 
lar enough to pass into a Welsh translation, whence 
Tennyson derived it, and retold it in one of the best 
among his Idyls, Geraint and Enid. 

Marie belongs as much to England as to France, 
except from the point of view of language. But no 
English affiliations can be claimed for Chretien. He is 
pure French through and through, in style, in feeling, 
in manner, and in substance. However, if England 
neither helped nor formed him, it is at least sure that 
he helped to form England; for there is evidence of the 
extent to which he was read and enjoyed there. Before 
the century was over, his stories had penetrated Wales 
and had blended in their sophisticated French form 
with the wilder, more primitive traditions still nursed 
in the land of Arthur's birth. Later, his best poem. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 43 

Yvain, was exceUently translated in the north of 
England ; and his stories had become part of the heritage 
and the capital of English poets. 

It is not hard to understand his popularity, for there 
has rarely been a better story-teller than Chr6tien. 
Marie presents a little tale whose demure sparkle is 
set with exquisite precision within the limits of a little 
scene: Chretien makes us free of a whole untried world 
of gay adventure, wherein anything may happen and 
most things do. Here at last is the full stage for mediae- 
val acticHi, which is to persist through the time of 
Spenser and Tennyson. Here are satisfactory forests, 
so open in growth that knights following no road in 
particular can ride two abreast with ease. Here are 
castles, hermitages, chapels, towns none too frequent 
but pleasantly walled and turreted; a country sparsely 
settled, where occasional varlets may be seen tilling 
the land in the distance, but where as a rule knights 
errant and forlorn damosels have things all their 
own way. Here are enchanted bridges and magic 
basins, dappled palfreys, splendid armor, dungeons, 
potions, — in short, all the delightful trappings of ro- 
mance which bewitched fancy down the generations: 
fresh, unhackneyed, for Chretien's pages are the first 
in which their advent may be hailed. Let no one try 
to draw a map of this country, or to locate his scenes. 
His is no geography of earth. 

As for the stories, they are the fine old ones that 
have the flavor of ancient things which the Middle 
Ages loved. As Gaston Paris points out, the fond of 
the adventures, almost always weird and astonishing, 
is derived from primitive pre-chivalric days. Ywain 
finds in the forest a golden basin on a tree and striking 
it evokes a magic storm, as savages still claim to do 



44 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

by beating metal vessels. Lancelot and Gawain, 
seeking to rescue the stolen Guenevere, have their 
choice of reaching her by a sword bridge suggesting 
the edge feats of ancient Irish heroes, or by a second 
bridge of ice, under water, connected with other-world 
tales. With polite insouciance, as in old Saga days, 
differences develop between warriors, blood and brains 
flow swiftly, slaughter holds revel unabashed; suddenly 
the fight is settled, and the knight returns calm and 
cheery to his lady, to woo her in elaborate subtleties 
of speech and conduct, such as only an advanced civi- 
lization could invent. A new ideal of behavior, in 
part perhaps Chretien's own creation, but mainly 
drawn from the growing life of the twelfth century, 
is engrafted on the old stories of barbaric, childish 
days. The contrast is piquant: it will last so long as 
chivalry is simg. 

For through all his use of inherited material, Chrfi- 
tien is seeking, how consciously one can, of course, 
not say, to render the spell of a new range of experi- 
ence. His most ambitious work, the unfinished Per- 
ceval, is a clean-cut study that might almost be taken 
as a mantial of knightly education. Taking an untu- 
tored boy of peasant up-bringing, but of king's blood, 
the poet instructs him by maxims, and records his 
training successively in manners, in arms, in love, in 
the forms of religion. The master's hand was 
stayed by death just as his hero seemed at the 
point of entering a deeper, more mystical region, remote 
from the bright externals of mediaeval life; it was left 
for his continuators to brood bafiSed on the figure of 
Perceval at the Grail castle, and for a writer of an- 
other land and tongue to realize the rich suggestion of 
the incident. Chretien's poem as it stands, like all 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 45 

his other work, deals with the surface of life, — but how 
charmingly! Perceval apparently proposed to present 
in sequence all varying phases of Imightly life; the 
other poems bring out several aspects of the same 
theme. Here is Ywain, the very noble knight, and the 
true lover, who neverthdess does very wrong and has 
to be severely punished, because, swept away by the 
love of adventure and fight he forgets his plighted 
word to his lady. Here on the contrary is Erec, di- 
verted from manliness by overmuch fondness for his 
fair Enide, and recovering from his assotted sloth by 
means described with sly humor as well as true feel- 
ing. It is not easy, — such would seem to be the plain- 
tive moral, presented with a twinkle in the eye, — to 
conserve the old virtues of valor in right balance with 
the fascinations of the new gallantry. Few knights 
can succeed in the exercise of a nicely adjusted mesure. 
Chr6tien's manner fits his subject admirably. Gar- 
rulous at times, always leisurely, it is often salted by 
the slightest possible flavor of Gallic irony, so that the 
sentiment does not doy. The poet is keen and subtle- 
simple, as the French always are at their best; he is 
occupied chiefly, despite his good stories, with the fed- 
ings of his people; he is addicted in such an astonishing 
degree to analyzing the finer shades of sentiment that 
he has been claimed as a precursor of the seventeenth- 
century novdists. One need not go so far as this, 
but -it is true that in Chr6tien one strikes the modem 
literature of sentiment at its source. He possesses to 
the full the espedally French gift of touching emotion 
without slipping into hysteria; he can present a fairly 
wide range of passion, yet never violate the sodal 
code of restrained good-breeding. Mesure, that pre- 
dous mediaeval quality, controls his work; the taste 



46 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

can be trusted. Courtesy is the leading word; it is 
more stressed than passion, and the poems in conse- 
quence, with all their deftness in dissecting emotion, 
rarely pretend to sound the depths of life. One sighs 
but does not choke in reading of his lovers' sorrow s ; 
one smiles but does not exult when all goes well. 

The style, like the treatment, is pleasantly tmem- 
phatic. The rhymed tetrameters ripple on with a 
sparkling fluidity all their own, and the very sense of 
leisure lulls. Grace is the chief characteristic; it is the 
style of the miniaturist, abounding in minute touches 
of soft dear color; images are vivid as the tints on a 
contemporary missal page. A better comparison is to 
the marvelous stained glass of Chretien's period, — 
the transition period from the massive solemnity of the 
Romanesque to the restrained simplicity of the earlier 
Gothic. Mr. Henry Adams puts the matter admirably : 

The quality of this verse is something like the quality 
of the glass windows: conventional decoration, colors in 
conventional harmonies; refinement, restraint and femi- 
nine delicacy in taste. Christian has not the grand manner 
of the eleventh century, and never recalls the masculine 
strength of the Chanson de Roland, or Raoul de Cambrai. 
Even his most charming story, Erec and Enide, carries 
chiefly a moral of courtesy. His is poet-laureate's work 
[says M. Gaston Paris], the flower of a twelfth-century court 
and of tweUth-century French, the best example of an 
admirable language; but not lyric; neither strong nor deep 
nor deeply felt. What we call tragedy is unknown to it, 
Christian's world is sky-blue and rose, with only enough 
red to give it warmth, and so flooded with light that even 
its mysteries count only by the deamess with which they 
are shown.' 

* H. Adams, MotU St. Michel and Charires, p. 193. Washington, 1912. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 47 

IV 

Yvain and Erec are Chretien's, masterpieces. They 
furnish an attractive picture of knighthood as it first 
charmed the world. But to readers interested in the 
development leading to Malory, another poem has 
yet greater interest. This is The Knight of the Cart 
where Lancdot, the hero who was by degrees to claim 
precedence over all others in the affections of Europe, 
first made his bow to the mediaeval public. 

The chief point of the poem is that it presents the 
feminine ideal of the twelfth century. Times have 
changed since the rough old days marked by such dis- 
regard of women as appears in The Song of Roland. 
Ladies have become perhaps the most important 
patrons of letters; minstrel and derk must bear their 
tastes in mind if he is to succeed. It is usually women 
who damor for perfect heroes, and it was a woman 
this time. Chretien wrote his Lancelot at the request 
of Queen Eleanor's daughter, the Countess of Cham- 
pagne, who evidently shared her mother's tastes. 
Perhaps the author wearied before the end of sketdiing 
a modd being, for the work was finished by another 
hand, that of the derk Godefroi de Legni. It is a 
mechanical and formal composition. Spontandty and 
sparkle are almost lacking in it, yet it is interesting 
for it conveys more fully than any other extant story 
the new code of amorous behavior and the senti- 
ment behind it. One fandes how the damsels of 
the court would sigh and smile, while the minstrel 
yawned, over this protracted study of the Lover in 
Position. 

The theme, used by Malory in his nineteenth book, 
is the rape of Guenevere from the court by a certain 



48 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Mdeagant, son to King Bagdemagus of Gone, and her 
rescue by Lancelot. Traces of mythic origin have 
been found in it but as it stands the mediaevalism is 
complete. The point is not the stealing of the queen, 
but the violation of knightly etiquette when the hero 
condescends to ride in a cart, — ^the vehicle in which 
prisoners were borne to execution, — ^in order to find 
and rescue her. It is difficult to sympathize with 
Lancelot's anguish over this necessity, yet for the 
aristocratic twelfth century the test was severe and 
his decision a triumph of the spirit over the letter of 
knightly honor. The tone of the romance is over- 
strained as in the heroic romances and sentimental 
novds of which it is the prototype; but the story is 
entertaining enough, and every now and then a passage 
occurs with a real thrill to it. Readers must have 
held their breath as Lancelot crosses a black and turgid 
water on a sword-bridge: 

He is going to support himself with his bare feet and 
hands upon the sword, which was sharper than a scythe, 
for he had not kept on his feet either sole or upper or hose. 
... He preferred to maim himself rather than to fall 
from the bridge and be pltmged in the water, from which 
he could never escape. ... He passes over with great 
pain and agony, being wounded in the hands, knees and 
feet. But even this suffering is sweet to him, for Love, 
who leads him on, assuages and relieves the pain. Creep- 
ing on his hands, feet and knees, he proceeds until he reaches 
the other side. Then he recalls . . . the two lions which 
he thought he had seen . . . but on looking about he does 
not see so much as a lizard. . . .' 

The mingling of the real test with imaginary terrors 

* Erec and Enide^ Everyman, p. 309. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 49 

is in the finer spirit of romance. Bunyan's Christian 
was to encotinter these same lions. 

Safely over, the hero fights with Mdeagant. It is 
a good fight, watched by maidens from Arthur's court, 
handmaids of Guenevere, who have fasted and gone 
barefoot in their shifts three days in order that God 
might endue him with strength. At this point his 
name, hitherto artfully concealed, is told by Guenevere, 
who is looking on from a window. But when Lancelot 
hears her, he fixes his eyes on her and drives blows at 
random. He conquers Mdeagant, however, and gets 
scant reward; for the queen treats him cruelly, when 
they meet. He is as confounded as the bystanders 
when she sweeps out of the room, voudisafing him 
never a word. **His eyes would gladly have followed 
her had that been possible; but the heart, which is 
more lordly and masterful in its strength remained 
behind weeping with the body."* Before the reason 
for her behavior is revealed, long time elapses, Lancdot 
falls into fresh perils, and the reader can revd at 
length in Guenevere's remorse. Finally, when they are 
reconcfled at last, the explanation of her severity is 
given. She was angry because Lancdot had hesitated 
for two whole steps before he got into that cart to 
rescue her! Fine-sptm convention could go no further, 
nor the Manual for the Service of Ladies be more explidt. 

The rest of the story is rich in elements that persist 
to the latest phase of the romance: the night-visit of 
Lancdot to the queen in the castle of Mdeagant, the 
false accusation of Guenevere, based on a misunder- 
standing involving Kay. There is however no ordeal 
of the accused; only a tournament ended by the 
queen's acquiescence in the entreaty for peace of 

> Erec and Enide^ Everyman, p. 320. 



so MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Bagdemagus, a delightful old king, who, by the way, 
had later a whole romance to himself,' but who by 
Malory's time had retreated into nonentity. Lance- 
lot disappears, — ^a disconcerting habit which he was 
never to outgrow; Gawain is discovered pluckily 
trying to reach Meleagant's castle by a bridge which 
runs under water, and is fished out half drowned; 
quests, imprisonments, rescues, jousts are furnished 
in lavish abundance. The poem supplies every de- 
light demanded by the taste of the period except one, — 
a man at the heart of it; and perhaps the period had 
not learned to insist on that. 

What it did insist on was a dose study of every shade 
of feeling. Lancelot is the ideal exponent, not only 
of Uamaur Courtois, but of the general chivalric atti- 
tude toward women, and the poem throws much light 
on later romance. Here for instance is an explicit 
statement of laws well to keep in mind when one 
follows knights and damosels in the forest mazes: 
*'Sir," says a maiden, "I should like to accompany 
you for some distance if you would agree to escort me 
according to the customs and practices which were 
observed before we were made captive in the land of 
Logres." Here are the customs: "In those days, if 
a knight fotmd a damsel or lorn maid alone, and if 
he cared for his fair name, he would no more treat her 
with dishonor than he would cut his throat. . . . But 
if while she was imder his escort she should be won 
at arms by another who engaged him in battle, 
then this other knight might do with her what he 
pleased, without receiving shame or blame."* It is 

> Le Brail de Merlin. Bagdemagus is the last pereoa to hear le 
voice of the imprisoned Merlin. 
' Eru and Enide, p. 287. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 51 

evident enough why damosels so habituaUy show a 
passionate rductanoe to be won I 

But of course it was by the ideal presented of 
pedect love that the poem caught the fancy of 
the age; and one can still catch the aroma which 
was to perfume poetry and fiction for many a cen- 
tury. Ridiculous as Lancelot may seem, his atti- 
tude really means something. His obedience when 
bidden by the queen to ''fight his worst," becomes 
impressive, when one realizes what such self-con- 
trol would cost an age new to the code of ladies' 
gentle service. With all its quaint artificiality, 
there is a touch of genuine religious fervor about 
the emotion. When Lancelot, leaving his lady's 
room, ''bows and acts predsdy as if he were before 
a shrine," the whole spirit of 1! amour Caurtois as 
an institution is conveyed. It is the spirit far more 
beautifully expressed by the early Italian and Proven- 
Sal poets: 

Beneath thy pleasure, lady mine, I am': 

The circuit of my will, 
The force of all my life, to serve thee so: 
Never but only this I think or name. 

Nor ever can I fill 
My heart with other joy that man may know. 
And hence a sovereign blessedness I draw, 

Who soon most clearly saw 
That not alone my perfect pleasure is 

In this my life-service: 
But Love has made my soul with thine to touch 
Till my heart feels unworthy of so much. 

> Psaiwiiiccio dal Bagno, of Pisa, Tr. by D. G. RossettL Poems and 
T' nrlaHanSp p. 225, Oxford Univeisity Press. 



52 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Without almost, I am all rapturous 

Since thus my will was set 
To serve, thou flower of joy, thine excellence: 
Nor ever seems it anything could rouse 

A pain or a regret 
But on thee dwells my every thought and sense. 

Lady, since I conceived 
Thy pleasurable aspect in my heart, 

My life has been apart 
In shining brightness and the place of truth 

Which till that time, good sooth, 
Groped among shadows in a darkened place 

Where many hours and days 
It hardly ever had remembered good. 

But now my servitude 
In thine, and I am full of joy and rest. 

A man from a wild beast 
Thou madest me, since for thy love I live. 

With such patient deference, with such awed rapture, 
Chretien's Lancelot might have spoken. The attitude 
seems alien to-day; U amour Courtois and Feminism 
do not speak the same language. But all the world 
loves a lover still and even a feminist age may under- 
stand why the perfect lover gradually took precedence 
of all other characters in mediaeval affection. 



CHAPTER IV 
FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES (Continued) 



TTHERE were other twelfth-century poets dealing with 
1 Arthurian story, quite as important as Chrjg^tien 
or^Ma^e. One of them, Bxtd, Bledhericus, or Blihis^ 
is dimly known or rather inferred from scattered allu- 
sions. The earliest form of the Grail story can per- 
haps be traced to him; he seems to have had a wide 
reputation for his knowledge of traditions about Brit- 
ish heroes. Br6ri is, however, a very h3rpothetical per- 
sonage, hardly a name, if that; but there are several 
poets whose work has survived in fragments sufSdently 
long to show their quality. 

Two of these poets told the famous story of Tristan 
and Iseult, and their work might compare favorably 
with that of Chr6tien had it not come to us in so 
mutilated a condition. Each was evidently a man of 
distinctive temperament and interesting gifts. Both 
are connected with England; B6roul, the earlier, was 
almost certainly an Anglo-Norman; Thomas, the finer 
spirit, whose verse by internal evidence would be 
assigned to a somewhat later date, was probably so. 
Both present a far nobler version of the great love- 
story than that on which Malory unfortunately leaned. 
B6roul may, however, be considered to inaugurate the 

53 



54 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

form developed in Malory, for the story as he tdls it 
is placed in the days of Arthur and oooDected with 
the Arthurian court. His Isealt appears before the 
assembled Table Roond, swearing on the relics of the 
saints that she is innocent in her idations with Tristan. 
In Thomas, on the other hand, the story is placed some 
generations after Arthur's time; and the great king 
and his knights have become l^;endary names to 
conjure with. 

Behind both these poets lies a long development of 
the story; a German poet, Eilhart von Oberge, may 
for once suggest the most primitive tradition better 
than these Frenchmen do. Interesting primitive traits 
linger, however, in both Thomas and B6roul, especially 
in B6rbul. A naughty dwarf betrays the fact that 
Mark, — ^whose name means "horse" in Cornish, — is 
the possessor of horses' ears. Isolt abides in no stately 
palace, for the brook to which Tristan trusts his mes- 
sages runs straight through the women's apartments, 
evidently conceived as a group of rude huts similar 
to those described in Celtic epics. The Morolt, with 
whom the young Tristan fights for the truage of Ire- 
land, is, as his name implies, originally a sea-monster; 
though in the extant versions he has evolved into the 
brother of the queen of Ireland, and in Malory has 
become a decorous knight. Companion of the Table 
Round! Apart from these traces of origin, the B6roul 
version as it stands has a wilding flavor. 4485 lines 
survive, dealing with the central portion of the story, 
in which the rescue of Isolt from lepers, her life with 
Tristan in the forest of Morrois, her return to Mark, 
and her swearing her iimocence by an oath ingeniously 
false yet true before the Table Round, are the most 
prominent features. The poem may be the work of 



FRENCH VERSB ROMANCES 55 

two hands. One of them, r sponsible for the earlier 
part, was probably a jongleut ; for there are signs that 
the verses are meant for onu recitation rather than 
for reading. The work is uneven and powerful; 
vengeance intoxicates, — ^Tristan appears exultant be- 
fore Isolt with an enemy's scalp in his belt, like the 
wild Ret he was, — and cheating is celebrated with 
enthusiasm. No subtle psychology such as delighted 
Chretien or Marie appears in these rude verses: on the 
other hand, they are picturesque, and not lacking in 
humor. The description of the life of the lovers in 
the forest of Morrois, especially, has a touch of poetic 
realism. They suflEer from hunger and cold, they eat 
roots, they grow tattered and wan, they are entirely 
happy. Alas! In later centuries they both become 
more used to courts and would not enjoy this exile. 
Here on the other hand it must be confessed that the 
sentiment is hurt by the matter-of-fact prominence 
given to the fact that they are bewitched; for in three 
years the effect of the potion wears off, and surprised 
at themselves, they accept with docility the advice of 
a hermit that Isolt return to her legal lord! The 
use of an English word, "lovendrinck," is by the way 
an interesting hint that the home of the story is in the 
British Isles.^ 

Where B&'oul is somewhat coarse, violent, and 
occupied with externals, Thomas, his slightly later 
contemporary, gives the full sentimental blossoming 
of the story. 3140 lines are extant; they include a 
few broken fragments, and the long ending of the tale, 
through the great final scene where Isolt of the White 
Hands f alsdy reports to the djdng Tristan that a black 
sail indicates the refusal of his love to come to him, 
and he yields the breath just as the true Isolt enters 



> MORTE DARTHUil OP THOMAS MALORY 

the room, to die upon, his body. It is a pleasant 
problem to discuss whe^Jier behind this version lies a 
primitive poem, or mer'ely a confused episodic tradi- 
tion. By clever and close reasoning, M. Joseph B6dier, 
an expert student of Tristan material, decided on the 
first hsrpothesis; Gaston Paris, the master of B6dier, 
thought that this poem might have been written in 
England; but the whole supposition is too hypothetical 
to stress. < M. B6dier has given a brilliant reproduc- 
tion of the supposed poem, supplementing the lines 
that survive by an outline based on later versions which 
have Thomas as their source, — notably the prose ro- 
mance of a Scandinavian Brother Robert, and the 
exquisite middle high German poem of Gottfried von 
Strassburg. This reproduction modernized by Hilaire 
Belloc, gives most English readers their knowledge of 
the finest version of the old love-story. 

In the authentic work of Thomas, a courtly grace 
has supplanted the primitive tone of B^oul. Thomas 
sotmds also a genuine note of passion ; his lovers need no 
code of Courtly Love to teach them how to behave, — 
long before Eleanor of Acquitaine or her daughter 
amused themselves with Courts of Love and sentimental 
dilemmas, these two have been intimates against their 
will of the Lord of Terrible Aspect. It is by an odd 
lapse of taste that Thomas represents Mark as well as 
the lovers, as drinking the fatal potion. But in spite 
of this lapse, the enchantment, delicately recorded, is 
never intruded. It does but seal our sympathy with 
the lovers by its suggestion of the irresistible forc^Jto 

^ It is ably disputed by Miss Gertrude Schoepperle, who aiigues that 
the primitive poem was more nearly represented by Eilhart von Obeiige, 
1185-89. She thinks the poem can not have been as coherent as 
M. B6dier implies. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 57 

which they yield. Direct heart-break throbs through 
the verses. We feel it when Tristan sings before Isolt 
of the White Hands the misleading song: 

''Iseult ma drue, Isetilt m' amie, 
En vous ma mart, en vous ma vie.'* 

We fed it yet more in the closing scene, where he dies, 
calling three times on the beloved name, while the 
futile ship with its white sail comes swiftly toward 
him, and Isolt of the White Hands takes her silent 
vengeance. The briar and rose that spring from the 
lovers' graves are precursors of many sympathetic 
growing things, which are to adorn the tombs of hapless 
lovers down the centuries. 

Beauty and color are not lacking in Thomas's work. 
Tintagel, for instance, is lovingly described; its towers 
are the work of giants, its walls are chequered with 
sinople and azure, its quarrels are of marble. Love 
of the arts appears in an interesting episode, where 
Tristan, chief harper always among knights, plays for 
the nonce the role of sculptor. With the help of a 
giant whom he has subdued in the forest, he builds a 
secret place, where he makes statues of all the person- 
ages in the story, including Brangwaine, the hand- 
maiden, and Petitcru, the little magic dog which 
changes color like the rainbow! The ladies bear 
perfumed flowers in their hands; they are tinted with 
the tints of life; gazing upon them Tristan forgets 
h^'<; woes. 

Yet there lingers in Thomas, with all his modernity, 
something of the manner of the trouvfere, — robust, 
elaborate, but slow. A gravity often sad overshadows 
his work. In another light, he may be said to have 



58 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

afiiliations with the chroniclers. He seems to have 
leaned on Wace in portions of his narrative; and he 
goes out of his way to praise the land, with as fervid 
and apparently as patriotic an emotion as any would- 
be historian of them all: England, to him, is ''a covmtry 
great, and blessed of God, fair and illustrious, produc- 
tive of all good things, rich in courteous knights, in 
strong castles, in great forests where birds and wild 
beasts wait the hunter, well provided with metals, 
silver, precious stuffs, and many furs/' London does 
not escape his praise: 

"Londres est mult rich cit6, 
Meilleur n'est en Chr&tient^; 
Plus vaillante ni mieux preisi^e, 
Mieux gamie de gent aisie^; 
Moult aiment largesse et honur."' 

As for the people, this gent aisieS, he can not say too 
much of "the franchise and courtesy of the noble 
people who inhabit this kingdom, and who receive with 
so much honor and friendship the distinguished men 
who come there from strange lands."' Had the poet 
himself been one of these "distinguished men"? At 
all events, Bede himself, to say nothing of Geoffrey, 
could not praise England more enthusiastically; and 
such passages certainly go to indicate that his poem 
was probably destined for an English public. 

The Tristan-tale, as will be seen later, was sadly 
degraded before the days of Malory. Meantime, one 
other French or Anglo-Norman poet with intimate 
English connections must not pass unnoticed, though 

> Thomas, Le Roman de Tristan, i., L 2651. Ed. J. B6dier, Paris, 1902. 
•/M.,ii.,p. 4a 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 59 

he comes at the end of the creative epoch and his work 
to some minds bears marks of decadence. The name 
of Robert de Borron will always be associated with the 
romances of the Holy Grail. He is responsible for 
the most audacious amplification undergone by Ar- 
thurian legend. His trilogy, — Joseph of Arimathea, 
Merlin, Perceval, — ^was a bold attempt to follow a 
consecutive scheme, which began at Jerusalem and 
ended at Avalon, spanning the centuries from the period 
of the remote ancestors of the Arthurian characters, 
to the achievement of the Grail-Quest. Only a little 
over five hundred lines of de Borron's work survive, 
and even these may be in part a redaction; but his 
general plan and spirit are well known through long 
prose romances based on him. 

It is better to defer consideration of the plan till 
the time comes to discuss these romances. But the 
importance of his contribution to the Arthuriad should 
be signaled at once. He is an entirely evasive figtire. 
No one knows who he was or where he lived, though 
some recent theories, contradicting the earlier, make 
him an Englishman. He is supposed to have been 
a knight, perhaps "a pious trouvfere, the friend of 
ascetics"'; but the soul of the contemplative breathes 
through his invention, and the idea is hard to avoid 
that he reflects the cloister rather than the world. His 
keen interest in stories that smack more of saint- 
legend than of chivalry, the liturgical strain that 
pervades him, above all his free use of esoteric sugges- 
tion, lead into a new region, remote from ordinary 
romance. Most critics, seemingly repelled by the 
more ascetic phases of mediaeval feeling, do him scant 
justice, and the hour for a full and sympathetic study 

' Hucher, Le Saint Craal, voL L, introductioa. 



6o MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS;MALORY 

of him has not yet struck. It will strike in time; for 
his work signals a notable fact, — ^the advent of Christian 
mysticism in Arthurian literature. To the love of 
ladies and to loyalty toward the Overlord, is now added 
the third great element which completes the harmony 
of mediaeval life; and to-day, when the sigmficance and 
value of mysticism are recognized as never before, a 
poet of the Holy Grail must surely come to his own. 
The loss of de Borron's work makes it impossible to 
hazard estimate of his style or poetic quality. Prob- 
ably his value was that of spirit and substance rather 
than of form. But however deficient in the charm of 
Chr6tien or Thomas, he must have been a great man, 
perhaps a great initiate. His trilogy was the founda- 
tion of the expanded scheme, which included all the 
previous interests of the Arthuriad, but which saw in 
the story also a religious parable, an epic of spiritual 
opportunity offered and lost. In him or his followers, 
chivalry enlarged its borders to comprise adventures 
more elusive than earth could furnish: as Chretien 
gives feudalism at its brightest so de Borron gives 
Catholicism at its most intense. 

De Borron carries us into the thirteenth century. 
So do the German poets whose work is the crowning 
glory of mediaeval literature before Dante: Gottfried 
von Strassburg and Wolfram von Eschenbach. Each 
gives a color all his own to the Arthurian material he 
handles. To Gottfried, building on Thomas, it was 
given to enshrine the tale of Tristan and Iseult for all 
time in a jeweled sanctuary. It was the part of 
Wol£ram to create the most searching, spiritual and at 
the same time human version of the Grail-Quest; 
for his Parzival, while not integrated with the whole 
Arthurian development as are the Grail-poems of de 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 6i 

Borron, is in itself a noble achievement. Neither 
of these poets, however, was original in the sense of 
presenting new material; and so far as can be told, 
neither was known in England. They lie therefore 
outside the scope of this book, except as inevitable 
comparisons suggest themselves from time to time. 
The case is different with the French poetry at which 
we are glancing. Much of that was written, as has 
been shown, by subjects of the English kings; many 
portions show dear traces of English patriotism, re- 
ligious or secular, and are influenced by English tradi- 
tion; and the whole body of it had for centtuies a 
popularity in the British Isles greater than that of 
any works written in English. If one wishes to ap- 
prehend the imaginative life of mediaeval England, 
so far as it was formed by romance, one is forced to 
be cognizant of French romance-poetry. Ma rie, C hrfe- 
tien, B6roul, Thomas, de Borron, all helped to create 
Malory's background; and while a close study of these 
writings would here be out of place, a little knowledge 
of them, and some slight further attempt such as will 
now be made to characterize their temper and achieve- 
ment, is a necessary prelude to any intimacy with 
romance-development in Britain. 

II 

In seeking a general estimate of these romance poets, 
one is first confronted by the fragmentary character 
of their work. This is due to more than the loss of 
manuscripts in the long drift down the ages. Again 
and again, the mediaeval poet failed to finish his task. 
Gottfried's masterpiece, the Tristan and Iseult, had 
to be completed by other hands. Chrfetien's Perceval^ 



62 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

which was certainly carrying him out of his depths, 
was left tanfinished, attracted continuators who dragged 
the tale into wild regions unknown to the original 
plan, and might have been continuing to this day 
through ever-new thousands of couplets, had death 
not mercifully intervened. Among chivalric traits, 
the one most akin to the Hellenic sense of proportion 
is the fine quality called tnesure. This quality the 
poets could appreciate in life but they had no percep- 
tion of it in their art. 

One cause of the defect is the minstrel tradition 
which persists even in the most literary form of the 
court poetry. Days and evenings were long in the 
castles, and that was the most welcome tale which 
never drew to an ending. Catchwords too, and pad- 
ding, were convenient when memory or invention 
failed. The copiousness of speech appals anyone who 
notes it in current conversation; it infests these poems. 
Style, the Middle Ages from the first valued and culti- 
vated, but theirs were in the main artificial devices, 
sometimes allied to mnemonic tricks, such as mark 
half-primitive minds, rather than the instinctive unity 
between word and thought, cadence and theme, which 
marks the masters. Throughout these poems the 
shaping artistic instinct, selective and severe, is in its 
infancy. An early stage of art-development may 
produce perfect lyrics, as Provence and Sicily prove. 
But narrative follows other laws. It is beyond the 
grasp of these men, who show no sense either for epic 
progress or for dramatic unity. A single poem rarely 
possesses a central theme. The adventures of the 
knights are presented in gay confusion, .for what the 
poet enjoys is sheer linear narrative, in which con- 
secutive episodes are cherished for their own sake, not 



/ 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 63 

because they converge to a focus. In the Yvain^ for 
instanoe, which is one of the most direct among the 
stories, the plot proper, — ^a fairly good one, — ^is sus- 
pended about line 2800, to be resumed at line 3525, 
dropped between 3770 and 4315, and 4635 to 6530. 
The title-interest, the pleasant rdation of this twelfth- 
century Androdes to his lion, has nothing to do with 
the story. 

In the poorer poems and in the poorer portions of 
better work these tendencies are fatal. Chaucer's amus- 
ing Sir Thopas fairly imitates their feeble tom-tom beat- 
ing, their pointless conventions. These same defects, all 
too evident even in vital portions of the greater writers, 
keep them from attaining the highest place in letters; 
they go far towards justifying the severe judgment 
of Matthew Arnold. "It is all gone, this French 
romance poetry," says Arnold, "only by means of the 
historic estimate can we persuade ourselves now to 
think that any of it is of poetical importance."' 

But it is not all gone, as the revival of pleasure in 
these poets conclusively proves. The simplest of 
tests to determine their worth is the truest; now that 
they are becoming accessible in graceful and adequate 
translations, old and young read them with delight. 
Arnold's contention may be granted that Chaucer 
transcends this poetry through a superior sense for 
reality and a more incommunicable charm. Chaucer 
is a greater poet than any earlier man in Prance or 
England. But this is no reason why the earlier work 
should be tossed aside. Little stars may shine with 
as authentic a light as big ones, and Lesser Celandines 
may be cherished without disparaging the rose. 

And as for the historic estimate, the modem attitude 

* M. Arnold, Essays •« CrUkism^ ii., p. 36. Macmillan, 1898. 



64 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

places an increasing value on it. True, the greatest 
poetry must enshrine primal and enduring emotions;, 
but the fleeting and the vanished have their chann, 
and the record of them is cherished, more than the 
severer standards of pre-evolutionary times allowed, 
as the flux of life is realized to be life's only revelation. 
In other words, the social aspect of literature is more 
and more appreciated, and in the very limitations 
imposed on poets by their period can be found a pre- 
cious human value. The natural mind enjoys the 
weakness as well as the strength in the twelfth-century 
poets. The adventures whidi they narrate may lead 
nowhither; they do something better, for they "startle 
and waylay." Reading them, we "recapture the first 
fine careless rapture" of a day long dead, when romantic 
love for women and mystic spiritual passion shone 
from a new East over a world somewhat stark and 
grim. 

An air of discovery imparts permanent value to the 
poetry of the earlier Middle Ages. It does not matter 
that the stories told are ancient; the filmiest verdure 
appears in May upon the oldest trees. Nobody was 
original in the modem sense till after the time of Shake- 
speare. To us, originality implies new invention; to 
the mediaeval mind it inhered rather in the best telling 
of a fine old thing. We too can care for the radal 
memories that play through the poems. Their charm 
lies in the union of a haunting suggestiveness with a 
spirit of immortal youth. These poets are in love 
with life, the life of their own time, rich in half-tmder- 
stood recollections; and they are able to communicate 
this supreme passion to their readers. The brave 
world which allured Scott, Tennyson, Coleridge, 
Rossetti, lives in the pages of early romance-poets, 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 65 

as nowhere else. Its aspects, its emotions, its aspira- 
tions all are here. 

Not of course that romance reflects mediaeval life 
in its wholeness. Its point of view is frankly aristo- 
cratic, for one thing, and history and other arts must 
be consulted to learn that experience of the common 
people, so gayly ignored by the poets. These are 
dreams, and partial dreams at best. Still, men are 
known by their dreams; and the common people, if 
they do not figure in the dreams, certainly loved them. 

Perhaps the most striking fact in the social revela- 
tion of the romances, is the witness they bear to the 
delight of the age in visible beauty, "Simple, sensuous, 
passionate": the second adjective in the famous de- 
scription is as well deserved by Marie de Prance or by 
Wolfram as by Keats himself. Beauty is the lord of the 
hour, and every page is aglow with it. This aesthetic 
instinct is felt, not in sweeping landscape, in broad 
composition; rather as through contemporary illumina- 
tion, in the exquisite and rich use of concrete detail. 
"King Arthur had a scepter brought which was very 
fine. Listen to the description of the scepter, which 
was clearer than a pane of glass, all of one solid emerald, 
fully as large as your fist. I dare to tell you in very 
truth that in all the world there is no manner of fi^ 
or of wild beast or of man or of flying bird that was not 
worked and chiseled upon it in its proper figure."' 
No wonder that when this scepter was handed to the 
king, he "looked on it with amazement." A comb of 
gilded ivory Ues casually by the wayside, to which 
ding golden hairs of Guenevere; a bed invites repose, 
covered with a yellow cloth of silk and a coverlet with 
gilded stars. The scenes of feasting, described with 

> Erec and Enide^ Everyman ed., p. 89. 

5 



66 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

endless zest, are not wholly gross; {deasure is felt not 
only in the good food, but in the gilded silver drinking 
cups, in the color of the white wine and the red, in 
the richly embroidered towel, white and dean, in the 
large twisted candles that join with the starlight to 
make the illumination brilliant. When Erec weds his 
Enide, the king and queen sit on two thrones of white 
ivory, well constructed and new, — there was no part of 
wood, but all was of gold and fine ivory. Well were 
they carven with great skill, for the corresponding 
sides bore the representation of a leopard, and the 
other two a dragon's shape.* 

The marvelous decorative detail with which these 
pages glimmer, reflects the period of the first Crusade : 
that brilliant age when a new passion for pomp and 
beauty overswept the world from Byzantium and the 
East, swathing civilization in rainbows. Many objects 
are forttmately still preserved which help us to vistial- 
ize romance. Thrones like those in Erec may still 
be seen, with strange Lombardic beasts couchant 
beneath them. Old ivories abotmd in museums, — ^won- 
derful ivories from the very period of the romances, 
which though worn smooth have resisted the ravages 
of time better than wood or stone. They show the 
game of chess, the tournament, the Tower of Chastity 
whither a knight climbs to win the first kiss from his 
little lady. Romanesque carving rotmd church por- 
tals, ancient textiles preserved in dusty sacristies, serve 
to make the romances real. On the other hand, one 

' These elaborate descriptions became so popular that there was a 
reaction against them. Chretien, says Professor Ker, asserted his 
delicate and individual taste in giving Enide an ivory saddle carved with 
the story of Dido, instead of Oriental work, and embroidering Erec's 
coronation robe with figures drawn from Macrobius. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 67 

turns with pleasure from the worn splendors of the 
objects themselves, to the po^ms where they shine 
ever fine and new, the properties of an age when the 
minor arts flourished with unique variety. 

One could multiply endlessly examples of the rich 
response of the romances to the outward aspects of 
life. These jousts which glow like stmset, these sol- 
emn processions, this ceremonial which accompanies 
all life's high moments, suggest an amazingly pictur- 
esque world. Not that there is conscious effort at 
fine descriptive writing; the poet so reveled in these 
things that naturally he made them live before the eye. 
Such scenes as the Grail-procession in Wolfram's Par- 
zwal^ the "love-grotto" to which Tristan and Iseult 
betake themselves in Gottfried, are among the most 
vivid pictures in literature. The later Middle Ages 
can not equal them, the Renascence can not excel. 
The wholesome delights which the poems register are 
to survive as long as chivalry itself. Spenser's Sir 
Guyon knew them: 

''Faire shields, gay steeds, bright arms, be my delight; 
These be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight.'" 

But life in other than superficial aspects appears in 
these pages. Beneath, beyond the pictures lies the range 
of mediaeval emotion, — ^baffling, alluring. Feelings, like 
manners, are at once gross and fine. A sudden flash 
of delicate perception will illumine most imexpectedly 
a gross episode; a conflict of elevated impulses will 
develop out of a fierce and violent situation. Chivalry 
in these poems is not yet quite certain of itself; it is 
still a little tentative, very pleased with each new bit 

* Faerie Queene, book ii., caato vii., lo. 



68 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

of control it learas to exercise over nattiral passion. 
Two types of experience are hurtling, like two knights 
in a tourney. The result is frequent paradox, and 
real analytical power in treating moral and emotional 
complexities. 

Not that this poetry is strong in delineating the 
supreme passions. These are often assumed rather 
than rendered. With one or two exceptions,— the 
potion scene in the best versions of the Tristan for 
instance, — there is nothing in twelfth-century litera- 
ture which pierces and haunts like the laugh of Gudrun, 
or the cry of Hervor when she calls on her father's 
spirit to give her the sword of vengeance out of his 
grave. It is on the finer shades of experience that 
the poets spend themselves. The "gentle heart" 
has discovered itself and is exploring its own mazes. 
Even in Marie, there are pathetic passages as where 
that early Griselda, La Preine, adorns her rival's bed 
with her most cherished possession, the silk in which 
she was wrapped as a baby. The later poets are never 
weary of dwelling on the devious mysteries of emotion. 
They delight in moral dilemmas, where introspection 
has to be active; for knightly conduct is no plain matter 
of obvious obedience, it involves nice distinction, diffi- 
cult choice. People are repeatedly racked by conflict- 
ing duties, and their decisions are triumphs of delicacy 
and self-knowledge. 

Lancelot for instance is proposing to show mercy 
on a defeated knight when a damosd rides up and 
demands the knight's head. Then he 

is in a predicament as he ponders over the question: 
whether to present to her the head she asks him to cut oflE, or 
whether he shall allow himself to be touched with pity. . . . 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 69 

Generosity and pity each command him to do their will, 
for he was both generous and tender-hearted. But if she 
carried off the head, then will pity be defeated and put 
to death, whereas if she does not carry off the head, gen- 
erosity will be discomfited. Thus is he tormented and 
spurred on by each of them in turn.' 

In such quaint puzzles the authors revel; the etiquette 
which is to prevail through the palmy days of ro- 
mance is developing; the chivalric code grows under 
our eyes, — ^no formal set of rules, but a vital ideal of 
conduct, allowing scope for individual chdoe, shaping 
its standards as need arises. And the excitement of 
action, vigorously sustained though it be» falls into 
second place beside the excitement of this new pursuit, — 
the exaltation and the guidance of feeling. 

Character is less developed than sentiment in this 
poetry. The art of portraiture is still immature. 
Types broadly and strongly drawn abound,— often they 
were probably already fixed when the poets took up 
the tradition. Kay is always crusty, Lancelot senti- 
mental, Gawain gallant, Tristan the hunter-harper 
with a touch of woodland charm. But there is little 
vitality to any figure in the French poets, unless it be 
to the gentle Enide, most realistic study of faithful 
wifehood before Griselda and much more simpatica. 
One breathes the air of the cotirt, where people amuse 
themselves in idlesse with fine-spun broodings over 
their own emotions, rather than that of open country, 
where in the stram der Wdt a character may grow. 
There is in consequence a certain fantastic unreality 
to the romances, rather like that in the novels of 
Richardson, and quite apart from their supernatural 
machinery and strange inventions. Professor Ker is 

' Erec and Enide, p. 306. 



y 



70 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

justified in saying that "the romantic schools, follow- 
ing on the earlier heroic literature, generally substi- 
tuted a more shallow formal limited set of portraits 
for the larger and freer portraits of the heroic age, 
making up for this defect by extravagance in other 
respects, — ^in the incidents, the phrasing, the sentimental 
pathos, the rhetorical conceits."* 
I Yet the more robust art of Fielding, or perhaps it 
would be better to say the art of Chaucer, has also 
now and then a prototype. Realism is not confined 
in these poets to a brilliant use of descriptive detail. 
Every now and then a dramatic scene is found, humor- 
ously and vigorously executed; bits of capital dialogue 
full of searching repartee are not infrequent. Irony is 
common — vehement and rough in the Teutonic verse 
of Wolfram von Eschenbach, at once so grotesque and 
so tender, — slyer, cleverer, in Chr6tien, who is French 
to his finger-tips. Suddenly, men and women cease 
to fight and languish; they take to behaving naturally. 
Chr6tien's realism, like that of Chaucer, is richest in 
his settings and introductions; just as Chaucer in the 
Prologue is several removes nearer to actual life than 
in the Knight's Tale, so Chr6tien in his little prologues 
and epilogues forgets his courtly ways and lets his 
people act as they please. In such scenes, he and his 
greater successor are no longer following traditional 
models, they are drawing straight from life. A capital 
example is the opening of Yvain. The king, to the 
general surprise, retreats abruptly from the feast, 
because he suddenly feels sleepy. The queen goes with 
him, and the knights, gathered at guard arotmd the 
door of his chamber, fall to chatting. Gawain is there, 
and Kay, and Ywain, and a pleasant though not veiy 
' Ker, Epic and Romance, p. 354. 



FRENCH VERSE ROMANCES 71 

mighty knight called Colgrevaunce. Colgrevaunce 
begins a story about an adventure in which he had 
the worst of it. The queen hears enough to whet 
her curiosity, and slips out stealthily among them; 
Colgrevaunce is the only one quick enough to rise to 
his feet. Kay, "who was very quarrelsome, mean, 
sarcastic and abusive," begins to scold. How natural 
that isl Which of us has not felt irritated at being 
caught napping in our manners? Guenevere takes no 
trouble to be courtly in her reply: "Really, Kay," 
says she: "I think you would burst if you could not 
pour out the poison of which you are so full. You are 
troublesome and mean to annoy your companions 
like this."' As the talk goes on, full of spirit and 
character, one sees the group, one catches their very 
accents. Real sensitiveness of observation, a real 
sense of the humors of life, went to writing such comedy 
scenes. 

But after all, realism, whether comic or sentimental, 
is not the chief asset of these poems. That is found in 
their brave romantic temper. They give the nearest 
approach literature possesses to the well-spring of 
romance, and if we are not quite at the fountainhead, 
the waters none the less bubble fresh and free as if 
rejoicing in a first escape from prison. Twelfth 
century romance-poetry marks the beginning only of 
a long development. Portraiture as has been seen is 
embryonic. No hint is given of that rich development 
of epic structure toward which Arthurian romance was 
to move; the creative forces in mediaeval life are all 
here, but they are as yet unfused and unrelated. Nor 
is the romantic quality by any means at its finest. 
Compared with the magical suggestiveness of such 

' Ertc and Enide^ p. 181. 



72 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

poems as Christabd or The Eoe of St. Agnes, twdfih- 
century art seems superficial and mamiered; it lades 
those overtones and undertones which are the ^ory 
of romanticism at its height. For romance is at its 
inception; centuries must pass before it develops fully. 
Yet, however much ode cares for the codrdinated 
harmonies \ of a symphony, it is also pleasant to listen 
to a lark. V To read twelfth-century poetry is to wander 
in a whole meadow-land of larks, singing in a spring- 
time of the world. As men turn for the dawn of Greek 
life to Homer, so for the dawning life of the Christian 
nations of Europe, they must turn to these French 
romance poets. 



\ 



CHAPTER V 

FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 



SLIGHTLY later than the verse romanoes, though 
over-lapping them, oome the long prose romances 
which dose the epoch in Arthurian romance. The 
poetry, roughly speaking, belongs to the last half of 
the twelfth century, the prose to the first quarter of the 
thirteenth. In the poetry, traces of the old minstrel 
tradition still linger; these are obliterated in the prose, 
which reflects a civilization where reading has entirely 
superseded recitation and song. A later epoch is more- 
over clearly indicated in the complex interweaving and 
occasional debasing of the materials used. 

These prose romances are the immediate sources of 
Malory's book. There is no evidence that he had direct 
knowledge of any twelfth-centtuy poet; but his com- 
pilation is based on selections from the long prose 
works which in his day had delighted Europe for over 
two hundred years. For if the poems were popular, the 
prose romances seem to have been more popular still. 
Indeed, till quite recently, the mention of mediaeval 
romance did not suggest poetry at all, but rather inter- 
minable prose stories in black-letter, such as George 
Macdonald's heroes are always discovering in old li- 
braries where they lie moldering and forgotten. 

73 



^4 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Modem critics have been inclined to study the poetry 
and to leave the prose to molder; and they have had 
good reasons. The poetry is nearer to the source, and 
the stream of tradition flows more purely through it. 
Moreover, the narrative verf of the verse is usually lost 
in the prose. The poems may be long, but the prose 
goes on forever, episode within episode, till the hapless 
reader closes the book in despair of a coherent story. 
These romances are no polished jewels, set with delicate 
artifice; they are great mines, branching into inntuner- 
able dusky galleries, where the wanderer, often retiuning 
on himself, gropes bewildered toward an unknown goal. 

Yet mines may be full of precious ore, and the wealth 
waiting intrepid adventurers among the romances is a 
true Golconda. The prose is indubitably less interest- 
ing than the poetry from the point of view of a student 
of origins ; from that of a student of letters, a strong case 
might be made out on the other side. In these great 
rambling works, despite all their defects, the spirit of 
romance finds itself for the first time mature; and while 
one may with Wordsworth place '*the budding rose 
above the rose full-blown," a world deprived of open 
roses would be a world less fragrant. 

The magic that is wanting to the dear and elegant 
narrative of Chretien will be found elsewhere [says Pro- 
fessor Ker] : In Chretien, everything is clear and positive. 
In these prose romances, and even more in Malory's English 
rendering of his French book, is to be heard the indescrib- 
able plaintive melody, — ^the sigh of the wind over enchanted 
grotmd, the spell of pure romance. Neither in Chretien de 
Troies nor yet in earlier authors who dealt more simply 
than he with their Celtic materials, is there anjrthing to 
compare with the later prose.* 

> W. P. Ker, E^ and Romance^ p. 555. Loadoa, 1908. 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 75 

A partial reason for this special charm may be that 
the prose romances are at farther remove from reality 
than the verse. Nor may it be forgotten that in 
them, the complete Arthtiriad finally and definitively 
takes shape. Despite their inchoate character and 
bewildering cross-relations, the varied aspects of chiv- 
alry here find full expression in complex and centralized 
schemes. The plain narrative of the chroniclers left 
out some of the best elements in mediaeval literature, 
and could never satisfy imagination. The poets on 
the other hand present no centralized story. They tell 
how Lancelot preserved his knightly honor by defying 
etiquette, how Erec regained his when stung by his 
wife's reproaches, how Perceval, the pure fool, became 
slowly wise. But of the Table Rotmd, of Arthurian 
chivalry as a whole fighting with epic breadth the battle 
of Christian civilization against encompassing heathen- 
esse, they give scant picture. 

Such a picture the prose romances do confusedly 
show. The countless characters are conceived in their 
relation to a court which is no longer a mere point of 
departure but a center of the action. Few heroes dear 
to the Middle Ages had originally any connection with 
that court. Long before feudal days, Tristan had loved 
his Iseult in fashion far from courtly; Perceval, who 
preceded Galahad as Grail-winner, perhaps first played 
his part as the Simpleton or Male Cinderella, a humor- 
ous example of the weak things of the earth confound- 
ing the mighty. Even Lancelot, though his story is 
late, may at first have had no connection with Arthur. 
It was the poets who made all these people comrades of 
the great king, to rank in popular affection beside or 
above those &rst companions, Kay, Gawain, and Bedi- 
vere. But not till the prose romances succeeded the 



76 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

poems did the separate tales lose their independence 
and cohere in one loosely unified whole. Then the 
story of each individual knight became less an end in 
itself than a factor in the great tragedy, centered in 
Arthur, Lancelot, and Guenevere, by which the fair 
Order of Chivalry was overthrown. 

To trace the evolution of this tragedy out of the vary- 
ing materials supplied by diverse traditions may never 
be possible. The story familiar to-day contended with 
other versions for acceptance. In Perceval le Gallois, 
for instance, Guenevere dies in the middle of Arthur's 
reign from grief over the death of her son at the hands 
of Kay, and Arthur and Lancelot join amicably in 
mourning at her tomb, after which the romance wanders 
off into uncorrelated adventtuies, dealing largely with 
Lancelot's efforts to regain his kingdom in Prance from 
the usurper Claudas. To create the superbly motived 
story which we know, a story which holds its own be- 
side the Tale of Troy, some man or men had creative 
genius. 

Who these men were may never be known, though it 
does no harm to mention names, Walter Map's or 
another's. The stories traveled all over Europe, grow- 
ing as they went. Nobody's property, they belonged 
to everyone, and each scribe rewrote at will, combining 
adventures, transferring events, altering as he chose. 
Individual authorship vanished. It was no longer a 
question of separate personal talent, but of that amor- 
phous and slow achievement of generations, which 
habitually occurs to the mind at the mention of romance. 
Each version of most romances has many variants. 
Even when the general type is fairly fixed, details vary 
from manuscript to manuscript. Questions of origin 
and relationship thus become hopelessly tangled, and 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 77 

are likely to afford problems for research during many a 
year to come. 

Certainly no one would claim for these enormous 
works the sort of unity possessed by the JEneid, the 
Divine Comedy, or any other product of a single mind. 
Yet it is well to remember that there is an unconscious 
unity of gradual growth as well as a conscious unity of 
deliberate plan, and that collective activity may be 
controlled by an instinct which enables it to reveal in a 
large vague manner the life of an epoch. The design 
unconsciously inherent in such a work may be disguised 
by the very vastness of scale. It is a scale partly due 
to the number of people codperating in the develop- 
ment, and also partly to the absence among these 
people of any one shaping mind, capable of concentrat- 
ing and condensing the great expansion that naturally 
results from composite authorship. Mediaeval genius 
is often accused of a deficient sense of proportion; one 
might rather say that it failed to measure artistic enter- 
prise by the span of human life or by mortal powers of 
assimilation. Like many mediaeval buildings, these 
works are wrought by successive epochs. They are 
confusing not from absence of central theme, but from 
the vital changes and elastic methods incident to a 
scheme which passes though many minds, and the com- 
prehensive effort to render the detail as well as the mass 
of life, with no reduction of scale. 

This book is especially interested in romance as 
related to England, and in particular to the work of 
Malory. Now the romances from which Malory 
presumably drew, so far as they are represented by 
manuscripts in the^ British Musetun, have been pub- 
lished by Dr. Oskar Sommer in a monumental edition. 
Dr. Sommer does not attempt to give a critical text, 



1 



78 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

such as only collation of all extant MSS. could furnish; 
and the versions which he prints can rarely if ever be 
precisely those on which Malory leaned. Nevertheless, 
his edition places within the reach of students of Malory 
as large a body of material as any excq^t professed 
scholars can profit by, and we can not here do better 
than to take it as a basis. In order to appreciate 
Malory aright, some knowledge of his sources is essen- 
tial. Sonietimes, his story is hardly comprehensible 
through compressions or omissions; again, enjoyment 
of it is far keener when some story treated by allusion 
only is known. This is especially true of the Grail 
books, which give a befogged impression to the reader 
ignorant of what underlies them. And who can help 
wondering about the childhood of the characters, or 
wanting to hear of that first kiss between Lancelot and 
Guenevere, well known to Dante but ignored by 
Malory? Acquaintance with the romances published 
by Dr. Sommer can satisfy all these needs. 

The Arthurian cycle which Malory condensed con- 
tains, according to Dr. Sommer's analysis, six branches : 

I. Lestarie; or The Early History of the Holy Grail, 
sometimes called Le Grand San Graal. This is the 
account, based on de Borron's poem, of the coming of 
the Grail to England and of the ancestors of Ar- 
thurian characters. It is presupposed but not told in 
Malory. 

II. Merlin. A prose expansion of de Borron's poem 
of the same name. It presents the story of Arthur's 
birth, youth, and accession to the throne. 

HI. A continuation, sometimes known as Le Liore 
Darthus. . It carries the tale on from Arthur's corona- 
tion to Lancelot's arrival at court. 

IV. Lancelot. A long romance in three parts, con- 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 79 

cemed with various personages and adventures, till 
such time as the Grail comes to Camelot. 

V. The Grail-Quest. It centers in the figure of 
Galahad, who by the time the last redaction was made 
had succeeded Perceval as Grail-winner. 

VI. The Marte Darthur. The final phases of the 
story, after the return of the knights from the Quest. 

This series does not include the Tristan cycle, used 
by Malory in Books VIII.-XI. ; indeed these books are a 
sort of interpolation, for the plot is in a way complete 
without them. The Tristan story moreover is the least 
interesting from an English point of view, for its English 
affiliations are few. Among the other romances, the 
Early History centers in national ecclesiastical patriot- 
ism, the Merlin and the Marte comprise the national 
story of Arthur, based on the chroniclers. The other 
branches are more French in type. But that they were 
read with avidity in England, many witnesses besides 
Malory attest. The works published by Sommer are 
far from including all the Arthurian stories loved by the 
English people; but they do represent the treasure 
house from which the good knight drew, and it is at 
least probable that his tastes were the tastes of his 
countrymen. 

II 

"the grand SAN GRAAL" 

The story of Arthur had been to the chroniclers a 
poUtical epic, and to the romance-poets a pleasant ^t- 
ting for pleasant tales. It was when that story drew 
to itself the traditions gathered around the Holy Grail 
that a new purpose entered it, and it became not only 
a vehicle for the deepest passions of the Middle Ages 



8o MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

but a revelation of enduring life that the world can not 
forget. 

Prom time immemorial, l^;ends connected with rites 
so ancient that they are dimly known, had centered 
around a Holy Vessel, symbol of the source of life, and 
around the hero who gained initiation to its sacred 
mjrsteries. For a long while these legends were inde- 
pendent of Arthur ; for longer still, the hero of them was 
Perceval, the "pure fool," who having missed initiation 
once through his own fault gained it gloriously at the 
last. At an earlier date, the Grail-winner was perhaps 
Gawain. When de Borron wrote, Perceval must have 
been the hero, for his trilogy ran, Joseph, Merlin, Perce- 
vol. But by the time the later redactions of de Borron's 
poem were made, and his ideas had passed into the 
main line of growth, something else had happened. 
Lancelot had forced his way like a conqueror into the 
Arthurian drde; and Galahad, Lancelot's son, had sup- 
planted Perceval as Winner of the Grail. 

De Borron's story was based on the apocryphal 
Gospel of Nicodemus which told the legend of the im- 
prisonment and release of Joseph of Arimathea. His 
poem tells how Christ brings the precious vessel con- 
taining His Blood to Joseph in prison, and how after 
Joseph's release his disciples are bidden to carry the 
Grail westward to the Vale of Avaron. The Grand 
San Graal, or, as it is sometimes called, the Early History 
of the Grail, has absorbed this story; it continues, telling 
how the Grail comes to England and what happens 
after its arrival there. But the work is also assimilated 
to the Lancelot form of the romances, and it assumes 
Galahad as the future winner of the Grail. It forms as 
it stands a prologue to the events of Arthur's reign as 
given in Malory, and it is the first work to be read if 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 8i 

intimacy is desired with the whole Arthurian devdop- 
ment as it matured in England. 

It is a very long story, probably one of the latest 
written among prose romances. It is accessible in the 
original French, first printed in 1516 and 1523, and in a 
metrical English version sadly near to doggerel by a 
fifteenth-century writer, the meritorious but unpoetic 
Harry Lovelich. There is also an earlier English 
alliterative poem of better quality, which gives the 
central portion of the story, indudhig the consecration 
of the first English Bishop, though it does not bring the 
Grail to England. Christian legendary elements are 
more prominent in the romance than the Pagan Celtic 
so abundant in earlier Grail tradition, and it contains 
curious Eastern features: "Ce roman," says Hucher in 
his edition, "a des analogies nombreuses avecles litt6ra- 
tures orientales et Ton y retrouve plus d'une sc^e des 
Mitte et Une Nuiis.*'* Critics concerned with origins 
have often passed the Grand San Graal slightingly by; 
but it can not be ignored by those who lare more inter- 
ested in result than in process, and who see in this whole 
range of literature, not so much survivals from ancient 
days as the characteristic expression of the Middle Ages 
at their prime. 

Apart from the influence of Oriental story and of 
Christian tradition, the most outstanding fact about 
this romance is the tone of British patriotism which 
suffuses it. The intimate relations of Arthurian litera- 
ture with England are obscured, because French was 
the language of letters in Britain all through the crea- 
tive period, and in this language almost all forms of the 
story after Geoffrey are composed. But the unity of 
the two peoples during this period was very great so 

* Hucher, Le Saini Graalt i*» p* 14* 
6 



82 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

far as their imaginative life was concerned. Whatever 
was true of the poets, whose appeal was more to the 
continent, the authors of the prose romances, whether 
British subjects or no, not only used British traditions 
but appealed to British sentiment and had English 
audiences in mind. 

And if anjrthing can be claimed for England as dis- 
tinct from France during these years of a united litera- 
ture, one would daim the later forms of the Galahad 
Grail story. Wherever the author gained his inspira- 
tion, he is obsessed by a passionate desire to demon- 
strate that the Christianity of England is in origin 
independent of the Church of Rome. *'Le Saint 
Graal, " says M. Paulin Paris, "resta la plus audadeuse 
de toutes les tentatives faites avant Luther contre la 
supr6matie du Saint Si^ge."' The point and pith of 
the Grand San Graal is the introduction of Church and 
sacraments into the British Isles, not by medium of the 
Papacy, but direct from Jerusalem, and Christ. The 
author is a mystic, who as Miss Weston says, "knew 
from inside the material with which he is dealing," 
and *' designed his version from the point of view of 
one familiar with Christian esoteric teaching."* And 
like many another mediaeval mystic, he is heretic at 
heart. The Roman ecdesiastical system is ddiber- 
atdy ignored, and the esoteric sacramental teaching 
centering in the Grail at least suggests that the 
romance registers an attempt to substitute a Grail- 
Church with mysteries of its own for the accredited 
order. A challenge is flung at the reader: 

< Pltulin Paris, Romania, i., p. 488. See P. Paris, Les Romans de la 
TahU Ronde, tome i., for further exposition of the anti-Roman animus 
of the Grand San Graal. 

* J. Weston, The Quest of the Holy Grail, pp. 1 20, 121. London, 19 13. 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 83 

' For there never was creature so hardy 
That dorst with-seyn this holy story, 
Which Christ Himself with His own hand 
It wrote for to don us to understand." ' 



The statement is emphasized. Christ, we are told, 
wrote twice only before His resurrection, — once for 
Moses on the tables of stone, once in the case of the 
woman taken in adultery. The authority of this 
precious script in His own hand is obvious. 

Reading between the lines, thought is carried back 
over long periods. To the fact that the Christianity 
of Britain came from Gaul and not from Rome, to the 
scene where the British bishops, in 603, refused to 
acknowledge the claims of the Bishop of Rome, re- 
presented by St. Augustine; to the stubborn conflict, 
culminating at Whitby, during which Celtic Chris- 
tianity, humble, imaginative, strove in vain to maintain 
itself against the haughty efficiencies, the scholastic and 
artistic equipment of the Roman system. Rome con- 
queredy but the struggle was not over. In outlying 
districts, particularly in Wales, that little tract so 
closely related to Arthurian tradition, the insurgent 
I>assion for autonomy and the distaste for foreign rule 
persisted down the generations. In Wales, as old Welsh 
verse attests, strange cults and mystic faiths, which 
may have survived from pre-Christian days, blended not 
inharmoniously with Christian and sacramental ideas. 
All through the Norman period, the Welsh Church was 
struggling to maintain its independence, and in the 
middle of the twelfth century the persistent attempts of 
the English king to subject that Church to the See oif 
Canterbury provoked a great revolt. Again, as always, 

^History rf the Holy GrM, ch. zzvii., 1. 276. 



84 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Rome was destined to win out; Canterbury prevailed 
over Bangor; but nothing can choke men's dreams, and 
the smoldering fire of resentment and the tenacious 
loyalty to a national tradition, may well have found 
vent in cryptic fashion through certain forms of Grail 
romance. 

Glastonbury, again, the Isle of Avalon or Avaron,' 
Glastonbury, the cradle of British Christianity was 
long recalcitrant to Roman rule. Famous in the tenth 
century for its Irish ecclesiastics, it was reduced to dire 
straits in the eleventh through the opposition of Canter- 
bury, the Norman See. "Its connection with the 
ancient British and Saxon Churches, " says the Catholic 
Encydopasdia^ ** seems to have created a tendency to 
regard it as the representative of the 'nationalist ' aspect 
of the Church of England as opposed to the 'interna- 
tional 'forces centered at Canterbury." And in Glaston- 
bury, perhaps inspired by legends of the Holy Blood 
brought over from the Abbey of Pescamps, the legend 
of Joseph of Arimathea blossomed like the thorn associ- 
ated with his name. The same impulse which proudly 
displayed the tombs of Arthur and Guenevere to Henry 
II. and other pilgrims, found satisfaction in the veiled 
defiance that breathes through those romances in which 
the imagination took as it so often does its revenge on 
fact. 

Considered as literature, the Grand San Graal is 
dull. Its lack of interest in love or arms, its long- 
winded allegories, its ascetic tone, have condemned it 
in the critics' eyes. Yet now and then, intense religious 
feeling imparts power, and light flashes from the 
blankest pages. Nowhere is found more completely 

>See W. W. Newell, WiUiam of Malmesbury an the AtUiguiiy ofGku- 
Umbury, P. M. L. R., xviii., 459 (1903). 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 85 

than in some passages of this prolix work/ the ''mysti- 
cism" and "majesty" of which Ker speaks as charac- 
terizing the prose romances in contradistinction from 
the poets; nowhere is to be heard more clearly "the 
indescribable plaintive melody, — ^the sigh of the wind 
over endianted ground. " A few episodes and portions 
are indeed almost unsurpassed in the mystical literature 
of the Middle Ages. These qualities are faintly dis- 
cernible in the pedestrian jog-trot of Lovelich; in the 
Ftench prose the full sense of them is gained. Alto- 
gether a strange prelude to the Arthuriad; yet a neces- 
sary part of the completed epic. For the long 
perspective that it opens explains the solemnity of tone, 
the sense that chivalry with all its fierce passions and fre- 
quent lapses is essentially under divine protection and 
fulfills a lofty destiny, which gives depth and fervor to 
all the riper forms of Arthurian romance. 

in 

For "the [story which ends in Avalon begins at 
Jerusalem."' As the prose Merlin has it, the Grand 
San Graal records **les amours de J6sus Christ et de 
Joseph Darimatie,*^ — amours charged with that hidden 
passion the cloister knew. It opens with a prelude (not 
found in the English MSS.) artfully written to enhance 
the sacredness of the story, a tale monkish in tone, strik- 
ing the Catholic and mystic note, yet suffused with the 
atmosphere of old Celtic dreams. The scene is a remote 
spot in White Britain; the year, as is carefully noted, 
717' ; the narrator is an old monk. To him, most sinful 

'G. Saintsbory, FUmrishing rf Romance. Scribner, 1897, p. 106. 

* Perhaps there really was a hermit and he really had a vision. It 
IS worth pointing out that in 720,a hermit of Wales inserted the Joseph 
legend in a gradual, which was kept at Salisbury and Glastoabury. 



86 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

among sinners, beset by doubts, athirst for truth, there 
comes in his hermitage on the night before Good Friday 
a vision of the Lord, and Christ gives him a little book, 
"the joy of the body and the joy of the soul, " wherein 
all his doubts shall be solved. He opens it and reads, 
still in trance, to floating accompaniment of fragrance 
and melody, — an odor so sweet and so suave that had 
all the spices of the world been there they had not been 
one tenth so fragrant, a sound of sweetest singing, of 
dear bdls, of the Qying wings of unseen birds. The 
spirit of mediaeval mysticism at its gentlest is in the 
scene; it expresses an asceticism much lovelier than that 
of the Puritan, owing to its frank acceptance of visible 
and tangible joys as symbols of joys unseen. But 
greater things are to follow, for on Good Friday morn- 
ing as the monk is before the Altar, he is transported by 
angelic power to the Third Heaven, where in open vision 
of the Blessed Trinity his every doubt is solved. But 
alas! The book through which this gift is granted 
vanishes, and he is told that he must suffer before he 
sees it again. By command, he undertakes a journey 
or pilgrimage full of fascinating memories of those Irish 
travels where geographical interest blends with fairy 
lore. At the foot of a Cross by the bank of a fountain 
lies a Beast worthy to be encotmtered by Madduin. 
She rises at his approach and they look at each other: 
"But the more I looked the less could I know what beast 
it was. For she was diverse in everyway, for she had 
head and neck of a sheep, white as fr^ snow, and dogs' 
feet and thighs black as coal, the body of a woupil and 
a lion's tail. "' Evidently, however, die is "a beast on 
God's side, " as Perceval le Gallois has it, for she leads 
on to the end of his joimiey, where in the far land of 
* Hist. oS ike Holy Cratl, £. £. T. S., p. i6, ch. ziv., L 457. 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 87 

Norroway the monk ministers lovingly to a brother 
hermit in sore distress and so recovers his precious book. 
Safe home again, still guided by the Beast, he begins to 
copy it by Christ's command: and this is what it tells: 

Joseph of Arimathea received the Dish out of which 
Christ ate the Last Supper, and after the Crucifixion 
caught therein with great sighs and tears, the Holy 
Blood. Imprisoned for forty-two years, he was sus- 
tained by Christ Himself through the Holy Vessel, till 
Vespasian released him from prison. Then at Christ's 
bidding he was baptized, and set forth on a journey with 
a company of pilgrim followers, who bore with them the 
Ark of the Dish or Grail. The pilgrims made their way 
to the City of Sarras, — ^whither as Malory's readers 
know, Galahad is one day to return. In this Paynim 
city and its rulers centers the first part of the romance. 
It is the home land of all Saracens and we are carefully 
informed that the name is derived from the city and not 
from Sarah, the wife of Abraham. Here, where Ma- 
homet, sent to save his people, has betrayed his trust 
and taught them the false worship of the Sun and Moon, 
the mysteries of God are to be made manifest. Joseph 
enters the great Temple of the Sun at the moment when 
King Evalach and his wise men are consulting how to 
repel the Egyptian invader Tholomes; he brings the 
promise of victory contingent on faith in the Most High. 
This is the signal for long conversion scenes, dull enough, 
yet full of quaint mediaeval reasoning and legendary 
lore, to say nothing of true feeling. Vision, dream, and 
miracle come to the aid of the pilgrims, now comfortably 
settled in what is to be known as the Palais EspiritueL 
The earnest prayers of Joseph for cette biele ciU dSscon- 
seiUie are answered, when Evalach, taken prisoner by 



88 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the Egyptians, gazes in his moment of need at the red 
Cross which Joseph has traced on his shield, and seeing 
the Image of the Crucified, cries on Him for help: 

"O verray God that Sittest in Maieste, 
As it is told, — On God and personis thre, — 
Of which I bear the Sign of His passioun! 
So, Goode Lord, take me to salvadoxm — 
So save me Goode Lord, in this grete schowre 
Prom Angwich deth and alle dolor/" 

A seemly knight at once appears, on a horse white as 
the lily flower, bearing a white shield with the red cross. 
There is some good fighting, well set in narrow mountain 
defiles pictm-esquely described. By help of the White 
Knight, the day is retrieved and the victory won, as 
surely as in the classic battle wherein the Great Twin 
brethren took part. Thus are converted Evalach, 
christened Mordrains, and his brother Seraphe, hence- 
forth Nasdens. 

Meantime, while Joseph waits in Sarras praying for 
this conversion, the tone of the romance deepens: As the 
worshipers kneel in the spiritual palace b^ore the Ark 
of the Grail, the Holy Ghost descends on them like a ray 
of fire, and a wind blowing whence none can say breathes 
on them celestial fragrance. The following pages are 
charged with intense visualizing of holy things, and 
a religious fervor strangely in contrast with some of the 
puerilities that have preceded. In these pages the 
romance rises to its greatest imaginative heights; for 
they present that connection with England and the 
English Church, that desire to show the conversion of 
Britain as the direct work of the Most High, which 
quickens the deepest ardor of the author. The spice- 

> Hist, of the Holy Grail, B. B. T. S. \ 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 89 

laden wind, the Voice of Christ Himself, are the prelude, 
and a sense of mysteries broods over the scene. The 
son of Joseph, Josephes, is bidden draw near the Holy 
Place, and obeying, beholds within a vision. The 
symbolism of tUs vision in its richness of color and 
suggestion recalls Byzantine mosaics at their greatest 
intensity. Josephes sees a man arrayed in a "robe more 
red and more hideous than burning brands," surrounded 
by five angels also habited in red, with fiery cherubim 
wings, who bear in one hand flaming swords, in the 
other the instruments of the Passion. Thus Giotto 
saw them hovering round the Crucified; thus mediaeval 
imagination dwelt on the dread aspect of heavenly 
powers, till the Renascence replaced might by grace, 
and a supernatural awe by simple pleasure in flsnng 
and dancing form. These are the angels of Ra- 
vemia and Monreale, — ^not of Botticelli, still less of Fra 
Angelico. On the Forehead of the Man is written the 
inscription in Hebrew: ''In this likeness shall I come 
to judge all things in the Day of Terror. " The blood 
is running from His hands and feet. Every detail 
forces one to one's knees. 

This is the first great Grail vision. Romance as it 
deepens contains many others, none realized with more 
passion. The Crucifixion itself is now mystically 
enacted before Josephes' eyes. His father, seeing him 
in trance, gazes in his turn within the Ark, and beholds 
lesser mysteries; for always the visions vouchsafed by 
the Holy Vessel differ according to the faith and need of 
the percipient. Presently a procession issues from the 
Ark; Christ, vested gloriously as a priest, is preceded 
by angels, some swinging censers, some bearing colored 
candles such as Dante saw in the Earthly Paradise. 
The procession leaves the Ark, moves through the 



90 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

palace, censing it and sprinkling it with holy water; 
and presently the end of all this pageantry is made 
clear. Josephes receives the Sacrament from the hand 
of Christ Himself, and with elaborate and significant 
ceremonial, full of interest, is anointed and consecrated 
Bishop of that land still imknown to him. La hlaie Bre- 
tagne. With the same oil, miraculously preserved, the 
chronicler says that all kings of England shall be 
anointed till Uther Pendragon shall be bom. The 
whole episode is carefully developed, reverently handled, 
in the best tradition of the imagination of the Church 
as distinguished from that of court or camp. 

During the rest of the romance, the same quality 
appears whenever the occasion makes it possible. 
Apart from religious fervor, there is little interest. No 
romance ever showed more helpless inability to tell a 
story or present a personality. Yet its interwoven 
parables of the spiritual life with its dangers and ecsta- 
sies have an appeal all their own: those who care for 
Mother Juliana and The Cloud of Unknowing, for Rich- 
ard RoUe and the Sawle's Ward, or, to leave England, 
for Jacopone da Todi, should not neglect this rich rcicord 
of Christian experience veiled in symbol and shadow. 
It is a product of the mystic imagination, which has for 
once strayed over the borderland into the world of 
chivalry. 

Now and then the religious feeling expresses itself in 
some graceful episode or tender figure. Attractive, for 
instance, is the picture of the child Celidoine, borne 
away from his home by supernatural hands, guarded by 
a lion, fotmd by his father in a little boat on the high 
seas, and later preceding the others to Logres, where his 
boyish purity and eloquence convert kings to the new 
faith. Celidoine is a good ancestor for Galahad, and 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 91 

his bride is worthy him. She is the maiden daughter 
of a Persian king, a type which is to reach its future 
consummation in the snow-pure sister of Sir Perdvale; 
and her tale is a curious blend of romance and saint- 
legend. She has many temptations to overcome, 
including one especially sharp from no less a person 
than "the lady of Athenys' land," Pallas herself, who 
lures her with promises of wisdom and joy; but vainly, 
for the maid replies that rather would she suffer with 
Christy and is taken at her word. 

Even sweeter is the story of Saracynth, wife of 
Mordrains, who has long been a Christian in secret. 
It is one of those charming stories of childhood in which 
people mistakenly suppose the Middle Ages deficient. 
Saracynth tells it herself. When she was little, her 
Christian mother took her to the wood to see the old 
hermit Salustes. She cried because his long beard 
frightened her, but he laughed at her tenderly and told 
her of the Lover of children ; and she stubbornly declared 
that she would never worship this Jesus unless he were 
fairer than her big brother: 

"And if he fairer than my brother be, 
Him I will loven in alle degree. 

"For my brother so fair he is 
That of bewte hath he no peer ywis"^ 

Then came the Vision of the Lord: 
"The cleerest and the fairest persoun 



." « 



That ever any earthly eye might looken upon — ' 

His eyes dear burning as any fire, a red Cross in His 
right hand. Her whole life has been lived in the 
« History ofihe Grail, E. E. T. S., ch. xv., IL 287-308. 



92 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

strength of this vision, and the Holy Presence of her 
Lord has never failed her, since she bears Him about 
with her in the Blessed Sacrament bestowed on her by 
Salustes. 

Even in these more human parts of the story, the 
ecdesiastical emphasis is plain. Through long stretches, 
humanity and human interest in the ordinary sense 
disappear. Severe symbolic disciplines accompany the 
many conversions that form the staple of the tale. 
In terror the natural world passes away. Quakings 
and fearsome sounds shake the Palais Espirituel. 
Burning brands appear, a wondrous darkness falls, and a 
Voice is heard crying, * * Here is the beginning of Dread ! " 
We are in full romantic air, but romance is subdued to 
purposes of edification. For this is the beginning of 
that training of the great Kings, Mordrains and Nas- 
dens, which shall fit them to take part in the conversion 
of England. They are transported to "unsuspected 
isles in far-oflE seas," where mirade-ships, holy men borne 
over the water on the wings of birds, strange storms and 
healing calms, form the setting. These waves wash no 
mortal shore. These are the waters over which St. 
Brandan sailed; perhaps they flow around the fidds of 
Paradise; surdy Dante's bark propelled by angds' 
wings and laden with blessed singing souls, sailed over 
them; and one surmises that the terraces of the Pur- 
gatorial Mount rise not remote from the bleak rocks on 
which Mordrains and Nasdens, beset with spirittial 
ordeals, observe their fast and vigil. 

Delightful stories about these rdcks remind one of 
the Arabian Nights; stories of Forcairs the Pirate, 
of Pompey the Great, of Hippocras and others. 
Oriental dements mingle with ecdesiastical legend, to 
produce a treasure-house of mediaeval lore. But the 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 93 

parable is never long forgotten. Mordrains on his 
rock is tortured by burning heat, overswept by tem- 
pest, tempted by demons in disguise, — and the demons 
of this romanoe are especially grotesque and unpleasing ; 
he is visited by holy ones and by the Phoenix; com- 
forted by sunrise over the sea ; delivered by remembrance 
of Jerusalem, and by the Sign of the Holy Cross. Borne 
oflF by devils in an evil ship, he is released by Salustes, 
his wife's old friend, to whom he has given honorable 
burial, and who now comes to his rescue, upborne on 
the wings of two great white birds, — a lovely vision. 
All these experiences are teaching him to crave "the 
Sight of Soul," and that only: 

*" Thus rendeth the Good Lord above 
Sight of Soul to them that EQm love 
That deadly thinges will forsake. 
And only to His counsail them take.'' ' 

Nasdens is in an even stranger place than Mordrains, 
for his is the Turning Isle, which turns upside down 
every time the heavens turn. On this insecure habita- 
tion, in the description of which quaint science and 
legend run rampant, he suffers anguish patiently re- 
lieved by visions of flying freedom. The Ship of 
Solomon bears him away at last, — that strangest of all 
magic ships haunting the ocean of romance, ship of 
Faith, or of Holy Church, wherein are spindles made 
from the Tree of Life : ship which is to sail these seas in 
phantom beauty, till those late days when mysteries 
are fulfilled, and it shall bear Galahad and his comrades 
back to Sarras.' 

> History of the Holy Grail, B. B. T. S., ch. zxiL, 1. 347. 
' Paulin Paris mentions the curious fact that a Breton king named 
Sobmon lent his ship in the end of the 7th century to the last Welsh 



94 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

These scenes are well placed on the ocean ; though the 
romance may emanate from the cloister, there is a great 
deal of weather in it; and with the storm and calm, the 
toss of waves, the flight of birds, the changing light 
plajring on the waters, it imparts a sense of the real sea, 
very much as Swinburne does, or Masefield, and to a 
degree rare in the Middle Ages. Yet the far-shining 
lights are full of mjrstery, the sounds are awesome, and 
all outward facts speak of spiritual truths, seeking to 
penetrate and dissolve the fleshly veil. Purified and 
prepared at last, the mind is ready for the main action, 
the passage of these holy men to England and the con- 
version of the land. 



IV 



It is in Holy Tide and by full moonlight that the 
Grail is brought to the land of Logres. Joseph and 
those of his company who have kept the Holy Law are 
the real Grail Bearers, and they pass over dry-shod 
carrying the Sanctuary-Ark. Behind, on Joseph's 
garment, come others, true pilgrims, but less strong in 
faith and chastity; sinners as well as saints are trans- 
ported later in the Ship of the Church. The principal 
scene, suggested of course by the crossing of the Red 
Sea, is not without beauty: 

"That night it was both faire and stille, 
and the sea pesible at her own wille, 
withouten tempest owther distresse, 
and the mone shone in all his brightnesse, 
al so bright as in Averill, 

king, Cadwalladwr, whose name easily took the form of Galaad or 
Galahad. 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCaES 95 

thus it schon both faire and stifle, 
and this was the Saturday certeinfie 
Afom Easter day ful trewly."' 

What other night for the Passing could be so lovely or 
so right as the night on which the mysteries of life and 
death, of creation and redemption, are contemplated by 
the Church in an exceeding peace, this most mystical 
moment in the Church year, associated through her 
great Ritual with Baptism, with the blessing of the 
dements of nature, — ^fire, water, and salt? 

So the pilgrims cross, and they find Britain full of 
Saracens and other miscreants, who are to linger, as is 
well known, into the dajrs of Arthur. The introduction 
of Christianity and the conversion of the land make up 
the rest of the romance, these more objective elements 
still blended, however, with the symbols of the interior 
life connected with the Holy Vessel. In the Grail is 
the founding of wisdom, the beginning of religion, the 
points of all gentry; and wherever "that swete thing" 
is, men are near to those secrets of the Most High which 
may not be approached too eagerly. Again and again, 
worshipers seek to penetrate the arcana and suffer 
strange penalties — pierced by a spear, blinded by an 
exceeding glory; for the marvels of "Christ's verray 
Knights" are not for earthly knights to savor. Thus 
Nasdens is struck blind, and Mordrains, lost in thanks- 
giving, feels of a sudden that his power is taken from 
him, not to return till Galahad shall come. In peni- 
tence he prays for the sight of that good knight : 

"A fool I am thrue my trespass: 
A, swete Lord, I biseche thee of grace, 
and good Lord that thou hast me sent 
Eisiary of the Holy Grail, ch. adL, L 211. 



96 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

It pleseth me wd in mine intent 

Now worthy lesus lord of grete renown 

that ye wolden grant me for my Gerdown 

for my simple and pore servyse 

that I ne dye not in no wyse 

Tyl that the goode knight of the ninth degree 

Of Sire Nasdens that I might se, 

Which the merveilles of Seint Graal schal do» 

That I might se him toforen me goo, 

That I might him both dippe and kisse, 

And that were modid of my worldly blisse. '" 

From the time the Grail reaches England, predic- 
tions multiply; for the romance which carries us back 
to the Foot of the Cross is also looking forward, and the 
reason for its peculiar quality is that it is concerned, 
less with a present, than with what has been and what 
is to come. The future toward which it points is the 
perfect Christianizing of the land. The Grail will van- 
ish, through htmian sin, but it will come again; the 
ninth descendant from Nasdens, the Good Knight 
Galahad, is he who shall restore it: and the romance 
continually prophesies his advent, in those coming days 
of Arthur when the mysteries of Britain shall be ful- 
filled. Galahad indeed is the figture toward whom the 
whole story converges and on whom fulfillment waits. 
On his mother's side as on his father's, he is to be the 
descendant of the line of Grail-kings in whose keeping 
is left the Holy Vessd.* In tracing this line confusing 
names appear, — Brons, Aleyn, — ^and intersecting paths 
impossible now to follow lead o& into other parts of the 
complex maze of Grail-tradition. 

« History of the Holy Grail, E. E. T. S., ch. xxvi., 1. 265. 

« In this connection, it is interesting to notice that in Wales, the sys- 
tem of appointment to ecclesiastical benefices was hereditary; the 
religious oiganization was based in this respect on tribal law. 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES . 97 

Meanwhile, the conversion of the land goes on; and 
the note of expectation is stressed more and more. 
The faithful are fed at the Table of the Grail, direct 
successor to the Table of the Last Supper; but there is 
an empty sacred place, to be reserved till the destined 
knight shall come. Two sinners, Mojrs and Symew, 
set warning at defiance and Moys, sitting in the holy 
seat, is borne away by seven burning hands. Later he 
is found agonidng in a fire in a great hall, and though 
Joseph's prayers staunch half the pains, the rest must 
be endured till the time of Galahad the Pure. Sjntnew 
and another sinner, Chanaan, are plunged in pits, sur- 
rounded by the tombs of their victims, crowned by 
swords; all in supernatural flames. Lancelot shall 
extinguish the flames, and Galahad shall free the sinners 
from their diverse pains. Other recalcitrants are con- 
signed to the Tower of Marvels, whence till the end of 
these things are to issue endless phantom knights, serv- 
ants of sin, to fight with all good knights and true till 
Lancelot shall put an end to the horror. Nor are 
warnings alone the order of the day. A White Hart 
ranges these forests, whom four white lions guard, ''as 
cheerily as the mother lulleth the child on sleep." 
It is the symbol of the Lord surrounded by His evangel- 
ists, and Lancelot shall behold it when the time is ripe. 
The sword, broken in Joseph's wound by a bad Saracen, 
shall be wdded together and become mighty for good 
in the grasp of Galahad. 

Joseph, imprisoned by a Welsh king with the excellent 
name of Crwdelx, is defended and rescued by his friends, 
but dies at the appointed hour and is ultimately buried 
at Glastonbury. The Christians, coming to Camelot, 
preach before the fierce king Agrestes, who martyrs 
some of them, goes mad, gnaws his own hands, and 



98 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

perishes in anguish before the Cross dyed with their 
blood; this blood is still to stain it in the far Arthurian 
days. Interesting interpolated tales appear; in one 
of them, concerning one Hers, a Grail-keeper, and a 
Saracen maiden, the familiar note of chivalric romance 
seeks to assert itself. But the main thought is with the 
Church and the faith, not with fair Saracen maidens. 
Josephes, the first Bishop, dies in the fullness of time, 
leaving in Mordrains' keeping the red-Cross shield by 
which Mordrains had been converted. Hung on Nas- 
dens' tomb, it is to await the day when Galahad shall 
win and wear it. King Galafres, a convert, builds for 
the Grail the castle of Corbenic (^. corban, a gift). 
One last vision, of a silver altar on which stands the 
Holy Vessel, of a ministering priest, of a thousand voices 
giving thanks while the air is filled with the beating 
wings of innumerable birds; a warning stroke, inflicted 
by a Man in Flames, to teach that even Grail-keepers 
may not approach the Mysteries too near — and we 
leave Corbenic. Merlin shall tell by and by of its 
tidings, but it will be visited no more till a memorable 
day. 

The story ought to end there ; but it has got the habit 
of continuing and'does not know where to stop. So it 
must tell how the land about Corbenic is laid waste, 
on account of the wicked daring of one who draws the 
sword in Solomon's Ship; and indeed were this detail 
omitted, one of the most ancient features in Grail 
tradition would be ignored. Celidoine must die, and 
an ancestor of Lancelot's must have a curious story, 
involved with that of a lady, fair and true though 
falsely accused, whose hair shone like torch-light. But 
on these matters there is no need to dwell. It STiffices 
to carry away the dim intuitions of an epic action behind 



FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES 99 

the natural plane, extending in the obscure profounds 
of existence. The Grand San Graal has a powerful 
effect on later romance, for it creates that faint sense of 
ancient things and of spiritual mysteries which trans- 
forms .the characters from flesh and blood champions of 
an earthly kingdom, into instruments of a divine pur- 
pose deeply related to the larger issues of human des- 
tiny. Through all the reaches of the coming story, 
gay adventure, joy in fighting and comradeship, — ^the 
wiles of Morgan and Merlin, the loves of Tristan, — 
it diffused an awe, a sense of waiting expectation. 
Evidently de Borron's plan, if his it was, for the trium- 
phant return of the Grail to England, did not fit in 
very well with the traditional ending of the story. 
It involved an indifferent pushing aside of the national 
tragedy, Arthur's betrayal and defeat, as told by Geof- 
frey and the chroniclers. The new ideal grafted on the 
old scheme was from the first doomed to failure. There 
is confusion here, very like the confusion of life itself. 
To harmonize the two conceptions was left for later 
phases of the epic. Meanwhile, the theme is immeas- 
urably expanded and deepened. Absorbed in the 
bright trappings and fierce doings of chivalry, we may 
fed sometimes that the soul had slight showing at the 
court of Arthur. But no one can ignore it even while 
blood runs swiftest in the veins, when once he realizes 
that behind the unfolding tale lies this prelude, with its 
almost sacerdotal elevation of tone, and its initiate 
suggestion of exi)erience pointing beyond the life of 
sense to a far fulfillment of spiritual desire. 



279G53X 



CHAPTER VI 

THE MERLIN ROMANCES 



T^HE action of the Grand San Graal doses six centu- 
1 ries more or less before the opening of the Arthur- 
ian story proper. The romances partially incorporated 
in the earlier parts of Malory's Morte are those bearing 
the name of the enchanter Merlin. These romances 
narrate the birth and youth of Arthur, his coming to the 
throne, his wooing and wedding of Guenevere, or Gon- 
nore. They carry the action forward through three 
campaigns, against the hostile '"kings" of Britain, 
against the Saxons, against the Romans, and they stop 
with the record of the birth of Lancelot. The account 
is founded on the pseudo-historians, espedally on 
Geoffrey; it amplifies his material past recognition, but 
covers the same ground, up to the few pages which 
present the final tragedy. For Geoffrey passes at 
once from the Roman wars to his conclusion, giving no 
hint of that long development of chivalry in its glory 
with which later romance was to be mainly concerned, 
and for which the Merlin prepares the way. By Mal- 
ory's time, the political and patriotic interest had 
passed into the background, and he compressed the long 
Merlin romances into the comparative brevity of his 
first four books, in order to hasten onward to present 

100 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES loi 

his hero Lancelot and unfold his main scheme. In- 
cidentally, he omitted some fine romantic material, 
as, for example, great tracts of story, some pleasant, 
some unpleasant, about Arthur's early relations with 
Guenevere. 

If the Grand San Grcud was composed with a view to 
the exaltation of the British Church, this succeeding 
romance, on the secular side, is hardly less English in 
color. It mixes its topography badly to be sure, but 
the national instinct is strong in it and it represents 
almost the whole of the national tradition of Arthur. 
Merlin, like Gawain, who is the figure second in impor- 
tance through this part of the cycle, was bom and bred 
in the British Isles. When queer adventures of his in 
Italy are narrated, they leave us incredulous ; we breathe 
the air of his authentic home only when he is safe again 
at Camelot, or has wandered at farthest to the forest of 
Broceliande. 

One of the famous Wdsh bards of the twelfth century 
was named Merlin or Myrrdin, and the name in early 
tradition was given to a prophet and a bard. Before 
Geoffrey wrote his Historia, he composed a little book, 
the Libdliis Merlini, which told Merlin's story in part 
and narrated those prophecies of Merlin later incorpor- 
ated in the seventh book of the Histaria. Another 
work, in Latin verse, the Vita Merlini, written about 
1148, presents the figure of a prophet-king, who is 
driven mad by the death of his friends and flees into the 
forest, where he utters prophetic ravings. This poem 
is often attributed to Geoffrey, but the attribution is 
uncertain. It is the Merlin story in the Historia, how- 
ever, which the public adopted. This story is borrowed 
from the compilation of Nennius, which tells the tale 
of a marvelous boy named Ambrosius, bom of no 



I02 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

mortal father, and endowed with gifts which enable him 
to read the secret of Vortigem's citadel, constantly 
undermined by two dragons fighting beneath it. The 
boy reveals the dragons, and reads their fight as a 
prophetic symbol of the expulsion of the Saxons by the 
British. 

Geoffrey takes over this story, changes the boy's 
name to Merlin, and connects him with Arthur, giving 
him the chief rdle in the enchantments that surround 
the king's birth, and making him later adviser in ordin- 
ary to the realm. But Merlin disappears before Arthur 
comes to the throne, as he does also in Layamon and 
Wace. In the romances, the treatment is expanded. 
The central poem in de Borron's trilogy, Joseph^ Merlin^ 
Perceval, was the basis for these romances; only five 
hundred lines of this survive. Before the French prose 
Merlins, of which all English versions are adaptations, 
were written, Perceval as Grail-winner had been ousted 
by Galahad, that is to say, the Lancelot-interest had 
dominated and permeated all previous romance-forms; 
and the Merlin story was worked over to harmonize 
with the new conception. So modified, it became a link 
between the Early History of the Grail and all portions 
of the romance subsequent to the advent of Lancelot 
at court. The extant Merlin romances thus fall into 
two parts ; the part previous to the coronation of Arthur 
probably represents to a certain extent de Borron's 
work: tiie second part, which carries on events from 
the coronation to Lancelot's arrival at court, is a later 
amplification, more or less rambling and inconsequent. 

There are several versions of Lancelot romance in 
English. The earliest is a poem of considerable merit, 
Arthoure and Merlin, composed certainly before 1325. 
Malory's opening four books are the last. These books 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 103 

are drawn from a source represented by a unique manu- 
script, known as the Huth Merlin, or the Suite. It is 
apparently not based on de Borron's poem, though 
it claims to be. Another version was more common ; it 
is known as the Ordinary or Vulgate Merlin, exists in 
several slightly differing texts, and is the base of the 
English poem just mentioned, and also of a tedious 
metrical version by Harry Lovelich, matching his Grand 
San Graal. This vulgate romance was also translated 
into English prose, during the fifteenth century, about 
twenty-five years before Malory's book. In style, the 
translation is whoUy inferior to Malory, but in sub- 
stance it is finer at many points, and we shall now 
proceed to make a study of it. It represents the best 
form of the developed French story. 

II 

In Geoffrey, Merlin's mother was a lady of noble birth, 
his father an incubus of the air, — a, being not necessarily 
evil, — seen by the lady in the guise of a comely youth. 
In Layamon, the father is described as a glorious being. 
This invention recalls the Arabian Nights, or Irish 
Pagan tales rather than Christian legend. But the 
Christian imagination infused a new quality into the 
story, which made it a fitting link in the main action of 
the Arthuriad. 

In the developed form, Merlin's father is no bdng of 
the neutral air, but a devil, straight from the confines of 
Hell. His mother is no princess, but a simple girl, 
harried by the powers of evil, who seek to use her as the 
instrument of their wicked will. The birth of Merlin 
is the result of a deep-laid plot. The Grail has long 
vanished from Logres, and heathenesse is once more 



104 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

in possession there; but demoniac wisdom knows that 
Arthur and his chivalry will soon appear, destined to the 
work of restoring to the land the New Law of Christian- 
ity. They must be circumvented, and Merlin, human 
on the mother's side, yet of their own bad tribe, shall 
be the means. One of their own, endowed with the 
sagacity of the abyss, shall thwart all the will of God 
in La Bloie Bretagne. It is in vain that the chosen 
mother takes refuge in the habit and vocation of a 
nun; infernal ingenuity betrays her despite her in- 
nocence. 

Yet it is the vicious scheme of the devils that is 
thwarted, through the woman's sanctity and the anxious 
care of her confessor, Blaise, whose dim and ancient 
figure crosses Malory's pages now and then. The child 
is christened, and though he may never hope to attain 
to Paradise, the mother is stronger in him than the 
father. He uses the weird wisdom of Hell deliberately 
and systematically against the powers of evil, and his 
chief joy is in preparing the way for the fulfillment of the 
MjTsteries of the Grail. His enigmatic personality is 
thus the meeting-point of the nether and the higher 
powers, and his wild story is full of pathos. The ro- 
mantic force of the conception thrills now and again 
through the military tediums of the tale. The account 
of the persecution of the mother's family is in the best 
vein of Catholic superstition; it imparts a terrified sense 
of demoniac evil brooding over human destiny, mingled 
with grateful assurance that no detail in human drama 
escapes the watchful care of heaven. When Merlin 
grows up, his traits are strangely blended, and his figure 
is invested with the pathos of one forever excluded from 
the sphere of his desire, and ill compensated by mysteri- 
ous powers which repel men while they help. In 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 105 

Malory, his somber figure, appearing and vanishing 
abruptly, always with something Apre and fierce about 
it in spite of hinted tenderness, breathes pure Celtic 
magic, drawn from a time before the beginning of time. 
He is not visualized even by a hint. The fuller version 
allows him to be seen: ''Without fail he was of merveil- 
lous prowesse, and strength of body, and grete and 
longe of stature, and broun he was and lene and rough 
of hair more than another man, but he was fulle welle 
fumisshed of body and of members, and a grete gentel- 
man on his moder's behalf; but of his fader I seye yow 
no more, for ynow have ye herde. "' 

He is, in this version, a baffling personage. At times 
the Celtic strain asserts itself, as in his interesting feat 
of bringing over from Ireland the stones of the devil's 
dance, Stonehenge, to form a monument over Aurelius 
Pendragon, the brother of Uther.* But such capers as 
are cut in mediaeval nether regions are also in the blood ; 
he jests with the knights till they roll off their seats with 
laughter, his rough horseplay making him a fascinating 
if awesome playfellow; he scares and amazes them by 
devices picturesquely conceived, for he is a shape- 
shifter. Now he flees from court, impelled by that 
paternal ichor, to take refuge in wild forests far from 
human haunts. Again he appears as mentor, or pro- 
phet of disaster, terrifying yet beneficent in intent, mak- 
ing the court tremble by a flash of light from below. 
And always at heart he is brooding tenderly over those 
whom he has taken as his charge; protecting them all, 

> Meriin. E. E. T. S., ii., 405. 

* This episode is given in Geoffrey and all subsequent forms. Waoe and 
LayamoQ make it particularly effective. The chronicler briefly says 
that the wizard brought over the stones " by his engines. " In the poets, 
he weaves his way in and out among them,, moving his tongue as if he 
nid his beads^ and they become light as feather balls. 



lo6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

especially Arthxir, inciting them to ever greater heights 
of valor and honor. For Merlin, albeit he can never be 
loved with a straight human affection, gives freely 
where he may not hope to receive, and his devotion to 
the Table Round is as ardent as.it is unrewarded. 
Though he may never share the normal life of christened 
man, his every intent is on God's side. He is no super- 
natural being like classic fatm or satyr, exponent of 
natural forces in their joyous heartlessness; with his 
occult powers and his human heart, he is a piteous figure : 
arch-wizard of the Middle Ages, appealing and repelling^ 
in whom the lure of Celtic magic and of Christian mys- 
ticism unite. He is baptized, though he may not hope 
for heaven; he knows, though he may not draw near to 
it, the mystery of the Grail; and to him it is given to 
prophesy its advent and to prepare its way. This is 
indeed his chief function in the older version of the 
story ; and ever and anon he speaks with deep solemnity 
of this his mission, "to help accomplish the adventures 
of the Seynt Graal, that shall be accomplished and made 
an end in the days of Arthur. "' 

III 

Who can be blamed for not loving so strange a being ? 
Who would suspect a heart in him? Yet a heart there 
is, as Arthur may discover and Nimue knows. It is in 
the great woods, the waste places, whither the demo- 
niac instinct always draws him back, that Merlin is to 
meet his fate. And it comes to him in the person 
of the daintiest lady-love imaginable. The ftiller 
romance here excels past measure the succinct and 
colorless account of Malory. 

> Merlin^ E. B. T. S., ii., 304* 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 107 

For here, Nimue is neither a commonplace damosd 
nor Tennyson's baleful Vivian, but a little maid of 
freshest charm, less maUdous than mischievous. By 
such an instrument is the mighty enchanter befooled 
and severed fromhtmian fellowship I A new set of 
associations gather around her. When Merlin first sees 
this child4ove of his, she is but twelve years old, and 
her heart is set rather on play than passion. Her 
father is ''a vavasour of right high lineage, and his 
name was deped Dionas, and many times Diane came 
to speak with him, that was the goddess, and was with 
him many days, for he was her godson. " As befits a 
friend of the "Queen and Huntress chaste and fair,"* 
Dionas is a lover of woods and rivers, and brings up his 
little daughter among them. Diana promises him that 
the maid shall win the love of the wisest man on earth. 
So Merlin finds her, "in a valley under a mountainside 
round beside the forest of Briok, that was full dditable 
and fair, for to hunt at harts and hinds and buck and 
doe and wild swan." And he disguised himself as a 
fair young squire, "and drew him down to a wdl here- 
of the springs were fair and the water dear, and the 
gravel so fair that it seemed of fine silver.*'* A pretty 
stage for the love-making. Nimue comes often to this 
well to disport herself, and Merlin, half -ashamed, wist- 
ful, quite dear-sighted as to his folly, begins to lure the 
maiden gently by hinting at the great marvels he can 
show her. Eager and childish, she exclaims: "Certes 
these be quaint crafts and would that I could do such 
disports ! ' ' Whereupon he shows her such, and greater : 

' The cult of Diana prevailed in Northern Europe during the Middle 
Ages; she was the tutelary deity, e. £., of the Ardennes mountains and 
her worship long persisted there. See Nitze, Med, PkUd,^ iii., 3. 

•Merlin^ E. E. T. S., 307-312. 



io8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

for behold! Out of the forest comes a carole of ladies 
and knights and maidens and squires, ''each holding 
other by the hands and dancing and singing: and made 
the greatest joy that ever was seen in any land." 

Pleasant playthings for a little woodland maid! 
And presently, in the midst of the wild wood, appears 
an orchard, wherein was all manner of fruit and all 
manner of flowers, that gave so great sweetness of 
flavor that marvel it was to tell. So the delighted little 
lady tells Merlin, ''Fair sweet friend, you have done so 
much that I am all yours. " It is the most innocent of 
idylls, full of grace and charm. Lines in an old Welsh 
poem attributed to Merlin the bard hint at a similar 
tradition: 

"Sweet apple-tree of delicate bloom 
That grows in concealment in the woods, . • • 
While my reason had not strayed, I rested by its side 
With a fair gleeful maiden of perfect slender form/" 

Classic grace and Celtic magic blend in the melodies 
that haunt these woods, and for the present the Holy 
Grail is quite forgotten. But before long little Nimue 
begins to tease for f till possession of her lover's knowl- 
edge. For the moment he satisfies her by giving her an 
obedient river for her slave, — "the repaire of joy and 
feast," and he leaves these plays and returns to his 
post, protector of the Table Round. But again and 
again he seeks his Nimue, — ^who would not seek so sweet 
a thing? — and ever she entreats him never to leave her, 
till finally he yields. It is with full foreknowledge that 
Merlin tells the secret; when she spoke to him of her 
longing to know how to create the magic tower of air, 

* Four Ancient Books rf Wales, L, 372. [Ed. by W. E. Skene, Edia^ 
barKh, 1868. 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 109 

he bowed down to the earth and began to sigh. None 
the less he did her will, and on a fateful day they went 
through the forest of Broceliande hand in hand, de- 
vising and disporting; and found a bush that was 
fair and high and of white hawthorn full of flowers, 
and there they sat in the shadow. And Merlin laid his 
head in the damsel's lap, and she began to kiss gently 
till he fell on sleep, and when she felt that he was on 
sleep she arose softly, and made a circle with her wimple 
all about the bush, and all about Merlin. And when he 
waked he looked about him, ''and him seemed that he 
was in the fairest tower of the world and the most 
strong; — and he said to the damsel: 'Lady ye have me 
deceived, but if ye will abide with me, for none but ye 
may undo this enchantment.'" And in truth she 
stayed by him for the most part, "For in you,*' says 
she, "I have set all my hope, and I abide no other joy 
but of you, and ye be my thought and my desire, for 
without you have I neither joy nor wealth."' 

It is some comfort that her impulse is love, not as 
elsewhere malice or self-will. Perhaps Merlin was not 
so badly off after all. But the realm was in sad need 
of him, and never again did the fair order of chivalry 
thrive as it did while he watched over it. The tale as 
told here has a rare and plaintive delicacy. It has also 
a touch of romantic irony, much finer than in the usual 
banal conception of the evil siren woman, whom not even 
the enchanter is able to withstand. Merlin, the wisest 
of his age, beguiled by the gleeful innocence of a little 
maid! Merlin, whose life was in restless roaming, 
confined within a tower of air! 

Once and once only, his voice reaches his old friends. 
A late romance makes much of his "brait " or cry, which 

> Merlin, £. £. T. S., 68a 



no MORTE DARTHUR.OP THOMAS MALORY 

Bagdemagus is the last to hear. Here, this privilege is 
Gawain's. Gawain is riding through the forest, sorely 
in need of comfort for he has been bewitched into the 
mean likeness of a dwarf: 

And ever as he rode he made great mone, and as he made 
this weymentadoun, he heard a voice a little on the right 
side above, and he turned that way where he had heard 
the voice and looked up and down, and nothing he saw but 
as it had been a smoke of mist in the eyen that might not 
passe out; then he heard a voice that said: ''Sir Gawain, 
discomfort you nothing, for all shall fall as it behooveth 
to fall.** . . . "Who is that in the Name of God that to 
me doth speak?" 

asks Gawain; and Merlin mourns that he is so soon 
forgotten, and explains his plight: 

*' My lord Sir Gawain, me shall ye never see, and that heavi- 
eth me sore that I may do none other. . . . And when ye 
be departed from hence, I shall never speke with you no more 
ne with none other save only with my lief. • . . For in 
all the world is not so strong a dose as this wherein I am, 
and it is neither of iron nor steel not timber nor of stone, 
but it is of the air without any other thing by enchantment 
so strong that it may never be undone while the world 
endureth." "How is that, sweet friend?" quoth Gawain, 
"that ye be in this manner withholden, that none may you 
deliver, . . . ne ye may not you show to me, that be the 
wisest man of the world?" "Nay but the most fool,"' 
quoth Merlin: 

And so farewell, commending to God King Arthur and 
the realm of Logres as the best people of the world. 

In de Borron's Perceoal, Merlin seemingly stays alive 

> Maiin, E. £. T. S., 693. 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES in 

till after the death of Arthur: that was a handling 
well rejected by later writers. 



IV 



Apart from the treatment d Merlin, the romances 
that bear his name have their own place and value in 
the epic development. The spirit of youth reigns in 
them — ^youth truculent and turbulent but full of prom- 
ise. None of the characters except Merlin have reached 
maturity. Chivalry is nascent, struggling toward the 
light, but not yet dear either to itself or to others. 
The Table Round gets itself established, but the ideal 
for which it stands is faint and ill-sustained; mercy, 
cotirtesy, self-control, are hardly within hailing distance, 
and the old heathen standard of honor summed up in 
brutal courage and vindictive retaliation rules all but 
unchallenged. The mellay is **grete and hidouse," 
the tournament almost as bloody as the battle; yet the 
outrageous roughness of the fighting, whether in fun or 
earnest, has a zest which reduces the militant activity 
in later romance like Malory to mere pantomime. 
Freshness and vigor of tone give pleasure, and go far to 
compensate for tumult and coarseness. The general 
result is in strong contrast to the refinement and spirit- 
ual exaltation which redeem the indifference to the 
interests of the natural man marking the Grand San 
Graal. If de Borron created this difference of atmos- 
phere between the first and second portions of his 
trilogy, he did a very dramatic thing. 

Meanwhile, many of the people to be known later 
are introduced, put ia position, and defined in type. 
Here is Morgan le Pay, here are the older kings, — Ban, 
Arthur's ally, Lot, his brother-in-law and enemy, and 



112 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the rest. Here are Carados the big knight, Dagonet 
the fool, Kay; and here above all are Gawain and his 
kindred. Allusions are found to sundry interestin|[ 
motifs, developed in variants of the romances; for 
instance, to Kay's killing of Lohot, the son of Arthur, 
an episode important in Perceval le Gattois. Certain 
piquant persons appear, unfortunately lost in Malory, 
as the two Ywains, popular knights whom Malory ig- 
nores for some unknown reason, and Galahault, the 
Giantess's Son, a leading person in the prose Lancelot, 
who is here fighting to win the Sorlois, with ultimate 
designs on Logres. An occasional good bit of portrai- 
ture shows that the imagination is not mechanical but 
is vividly and delightedly at work on these figures, — 
figures most of whom continued to be elaborated 
throughout the Middle Ages, till vitality slowly de- 
serted them, leaving them the fair butt of jest or 
chap-book. Kay for instance, is true to his traditional 
character. 

And he was a merveillous good knight if he had not 
been so full of wordes, for his evil speche made him to be 
hated among his fellows, and also of strangers that hearde 
him speak, that after refused to go in his fellowship to 
seek adventures in the realm of Logres. . . . This tecche 
[fault] had Kay taken in his nourice that he did suck, 
for he had it nothing of nurture of his mother, for his 
mother was right a gode lady and wise and true. But of 
what Kay said his fellows that knew his customs ne wrought 
never, but he was full of mirth and japes in his speach for 
said it of none evil will of no man, and thereat laughed 
they gladly that knew his manners, and on that other 
side he was one of the best fellows and merriest that might 
be found.' 

« Merlin, E. E. T. S., 135. 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 113 

Who can help wanting to learn more than Malory's 
summary hints about Arthur as a boy, and how he 
won Guenevere? Here is the story, and it shows a lad 
By no means ideal, ' rather devoid of morals in his deal- 
ings with ladies, yet endowed with attractive youthful 
audacity, fervent in love and war. A boyish radiance 
clings about him, that accounts for Merlin's protecting 
devotion. Ancient traditions, long antedating the 
times of chivalry, survive in his exploits. He is strong 
in the Giant-Killer rdle, specializing in fights with 
monstrous beings, who have withdrawn into the back- 
ground in Malory's day. His most spirited battle in 
the romance is with the Cat of Losanne, fished out of the 
lake of Geneva as a *'lytell kiton blacke as eny cole, " 
which develops into a devil-creature, terror of the 
countryside, till Arthur kills it on his way to Rome, 
after an animated and satisfactory struggle. Fairy- 
tale and myth are still so dose at hand that we are 
reconciled to the absence of chivalric formalities. 

Such formalities are hinted at, however, and they rule 
over the wooing of Guenevere. But no more interest 
centers in the young lovers than in the gleeful enthusi- 
asm by which Merlin promotes the match. For it is 
he who brings them together and urges the hesitant 
lovers to the first kiss. There are pretty scenes. 
Gonnore watches Arthur from the walls, not knowing 
who he is, as he fights to repel the Saxons from her 
father's lands; ''And Gonnore and the ladyes and the 
maiden held up their hands against heaven and prayed 
God to defend them from death and peril and wept for 
pit3re of the travail that they suffered, and thereto 
they merveilled that so yotmg a man might that 

'In these "Merlin" romanoes ooctm the first soggestioa that Mor* 
died was Arthur's son. 

t 



114 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

endure. " ' It is an early instance of the proper cfaivalric 
situation. More piquant is the passage telling how in 
the subsequent banquet Gonnore brings warm water 
in a silver basin, washes the face and neck of the young 
champion, and dries them softly with a towel while 
gazing on him with admiration. After this, the wooing 
and the wedding go without saying. But there is a 
complication. Another Guenevere, half-sister to the 
true, tries in vain to be substituted for her on the mar- 
riage night. This lady must be remembered for she 
plays an important part later in the prose Lancelot, and 
her presence in the story throws a light on subsequent 
events quite diflferent from that to which readers are 
accustomed. Did Tennyson know of her, one wonders ? 
For the present^she disappears; Leodogan gives Arthur 
the Table Rotmd and its attendant knights, 'and life 
settles down at Logres. The establishment of the 
Table at Arthur's court is however no special signal for 
the elevation or the defining of chivalric standards as 
it is in Malory. 

Gawain is next in importance to Arthur, and plays 
in some ways a more prominent part. One of the inter- 
esting features of the romance is the unusual account 
it gives of the "Enfances" of this hero. It is a pretty 
story, if less charming than the "Enfances'* of Lancelot 
or Tristram, and above all of Perceval. 

While Modred is a babe in arms, Gawain, a "yonge 
squire, *' leaves the court of Lot with his brothers at the 
instigation of their mother, to find and join Arthur, 
who is hard beset between his internal enemies and the 
Saxons from over-seas. The picture of the youthful 

> MerUn, B. B. T. S., 319. 

*No one seems to know how and when the Round Table got into the 
possession of Leodogan. 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 115 

troop, **the children, ** as they are always called, riding 
through the wilderness breathlessly agog for adventure, 
on their quest for their shining cousin, is not without 
vivacity and attraction. It must be confessed that 
they are a turbulent crew. One brother, Gaheries, is 
the best of them; musical, generous, chivalric, one may 
find in him a hint of Malory's gentle knight Gareth, 
whose contrast with the rest of the tribe furnishes the 
later writer with one of his finest tragic motifs. Agra- 
vain, on the other hand, is the worst of all. Lewd and 
vicious, "prowde and fell," he quarrels violently with 
Gaheries, and Gawain has to compound the quarrel. 
It is well to note how early the tyi)e is determined of the 
evil knight who next to Modred is the leading instru- 
ment of the last tragic denouement in Malory. 

As for Gawain, the treatment of his figure oscillates 
between the unstinted admiration accorded him at 
other times, especially in England, and the less favor- 
able view which finally prevailed. Insufficient atten- 
tion has been paid to this oscillation, which presents 
an interesting problem. In this romance, Gawain is 
scrupulously given precedence at every point. Coming 
to court as a young sqtiire, he becomes, when knighted, 
the special servant of Guenevere. Politically speaking, 
he is the chief supporter of the realm. Complimentary 
epithets are lavished on him. Yet, if regarded without 
convention, he is a rather dreadful person. A Berserker 
rage oversweeps him at any moment ; he is not only hot- 
tempered but unendurably vindictive. In a peaceful 
tournament, undertaken for pleasure, he is capable of 
dropping dignified and decent weapons, and killing 
forty friendly knights with a dub of apple wood: as 
for legs and shoulders, he chops them off with a cold 
cest which even in that bloody age excites amaze in the 



Ii6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

beholders. The truth is that romance, while giving 
Gawain all official honors, is impelled by obscure but 
not undiscoverable reasons to present him in this half- 
savage guise. An explanatory hint may be f otmd in his 
possession of a magic horse and sword, and in his in- 
teresting peculiarity of gaining strength every day as the 
sun motmts to the zenith, only to lose it as the day de- 
dines. These traits suggest remote tunes long before 
the days of chivalry. 

As a nile, true to the source in the chroniclers, the 
political interest dominates the romantic in this work. 
The various campaigns are far dearer than in Malory, 
and one gains a real sense of the advance of the young 
king, restoring order in a distracted realm. ^ Touches 
of unusual realism occur now and then, — ^as, for instance, 
in the occasional normal English weather! For ''the 
reyne them grieved sore that then had the night the 
day, for it ceased never of reyning till that mid-day was 
passed, and they were so wet great and small that un- 
nethe might they know each other but by their speach. " 
This sounds natural, — ^but perhaps Merlin had some- 
thing to do with it, for he has uncanny power over the 
weather: it is a power somdiow assodated with the 
dragon-standard that waves triumphant before Arthur's 
armies, — ''the dragon of the great Pendragonship,'* 
here minutdy described as a little dragon with a twisted 
tail, whence flow flashes and sparks. 

In summary, it may be said that the place of the 
romance in the whole sequence is all the better filled 
for the roughness of the manners and the absence of 
the refinements of chivalry. The Grail has long since 
vanished, and Lancdot has not yet come to cotirt. 

* It IS curioos that the translator does not recognize Arthur's foes as 
the Sajuos: the "Saisoes" of the original become Saracens in his work. 



THE MERLIN ROMANCES 117 

But through Lancelot it shall be restored some day, and 
the chief concern of Merlin, as he makes plain in many 
pregnant hints, is to prepare the way for it. From 
the moment of the begetting of the Enchanter we are 
aware of some dim and holy force, fighting against the 
powers of evil and patiently marshaling its strength 
that it may subdue the wicked disorders of the land of 
Logres. Arthur stands out more dearly as the Catholic 
champion, than in Malory's tnmcated version; and the 
restoration of the New Law of Christ to a distracted 
country that has reverted to heathenesse, is the central 
and salient action, obscured though it sometimes be in 
multiplicities of detail. Every now and then a young 
knight around whom shines a purer radiance appears in 
the fierce hurly-burly. Such is Nasdens, a knight and 
also a priest, who bears a name potent in itself to arouse 
holy assodations in the initiate. Such is Eliezer, the 
boy of Grail lineage who joins himself to Gawain and 
"the children," as they ride through the forest seeking 
their great kinsman. Eliezer is on quest for ''the best 
knight" to give him the AccoUee; but this best knight 
is not yet bom, therefore he contents himself perforce 
with Gawain; his vigil, and the ceremonies of his dub- 
bing, are narrated with tenderness and a touch of 
mystic fervor. In the badcground of the whole story 
is a strange castle, where languishes an andent wounded 
king, waiting for some mysterious fulfillment and re- 
lease. There Pelles the King, who takes no share in 
the wild fighting by which the fortunes of Logres are 
determined, cares for his little daughter Elaine, a child 
of seven, in whose keeping is a Holy Thing. 

But it is still far from the time when Lancdot shall 
meet her: Lancdot, prophesied in a dream, and behdd 
as a diild by Merlin at the house of his father King 



Ii8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Ban. His arrival will be the signal for the opening of 
the main action; and in the vast compilation known as 
the Prose Lancelot that action can be followed to the 
dose. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 



LANCELOT is a late-comer in the court of Arthur. 
His adventures did not begin like Perceval's in 
pre-Christian times, nor did he live like Tristan in the 
days when heroes fought with sea-monsters. He has 
no sun-hero attributes of waxing and waning strength, 
like his last enemy, Gawsin. From the outset, albeit 
brought up by a fairy, he was a courteous yoimg squire 
of the twelfth century, addicted to hearing mass, and 
trained in the subtlest etiquette of chivalry. His busi- 
ness in life was to become knight of the Table Round 
and lover of Guenevere. 

This fact makes him less interesting than other char- 
acters, to people for whom the interest of a mediaeval 
conception depends on the depth to which its roots had 
struck. On the other hand, to the not inconsiderable 
number who value the consummate expression of the 
ideal of a great period, he presents a fascinating study. 
It is suggestive to trace the changes through which 
passed this best-loved figure in romance. He and 
Tristan are subjected to contrary processes. Tristan 
begins as a noble and vital character, he ends as a far 
from admirable martinet. Lancelot, on the other hand, 
grows more and more appealing, from the twelfth 

119 



120 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

century to the fifteenth. He starts as a mediflsval Sir 
Charles Grandison, to whom might be applied Taine's 
excellent phrase: ''Let us canonize him, and stuff him 
with straw " ; he ends as perhaps the most human person 
in European literature before Shakespeare. 

The nucleus' of Lancelot's story is apparently a 
folk-tale concerning the theft of a king's son by a water- 
fairy. As Miss Weston says, the persistent epithet, 
du laCf not espedally relevant to Lancelot as we know 
him, must witness to a fixed and early tradition. She 
conjectures that the first form of the story may have 
been a Lai, which became popular because set to espe- 
cially attractive music. Meantime, the earliest men- 
tion of Lancelot is in the poems of Chr6tien. Two early 
poems mention him: the Erec and the CUgis. In both, 
he is the third knight of Arthur's court, — a distinguished 
place, but inferior to that which he obtained later. 
It is in the Cheoalier de la Charrette that full information 
concerning him may first be found. 

This poem, studied in a preceding chapter, presents 
him already as lover of Guenevere. Who placed him 
there may never be known. Possibly the Arthur story 
was once aligned with the Tristan story and others, 
where the husband's nephew is the lover.* There are 
traces of this motif in Geoffrey, where Mordred bears 
away the tmprotesting Guenevere, and it has been 
conjectured that Gawain, who in the Vulgate Merlin 
is so emphatically described as *'the queen's knight" 
and in this capacity quarrels with the knights of Arthur, 
may once have beeati cast for the r61e. Be this as it may, 
before the chief body of romance was produced the 

^Legend of Sir Lancd(4 du Lac, p. 21, Jessie L. Weston, Grimm 
library, 1901. 

* At a still earlier date, the bver may have been an other- world being. 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 121 

moral sense had revolted from the primitive combina- 
tion with the nephew, and since Guenevere, according 
to the swiftly-developing canons of courtly love, must 
have her lover, Lancelot slipped into the vacant place, 
never again to leave it. 

Other Lancelot poems, slightly later in date than 
Chretien, embody an earlier tradition and throw some 
light on the first form of the story. A short Lai is 
extant, attributing to Lancelot the Adventure of 
Tyolet, that of the Stag with the White Foot; and the 
fact is characteristic, for Lancelot is to the end a shock- 
ing borrower of exploits that rightly belong to other 
kni^ts. But the most important source for knowledge 
after Chretien, is a long, wandering poem by Ulrich 
von Zatzikhoven, dating from the early years of the 
thirteenth century and giving a full account of the hero. 
It tells how Lanzelet, — as the name here runs — ^is the 
son of a king, who, driven from his kingdom, dies of a 
broken heart; and how the child is stolen by a water- 
fairy and brought up in fairyland. In due time he 
rides forth to encoimter sundry adventures and to 
enjoy sundry loves; he is three times married, to say 
notlung of other affairs, but he is never the lover of 
Guenevere, although he assists in a subordinate capacity 
in releasing her from an imprisonment. Most of his 
adventures are those attributed somewhere to someone 
dse, and the poem, which has many primitive traits, 
reads like a loosely-constructed summary of various 
independent Lais. Lancelot has no marked qualities in 
it; the hero later to be so distinctive a character is hard 
to recognize. 

A vast Lancelot compilation in Dutch verse was 
known at least from the fourteenth century. Scotland 
possesses a Lancelot of the Laik, a fifteenth-century 



122 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

metrical romance dealing with the early portions c£ the 
prose romance, the relations of Lancelot with Galehatilt 
le Haut Prince and with the Lady of Malehault. 
These characters are unknown to the early verse-ro- 
mances ; both the Dutch poem and the Scotch lean upon 
the Prench prose romance in which Lancelot finally 
came to his own. 

This romance, most elaborate of similar composi- 
tions, was apparently better loved than even its sister 
cyde, the story of Tristan and Iseult. It drew to it- 
self story after story, and when the fusion of elements 
was complete, what was most courtly and passionate 
in secular emotion and most stirring in secular adven- 
ture, united with Catholic mysticism to create the 
complete image of chivalry as it fain would be. 

The Merlin was the prelude to the Arthuriad. The 
Lancelot took up the tale at the inception of the action 
proper, and carried it to the end. The old Arthur- 
story as found in GeoflFrey formed the basis, but its 
military and political character was obscured by other 
interests, by the loves of Lancelot and Guenevere and 
the quest of the Holy Grail. Who was chief author 
of the romance may never be known. The name of 
Walter Map recurs persistently in the manuscripts, 
especially in connection with the Galahad Grail-Quest. 
But this gentleman, author of a book of court gossip 
and satire called De Nugis Curialium, or Courtly Trifles, 
presents nothing in his accredited work to indicate 
interests or powers capable of producing romance. He 
may have been the author of a Lancelot which formed 
the basis of later developments, but no one man created 
the whole of the great work. The Lancelot is our best 
mediaeval example of commimal authorship. No in- 
dividual quality is in it, like that which differentiates 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 123 

Chretien from Wolfram, Temiyson from Browning: it 
reveals the temperament of an epoch. 

Fewer Engli^ connections appear in this romance 
than in either the Grand San Graal or the Merlin. In 
contrast to the inveteratdy English Gawain, or the 
Celtic Tristan, Lancelot was Frenchman bom, and he 
retained his French traits through all his long career. 
Great possessions in France are his, — ^but he is very 
indifferent to his heritage; what he cherishes is his 
preeminence in the Table Round. Yet traces of 
English geography survive in the romance: the river 
Humber, the Bishop of Rochester, known towns, 
familiar features, constantly turn up among the misty 
romantic conventions. And a salient fact is Lancelot's 
devotion to the very soil of the land of Logres. Many 
readers will recall his passionate regret, in Malory, when 
exiled; his words in the old French on that occasion are 
even more moving. His first desire is that his shield 
be hung in the minster of St. Stephen where he received 
knighthood. When the ship is bearing him away, he 
fixes his eyes on the receding shore, changes color, and 
weeps bitterly. Then under his breath, so low that 
only Bors can hear, he blesses England: 

Sweet land, delightful, debonair, joyous and abounding 
in all ease and wealth, wherein my soul and life remain, 
blessed be thou by the mouth of Jesus Christ, and blessed 
be they who stay here after me, whether they be my friends 
or foes. Peace may they have and rest, and may God give 
them joy, . . . forthey who live in so sweet a land are more 
fortunate than any others: thus say I who have known.' 

When the English cliffs have disappeared, he retires 
to his bed to weep. Any patriotic passion which 

■Sommer: Vulgate Version of Arthurian Romances, vol. vi., p. 314. 



124 MORTEDARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

English readers possessed must have been stirred by 
such a passage. It is a happy example of the spirit- 
ual ties between Franoe and England, — ^ties severed 
later in the Middle Ages, only to be renewed, let us hope 
forever, in our own day. 

So far as literary art goes, the first impression made 
by the romance is hopelessly intricate. The language 
is easy and graceful, and sometimes has still higher 
quality; but the adventures lack originality and the 
situations repeat themselves. High lights are singu- 
larly absent. Skill in distributing emphasis was rare 
in mediaeval authors, and the absence of shading makes 
the story heavy reading for modems, who are accus- 
tomed to be stimulated by all possible devices of accel- 
eration and retard, of suspense, preparation, pause, of 
pregnant phrase and artful subordination of part to 
part. The romances finally lost their hold on the pub- 
lic on account of their monotony. Yet there is much 
latent beauty in the Lancelot, and if one recedes to a 
little distance from it, certain large masses of design 
appear. It is like a tapestry which examined dose 
shows only interwoven threads, but from the proper 
point reveals a picture. 

Lancelot is the center of the picture; the whole com- 
position is related to him. When he was precluded from 
winning the Grail by the obstinate circumstance of his 
relations with Guenevere, a deft invention, a stroke of 
true genius, transferred the honor to Galahad, his son, 
and with this invention, the logical structure of the 
Arthuriad was complete. In Lancelot, the representa- 
tive protagonist, are focused all those forces which by 
their imion create and by their conflict destroy the 
mediaeval ideal. His figure binds together the disparate 
stories and diverse elements which the Middle Ages 



THE LANCEUXr ROMANCES 125 

seem at first to have tossed heedlessly into this store- 
house of their delights. 

In so prolix and complicated a romance, it is hard to 
single out special features for notice. Three are, how- 
ever, of pectdiar interest, particularly to the lover of 
Malory. These are Lancelot's childhood~and youth 
before he goes to court, the earlier phases of his rela- 
tion with Guenevere, unchronided in Malory, and his 
friendship with the lord of the Sorlois, Gedehault le 
Haut Prince. 

n 

With the exception of a passing mention that Merlin 
saw "yonge Lancelot*' at the court of his father King 
Ban, Malory omits all reference to Lancdot's youth. 
It is the systematic plan of the English Morte to omit 
the enfances of the diaracters. This suppression, 
though justified from the author's point of view, may be 
largely responsible for the common erroneous notion 
that literature treating of the child is a modem inven- 
tion. The Lancelot alone is enough to refute the idea, 
for the story of the small hero himself and of his cousins 
Liond and Bors is told with tenderness and humor, and 
with no mean understanding of children. 

A pathetic prdude opens the romance. It narrates 
the fate of old King Ban, Lancdot's father. Ban, who 
is a vassal of Arthur's, is fighting with the picturesque 
King Qaudas, who rules apparently over Bdgium, 
called strangdy enough la terre dSserte, of whidi the 
capital is Bruges: a cotmtry which has been laid waste 
by Uther Pendragon. Ban leaves his chief castle in 
charge of his seneschal, and starts to seek help from 
Arthur, taking with him his young wife Elaine and 



126 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Lancelot in his cradle. But the seneschal plays him false 
and delivers the castle to Qaudas, who bums it. Ban, 
turning around on high land, sees his distant castle in 
flames, and dies broken-hearted on the spot. The old 
folk-story has become Christianized; we are told at the 
outset that Elaine is of the lineage of David, and Ban 
now dies as a Christian should, for before he falls dead 
on the ground with outspread hands he reverently con- 
sumes three blades of grass over which he has pro- 
notmced the Holy Name. This touching 'N^ticum is 
not uncommon in romance ; it suggests that the popular 
mind, more tender than the theologians, would not 
deny the Food of Immortality to the dying, however far 
away priest and altar might be. The dreary scene, 
touched with spiritual beauty, is an effective back* 
ground for a story which even at its gayest will alwas^s 
keep a wistful undertone and a hint of religious destiny 
overshadowing the whole. The episode prepares the 
way for the future achievement of Ban's little son in the 
Grail-Quest. 

But another element enters this Catholic and mysti- 
cal atmosphere almost at once. Lancelot's mourning 
and desperate mother is suddenly robbed of her baby 
by the Lady of the Lake, who appears, seizes the child 
and leaps with him into the water. Elaine retires 
to a near-by convent, where she is soon joined by her 
sister Evaine, mother of little Bors and Lionel, — Qaud- 
as meantime retaining these two children at his court. 
Elaine comes daily to the lake, to the point where she 
has lost her child and reads her psalter there, but she 
never sees her boy. 

Lancelot is brought up lovingly by his foster-mother, 
the Lady of the Lake. She is none other than Merlin's 
old love, Nimue, — grand-godchild, it will be remem- 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 127 

bered» of the goddess of the chase; and we therefore 
learn with no surprise that the lake is named for ' ' Diane 
the queen of Sicily." It is really no lake at all, however, 
for the careful statement is made that the water is only 
a mirage, concealing fairyland ; the late twelfth century 
was thus n^vely impelled to minimize, even while re- 
taining, the supernatural. Fairyland is a natural 
mediaeval r^on, where tutors train the child properly; 
woods and wilds await his pleasure for the htmting, 
and mass is celebrated every day. Lancelot's religious 
education is scrupulously provided for. He is a petted 
child, and every morning he finds on his pillow a chap- 
let of fresh roses,— except on Friday and other fasts, 
when joy in roses, would ill befit a Christian heart. 
He gix>ws up a delightful little lad, spirited, not over- 
gentle, generous, affectionate, and proud. Stories 
of his love for animals, his impulsive generosity, his 
impatience at control, are pleasantly told. I£s two 
younger cousins, Bors and Lionel, are secured as his 
companions; the tale of the magic wiles by which they 
were rescued from Qaudas's court by the damsel Sar- 
aide would be worthy of a place in Grimm, for it 
abounds in delicate grace and fun and shows no small 
power of portraiture. The two younger boys are both 
attractive, but quite inferior to Lancelot. Lionel, the 
elder, is as hot-tempered as he was to remain in Malory's 
account of him. When he learns that he is dispossessed 
of his kingdom, he wails and storms. Lancelot bears 
himself on the other hand with haughty quiet, and 
speaks disdainfully of his cousin's lack of self-control. 
Lancelot, however, suffers from not knowing who he 
is. The title, "Son of a King" is given him in his 
hearing, but he can get no due to his parentage, and 
like Daniel Deronda he bnxxls. By and by he out- 



128 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

grows pettiooat government and the process is described 
with a good deal of humor. The first indication is his 
breaking out into a rage with the tutor, who has 
whipped his dogs; and the Lady of the Lake, though she 
scolds him well, perceives that she can not keep him 
under rule much longer. Reluctantly and lovingly she 
prepares him for presentation at court. And here 
occurs a description of his person, that may well be 
quoted in all its quaint detail, for nowhere is a better 
illustration of the mediaeval passion for masculine 
beauty. As the original passage is long, a translation 
is here given of the excellent summary by M. Paulin 
Paris: 

He was one of Ihe fairest children in the world and the 
best built in his body. His coloring was lovely, neither 
white nor dark, but what may be called dair-brune. A 
natural flush of crimson illumined his face, mingling with 
the other hues in exactly the right proportion. He had a 
small mouth with lips well colored and well molded, and 
white dose even teeth, a (Simple in his well-modeled chin, 
the nose long and slightly aquiline. Gray laughing eyes, 
full of joy when he was happy, but burning coals in his 
anger; then he snorted and snuiSSed his nose like a horse 
and ground his teeth, the breath from his mouth seemed 
crimson. His forehead was high, his eyebrows brown and 
fine; his hair as a child was beautifully blond and silky 
but as he grew older it darkened, though always waving 
delightfully. His neck was sculptured in proportions as 
beautiful as that of a fair woman, neither too full nor too 
lean. The shoulders were high and broad, the chest very 
full. Some people thought that it might have been better 
a little less developed. But she who knew most about it, 
the noble queen Guenevere, said that God had given him a 
chest not a whit larger than he needed, for his heart was so 
great that it must have burst had it not had enough space 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 129 

in which to rest. His arms were long and straight, his 
hands those of a woman but with stronger finger tips, his 
feet arched. . . . Lancelot sang wonderfully, but seldom. 
He was for the most part grave, but intense in joy when he 
felt it. He was gentle and generous, slow to wrath but 
not easy to appease. 

The laughing eyes, the long nose, the high shoulders, 
the careful note of the modeling, the taper fingers with 
their strong tips, are all characteristic of the mediseval 
type as seen in sculpture. 

The Lady of the Lake prepares the young squire at 
length to enter upon the duties of chivalry, and her 
precepts are very interesting. Kindly self-deceit in 
every age demands a sentimental reading of contempo- 
rary institutions, and the age of chivalry is no exception. 
The interpretations of Lancelot's marraine are doubt- 
less far from historic fact, but they give a good idea of 
what the Middle Ages at their prime wanted to believe. 
Time was, says the lady, when no one man was of gentler 
lineage than another; but as envy and covetousness 
grew, the weak could not stand out against the strong, 
and defenders of weak and peaceable folk became neces- 
sary, and were called knights. The allegorical inter- 
pretation of the knight's equipment, dabcorately given, 
bears out this idea: as he is protected by his shield and 
armor, so he is to afford protection to Holy Church. 
The two edges of his sword mean that he must be serv- 
ant at once to Our Lord and to His people; but the 
point signifies obedience, which he must be sure to 
enforce : of practicing it little is said. It is a character- 
istic thought that his horse represents the People, who 
are to carry him faithfully whither he will, receiving 
from him in return care and guidance. 

Right soberly Lancelot hears these great things, and. 



130 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

fairly arrayed in white and silver, and mounted on a 
white charger, he is escorted to Arthtir's court by the 
Lady of the Lake. 

Ill 

Lancelot's early doings in the Arthurian circle are 
chronicled with minute detail impossible to follow here. 
Interest naturally soon centers in his relations with 
Guenevere; they are such as to cause surprise in the 
uninitiated. For in this early romance, the situation 
is quite explicitly one which Malory is found to suggest 
on analysis, but which he slurs over till the ordinary 
reader has no idea of it. Lancelot is far yotmger than 
Guenevere. His attitude toward her is at first the 
adoring reverence of a yotmg squire for a great lady, 
a Chd.telaine immeasurably above him in dignity of 
person as well as in position. The gradual degrees by 
which this rdation ripens into passion follow scrupu- 
lously the exact code prescribed for such cases by 
V amour Courtois; possibly they also follow a not infre- 
quent process. For the very development of this arti- 
ficial ideal, and the commonness with which such 
relations are pictured, suggest a basis in reality. Women 
were left much to themselves in the castles; and during 
the absence of their husbands and of older men gener- 
ally, the fine ladies pining at home may often have been 
tempted to solace themselves by amorous play with the 
yotmg squires, or even the pages, in their charge. 

As the romance imfolds its portentous length, Lance- 
lot grows up, while Guenevere remains immortally 
beautiful, immortally yoimg. That is as it should be; 
the story is to reflect Lancelot's attitude toward her 
rather than cold fact. But one can not say that there 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 131 

is anything moving or convincing in the story of their 
love. The couple step through the development of their 
passion with the mincing grace of a minuet. The first 
kiss, which when poor Prancesca read of it had power 
to set the seal on a passion that should live even in the 
winds of hell,' is in the romance prepared with so absurd 
an elaboration that it was surely stale before given. 
Still Lancelot swoons, as in Chretien, at the mere sight 
of his lady, — so that as he gazes, on her, his horse strays 
oflf into the water and both are nearly drowned, to the 
glee of the beholders. Sighs and ardors, displeasures 
and graces, are the order of the day. It is amazing 
that the delineation of a human passion should ever 
have ripened, as it assuredly did, in the later Middle 
Ages, beneath these carefully crystallized frosts. 

So far as sympathy goes, there is less reason to dis- 
ai>prove of the lovers than in Malory. Arthur was 
quite frankly a htisband to whom there was no special 
point in being faithful. He is scrupulously praised and 
exalted, and is certainly a majestic figure, espedally on 
the five great feasts of the year when he wears his crown 
in open court; but he plays rather a mean part, and his 
own unfaithfulness is far more blatant than Guenevere's. 
Severe disapproval is visited on him for his failtire to 
avenge the death of his vassal, King Ban, and for the 
indifference with which he acknowledges, when rebuked 
for the neglect by a holy man, that he had even for- 
gotten to confess it! This same holy man, in a pic- 
turesque scene, addresses Arthur in open cotirt as the 
most sinful among kings, for the interesting and some- 
what startling reason that he seeks to honor the dis- 
loyal rich, and ignores the distress of the poor. Arthur 
makes no attempt to defend himself, but he wins re- 

^Dkina Commedia^ Injemo^ vi„ 133. 



132 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

spect by repentance; on his knees, barefoot, in the pres- 
ence of his court, he confesses and receives the discipline. 
That he is a haughty and aristocratic ruler, loved rather 
of the nobly bom than of the plain people who so gladly 
desert him for Mordred, is discernible even in Malory, 
But the situation is explicit here. It is the common 
folk, or at least li bos gentUhommes of the land who 
should sustain him; but he ignores them, and the rights 
of the poor can not come before his face. 

Repentance is all very well, but it does not make 
Arthur the better husband. The crisis in the loves of 
his queen is the result of his own folly in letting himself 
be entangled in the wiles of a Scotch sorceress, Camille. 
She gets him in her power up in Scotland, where he 
should have been busy fighting the Saxons and the Irish 
who have invaded his Idngdom, and throws him into 
prison, plotting to betray him to Ireland. Lancelot 
has been discreetly sojourning at a distance from court, 
but Guenevere can hardly be blamed under the cir- 
cumstances if she secretly summons him to her side. 
The magic shidd which is to reveal the constunmation 
of the lovers* tmion now for the first time tells its story; 
but Lancelot hastens from his lady's arms to the aid of 
the king. He is himself however trapped and impris- 
oned by Camille, becomes insane tmder the stress, and 
is rdec^ed. Guenevere in vain tries to nurse him back 
to health; the Lady of the Lake has to come to the 
rescue, and the relations between the two women are 
suggested in a really charming way. When Lancelot 
recovers, he hurries back to the North, and this time 
eflfects Arthur's release, while Camille flings herself 
headlong in suicide. Arthur on his return formally 
conmiends Lancelot to Guenevere, and makes him 
Companion of the Table Round. The series of episodes 




THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 133 

could furnish a whole modem novel, and is a good ex- 
ample of the extravagant use of material in the romances. 

Nor is this Camille-episode Arthur's most serious 
infidelity. For the false Guenevere, of whom the 
Merlin gives a glimpse, half-sister to the true, comes to 
court, and in scenes of high dramatic tension pleads her 
cause and is recognized. The true Guenevere, exiled, 
takes refuge with Lancelot in the Sorlois. There she 
is treated with deep respect, and only after the death 
of her rival, who, smitten with hideous disease dies con- 
fessing and penitent, does she return to her somewhat 
indifferent htisband. 

Under the circumstances, it is no wonder if the queen 
is at small pains to conceal her relations with Lancelot. 
These are indeed nominally hidden rather for reasons of 
delicacy than for any other cause; Arthur is more alive 
to them than in M^ory, and the convention by which 
they are regarded as crime is reluctantly observed. 
One is aware that in the thirteenth century when this 
version took shape. Love was still its own defiant excuse 
for being. 

Meantime, Lancelot never stays very long with his 
mistress. Li wandering is all his joy, and he no sooner 
appears at court and is dubbed knight than he disap- 
pears, pltmged in a bewildering complex of quests and 
adventures. The most picturesque episode in the 
earlier part of the romance is his conquest of Dolorous 
Garde on the Humber, a castle beset with fine enchant- 
ments. Within the walls is a graveyard containing an 
empty tomb, in which at last he finds his name, that 
name which till this point he has vainly yearned to 
know. The incident, flatly enough told, is an example 
of the well-devised and truly affecting invention latent 
in the romance, but lost in its mazes. Before it occurs 



134 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the web has beoome so tangled thatall interest in Lance- 
lot's desire to discover his identity has been lost. Yet 
here is one evidence among many of the hovering idea 
always aflfecting the conception of Lancelot, — a. figure 
embodying all that is bright and eminent in knighthood, 
yet shadow-beset from infancy and always pursued by 
omens of sorrow. Lancelot changes the name of the 
great castle to Joyous Garde. But more or less vainly. 
Tristan and Iseult to be sure will be his guests here; 
but hither also he is to bear Guenevere after the break- 
ing of the final storm, and here at last he will be buried. 



IV 



Lancelot had been christened Galehault, and when 
his child is begotten on Elaine the Grail-Bearer, he is 
told that this name, forfeited by his fleshly sin, is now 
restored to him through the son who is to remain ever 
virgin. Did the old romancer who first named the 
child conceivably have an additional thought for the 
friend of Lancelot's youth, Galehault le Haut Prince, 
who had loved him even unto death? 

It is customary to speak of loyalty to king, to lady, and 
to God as the threefold cord not lightly broken which 
binds mediaeval life into one. But to these might be 
added another bond of almost equal strength, — "the 
institution of the dear love of comrades." It is of 
origin ancient as any, for it dates from the wild days 
when blood-brotherhood between those who had 
"mixed their blood in the mark of the footprint " was a 
tie dose as that between kinsfolk. The instinct sur- 
vived all social changes, and lived into the feudal age, 
imparting an almost sacramental quality to friendship. 
Roland and Oliver, Amis and Amiloun, are two in- 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 135 

stances of the tenderness with which the medisval 
mind dwelt on such relations. Lancelot, the perfect 
knight, must know the perfect friendship; and the 
pages which describe it are the most vital in his early 
story. Through the confused tissue of late and some- 
times cheap romantic material in the prose Lancelot, 
runs this one thread of gold. 

Galehault is unknown to the verse romances. In 
Malory, he is mentioned from time to time, but he 
plays no part and his figure is perplexing and pointless. 
In the Lancelot on the contrary he is a singularly power- 
ful and impressive personage; and the affection which 
unites him to Lancelot is more convincing and endear- 
ing than Lancelot's perftmctory passion for the queen. 

The opening phases of the friendship are pleasantly 
told. Galehault is Arthur's most formidable rival. 
He is a king of almost equal power, ruling over the Sor- 
lois, a wild romantic land lying to the West, wherein 
the knights are wont to disappear when adventures 
drive them especially far afield There are only two 
ways into it "while the Adventures of Logres lasted, " 
and these are mountain passes strictly guarded. Gale- 
hault aims to subdue Arthur and annex Logres, and 
there is reason to fear lest he succeed. Heisamagnani- 
mous, powerful figure, lacking at first the courtly grace 
of Arthur's knights, but big, brave, and kindly, a man 
of high honor and of impulsive affections. Early in 
the course of events he attends a totunament, where 
Lancelot in disguise conquers him at first. Later, 
Galehault is the victor, but so thoroughly has Lancelot 
charmed him that he puts himself at the disposal of the 
younger knight. His generosity is such that he seeks 
to defer by a year's truce a tournament in which he is 
engaged with Arthur's knights, because the odds are 



136 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

uneven and in his favor. But the crisis oomes when 
Lanodot requests him to promise before witnesses that 
if he conquer Arthur he shall^ in case Lancelot demands 
it, place himself at the king's mercy without conditions! 
Galehault, although not unnatursdly trop fbdhi by the 
demand, concurs, and observes his promise, thus for- 
feiting all his political hopes for the joy of Lancelot's 
fellowship. 

Fine-spun and fantastic as the situation is, — slightly 
suggestive of the superhtunan scale of emotion in seven- 
teenth-century French drama, — it finds the reader. 
Galehault is rewarded for his magnanimity by being 
allowed to manage Lancelot's intrigue with the Queen. 
He is also encouraged to become the lover of the Dame 
de Malehault, whose advances Lancelot had scorned; 
he does not object and a comfortable partie carrie is 
established.' Unselfish in friendship at every point, 
he swears on the Host never to annoy Lancdot, and 
continues ardently and deverly to promote his friend's 
interests with Guenevere, though he knows she will 
take from him what he values most in the world. His 
quality comes out when he shows Lancelot the great 
castle he has built, in which he planned to imprison 
Arthtir and where he meant to be crowned. As the 
friends look at it, the castle crumbles into the dust, sign 

s The distinguished position of these bven is leoognized in many 
passages of medieval literature. For instance: 
"The moste matere of hir speche, 
It was of knighthood and of aimes. 
And what it is to lie in annes 
With love when it is achieved. 
There was Tristram, which was beleved, 
Wiih Bele Isolde, and Lancelot 
Stode with Gunnore, and Galahot 
With his ladye." 

Cower, Canfessio AmanHs^ Book rm. 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 137 

of a perished ambition; but Galehault, though he has 
dearly loved it, and has ''never entered it in sorrow 
without leaving it in joy," sees it disappear without 
regret, so bent is he on his new disinterested devotion. 

Throughout the story, however, though no complaint 
ever falls from him, the melancholy of his figure is 
dearly indicated. Lancelot appears to advantage, is 
delicate, considerate, even tender; but the situation 
speaks for itself. A tangle of circumstance keeps 
the friends apart. For a time, Lancelot lives with 
Galehault in the Sorlois, but he is of scant comfort to 
anyone for he falls so lovesick that he can neither sleep 
nor eat. Galehault in despair despatches Lionel to 
entreat Guenevere to make them a visit; but she in the 
meantime has sent for Lancelot, with no ignoble motive, 
but as already told on accotmt of the need for his help 
in the Saxon-Irish campaign. Lancelot departs. And 
a little later, when Guenevere is in woeful case, exiled 
through the accusation of her false sister, to the Sorlois 
she betakes herself, remaining there under the respect- 
ful protection of Galehault, until her rights are made 
dear. Then, by the counsel of Lancdot, she returns 
to her indifferent consort. 

Meantime, dark portents have been gathering around 
Galehault, and at last, warned of impending danger by 
an evil dream, he sedcs the hdp of divination. On scenes 
of magic and incantation the Middle Ages lavished 
their imaginative resources, and this scene is high of 
its type, equaling almost any in romance for awesome 
weirdness. Lancdot, solidtous and affectionate, has 
persuaded Galehault to the inqtiiiy , and is present for a 
while. But at a certain point the wizard bids him with- 
draw, and after terrible rites have been duly performed, 
reveals the meaning of the dream. Galehault is to die 



138 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

within four years, and Lanodot and Guenevere are to 
be the cause of his death. Lancelot is waiting outside 
in anguish, to learn the verdict; what shall a man of 
honor do? Galehault comes forth to comfort and 
reassure his friend with entire self-forgetfulness, and 
devotes himself with renewed ardor to Lancelot's 
interests. Through the garrulous reticence of the 
romantic manner, which pours out rivers of words when 
they are least needed, and often misses its best oppor« 
tunities for escpansion, the nobility and tension of the 
situation can be felt. 

So Lancelot follows his magnet, and in due time the 
prophecy is fulfilled, through no fault of his; for at a 
false report of his death, Galehault dies of grief, — dies 
still dignified, sUent, uttering no word of complaint. 
Lancelot finds his tomb and flings himself on it dis- 
tracted, but is comforted by his old friend Saraide, 
damsel to the Lady of the Lake, who bids him bury the 
noble Son of the Giantess in his own tomb at Joyous 
Garde. Readers of Malory will remember that when 
Arthur and Guenevere are buried at Glastonbury, 
Lancelot does not rest by their side. He lies by the 
friend of his youth, — ^the man whose majestic, loving 
figure introduces true htunan feeling into the early 
phases of his story. 

After the death of Galehault and the consummation 
of the relations of the lovers, the romance becomes too 
intricate to summarize. Lancelot's habit of disappear- 
ing, already noted, gives occasion for sending other 
knights in search of him, and they develop stories of 
their own. To us, adventures and people seem dim; 
to the Middle Ages, each knight tended to become a 
definite type, and he who takes the trouble can still 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 139 

distinguish Agravaine from Gaheris, Bors from Lionel, 
and relish their stories. Nowhere can the slowly de- 
veloping arts of portraiture and narrative be studied to 
more advantage. Some of the figures are well and 
sharply etched. King Qaudas, who reappears in the 
later part of the romance, is an instance in point, but 
Mordred is a still more marked example. He is curly- 
haired, handsome, blond and erect, with a felonious 
expression. He rides in fellowship with Lancelot, but 
his evil nature is dearly brought out when he kills an 
aged priest who had predicted his future crime. Mal- 
ory's Lancelot had good reason to sigh: "Ever I fear 
that Sir Mordred will make trouble, " when he is bidding 
farewell to Logres; he had heard this tragic prediction, 
so savagely avenged, so relentlessly to be fulfilled. 
Ector, Lancelot's bastard half-brother, is another 
vivid figure, whose story is a novel in itself. 
Indeed, enough romantic material is tossed at random 
into the prose Lancelot to equip a library of fiction. 
And if the adventures fit inside each other like Chinese 
boxes, till it is rather a puzzle than a literary exercise 
to straighten them out, that is due to the characteristic 
liking for the too-much rather than the too-little which 
alwajrs marks a romantic age. 

The main plot concerns itself largely with two issues: 
first, Lancelot's winning back his kingdom from Qaudas 
the Usurper, and second, the Quest of the Grail. The 
wars with Qaudas are inserted after the begetting of 
Galahad and the visits of various knights to the Grail- 
castle Corbenic, but before the Quest. Arthur and 
Lancelot do not enter the campaign at the outset, en- 
trusting it to Gawain, Bors, and Lionel ; butaf ter Claudas 
calls on the Romans for succor, the king and Lancelot 
cross the seas to Gaul and play their part. The ro- 



I40 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

mance may originally have ended by the surrender of 
Claudas, by the reunion of Lancelot with the Abbess 
his mother, and by her death; for at this point the 
threads of the older romance are all gathered up, and 
woven into a satisfactory and finished pattern.' But 
the Grail-interest, the most appealing of all, still waits 
development. It has been early introduced. When 
very young, Lancelot visits the tomb of Sir Galahad, 
son of Joseph of Arimathea, who lies crowned, resplend- 
ent in white armor, shining sword by his side, red cross 
on his golden shield; and from this time, mystic signs 
appear now and again. Twice Morgan le Pay impris- 
ons Lancelot; between the two imprisonments he visits 
Corbenic, and Galahad is begotten. After the wars 
with Claudas end, Elaine the Grail-Bearer comes to 
court with little Galahad, and the misunderstanding 
between Lancelot and Guenevere, the insanity of 
Lancelot, and his healing in the Isle de Joie, are nar- 
rated much as in Malory. Prom the time that the 
Grail visits the court, a more touching and inward 
quality appears in the story. It is pleasant to know 
that Guenevere is wistful because the thought of her 
prevents Lancelot from seeing the Holy Thing, and in 
his comforting of her there is real tenderness. Tragedy 
ousts convention more and more, as the conflict between 
earthly and spiritual desire grows keen within the hero's 
heart. His imperious longing for the Open Vision is 
shared by all the Table Round. The Quest is on, and 
from this point Malory may well serve as a summary, 
for he follows the old romance with a fair degree of 

' It is pointed out by Miss Weston (Sir Lancelot^ p. 145) that the 
Lancdoi proper was originally independent of the Qutsie and animated 
by a different spirit. But the Questeis presupposed in the kter versions 
of the romance. 



THE LANCELOT ROMANCES 141 

doseness. It is a graceful touch, kept to the end, that 
Qaudin, stepson to Qaudas, Lancelot's old enemy, 
is one of the three knights from Gaul honored by being 
present at the final Feast of the Grail; he and his father 
are among the most sympathetic of the minor charac- 
ters in the romance, and the treatment of them is 
charged with true chivalric magnanimity. After the 
Quest, the Romans have to be fought, and Arthur, 
engaging them across the seas, is called back in the 
traditional manner. When the king is dead, Lance- 
lot returns to Britain to fight the sons of Mordred; 
these young men kill Lionel, but are killed by Lancelot, 
on the very day when he receives news of the death of 
Guenevere, whom he has not seen since his return. 
Ector joins Lancelot in a hermitage, and there the story 
ends. 



CHAPTER VIII 

MIDDLE ENGLISH ROICANCBS 



\\TinLE the quick Norman imagination was oompli- 
YY eating and enriching Arthurian romance, the 
English people had not yet come to their own. The 
iQtimate relations of this romance with England have 
already been suggested. National feeling creates the 
chronicles. However French the verse-romances maybe 
in spirit, they can not escape from England, for the scene 
of their stories is laid there, in Somerset, Cornwall, 
Wales, in Winchester, Dover, Qiester, London, Bath. 
English associations, sometimes submerged, are yet 
constant also in the prose-romances. But so far as 
language goes, romance-material was not handled 
again in English after Layamon for several generations, 
and by the time the English people found their tongue 
the creative epoch in romance had closed. English 
versions of Arthurian romance are therefore late and 
of secondary importance; we must wait for Malory to 
find Arthur worthily celebrated in the language of his 
native land. 

During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, how- 
ever, a number of English metrical romances dealing 
with Arthur and his knights were written; one or two 

14a 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 143 

may even have been earlier. These poems have little 
original value, for nearly all are translations or adapta- 
tions from the French; nor are they remarkable as a 
whole in literary quality. Neverthdess, a few of them 
have considerable merit; they form an important part 
of Malory's background; and they are interesting 
because they show what stories were known and loved 
in Eng^d. Many readers get their idea of these 
poems from Chaucer's delectable parody, Sir Thopas, 
which is like getting one's idea of Wordsworth from 
Calverley's riotous imitations. Sir Thopas hits all 
the defects obvious in romance, and makes dever 
fun of the romantic dicJUs; but only popular things, 
with some quality to them, get parodied; and even 
nowadays it is dear enough why the romances were 
so widdy savored. 

A mere enumeration of the poems shows that all 
of the great cycles were familiar to the British Isles. 
The central story is represented by an interesting work, 
Arthoure and Merlin, not to speak of an interminable 
Merlin in doggerel, covering the same ground with the 
, Vulgate AficrKn, by the indefatigable Harry Lovdich; 
also by the Scottish Lancelot of the Laik, and by two 
Morte Darihurs, the one a very fine poem in alliterative 
verse, which foUows the chronide tradition, the other 
a later poem in graceful stanzas giving a version 
dose to that presented in Malory. The Tristan- 
cyde has an example, in the Sir Tristrem, written in 
the North of England dialect, which presents, not the 
debased form of the story fotmd in Malory, but the 
finer early tjrpe. The Grail-cyde is represented in 
both branches: an early alliterative poem gives the 
Joseph of Arimathea legend with something of the 
original fervor, Harry Lovdich's Early History trans- 



144 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

lates the Grand San Graal; while a vigorous Sir Per- 
cyveUe de Galles shows that the older Grail-hero was 
not wholly supplanted in the British Isles by his younger 
rival. 

Gawain, rather strangely, has no cycle to himself. 
But he is hero of a number of middle English Arthu- 
rian poems, and it is evident that he was a national 
favorite. The noble story of his Adventure with the 
Green Knight is perhaps the best known English mediae- 
val work, apart from Chaucer. Various later poems, 
in which romance is tending toward ballad, recoimt 
further episodes about him: his marriage with a fay, 
— a tale suggesting that told by Chaucer's Wife of 
Bath, — ^his experiences with a Turk, his dealings with 
a rough personage, the Carle of Carlisle. Ywain and 
Gawain, a good translation of Chretien's Cheoalier au 
Lion, may also be placed here, as Gawain plays a great 
part in it ; he is also a conspicuous personage in Golagrus 
and Gawain f and in two poems of very different caliber, 
but alike in possessing a good English ring, and a basis 
in local tradition, — The Aunters of Arthur at the Tar- 
newaihelan and The Avowing of Arthur. 

Finally, certain minor outlying stories, ignored in 
Malory, are suggested by poems dealing with secon- 
dary or little-known heroes. The attractive Launfal 
of Thomas Chestre, and the later LamheweU tdl the 
story of the knight and the fairy mistress, so prettily 
narrated by Marie de Prance in her twelfth-century 
French, and Libeaus Desconnus, "The Pair Unknown," 
is the popular story of a knight known in French as 
Le Bel Inconnu^ in German as Wigalois, and in Italian 
as Carduino. 

In regard to date, the attribution of these poems is 
often indeterminate. But it is evident that they fairly 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 145 

well cover the later mediaeval period. Some few, like 5'if 
Tristrem and Sir PercyveUe de Galles, and the allitera- 
tive Joseph, may go back to the thirteenth centtiry; 
the strongest and best are from the fourteenth. A num- 
ber, mostly of inferior quality, are from the fifteenth; 
some represent the latest decades before the inven- 
tion of printing, and are virtually contemporary with 
Malory. 

It is perilous to draw conclusions concerning the 
popularity of mediaeval works from the number of 
copies extant, for we can never be sure what ravages 
time has wrought. Yet, noticing how few manuscripts 
of these English poems survive, and reflecting on the 
great number of Lancelot manuscripts, for instance, 
scattered all over Europe, it is hard not to infer that 
the vogue of the poems was limited compared with 
that of the prose-romances. Some of the best poems, 
like Gawain and the Green Knight, Sir Tristrem, and 
Sir PercyveUe, have come down in one copy only; the 
same is true of Ywain, The Avowing of Arthur, and 
the two Mortes. The manuscripts are often written 
in a dialect obviously different from that in which the 
poems were composed. As they stand, they represent 
the Scotch Lowlands and the North of England, 
Lancashire, and Cumberland; also the Midlands and 
perhaps certain regions of the South. Geographical 
provenance is often doubtful, though Northumber- 
land, the country of Caedmon and Cynewulf, where 
English poetry was cradled, seems still more favorable 
to poetic production than Kent, the ancient center of 
scholarship and prose. But no part of England is 
unrepresented. It is interesting to compare the distri- 
bution of English literature in the fourteenth century 
and in the sixteenth. By the time of Shakespeare, 



146 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

production is almost limited to London and the adjoin- 
ing regions; during the fourteenth century, a map 
would suggest conditions before important urban cen- 
tralization had taken place, for it would show literary 
production everywhere. 

The development both of narrative and of lyrical 
art in mediaeval England can be traced through the 
poems, and is well worth following. Some of them, 
like Joseph of Arttnathea, and the older Morte, belong 
to the fourteenth-century revival of the old alliterative 
measures native to England in Anglo-Saxon da3rs. 
Their stately movement, unmusical to modem ears 
but enriched by all the old devices of initial letter- 
rhyme, parallel and repetition, is of the type best 
known through TJie Vision of Piers the Plowman. 
Verse combining alliteration and rhyme in various 
experimental forms, occurs especially in romances 
having to do with Gawain ; Gawain and the Green Knight^ 
in which strophes of varying length are composed of 
a series of long alliterative lines followed by five short 
rhyming lines, is the most famous of the kind. Other 
poems, like Arthoure and Merlin and Ywain, discarded 
old ties to the native tradition, and were written in the 
flowing tetrameter couplet imported from Prance, a 
favorite meter with all story-telling poets, from Chaucer 
to Keats and Morris. 

These are narrative measures. A large variety of 
stanzas is also used, showing how England was tr}dng 
to loose her singing tongue through all this period. 
It may also be noticed that the stanzas tended toward 
ballad-forms and foUc-poetry, while poems written in 
couplet usually aimed at a more learned and fastidious 
audience; the melody of the stanza-poems is in conse- 
quence often fresher and more spontaneous, yet the 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 147 

forms are highly experimental and tentative, and are 
often far from successful. Sometimes they are inven- 
tions which no one apparently ever cared to repeat. 
The Sir Tristrem for instance, using a rhyme-scheme 
abababcbc, has regularly two trimeter quatrains, then 
a short line of two syllables that brings one up with a 
jerk, then two more trimeters, — ^an eleven line stanza as 
intricate as it is infelicitous. The later Morte is in an 
easier and more graceful measure, a duplication of 
the baUad stanza, eight lines alternately rhymed. A 
favorite stanza is the Tail Rhyme, or Rime QmSe 
popular in France as well as England. It is strange to 
realize that this most jingling of meters, with the strong 
stresses and catchy movement that so easily lend 
themselves to parody and to doggerel, originated from 
a Latin measure. Jacopone da Todies Stabat Mater 
is in the same stanza as Sir Launfal, Libeaus Des- 
cannus and Sir Thopas. The imi)ortance of low Latin 
in the development of English lyric finds here an inter- 
esting bit of evidence. 

No elaborate lyric beauty can be claimed for any of 
these poems. They abound in tags and catchwords, 
they evince more childish artifice than mature instinct 
for art; it is easy in reading them to tmderstand why 
the Renascence had to make a new start in evolving 
lyrical form. Yet they often fall sweetly on the ear, 
especially when they are least pretentious, and they 
certainly show a lyric impulse which was destined never 
to be quite silenced in England. 

II 

So much for external facts concerning these poems. 
A more important classification, however, is that made 



148 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

from the point of view of their intrinsic value. For 
while it must broadly be said that all alike belong to 
the period of transmission and translation rather than 
to that of original creation, they differ widely in merit. 
Some are mere mechanical transcripts, like the jog- 
trot of poor Harry Lovelich, who did his best to murder 
fine romances of the mystical type, his taste being 
better than his capacity; others, while fairly dose 
renderings of earlier works, are executed with a free 
hand; an example of this type is the Ywain, in some 
ways a better poem than Chretien's original. Others 
present familiar material, like Sir Tristrem and the 
stanzaic Marte, yet are interesting because they follow 
no known version precisely. And finally, a few, while 
suggestive of sources more or less remote, or afi&liated 
closely with romances in other languages, yet have the 
note of individual power. Of this last and highest 
group, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is the most 
famous example; the alliterative Morte may also be 
placed here, and the grim and queer Aunters of Arthur. 
These are all poems of which English letters may justly 
be proud. 

The purely mechanical renderings call for little 
comment. It is useless to discuss their literary quali- 
ties, especially when the finer French original is easily 
accessible, as in the case of the Grand San Graal. 
Nearly all the poems of the other types, however, 
deserve discussion for one reason or another. 

Arthoure and Merlin^ for instance, includes some 
charming and original interludes of nature descrip- 
tion, similar to those with which Gavin Douglas was 
later to enliven his jEneid. The poem leans on some 
version of the French Merlin, and tells the story as 
far as the betrothal of Arthur and Guenevere. Possibly 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 149 

composed in the reign of Edward II., it reveals a lin- 
gering taste for the more heroic aspects of Arthur's 
tale» and a survival of that patriotic enthusiasm which 
moved the chroniclers to dwell on the legendary glories 
of England. 

Ywain and Gawain is a more ambitious and readable 
piece of work. Although a fairly accurate condensed 
translation of Chretien's Chevalier au Lion, the intel- 
ligent translator had an independent mind, and a real 
style. His octosyllabic couplets flow as easily as 
Chaucer's, though they are not so sweetly musical nor 
so subtly varied. The story is a good one, though it 
is rather obscured by irrelevant adventures. The 
central point is the wrong against love committed by 
Ywain. He has won very suddenly the hand of the 
lady whose husband he has killed, the courting being 
in the best mediaeval manner; but presently he deserts 
her for the joys of knight-errantry, and forgets to come 
back at the appointed time to which she had bound 
him. So he is punished; but as he is very much of a 
man he retains good English enjoyment of life and 
circumstance, even while he is supposed to languish 
in remorse as the French code demanded. The most 
picturesque feature of the poem is Ywain's attendant 
lion, — SL beast who has nothing to do with the plot, 
but whom we should hate to miss. The grateful 
creature is Greco-Roman; he has coursed the forests 
from the days of Androdes and iEsop, and is to course 
them till he meets white Una by and by; but it is 
only in the Middle Ages that he is privileged, when 
spent with wounds, to be carried tenderly in his master's 
shield. Each episode in the poem can be referred, 
Kke the lion, to a remote source. The magic fountain 
with the storm that waits on it like an attendant genie, 



150 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

bubbles in many a fairy wood, and the copper vessel 
on which the hero beats to rouse the storm suggests 
savage rites; the Ring of Invisibility has owners before 
Christian days, the madness of Ywain is part of a 
ritual by which most mediaeval heroes fulfill the proprie- 
ties, the lady of his rather careless love may have been 
a Fie^ though we may no longer think of her as a Widow 
of Ephesus: such a sounding gallery of echoes is this 
one lively poem^ But the echoes are caught and woven 
into the story by a true English voice, singing with 
less smoothness, less sentiment, less chic than his 
French predecessor, but with more manly directness. 
There is a hint of interest in national development, 
when Arthur, settling a quarrel between two sisters, 
decrees "the first division of land ever made in Eng- 
land." The joy of the poem, however, is the magical 
atmosphere of romance, tmifjring all separate features 
as a soft haze will unify a mountain landscape. Per- 
haps this atmosphere is most effective in the episode 
of the gentleman reading a romance aloud in the gar- 
den to his little daughter, followed by the story of the 
bewitched maidens all forlorn, arrayed in rags and 
sorely driven, who weave perpetual silken garments 
for a starvation wage. It is a passage that might be 
used with equal effect in a Maeterlinck drama or in a 
report of the Minimum Wage Commission! 

Sir THstrem is precious if only because it shows that 
the beautiful old version of the story was known in 
England.' But one can not help wishing that a man 

' There is other evidence to the same effect. A fasdnating series 
of tiles from Chertsey Abbey, possibly made at the instance of Henry 
III., shows a sequence of incidents from Thomas's poem. Tristan 
plasrs chess with the merchants, kills the Morholt, lies ill in bed while 
Mark visiting him holds his nose, sails to Ireland all alone in a little 
boat, swathed invalid-fashion, but harping none the less, instructs 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 151 

of more sympathetic genius had chanced to write the 
story of the hapless lovers for English folk. The poem 
reads like the proud achievement of a minstrel, who 
had a critical audience in mind, and in consequence 
labored to secure novelty for his verse; but the peculiar 
and artificial meter, though it has a certain energy 
about it, can not be called a success. One does not 
sigh with the lovers and watch breathless for the 
success of their wiles as in Thomas. There is none 
of the sensitive delight in beauty which blends so 
charmingly and piquantly with Gottfried's sly satire. 
Plain unadorned narrative, fairly rapid in movement, 
depending for effect on sequence of incident rather 
than on delineation of feeling, is the method of this 
North of England poem; but unless the story were 
already known, the reader would sometime find it 
hard to understand, for the author misses his crises 
through his desire for brevity, although he pauses for 
minute description of Tristram's command of the noble 
art of venerie. The ballad-note, with its frankness, 
its freedom, its swinging directness and emotional 
reticence, is suggested again and again. Ballads throve 
in that North Cotmtry; the ladies who listened to 
Sir THstrem might well a little later have welcomed 
Chevy Chace. 

It is the ballad-type to which many other of these 
romance poems seem tending. Thomas Chestre's 
Launfal is a pretty retelling of Marie's Lai. Its swing 
and ring, its pleasing descriptions, its delightful story, 

Iseult, etc., etc. Anglo-Norman inscriptions accompany the tiles. 
See, for an interesting account of them, a pamphlet by Roger Sherman 
Loomis, University of Illinois, Studies in Language and Literature, 
vol. ii., No. 3, "Illustrations of Mediaeval Romance on Tiles from 
Chertsey Abb^." 



152 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORV 

ensured its popularity in court and in cottage. The 
fairy-mistress, favorite theme of the Middle Ages, 
was never more daintily presented than here, where 
she woos and wins Sir Launf al, and, after disciplining 
him for his disobedience in vaunting of her beauty, 
comes to the court pacing on her white palfrey with all 
its little bells a-ringing, and bears him in triumph away. 
Launf al himself is a knight in whom all popular medi- 
aeval virtues meet. In midst of great poverty, he is 
lavishly generous and the most hospitable of men. 
His personal beauty is dwelt on with zest. He has a 
fair degree of self-control or mesure^ and his misfor- 
ttmes are not his own fault, or if they are, the reader 
condones them, knowing how loyal he had been to his 
love, despite the blandishments of Arthur's unpleasant 
queen. So long as story-telling is dear, so long as 
Morris's Earthly Paradise can charm readers, this little 
poem deserves to be remembered. 

Libeaus Descannus^ a poem much more complex in 
the critical problems it suggests, is another entertaining 
work. The sources and the affiliations with French, 
Italian, and German parallels have been carefully and 
exhaustively discussed by Professor Schofield and 
others. Such discussion is an attractive pursuit; but 
the general reader may be content in finding here 
a capital good story, stirring as a Stevenson tale, 
with the added charms of faerie. Scott, who loved 
the old romances so well, and supplied an ending to 
the mutilated Tristrem^ borrowed from this source, 
without improving it, his Bridal of Triermain. The 
poem is full of memories, suggesting the ingenuity 
with which popular motifs were interwoven in one 
intricate pattern or another. The Fair Unknown, — 
who is really Guinglain, son to Gawain, — ^has the Per- 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 153 

oeval EnfanceSt kept far from chivalry by a doting 
mother. Like Malory's Gareth, he is given an ad- 
venture to release the sister of a damosel, who flouts 
him fiercely as he rides with her, and his early experi- 
ences vividly suggest the seventh book of Malory. 
The episode in which he saves a maiden, Violette, 
from two giants, has no exact parallel; but in the Jousts 
of the Falcon there is at least a hint of the tournament 
in which Erec won his Enide. There is a fairy dog, 
less appealing than Petit-Cru sent by Tristan to 
Iseult, but perhaps of the same pedigree. The best 
adventure is the last. In the enchanted castle of 
Sinadoun, Libeaus routs two evil magicians, and en- 
dures the Serpent-Kiss, Le Fier Baiser^ from an en- 
thralled lady. Nothing is more potent in romantic 
suggestion than the Lamia motif; the snake with the 
woman's face glides through story from the days of 
Lilith. Here she is innocent and presented in touch- 
ing verse, all the more interesting because this special 
motif does not occur elsewhere in middle English litera- 
ture. The rime umke strophe used here has less the 
rocking-horse gait than usual; it can trot and gallop 
very prettily, and its habitual ambling is not without 
grace. 

Ill 

None of these poems has a more distinct English ring 
than Sir Percyvdle de Gattes^ nor does any come nearer 
in spirit to the sort of ballad which Robin Hood and 
his merry men might have trolled in Sherwood forest. 
Yet none speak to the initiate of more ancient and 
mysterious things. The tale is affiliated with the 
most elusive elements of Grail-legend and Celtic folk- 



154 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

lore. But to the plain reader it tells a plain story, 
tells it admirably, with spirit and success. It follows 
a known series of incidents, presented by many poets 
in many lands, the best known being Chretien de 
Troies and Wolfram von Eschenbach; but it reads in 
its simplicity like direct and original invention. Per- 
ceval's childhood in the forest is less elaborated than 
by Chr6tien, but is given with a touch of domestic 
feeling and rough humor that well suit the English 
tongue. We can imagine the loud laughter of readers 
or listeners at the story of the uncouth boy, brought up 
in ignorance of all the proprieties and dignities of life, 
and betrayed into all sorts of iisdve absurdities, — the 
mixed amusement and sympathy when the call of the 
blood proves too strong for maternal precautions and he 
rides away in his fool's dress on the wild mare he has 
tamed, leaving his mother in a swoon. When Perceval 
reaches Arthur's court, he finds a primitive spot enough, 
a tent into which he can ride his mare, with no obstacle, 
up to the very throne. Indeed the mare "brushed the 
bonnet of the kynge, So near-hand he rode." Arthur is 
charmed with the fresh beauty of the lad and enter- 
tained by his rudeness. Perceval distinguishes him- 
self by riding after the Red Knight who has insulted the 
queen and killing him with a dart. He tries to get 
the armor, but does not know how to unbuckle it; 
however, he is a lad of resources: "My moder telled 
me Out of the iron to btun the tree," he cries, and he 
is following her counsels with an improvised funeral 
pyre when Gawain comes along and gives him better 
instruction in chivalry. 

The same spirited simplicity is maintained to the 
end. The Red Knight has been his father's slayer, 
and Perceval in killing him has unconsciously aocom- 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 155 

plished the Vengeance quest which was his duty. In 
the more sophisticated and Christianized version of 
the tale given by Wolfram von Eschenbach, this ven- 
geance motif has been wholly obliterated; the killing 
of the Red Knight is changed from a duty accom- 
plished to a crime to be expiated. But here, simpler 
morals prevail, and Perceval has done the proper 
thing. Later episodes, his adventure in Maidenland, 
his union with Lufamour, his dealing with Saracens 
and the Sultan, are in the frank old English tone. The 
poem ends as it began on the note of domestic aflFec- 
tion; for Perceval now that he is grown up and married 
remembers how unkind it was of him to run away 
from his mother, and goes to look for her. He finds 
her mad and naked in the forest, and her restoration 
is told in stanzas not devoid of tenderness. The story 
quite properly ends with the hero starting out on pil- 
grimage to Holy Land. But this is not a religious 
poem. Perceval is a good English boy, plucky, stal- 
wart, honest, a trifle dull to the end of the chapter. 
The truth is that he is the Great Simpleton, hero of a 
fairy-tale found in many lands, who emerges from a 
childhood of seemingly hopeless stupidity into a glo- 
rious career. It is curious to realize that widespread 
tradition saw in this character the hero who achieved 
the Quest of the Grail, and even the very representative 
of the Savior. 

But it did, and the straightforward old English 
poem gains new meaning and gives new pleasure when 
we relate it to the marvelously interesting develop- 
ment of Grail-literature as a whole. For though 
there is no Grail here, and no touch of mystic feeling, 
this is the story of Perceval the Grail-Winner. The 
lad brought up in the forest, finding his way to court. 



156 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

avenging his father's death, proceeds in the poems of 
Chr6tien and Wolfram to visit a mysterious castle 
where the procession of the Grail passes by. He fails 
in the first test to which he is there exposed; for he 
remains silent when he shotdd have questioned con- 
cerning the Grail and its rites; but after long wander- 
ing and expiation, he succeeds at his second visit in 
achieving his initiation, heals the king his unde 
wounded by the Grail-spear, and, in Wolfram, is made 
guardian of the Holy Thing. It is interesting to find 
the first part of this story in a middle English poem: 
the "Peredur" of the Mdbinogion had already shown 
memories of the tradition, and in that wild old Welsh 
version, Grail talismans appear, though not the Grail 
itself. The whole problem of Grail romance is thus 
suggested, by works produced on English soil. 

It is a problem too intricate for more than briefest 
allusion here. The Grail itself is not Christian in 
origin. It develops from a talisman endowed with 
magic properties to heal, to nourish, to enlighten, till 
it becomes the Christian Eucharist, in which the same 
functions persist, exalted. As for the Grail-hero, he 
changes in something the same way. The develop- 
ment of the Perceval figure is one of the most in- 
teresting evolutions in literature. The Mdbinogion 
Peredur and the Sir PercyveUe mark the earliest stages, 
and in both, vengeance is the kit-motif, and Pagan 
survivals are dear. But Perceval the fool becomes 
slowly wise, and the continental treatment of the story 
finds its climax in Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival, 
the most remarkable poem of the Middle Ages before 
Dante. Wolfram educed a beautiful unity from a 
confused mass of elements. His Parzival is a sinner; 
to trace his growth through penitence to purity is the 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 157 

object of the poem. Old motif s axe discarded. The 
hero's business is now no longer to avenge, it is to 
free the land from curse and to heal his stricken uncle. 

Hints of ancient mysteries concerned with death 
and immortality are fotmd in nearly all versions of 
the story. How they became fused with the tale of 
the Great Simpleton may never be known: the 
English poem marks a stage in which no occult imagin- 
ing came to trouble htmian simplicities. But Sacra- 
mental mysticism could find much to nourish it in the 
old story, and could use the Pagan heritage as an ex- 
pressive medium for Christian feeling. Yet as time went 
on still more was desired. The peculiar romance, 
Perceval le GaUois, or Perlesvaux, shows the psycho- 
logical transition. In this work, which may represent 
the final rnember of de Borron's trilogy, the lover, the 
penitent, is gone. In his place, bearing his name, 
but with faint traces only of his origin, is an ascetic 
figure endowed with supernatural powers and un- 
touched by earthly passions. The rich humanity of 
the old tradition has yielded to a ghostly fascination. 
This romance, full by the way of English associations, 
is evidence of the growing pressure as the Middle Ages 
went on for a new type of hero, the characteristic 
conviction that the Grail should be achieved by a 
contemplative and ascetic, not by a sinful and strug- 
gling man. 

So Galahad came on the scene, — Galahad, his brow 
bathed in the light of a new morning, — Galahad, who 
fights as in a dream, who has attained even while he 
pursues, whose aim is neither to avenge an injury nor 
to heal a sufferer, but simply to possess the Open Vision 
of Divine Loveliness. As the son of Lancelot, his 
forttmes were interwoven with those of Arthur, and 



158 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the Arthuriad was complete. Connections between 
Arthtir and Grail-story existed in nearly all forms of 
the Perceval-legend, but they were comparatively 
superficial. The case was now changed; the Lancelot 
interest, by a stroke of genius, became the focus for 
the whole story, and what had been an incoherent 
mass of imperfectly welded elements fell into shape, 
including in one splendid whole all varjring aspects 
of the chivalric and Catholic ideal. 

The Joseph of Arimathea legend was now connected 
with the Galahad motif. The Grand San Graal 
(already studied as a French prose-romance)' passed 
twice into English verse; and the middle English al- 
literative poem, Joseph of AHmaihea, presents it 
worthily. Sir Percyvelle suggests a primitive form 
of the earliest type of Grail-legend; the Joseph re- 
flects the latest type, stamped with religious fervor, 
permeated by ecclesiastical influence, remote from 
folk-lore and indifferent to the militant ideals of chiv- 
alry. This poem' is briefer and far more beautiful 
than Lovelich's version of the same romance but it 
does not carry the story so far along. It is perhaps 
the oldest of the fourteenth-century poems reviving 
the alliterative measure; but the dialect of the extant 
version is Midland, not Northern as in Gawain and 
the Green Knight. It is a highly emotional rendering 
of the events which preceded the bringing of the Grail 
to England, charged with a fervor and solemnity which 
all but evaporate in Lovelich's prolixities; the account 
of the sacring of the first Bishop of England, in par- 
ticular, is well worth reading here. The poem leaves 
Joseph in the Orient, conversing with the converted 
kings of Sarras. English literature is forttmate in 
possessing two poems, which, in rather a casual man- 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 159 

ner to be sure, connect the great Grail-l^end in its 
two most characteristic phases with England. In- 
comi)rehensible except in relation to their continental 
prototypes and parallels, these poems at least show 
that England shared in the development of Grail-story 
and was alive to different aspects of it. 

IV 

The English diaracter is marked even with a sort 
of intensity, in some of the alliterative Arthurian 
poems of the fourteenth century. This is especially 
true of the alliterative Morte Arthur^ found in the 
Thornton manuscript and doubtfully ascribed to the 
Scottish poet Huchowne. The author says that he 
derives his poem from both chronicles and romances, 
but it is the chronicle tradition on which he almost 
exclusively leans, though he evidently knows romances 
too. Lancelot is present, but he is barely mentioned 
as one of the ''lesse men"; there is no hint that the 
Grail is near. The interest is epic rather than roman- 
tic, the animus military and political, the mood heroic; 
the poem is indubitably the greatest of its type, with 
the exception of Layamon. The religious-patriotic 
note is struck at the very outset; the poet is to tell 
of men of ancient times, and their strange deeds: how 
they were faithftd in their law and loved Almighty 
God; of the prince-like men of the Round Table; they 
were wise men at arms, valiant in action, holding 
shame always in dread. These men are Arthur and 
his knights; but through the thin disguise may possibly 
be seen a great contemporary king, his barons, and 
his son. 

For this poem, like other Arthurian poems of 



i6o MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the period, such as The Aunters of Arthur and Golagrus 
and Gawain, seems to glorify Edward III. and his 
sons, and the events of the years 1346-1364 are re- 
flected in it. Great events were stirring England to a 
strong awakening of national consciousness, and it was 
natural that famous traditions should be called on to 
enhance the emotion of the hour. The poem follows 
closely enough the old story, dealing with Arthur's 
Roman wars, with the treachery of Mordred and the 
final disaster; but in spite of traditional episodes, like 
the slaying of the Giant of Mont St. Michel, — ^here told 
supremely well, — and the fight between Gawain and 
the Eastern knight Priamus, we are throughout shar- 
ing the life of fourteenth-century England and France. 
The sea fight off Winchdsea, the battle-array of Cr6cy, 
are vividly and minutely used. The enemy ships 
ride at anchor by the rock, secured with ropes; they 
are held together with loading-chains and filled with 
chivalric knights; adorned with painted cloths, each 
piece stitched to the other and covered with shaggy 
coverlets doubled over, for protection against arrows. 
There is need, for the ''archers of England shoot full 
eag^ly, hit through the hard steel dints full heartily." ' 
Here is real fighting, a real sea, and the geography is 
real throughout. The detail is heavily wrought and 
effective; one can learn much about fourteenth-cen- 
tuiy manners and customs from it. Arthur enter- 
tains the Roman ambassadors, for instance, with a 
true royal feast of the period: 

There came in at the first course before the king himself 
boar-heads that were borne on burnished silver • . . well 
seasoned flesh of deers though it was not the season, with 

* Morte ArAur, Two Barly Baalish Romanoes, Bverynum's, p. 79. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES i6i 

ezceUent fromentee . . . and delightful fowl, peacocks 
and plovers in golden plates, porcupines that had not 
been weaned; then herons concealed full fairly in their 
plumage; great swans swiftly followed . . . turkey tarts 
that whoever wished might taste. . . . Then came the 
delicacies to satisfy men afterwards, ... in waves of blue 
and gleaming they seemed, and the dishes were piled up 
full high one on the other, so beautiful that all men were 
delighted at the sight thereof. 

One might suppose the dinner over. But no, it starts 
in afresh: ''Then came cranes, curlews, craftily roasted, 
. . . and pheasants decked with ornaments on bright 
silver dishes covered with a yellow glaze, with custards 
and other many dainties, then claret and Cretan wine" 
. . .' one can really not pause longer to hear of this 
amazing food. 

There is a sort of solemn richness about the whole 
poem. A first-hand perception characterizes it, hard 
to define since the motifs are familiar and even hack- 
neyed, yet unmistakable to sensitive reading. The 
feeling is strong and direct like the descriptive power. 
Take for instance the accotmt of the death of Gawain. 
Gawain is the figure on which the high light falls; he is 
perhaps here meant to suggest the Black Prince, and in 
any case this romance and Gawain and the Green Knight 
mark the apogee of his fame in England. He dies 
fighting Mordred, and there is true human anguish 
in Arthur's mourning. The king discovers his good 
knights in a group, the dead Saracens lying round 
them; and there is 

Sir Gawain the good in his gay arms, gripping the grass 
with his hand, his face to the earth, his banners inlaid 

> Marte Arthur, Two Early English Romanoes, Everyman's, p. 5. 



i62 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

with gules beaten down, his sword and his broad shield 
all bloody. . . . Then looks the good king, and was tin* 
happy in heart, he groans full piteously with flowing 
tears. ... He kneels down by the body and takes it in 
his anns, he lifts up the umberer and kisses him straight* 
way, looks at his eyelids that are fast locked, his lips are 
like lead and his face very pale. . . . Then the crowned 
king cries out full loud . • . swoons, but rises up swiftly 
and sweetly kisses him, till his great beard was bloody all 
over.* 

The writer of that scene had seen death; his picture can 
be paralleled in these later days by many a record. 

Imagination and sense for tender beauty are not 
lacking, to relieve the sternness of the poem. One gets 
a pretty picture of the knights resting in a meadow 
while Uieir horses graze, "leaning on their glittering 
shields, and laughing aloud with delight at the singing 
of the birds," the larks and the link-whites. An omi- 
nous dream of Arthtir's about the Wheel of Fortune 
is admirably given. The Wheel is a common property 
of mediaeval fancy, found repeatedly in sculpture and 
illtmiination, in poetry and prose. But nowhere is 
a more pictorial and vivid setting for it: 

"Methought I was astray in a wood by myself," [says 
the King], "Wolves and wQd boars and wicked beasts 
walked in that desert to seek their prey. These lions 
full dreadful to behold licked their teeth after lapping up 
the blood of my faithful knights. Through that forest 
I fled where the flowers grew high, to hide me for fear from 
those foul creatures. I came to a meadow enclosed by 
motmtains, the most beautiful that men might behold on 
this middle region. The space was round and grown over 

' Morte Arthttr, Everyman's, p. 85. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 163 

with clover and grasses; the vale was even round with 
silver vines with golden grapes, greater ones than which 
were never seen, edged with shrubs and all manner of 
trees, — avenues of trees and shepherds thereunder. . . . 
Then came down into the vale from the clouds a duchess 
fairly dad in diapered garments, in a bodice of silk of very 
rich hue, all overlaid to the hems with embroidery, and 
with lady-like lappets the length of a yard. . . . She 
whirled a wheel about with her white hands. . . . The 
wheel was of red gold with noble jewels in it . . . the 
spokes were bedecked all over with silver bars and stretched 
out full fair for the space of a spear-length: thereon was a 
chair of chalk-white silver, bedecked with carbuncles 
changing in hues: upon the outer circle there dung kings 
in a row with crowns of bright gold that burst asunder."' 



Picturesquely are these kings described. The first, 
Alexander, is a "little man: his loins were all lean and 
reptdsive to see, his hair gray and long the length of 
a yard, his fiesh and his body lamed ftill sore: one eye 
of this man is brighter than silver, the other more 
yellow than the yolk of an egg." The fifth is Joshua: 
"a powerful man and fierce with foaming lips." One 
by one the kings tumble off the wheel, as Arthur, who 
is to be the ninth, shall do if the dream speak true. 
And sure enough on the morrow comes Sir Cradok, 
arrayed as a pilgrim, bringing drear tidings of Mordred's 
treachery.* This is the beginning of the end. The 
dream comes at the moment of great exaltation, just 
when Rome has been conquered. It is the turning 
point of the epic; and the Middle Ages needed no 

' Morte Arthur^ Everyman's, p. 70. 

* Ccadok's piJgrim-mantle is one of the relics mentioaed by Cazton 
in his preface to Malory, as evidence that Arthur really lived. It is 
at Dover Castle, with Gawain's skulL 



iC4 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

adventitious enhancements of style to render such 
grim transitions effective. 

There is strange contrast between this solid poem» 
chiseled with heavy touch, inspired by stem passion 
for England and the honor of Englishmen, and the 
other middle English poem on the Morte Dartkur. 
This second or stanzaic Marte^ found in one precious 
copy in the Harleian manuscript, is of somewhat later 
date, of immeasurably later psychology. Dignity 
and elevation are replaced by sweetness, delicacy, and 
pathetic charm. Fighting has become incidental, — 
a pastime for the individual rather than a solemn ne- 
cessity for the nation. Arthur has receded into his 
final position of Rat Complaisant^ honored by lip hom- 
age but colorless till the last tragic moments. Gawain 
is a secondary and uninteresting figure. Lancelot, 
the French knight, Lancelot with his fatal grace, his 
courtly charm, holds the stag^-center; around him 
are gathered the noble knights his comrades. But 
two women stand closest, — ^Elaine the lily maid, and 
Guenevere, no outraged regal Gaynour, but an angry 
passionate creature, subjected to recurrent ignominies 
under which she becomes more and more alive. 

This poem, resting on some undiscovered version 
of the romance, presents the last stage in the evolution 
of the Arthuriad. The love-interest has established 
itself at the center, and the mind of the reader dwells 
not on noble action but on introspective emotion. 
The frank virginal passion of Elaine, the jealous raging 
of Guenevere, succeeded by her hot remorse, Lancelot's 
devotion to Logres and Arthur so sorrowfully thwarted 
by his relations with the queen, shine out as clearly 
as in Malory though with a quaint simplicity. Here is 
part of Elaine's letter, held in her dead hand: 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 165 

"To King Arthur and all his knights 
That longe to the Rounde Table 
That courteous be and most of might . 
Doughty and noUe, true and staUe, 

• •••••• 

"To you all my idaint I make 

Of the wrong that me is wrought, 

"Therefore to you to understand 
That for I truly many a day 
Have loved lealest in the land 
Death hath me fetched of this world away. 

"For-thy lordes for his sake 

I took to heart great sorrow and care, 
So at the last death gone me take 

So that I might live na mare. 
For true loving had I such wrake. 

And was of bliss ybrought all bare. 
All was for Lancelot du Lake 

To weet wisely for whom it were."* 

Here is part of Guenevere's last speech, when Lance- 
lot, coming through the ''cloister dere'* has met her 
in her ntm's clothing: 

"Abbess, to you I knowledge here 
That through this ilke man and me 
For we togeder han loved us dear 
All this sorrowful war hath be; 
My lord is slain that had no peer 

And many a doughty knight and free. 
Therefore for sorrow I died near. 
As soon as I ever him gan see. 
• ••■••• 

* Marie AHhur, Everyman's, p. 134. 



i66 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

''I-set I am in such a place, 

My soule's heal I will abide, 
Till God send me some grace 

Through mercy of his woundes wide, 
That I may do so in this place 

My sins to amend this ilke tide. 
After to have a sight of His Face 

At Domesday at his right side. 

*' Therefore Sir Lancelot du Lake 

For my love now I thee pray 
My company thou aye forsake 

And to thy kingdom thou take thy way, 
And keep thy realm from war and wrack 

And take a wife with her to play 
And love well then thy worldes mate, 

God give you joy together I pray."* 

In the earlier Morte, Arthur dies — forgiving all wrongs 
for the love of Christ, and speaking of Gaynor with 
his last breath. Here the full mystic motif is present; 
the magic Barge, the withdrawal to Avalon, the pro- 
mise of the future. The dramatic theme is fuU- 
flowered, and little is lacking in the way of character 
delineation, of sentiment, or, one may almost say, of 
plot-structure. But the earlier heroic note is heard 
no more; it is a poem for ladies in the hall, not for 
patriots or warriors. 

We have one other evidence in British poems that 
Lancelot had supplanted the more sturdy English 
Gawain in the sympathies of the later Middle Ages. 
It is the Scottish Lancelot of the Laik, — a late poem 
in diflScult dialect and of no special interest except 
from the fact that it records in verse the earlier portion 

■ Morte Aiihur, Everyman's, p. 192. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 167 

of the Lancelot story. In the conventional setting of 
the mediaeval Dream, cast in the form of the lover's 
plaint to his lady, is a rehearsal of portions of the prose 
Lancelot: the wars between Lancelot, Arthur, and 
Galahad. The chief thing suggested by these dull 
verses is the awkwardness of Englishmen when they 
try to move in the highly rarefied and sentimentalized 
atmosphere of French romance. Courtly love with 
its elaborations, chivalric etiquette with its rigors and 
subtleties, were too pronotmced fashions to be ignored 
in Britain. But the straightforward British genius 
does not take to them naturally. When the grisly 
ghost of Guenevere's mother rises "yellande" from a 
Cumberland lake, as in the Aunturs of Arthur^ to read 
her daughter a moral lesson, when Arthur grips a 
monster or routs a giant by the force of his bare hands, 
when Gawain charges an enemy with vigorous speech 
and direct blows, the British genius writes con amore. 
When it tries to translate the prose Lancelot, it flags 
and wearies. The clumsiness of the verse contrasts 
unfavorably with the fine-spun graces and romantic 
undertones of the French prose, and the lack of em- 
phasis which already marred the ori^nal has reduced 
the entire work to a gray blur. 



It has just been said that the English genius is at 
home in writing of Gawain: and this cursory review of 
English Arthurian romances must single out for special 
note and praise the rather long list of poems dealing 
with this hero. Gawain is nearest to the English 
heart of all fighting men. He has a long and honorable 
career on the continent. He was known before 1090 



168 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

and in the first half of the twelfth century Italian 
babies were named for him. He habitually plays a 
fine rdle, second only to the nominal hero; almost 
achieves the Grail, and is indeed so honored that it 
seems as if he might in pre-literary days have been the 
leading and central figure of a great oral tradition. 
But even more than this can be said about the attitude 
toward him in England. More likely than most of 
the knights to have been an indigenous British hero, 
he was cherished in the land of his birth, till the late 
day when some evil fate befell him and turned him 
from honored protagonist to a near-viUain in the drama. 
That happened during the development of prose- 
romance; while these middle English poems were writ- 
ten, his splendor was at its height. 

Gawain is the first personage to be associated with 
Arthur. Called by his Welsh name Gwalchmai, he is 
noted in old Welsh poems as companion of the king; 
in the chroniclers, he holds the place of honor nearest 
the throne, while Lancelot and Perceval are unknown. 
If before literature began he had held to Arthur the 
relation of Tristram to Mark, no record of the fact 
remains; there is no hint of aspersion on his loyalty in 
the course of the known story. In the chronicles, 
however, Gawain, though systematically distinguished, 
is not markedly a more vivid figure than the other 
fighting men who gather rotmd their chief. It is in 
the middle English poems that he becomes the center 
of love as well as admiration. There is an affectionate 
tone toward him quite different from the official defer- 
ence shown to Arthur; and the number of poems con- 
cerning him, continuing till romance trails off into 
ballad in the legendary doggerel of the fifteenth century, 
show his firm hold on English hearts. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 169 

It has been claimed that all these poems hold some 
relation to the continuation of Chretien's Perceval 
by a certain Wauchier de Denain, and that they point 
to an original Geste of Sir Gawain insular in origin. 
However this may be, the English poems retain many 
primitive elements. Even in the prose Merlin^ Gawain 
is enchanted into a dwarf, and as late as Malory, his 
strength waxes and wanes with the sun, though this 
peculiarity, plainly once the attribute of a solar hero, 
is explained for a generation at once sceptical and pious 
as the gift of a holy man! In nearly all the poems, 
Gawain is entangled in mazes of enchantment that 
suggest fairy blood in his veins. He who in Malory is 
a particularly human and unimaginative knight, visits 
a castle beneath the ground, with a bewitched Turk 
who can make himself invisible at will; he is with 
Guenevere when her mother's grisly ghost rises shriek- 
irg from the mist-shrouded Northern lake in The 
Aunters of Arthur; in devotion to the king, he weds 
the loathly hag Dame Ragnell, to be rewarded by 
finding her at night a lovely fay. In Sir Gawain and 
the Green Knight he deals with a superhuman being 
clothed in fairy green, who can walk off with his head 
in his hands, and he keeps tryst at a Green Chapel 
which is a hollow fairy motmd. Perhaps so great a 
variety of supernatural motifs is associated with no 
other knight. Gawain is a real hero of folk-lore, 
rather than an invention of chivalric fancy. 

And at the same time, he became a thoroughly warm 
and actual human person; in reading about him one 
discovers all the traits which the Middle Ages desired 
to find in their ideal man. 

Even Mordred, in the Morte just discussed, does 
justice to Gawain. Here is his elegy on his great foe: 



170 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

''He was matchless on the earth, by my troth; this 
was Sir Gawayne the good, — ^the gladdest of all, and 
the most gracious man that lived under God, — a man 
hardiest of hand, most forttmate in arms, and most 
courteous in hall imder high heaven; the lordliest of 
bearing while he was alive/' In Sir Gawain and the 
Green Knight he bears the Pentangle on his shield, and 
the five points symbolize among other things the five 
qualities found in him, — frankness, fellowship, clean- 
ness, courtesy, and pity. Perhaps the prettiest de- 
scription is in Golagrus and Gawain: 

"Sir Gawain, the gay, good, and gracious. 
That ever was builded in bliss and bountee embraced. 
That never point of his price was founded defaced. 
Eager and ertand and right adventurous, 
Illumined with loyalty and with love laced/' 

"Illumined with loyalty" Gawain remained to the 
end of the chapter. But he is less often "with love 
laced/* He has gallant adventures, but no real love- 
story. The reason is made clear in the continental 
poems about him; his was a fairy mistress, and so he 
wins no earthly bride. Wolfram von Eschenbach's 
Parzival^ which narrates his wooing of Orgeluse the 
Proud Lady, is a survivor of the old tradition, which is 
preserved still more intact in the English poem of the 
Wedding. Sir Ginglain the Fair Unknown may have 
been the son of the Fay, — one hardly so thinks of Sir 
Florence and Sir Lovel, Gawain's two sons prosaically 
mentioned in Malory. As time passed, the fairy con- 
nection was evaded or forgotten; but Gawain, who 
had once been the mate of a fay, remained to the end 
less Ukely than other knights to seek a human love. 

According to one conjecture, the lady of the castle. 






MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 171 

whose blandishments he so honorably resists in Gawain 
and the Green Knight, was once the Fay his mate; while 
the Green Knight, now her husband woidd have been 
the servitor appointed to bring him to her.' In the 
older story, then, Gawain wotdd not have resisted; 
and the green lace, so important in the tale, wotdd 
have been the favor to the chosen lover. If this 
seemingly far-fetched hypothesis is true, the transfor- 
mation of the story wotdd be a striking instance of 
rationalizing and humanizing fancy at play on old 
fairy lore. For in spite of the supernatural elements 
piquantly retained, which add so romantic a charm to 
the story, Gawain and the Green Knight owes its chief 
quality to its direct appeal to plain honorable man- 
hood. Gawain is more than honorable, he is attract- 
ive. "Gay, good, and gracious" are the adjectives 
often given to him. Gracious, good, and gay people 
are still popular; it would be hard to find three better 
words to describe a well-loved hero. In Gawain and 
the Green Knight he deserves them all. His goodness 
comes out at the very start, when he springs to the 
relief of the king, at the embarrassing moment when 
no one in the court is willing to take up the challenge 
of the big Green Knight; and his fidelity to his word, 
in setting out the next year at the bitterest of winter to 
find the knight and redeem his pledge, shows the stuff 
of which he is made. His "gayety" is delightfully 
clear in the joy he brings to the Northern castle where 
he takes refuge. Although he feels himself under 
sentence of death, he so adds to the good cheer of the 
Yule-time festival going on that all members of the 
castle rejoice in his presence, and he appears to deserve 

« Cf. " Sir Gawayn and the Grene Knight," J. R. Hulbert, Mod, 
Philology, ziiL, 8, I2. 



172 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOBIAS MALORY 

Mordred's phrase about him, that he is ''the gladdest 
of all/' And as for gradotisnessi no man was ever 
harder put to it than Gawain to reconcile courtesy 
with faithfulness, when the lady of the castle presses 
him day by day for his love in the absence of her Lord. 
Gawain stands the test triumphantly and cleverly, 
repelling the lady without insulting her; his behavior 
is a victory of delicate manners. And when at the 
last the Green Knight, while letting him off lightly, 
yet does inflict a slight wound in payment for Gawain's 
equally slight lapse in receiving the favor of the lace, 
the rueful remorse and shame of the hero complete 
one's affection for hinu 

So far as plot goes, there is no fresh invention in the 
poem. The central episode appears in the remote 
days of Irish epic, in the Feast of Bricriu; and any one 
who desires to know how surprising a number of de- 
capitated persons wander through folk-lore wishing to 
return the. blows that beheaded them, has only to turn 
to Professor Kittredge's monograph. Many other 
knights besides Gawain have held to their word under 
similar di£Sculties. The Perilous Chapel is one of 
many such dread and haunted spots, deriving the pecu- 
liar horror associated with them from the old Christian 
habit of founding sanctuaries on the site of buildings 
already consecrated, in heathen days, to deities feared 
by mediaeval imagination as demons. The exact source 
and relation of the different elements in the tale are 
open to discussion still. But the plain reader, caring 
for none of these things, can delight in the poem. It 
deserves its reputation as the finest work in English 
romance-literature before Malory. It is a work of 
earnest intent, written not with the tripping grace 
and glee of a Chretien, but with a moral seriousness 



MIDDLE ENGLISH ROMANCES 173 

that recalls old Saga days. Yet the story is well or- 
ganized and developed, rich in atmospheric effects, 
adorned with French sentiment and delicacy. While 
the poem is compounded of old elements, it reads like 
an English product. It shows that England did not 
need to receive her old heroes back from a long sojourn 
in Prance. She had never forgotten them. And to 
none did she cling with more loyalty than to Gawain: 
Gawain, the only important knight beside Kay: con- 
nected both with the Romance and with the Chronicle 
tradition, Gawain who, as he is the earliest of the 
Table Round to be Arthur's companion, is also to be 
almost the last friend remaining at his side. 

Gawain's character was sadly to change before the 
time of Malory ; his degeneration is one of the mysteries 
of romance. 




/ 

I 

\ 

\ 



PART II 

THE MORTE DARTHUR OP SIR THOMAS 
MALORY 



«7S 



/ 



CHAPTER I 

THB MAN AND HIS BOOK 



I pray you all, gentlemen and gentlewomen that readeth 
this book of Arthur and his knights, from the begixming 
to the ending, pray for me while I am on live that God 
send me good deliverance, and when I am dead I pray you 
all pray for my soul. For this book was ended the ninth 
year of King Edward the Fourth, by Sir Thomas Maleore 
Knight, as Jesu help him for his great might, as he is the 
servant of Jesu both day and night. 

Which book was reduced into English by Sir Thomas 
Malory, knight, as afore is said, and by me divided into 
twenty-one books, chaptered and imprinted, and finished 
in the Abbey Westminster the last day of July the year 
of Our Lord MCCCCLXXXV. 

Caxton me fieri fecit.' 

SO, out of the very heart of England, the great book 
springs. Arthurian legend had started from the 
British Isles in the early dawn of the Middle Ages; it re- 
turned to the British ^es when the mediaeval sun was 
setting, and the afterglow of the mediaeval day lingiers in 

* Morte Darthur, Sir Thomas Malory, Everyman's, p. 401. 
13 X77 



178 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Malory's pages. For the English reader, at least, no other 
record of chivalry will ever seem so noble. Malory 
wrote two centuries and a half after the close of the 
great creative epoch, and the lateness of his date well- 
nigh destro}rs his value as' a source. To the scholar 
he must probably remain a mere compiler who added 
little or nothing, and reduced his materials to one 
(tenth their original bulk. But to the lover of romance, 
his book is the glorious consummation of a long de- 
velopment. It was written at the perfect moment. 
When printing was once well under weigh, the old 
traditions broke and romance could no longer flourish; 
but at first the new art served the old life well. Mal- 
ory's work, finished in 1469, waited sixteen years for 
print; but the old knight seems almost by a sort of 
prescience to have reduced the enormous task of his 
material to practicable printing bulk. And it was by 
a significant stroke of good luck that the Morte Darthur^ 
honored by a memorable. Preface, was one of the first 
books to issue from Caxton's press. 

For a long time, nothing was known about "Sir 
Thomas Maleore, knight'* beyond his own statement. 
To-day, he is probably identified with a character from 
whom a book like the Morte Darthur could be expected. 
A Thomas Malory of an old Warwickshire family 
succeeded to his father at Newbold Revell in 1433 or 
1434. He was M.P. for Warwickshire in 1445, in the 
twenty-third year of Henry VI. Apparently he had 
fought when yoimg in the French wars, under that very 
perfect gentle knight, the Earl of Warwick, of whom 
an emperor said that if all courtesy were lost it might 
be fotmd again in him. Later, he must have been 
involved in the wars of the Roses, for he was excluded 
from a pardon issued in 1468 by Edward IV. He 



THE MAN AND HIS BOOK 179 

died in 1471, in the same year with Thomas k Kempis, 
and was btiried in the chapel of St. Francis at Grey- 
friars, with the epitaph "Valens Miles." 

One can picture the old knight, his days of action 
done, as he sat, possibly in prison, perhaps banished 
to his estates in that Warwickshire which was to be 
the home-country of Shakespeare and of George Eliot, 
brooding lovingly over his "Frensche book" and tran- 
scribing it into English. Surely fame never occurred 
to him; he wrote for pure delight, in the himible spirit 
of those anonymous mediaeval scribes whose perscmal- 
ity is lost while their contribution to life remains. Yet 
the modem reader is aware that Malory's Morte syn- -^ 
thesizes a civilization. What the contemporaries of 
chivalry show close at hand, in vivid but unrelatea 
segments, appears in him unified through a long per-^ 
spective. Chivalry and feudalism fade before the 
eyes of the student of the fifteenth century; their 
glories had departed, and the English Renascence was 
already in the air. But the old ideals were still potent 
in many hearts, and it is evident that Malory himself, 
an aristocrat and patriot, lived by them ardently ,\ 
though in his own phrase he "had a deeming" thati 
their day was done. His book is full of laments over \ ^^ 
a degenerate England and a degenerate age; and in its ' 
constant undertone of pensiveness, one catches that 
"emotion recollected" which transmutes prose into . 
poetry and touches beauty with significance. In 
Malory, rather than in any of his predecessors, is to 
be fotmd the authentic accent of mature romance: 
romance, which is always retrospective, always haunted 
by the memory of glory that has passed or is passing 
away. 

There are many delightful things for which it is 



180 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

useless to ask him; people who know the medifieval 
world through his pages alone lose more than they 
realize. His book is "the last of a singular series of re- 
tellings and redactions/' and nattirally there are many 
stories which he does not tell, and many touching and 
admirable portions of the stories he chooses, omitted 
or travestied. Sometimes he uses dull or debased 
versions; sometimes all the vitality has left his treat- 
ment. Yet even to suggest these lapses in selective 
instinct may seem carping, for the general impression 
he gives is: "Here is God's plenty." A more subtle 
and serious criticism of his work, considers not the 
choice of material but the method of presenting it. 
In turning to Malory from the poets of the romantic 
dawn, — Chr6tien, Wolfram, Gottfried — one is dis- 
appointed at his lack of freshness. The world seems 
suddenly like a tapestry regarded from the wrong side; 
colors are dimmed, detail is blurred. Analysis con- 
firms the impression; Malory's treatment is psycho- 
logical not pictorial. The rainbow-flashing of the 
tournament is gone; costumes are "wondrous rich," 
but there is no feeling for texture, ornament, or design. 
The minor arts, — carved ivory, fine embroidery, and 
the others, — ^have ceased to interest; the decorative 
detail on which earlier writers so lovingly dwelt is all 
but wholly absent. The simple touches of twelfth- 
century authors evoke vividly the most picturesque 
phase of European history; in Malory, the picture 
must be inferred from the narrative, and life is gray. 
Every now and then, of course, effective hints are 
given; the queens who find Lancelot sleeping under 
an apple tree move beneath a canopy of green silk; 
the child Isoud equips Tristram with white horse and 
armor; La Cote Mai Taill6 comes to court in rich 



V 



THE MAN AND HIS BOOK i8i 

doth of gold, evil shapen. But pages after pages 
can be turned without a concrete detail to strike 
the eye. 

To experience the Middle Ages as they were, we 
must turn, therefore, to the old romances written when 
the wonder and excitement of them were new. It is 
these, not Malory, which can quicken sense with a 
mysterious revival of ancient things. When we listen 
with the hero of a Grail story to the singing of innu- 
merable white birds till we forget the cares of our 
mortality, when we watch the sunbeam play on the 
cheek of Iseult, we know such joy as Keats was crav- 
ing when he cried: "Oh for a life of sensations rather 
than thoughts!'* The earlier Middle Ages achieve 
with unconscious ease all that the modem imagists 
attempt with meticulous effort; they have power to 
revive sensation in the most jaded. This power Mai- 1 
ory does not share. It is not in his pages, from which' 
light, color, form have all but vanished, that onel 
can revel in the mediaeval sense of beauty. , He as-- 
sumes his period, he does not reveal it, and modems, 
who can no longer assume it, must revert to older 
authors if they would evoke its bright pageantry before 
their eyes. 

For his day and generation, Malory did right. Fif- 
teenth-century people were as keen as ever on the old 
stories, with their wealth of emotion and action. Ac- 
tion, emotion, these never grow stale. But the external 
elements of romance, the tournaments, the pageants, 
the clothes, had become a thrice-told tale. Everybody 
knew what a knight in armor looked like; he and hk 
properties were retained as necessary conventions 
because the world had not yet recovered its freshness 
of eye by arraying itself in the new vestures of the 



i82 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

r Renascence. But interest had shifted from the aspect 
I of things to the spirit, and no*bne is equal to Malory 

in presenting the spirit of the epoch that was passing 

away. 

II 

At a first reading Malory's book seems to share the 
amorphous and incoherent character of most mediaeval 
prose-romances. For to pass the time, the book shall be 
pleasant to read in, as Caxton says, but the mazes of 
it are as bewildering as those in which it pleased Spenser 
to lose himself a century later: 

"The waies, through which my weary steps I guide 
In this delightftil land of faerie 
Are so exceeding spacious and wide 
And sprinkled with such sweet variety 
Of all that pleasant is to ear and eye, 
That I, nigh ravished with rare thoughts' delight 
My tedious travel do forget thereby.**' 

' ''Herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, hiunan- 
ity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, coward- 
ice, murder, hate, virtue and sin" — ^and the reader 
is likely to add that they may be seen all in a 
jtimble.* 

But first impressions are misleading, and the longer 
one studies Malory the clearer grows the conviction 
that his book is a coherent work of art. It marks the 
consummation of the process, already suggested, by 
which purpose, coordination, unity, gradually and 

' Spenser, Faerie Queene, Bcx>k vi., i. 

* So Andrew Lang describes the book: "A jumble . • . but of all 
jumbles the most poetic and pathetic." Sommer's Malory, iii., p. six. 



THE3IAN AND HIS BOOK 183 

unconsciously developed out of the unrelated and 
incongruous elements that were drawn into Arthurian 
romance. 

The twelfth-century poems which inaugurate the 
romance-tradition were as a rule helplessly inconse- 
quent. They appealed to a public still childish in its 
demands. Tell me a story I pleads the child, and 
listens gleeftdly as the story-teller says: "and then 
. . . and then ..." stringing episode on episode, 
indifferent to beginning, middle, and end. Centraliza- 
tion is equally foreign to the mediaeval poet; provided 
his story entertains as it goes along he cares little 
whither it is tending, and his poems rarely or never 
afford the joy which springs from the perception of 
causality at] work in experience. In the endless me- 
anderings of the prose-romances, a different instinct ap- 
pears, a wavering, intermittent yet increasingly distinct 
sense of purpose. They are no longer frankly episodic 
and longitudinal; they represent an immense expansion; 
and life, if seen in broad enough sweep, has a ten- 
dency to reveal design; for life is spherical, not linear, 
it is coherent, not crumbled, it entangles to resolve, 
it is centered in crises and advances to climax, though 
to climax below the horizon. At a word, it is dramatic, 
and the seemingly casual growth of the Arthuriad, 
as it absorbs life in wider and wider ranges, testifies 
to the fact. Arthurian romance taken as a whole is 
like a great tapestry on which coimtless forgotten 
hands have worked. The weave is loose, no thread is 
held all the time, bulk and detail obscure the pattern. 
No one person ever saw the entire design, yet it has 
grown under their labors. One of the extraordinary 
things in literary history is this emerging of a synthetic 
vision, an image of a civilization on quest, from the 



i84 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

unrelated and spontaneous activities of many minds 
through many generations. 

But in the last stage of the process, conscious genius, 
apprehending the whole scheme, became a necessity. 
The enormous expansion of romance had passed all 
reason; concentration now became essential, if any 
main lines of trend and structure were to be revealed. 
The restraining and clarifying influence of the classic re- 
vival was soon to *'add order to beauty"; and Malory's 
book comes at a moment when although no direct 
Renascence forces can be traced in it, the new spirit 
may well have helped him to marshal his material 
with a new feeling for sequence. His book, in any 
case, marks the final phase of selective work on the 
romances. Whether another phase had intervened 
between that book and the great thirteenth-century 
compilations is not known, tiiough it is natural to 
stirmise that the good knight possessed condensed 
versions of the stories, since no modest library would 
have been likely to hold all his ultimate sources. But 
such versions if they existed have been lost, and it is 
in the English Morte Darthur that romance cycles are 
at last reduced to such a scale that the critical mind 
can apprehend the Arthtiriad as an organized whole. 

The more carefully the book is studied, the more 

clearly a "shaping spirit of imagination" is seen to 

preside over choice and arrangement. Malory had 

I Uttle care for original inventions; to him, as to other 

mediaeval writers, the oldest tale was the best, and he 

commended his book by the demure refrain, ''as the 

Frensche book saith." Nor may one look to him for 

the type of unity foimd in iEschylus or Shakespeare. 

* He introduces much irrelevant matter; the richness of 

' narrative detail, even when relevant, obscures the 



THE MAN AND HIS BOOK 185 

structure, the point of view shifts as regards char- 
acters, — above all, he shares with other mediaeval 
writers that confusing absence of emphasis which 
makes structural lines or centers hard to discern. In 
all these respects, he is typically romantic in his art. 
And at the same time, it is only necessary to recede 
to a little distance from his book, to discover the state- 
liness of its purpose and the balance of its parts. His 
work can only be understood against the background 
of earlier romance, with its tentative emphases, its 
uncorrelated monotonies; seen from this point, it re- 
veals an almost Shakespearean genius for welding 
disparate elements into an organic whole. For it is 
not too much to say that Malory has constantly the 
whole in mind. A prescient instinct of the end gov- 
erns his work from the beginning; there is a deep 
current flowing beneath all surface play of wave and 
light to a predestined goal. 

in 

In order to do Malory justice, one must forget for 
the time being all about his sources, and consider his 
book as an integral work of art. The aim, how deliber- 
ate each reader must decide for himself, is to present 
the controlling interests of the Middle Ages, — ^love, 
religion, war, — in their ideal symmetry and their 
actual conflict. Malory's way of doing this is to tell 
the story of the rise and fall of chivalry, with its three 
loyalties, to the overlord, to the lady, and to God, as 
symbolized in the fate of that fair fellowship, the Table 
Round. 

Each loyalty has its exponent. Gawain, Arthur's 
nephew, through all his light and sometimes evil ways. 



i86 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

is doggedly faithful to his king; Tristram, the eternal 
lover, harps to La Beale Isoud; Galahad rides forever 
after the vanishing Grail. Each plays his part on a 
large stage, with ample room and verge enough to 
show his dominant passion from every angle, and each 
is centered in one passion only. Gawain is light o' love 
and sadly bored by the Grail-Quest, Tristram is un- 
visited by compunction toward his king or his God, 
Galahad gives Arthur cool lip-homage only, and makes 
faint concession to courtly love by permitting the 
phantom-fair sister of Perceval to gird on his sword. 
One heart alone is swayed by all three peissions, as by 
pontrary winds that wreck the barque. The portrait 
of Lancelot is Malory's greatest tritunph, for in his 
struggle is concentrated the clash of forces which by 
their union created and by their conflict destroyed the 
diivalric ideal. 

Aroimd these chief knights gather many figures, 
some known only by name, some by attributes, others 
standing out as vivid personalities. Their strength, 
their weakness, are relentlessly shown; we see them as 
the book goes on, at once exalting knighthood by their 
devotion and undermining it by their sins and failures. 
The Roman wars, the conquests of Arthur, are sub- 
ordinated and obscured; the knights themselves work 
out the destiny of their Order. The three loyalties, 
if controlled by mercy, by courtesy, by that most 
Hellenic of knightly virtues, mesure, would produce 
perfect knightly honor. But in the world as it is, 
each thwarts the other, till the struggle among them, 
implicit from the first, becomes explicit and leads to 
the destruction of them all. 

Malory's power consists in his development of this 
theme, — ^in his contrasts, his distribution of emphasis. 



THE MAN AND HIS BOOK 187 

his romantic play of light and shadow. We shall 
address otirselves presently to a dose study of this 
development; on broad lines, the sequence can be 
suggested in a paragraph. 

The first seven books, summarizing great reaches 
in Malory*s sources, serve as prologue. They place 
Arthur on the throne, define the spirit of chivalry, 
describe its inception and its victories over an England 
where its high standards have been unknown: farther 
conquests on the Continent are rather dimly discerned. 
Sin is present almost at the beginning, — ^the grim 
half-conscious sin of Arthur in the begetting of Mor- 
dred, — ^but it is mentioned swiftly, succinctly, may be 
forgotten if one will. The Table Roimd, as it gathers 
its fellowship, is seen in full radiance. In the sixth 
book, Lancelot, the protagonist, is briefly but ade- 
quately placed at the center of the stage. The seventh 
book, irrelevant in a way to the plot, rightly closes the 
prologue ; it is the Pageant of Sir Gareth, the one picture 
in the Morte Darthur of a chivalry untouched by inward 
conflict or contrition, victorious, unshadowed, young. 

Characters are now placed; outward foes are sub- 
dued, chivalry has found itself in its glory. And so 
to the main action and the body of the work. 

First, three long books, eighth, ninth, and tenth, 
are devoted to the Pageant of Romantic Love. Tris- 
tram and his lady are at the center: winsome, insolent, 
wholly demoralized subjects of the Lord of Terrible 
Aspect who excuses them from any other allegiance. 
They are viewed with no expressed disapproval, they 
feel no touch of compunction. Other lovers gather 
around them, lovers in every attitude, illustrating from 
various angles that Gai Science which the Middle 
Ages had codified and exalted. 



l88 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

No breath of criticism is allowed while the maze of 
these long books is threaded. None the less, in time 
one wearies of lovers and is ready for change. Into 
the Hall at Camelot floats the white dove of purity, 
and Galahad, "seemly and demure" as that dove 
"and of all manner of good features," advances to 
present the Pageant of the GraiL That quest no 
woman may share and after the heats of earthly passion 
there is refreshment in the moonlit cool which marks 
the passing of the Holy Thing. The phantom fires 
whidi the knights start forth to seek, reduce the clash 
of arms, the storms of love, to fading dreams. Few 
attain their quest, and few return from it. Bors and 
Lancelot wend their way back at the close of the seven- 
teenth book to a broken and enfeebled Logres: a realm 
in which brave shows of joust and festival are still 
observed, but in an atmosphere fevered and sad; where 
suspicion eats into the heart of the political order, 
where loyalties clash in the open, and the tragic end 
is clearly imminent. From the eighteenth book to 
the close, dramatic evolution is swift and firm. Tris- 
tram, Galahad, have vanished. Now Gawain emerges 
from the background where he has been waiting all 
through the story, carefully subordinated, but always 
awarded both high honor and sharp blame. Pierce 
in vindictive fealty to his king and his House, he is a 
"throw-back" to that Pagan ideal in which fidelity 
to one's chieftain and vengeance on one's foes were 
primary virtues. To him is opposed the man of divided 
will, victim of past sin rather than of present choice, 
— the Lancelot who during the Grail-books has changed 
from a mere model of chivalry to a breathing xnan: 
Lancelot, truest lover of all sinful knights, Lancelot, 
who in the Holy Quest surpassed all save Galahad his 



THE MAN AND HIS BOOK 189 

son and two others, Lancelot, chief defender and chief 
destroyer of Arthur's throne a&d of the Table Round. 

In the resultant miseries of civil strife, the ancient 
sin of Arthur, always lowering thunderously on the 
horizon, rises to the zenith; and when the storm is 
over, men may at will dream of the king in his island 
quiet at Avalon, or weep at Glastonbury by his tomb. 
Gawain lies penitent and dead. Lancelot has ''dried 
and dwined away" till his soul has been borne heaven- 
ward by angels, and Guenevere, praying to the last 
that she may never see him more in the visage, has 
been laid to rest beside her lord. 

From the conclusion of Malory's book, one would 
suppose that the land of Logres was one vast monastery 
devoted to expiation: and this is well. Arthur may 
return some day. But he will find no Table Rotmd 
to welcome him; for that gay chivalry which set forth 
to subdue the land and to establish peace and justice 
in a Christianized realm, has perished. Through its 
own weakness it has fallen, disrupted by its noblest 
passions; and the England that remains can do naught 
but sing its dirge. 



CHAPTER II 

THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 
BOOKS I-VII 



MALORY'S main source in the first four books is the 
Merlin romance known as the Suite de Merlin, and 
found in the Huth MS. only. In the chronicle tradition 
which this Merlin amplifies, interesting things are told 
about Arthur's predecessors, — Pendragon his imcle and 
Uther his father, Vortigem the usurper, Hen^st and 
Horsa. All this Malory omits. He plunges swiftly 

^ into the middle of things, and his story opens with the 
begetting of Arthur, told with all possible brevity. 
By the fifth chapter, Uther is dead, and Arthur, a 
grown lad, is chosen king by virtue of the magic sword 
stuck in the perron or stone; by the seventh he is 
properly crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
and the action can begin. 

On the whole, the reader may be grateful to miss the 
delays of the conventional romantic opening. Malory 

^anticipates the modem trick of suddenness; the abrupt 
beginning gives an impression of haste, of important 
affairs on hand, not Se deferred. The characters are 
all the more effective because they appear unexplained. 
One hesitates a little over the advantage of the method 
in the case of one personage, M^lin. His mysterious 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 191 

personality dominates these earlier books, but no help 
to understanding him is offered. From the time of 
Geoffrey, the tale of this strange son of nu n a nd dem on 
had held, and deservedly, the shuddering fancy. Mer- 
lin, the hairy baby, Merlin the wise child, Merlin the 
protector of Arthur's forbears, who wrought the dragon- 
banner spitting flame, who brought Stonehenge over 
from Ireland, had at once terrified and fascinated the 
generations. Nothing of all this is in Malory. It is 
hard to imagine his Merlin as babe or child: the sor- 
cerer appears ageless as the wind. Only once a passing 
hint is given of his origin: Nimue, on whom he was 
assotted, ''feared him because he was a devil's son." 
His coming is unheralded; but before a dozen pages 
are done he slips into the narrative: "My lord," says 
Ulfius to Uther who is pining for Ygraine: "I shall seek 
Merlin, and he shall do you remedy . . • that your 
heart may be eased." So Ulfius departed, and by ad- 
venture he met Merlin in a beggar's array."* 

Perhaps such treatment of the figure invests it with 
more mjrstery and dread than does the detail of the 
earlier story. At all events, in general the_CQmpi:^ 
siqn of these first books is not to be regretted. The 
first matter to dispose of is Arthur's struggle with 
pther British chiefs to get himself recognized and to 
win control of the land, — ^a matter that occupies inter- 
minable lengths in the original. Malory dismisses it 
in Book I. Eleven kings rally against Arthur,-^ 
malignant, titanic figures, belonging to that elder 
generation clearly to be distinguished in the Morte 
from the gentler products of developed chivalry, who 
are more tasually dubbed knights than kings. The 
struggle is protracted, but though several chapters 

> UarU Dartkur, L, i. 



192 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

succeed each other with the cheery heading, "Yet 
more of the same battle/' any one turning to the origi- 
nal discovers that Malory has abridged it till the 
story is hardly intelligible. He is so perfunctory along 
here that the reader is inclined to agree with Merlin, 
who comes on a great black horse and says to Arthur: 
"Thou hast never done, hast thou not done enough? 
It is time to say Ho! For God is wroth with thee, 
that thou wilt never have done/' 

So the battle is ended, though rather inconclusively, 
and Arthur is fairly well settled on his throne. Up 
to this time the tffle of the story has in the main been 
that of chrgnifle. Historic allusions are attempted: 
we waver between Logres the land of story and England 
the land of fact. The marble stone wherein the magic 
sword sticks to the hilt, appears in the churchyard of 
"the greatest Church of London, whether it were 
Paul's or not the French book maketh no mention." 
There is allusion to a Commons that seems to approve 
Arthur's election, after which feat it disappears, imtil, 
being "new-fangle," it turns to favor Mordred at the 
end. The Engli^cqloring, though fainx, is distinct 
for a little while. 

But it fad^j)resently, and as it fades, the diron icle- 
tone yields wholly to the higher quality of romance. 
The transition is accomplished through the figure' of 
Arthur, — a figure which gives vitality to all these 
early books. Later on, Arthur is destined to withdraw 
into a regal seclusion and to become, if truth be told, 
somewhat stiff in the joints. Here he is youthful and 
charming. Nothing could be prettier than the affec- 
tionate modesty he shows in the first glimpse of him, 
when he runs docile home to fetch his foster-brother 
Kay a sword, ptills the magic blade out of the stone 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 193 

for Kay, and protests horrified when Kay and his 
foster-father kneel, recognizing him as their king., 
"Alas," he cries," "my own dear father and brother, v. 
why do ye kneel to me?" Yet he takes naturally to 
his rank, and bears him henceforth right kingly, though 
with refreshing boyish ardor. Chivalry is iimate in him, ^ 
as appears in his magnanimity to his foes, his love of 
good knights, and above all in his passion for adventure. 
He refuses to sit in state at Caerlion and wanders 
forth at will: "And when they heard of his adventures, 
they marveled that he would jeopard his person 
so, alone. But all men of worship said it was merry 
to be under such a chieftain, that would put his person 
in adventure as other poor knights did."' 

Arthur can summon dignity enough when he replies 
to the Roman ambassadors. But in the main, he is a 
mere eager lad, as when he prefers the sword to the 
scabbard, or when he scolds Merlin for interrupting 
his fight with Pellinore. Merlin indeed, who is prettily 
proud of him, is repeatedly obliged to check him, which 
he does with more or less decided htmior. How merry 
a defiance Arthur hurls, at the end of the first book, 
against the giant king Rience, who has insolently ptufled 
a mantle with kings' beards, and demands Arthtu''s to 
complete his collection I ' * Thou mayst see my beard is 
full young yet to make a purfle of it," sa3rs Arthur, in 
reply to this "most villainous and lewdest message that 
ever man heard sent unto a king." Htmi or does not 
abound in romance, but there is a dancing^gayety to this 
answer: one hears the loud laughter of the cotu*t. 

Malory's Arthur, it may be noted, has not lost his old 
trick of dealing with giants, although these fifteenth- 
century monsters are as a rule modified into big fierce 

> I/LorU Darihur, L, 25. 
S3 



194 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

knights, like Carados, who trusses Gawain like a 
chicken, and bears him away on his saddle. But it is a 
pleasure to hear of Rience, and to meet once more the 
authentic monster who has slain Helena and is roasting 
children on a spit, even if he is less awesome-grim than 
in the alliterative Morte. 

So Arth ur ri dtes at will through the land, jousting and 
fighting, after the excellent knig ht-erra nt fashion; and 
exciting things begin to occur. Yet allls not stmshine. 
Before the end of the book, a shadow dims the landscape : 
chill is in the air. The young beauty of Arthur's 
figure is marred by sin, for he is far from stainless, and 
the loose standards of the time are reflected in his story. 
In Chapter jcix. of Book I. is introduced thg ^agic 
motifjjhe begetting"of KTordred : not the first of Arthiu' s 
lapses, but tiie worst, and the one destined to work 
the last disaster. Briefly" though it is chronicled, a 
drear romantic terror creeps at this point into the tale. 
The Questing Beast goes by, — strange creature, con- 
nected with the Grail, who haimts the byways of 
romance. Omens thicken. Merlin speaks plain lan- 
guage to the lad he loves: "Ye have done of late a 
thing that God is displeased with you, for ye have 
gotten a child that shall destroy you and all the knights 
of your realm."' The shadow passes, but it may not 
be forgotten. It is shocking to read the cursory remark 
that Arthur bids the slajring of all children bom on 
May-Day in the vain hope of destroying his son.* 
These are wild times: men groping in the dark are 
hardly responsible for what they do; for there is as 
yet no Table Rotmd, there are no vows of chivalry. 

' Morte Darthur, i., 20. 

• In Malory's Source, King Lot's campaign against Arthur is motived 
by his anger at the supposed death of Mordred. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 19S 

Meanwhile, the messengers from Rome, demanding 
tribute, have been scornfully dismissed. Arthur leams 
his parentage, in a scene not lacking in pathos. The 
relations of his House are defined; for Gawain and his 
brothers come to court, with the ill-omened mother, 
Queen Margawse, and Ygraine comes, bringing with 
her her daughter Morgan le Pay, — mistress in chief 
of black magic as opposed to the white magic of 
Merlin. So by the end of the^book, many of the 
dramatis persatuz are gathered, and the ' scene for 
the draxfiart5'"1sfld: — haid in an atmosphere gloomy 
enough on the whole. The story wavers between 
chronicle and romance, but romance wins out and it 
is romance fierce, lawless, shot through with hints of 
evil magic and far disaster, yet setting and background 
withal for something youthfully bright, amazingly 
eager. Arthur stands in the high light at the center, 
— ^Arthtu" encompassed with mystery, stained by sin, ^ 
yet lovable, kingly, heroic, carrying Excalibur flashing 
"like thirty torches" in his hand. . - . « 

II 

The king is on the throne; but not till the end of the 
third book will the Table Round be established and 
the knights sworn by their oath. Meantime, the neces- 
sity for that oath will be made very plain. The s econd ^ 
book seems superficially irrelevant to the main action. 
It tells the sorrowful tale of the brothers, Balin and 
Balan, a tale which attracted Swinburne to a retelling 
inferior to the original. Prom the point_ctf_view of 
romantic art^ this book is one of the finest in Malory. 
It narrates how Balin the nusfortunate achieves the 
sword brought to court by the damosel of Lady Lile; 



w.. f 



196 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

how with this sword he cuts off in full court the head of 
the Lady of the Lake who had slain his mother*: how, 
exiled by Arthur, he wins back to favor by capturing 
the haughty giant, King Rience, and how he passes 
through many adventures, always well-intentioned, 
always doom^ to disaster; till at the dose, in anony- 
mous conflict with his loved brother Balan, both fall, 
killed by each other's swords. 

^ This story is one of the best examples of Malory's 
method. Apparently told wholly for its own sake, it 
yet serves a double purpose in the general scheme. 
First, it lifts the story decisively and finally from the 
atmosphere of chronicle, where interest centers on the 
event, into an atmosphere of romance where interest 
centers on the emotion. We are not ready yet to live 
in this diflScult air; but it is well to know what is wait- 
ing, well to realize thus early how transitory is that 
spirit of superficial adventure which has marked the 
inception of Arthur's reign. Second, the book enhances 
the impression of the crying need for the work which 
Arthtu" and chivalry have to do. For it shows us deep 
disorder and moral confusion obtaining everywhere. 
In no wise could the anarchistic condition of the realm 
be more vividly conveyed than through Balin's miser- 
able story, as he gropes in a world of no established 
standards, where the finest purpose and the truest 
instincts of untutored honor do but lead a man into 
ever worse blunders and failures. 

J^ Balm is the first of Malory's strong character studies : 
li tragic figure, always entirely noble in purpose, always 
doing the wrong thing. Alone among the assembled 
knights, including Arthur, he is proved by the sword 

' In the Suite, the source which Malory usually follows, it is the 
brother who has beea killed. The "ordinary " Merlin gives the mother. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 197 

test to be a passing good man of his hands and of his 
deeds, and of a gentle strain of father and mother side, 
and also "a dean knight without villainy or treachery 
and without treason."' The chivalric ideal thus 
begins to define itself. Its basic traits are aristocratic 
origin and courage, and that high virtue of loyalty which 
is central in the mediaeval standard. 

Yet in spite of these qualities, Balin blunders from 
the beginning. Note his conduct in striking off the 
head of the Lady of the Lake. He is simply following 
that law of vengeance which is the law of honor for 
all primitive people. She was the falsest lady alive 
and she was the cause that his mother had been burnt. 
Here is provocation enow! None the less, because 
he lost his self-control and did the deed in Arthur's 
court, he has sinned against mesure. The dignity and 
the honor of the court are violated, and Balin sets 
forth under his king's displeasure, only to pass from 
misfortune to misfortune. When he would do his 
very best, he is always at his worst. In lawful fight 
he slays the arrogant Lanceor, but with horrified pity 
sees La gceor 's lady Colombe kill herself for grief upon 
the body. He offers gallant escort to a weakling 
knight, and behold! that knight riding imder his escort 
is slain by Garion, * who, dastard fashion, rides invisible. 

Here if anywhere reprisals would seem righteous, 
and Balin vowing to avenge his friend on this unseen 
foe commands sympathy. Yet this very quest leads 
to mysterious sin and final doom. For it is in the Grail 
castle, whither the scene is suddenly and strangely 

* Morte Darthur, ii., 16. 

'This Garion may sGuifialon, a cannibal long in Perceval le 
Gallais, Gorlagon in Welsh »a werewolf. See Kittredge, Arthur and 
Gorlagon^ Harv. Studies. 



198 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

shifted, that Garlon is fotuid. Here, where reality 
reigns, he is no longer hidden from sight; and Balin, 
leaping up in noble rage, kills him, — ^impelled not only 
by the desire to avenge, but by the wish to secure his 
blood to heal a lad who can not be whole till he have 
of that knight's blood. Now the brother of Garlon is 
Pellam, the Grail king: he in his turn seeks to avenge his 
evukin, and rushes on Balin's spear, only to receive 
that dolorous stroke through which kingdoms are laid 
waste and the whole world languishes. It is one of the 
strangest stories in Malory, and a peculiar explanation 
of the Dolorous Stroke which constantly recurs in Grail- 
romance. But one simple moral is obvious: disci- 
pline in that stringent law of hosp itality which was the 
first necessity for decent and secure civilization. This 
law must be preserved at all hazards: Bdi n has vi o- 
lated it, and ptmishment must ensue. So he departs 
to meet his doom. And from now on the tone of 
somber apprehension is superbly rendered. He finds 
•'the people dead, slain on every side. And all that 
were alive cried : O Balin thou hast caused great damage 
in these countries; for the Dolorous Stroke thou gavest 
unto King Pellam three countries are destroyed, and 
doubt not but the vengeance will fall on thee at last. 
When Balin was past these countries he was passing 
fain." 6ut Balin is still "fey": seeking to befriend 
a knight by\ showing him the falsity of his lady, he but 
goads the poor man to self-destruction. The scenes, 
the words,, have the same unforgetable quality of 
weird horror that pervades Browning's ChUde Roland. 

And within three days he came by a Cross and thereon 
were letters of gold written that said, It is for no knight 
alone to ride toward this castle. Then saw he an old hoar 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 199 

gentleman coming toward him that said, Balin the Savage, 
thou passest thy bounds to come this way, therefore turn 
again and it will avail thee. And he vanished away anon, 
and so he heard an horn blow as it had been the death of 
a beast. That blast, said Balin, is blown for me, for I am 
the prize and yet am I not dead.' 



He is now welcomed to a gay feast, where knights 
and ladies greet him with fair semblance; but malignant 
suggestion increases. Bidden to joust with a knight, he 
knows that his hotu* is struck, and welcomes it. Thus 
Balin the doomed meets his brot her Bal an in mortal 
combat; and when'tEe fight is over and the pathos 
calmed in death, comes Merlin to bury them. 

For the wizard wanders stealthily through these 
adventures, ever hinting through sjrmbols and dark 
sayings at their relation with what is to come. The 
t ale is full of prescient hints of gre ater t raged y^ to be. 
Before the dead bodies of Lanceor and his love Colombe 
appears, of all people, King Mark of Cornwall, to mourn 
their fate and build their tomb; whereupon Merlin 
sardonically informs him that on the tomb are written 
in golden letters the names of two great knights and 
truest lovers who shall fight a good fight here some day: 
they are Lancelot of the Lake and Tristram of Lyonesse. 
On the tomb of the knight slain by Garlon is the grim 
prediction that Gawain shall avenge his father's death 
on Pellinore: and by BaUn's own tomb is a couch on 
which it drives a man mad to lie. It is the sword of 
Balin, the imlucky knight who died foiled and morally 
defeated, which on a later morning is to float in its 
marble stone down the river to Camelot, and to be 
achieved by the stainless Galahad. With this same 

« liarU Darthur, ii., 17. 



200 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

sword, so Merlin foretells, the final tragedy shall be 
fulfilled and Lancelot shall kill Gawain. 

Frequent suggestion of the Grail-interest occurs 
through the book, as where Balin learns of the Sick 
Lady who can be healed only by the blood of a pur^ 
maiden, — she for whom Perceval's sister is later to die. 
Are we meant never to forget during the long de- 
velopments to follow, that the Dolorous Stroke has 
been given and that a curse rests on the land? Must 
we be reminded at the outset, even if only in veiled 
symbol, that the deeper issues of Arthurian story are 
worked out, not on the plane of nature, but in a world 
unseen? At all events, this book, very fine in itself, 
plays also a distinct part as prelude to the main action. 
It leads out into the full romantic atmosphere. It 
shows the dark possibilities involved in the clash of 
chivalric impulse with natural passions. Above all, 
it emphasizes the desperate helplessness of humanity 
even at its best, when moving in a social order where 
old standards of honor no longer satisfy, but where the 
sanctions and ideals competent to meet the needs of the 
age have as yet f otmd no outward code. 

Ill 

Book III. is a short book, but of great importance. 
It carries on with skill both the story and the theme. 
At the outset Arthur wins Guenevere, receives the 
Rotmd Table as her dower, and weds her simply, 
briefly, with none of the protracted complications 
which gather in the Source round the substitution of 
her half-sister. These are not without interest; they 
throw light rather needed for imderstanding Malory's 
own story, on the relations of Gawain with court and 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 201 

queen, and on the character of Arthur, and they in- 
clude some good stories. But they are irrelevant to 
Malory's central purpose, and he dismisses the marriage 
^th one brief stroke, characteristic of his genius, more . 
effective than all the detail in his sources. Merlin, )fc' 
he says, "warned the king covertly that Guenevere 
was not wholesome for him to take to wife." Again 
the tragic intimation in the midst of youthful promise! 
Nor does there lack a hint of light beyond, for, "So 
he turned his tale to the adventures of the Sangreal."* 

The stage is now fully set. King and queen reign 
side by side, courteous regal figures, from whom ra- 
diates an all-attractive light; and to the magnet of 
this light come the great knights, the great adventures. 
It is a bookofquests^ the quest of Tor, the quest of 
Pellinore, the quest of Gawain. Fine stories in them- 
selves, but more than that; for the theme already 
suggested is developed through them. It is the them e 
of the f^ure of the kni gfrts fo r lack o f a restraining 
rode,, the imperative need for a standard through 
wSdi the confused instincts of nascent chivalry may 
be focused and preserved. At the end of the book 
this standard is to be established once and for all: 
the great Oath is to be sworn. 

The pleasant story of yotmg Tor is the first episode 
after the marriage. It clinches the recognition of the 
fact already hinted in Balin's story, that the ideal 
presented is exclusively for gentlemen. Reputed son 
of Aries the cowherd. Tor is brought to court by his 
despairing foster-father to be made a knight of, be- 
cause forsooth he is good for nothing else I "This 
child will not labor for me for anything that I or my 
wife may do, but always he will be shooting or casting 

• Morte Darthur. ilL, i. 



202 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

darts, and glad for to see battles and behold knights, 
and always day and night he desireth of me to be made 
a knight."' Even the distracted Aries it will be ob- 
served, assumes the scorn for labor to be entirely 
praiseworthy! Blood will tell, — ^there is the moral. 
For Merlin is at hand to inform the court that Tor is 

the son ofA king' ' " 

No less a king than Pell inore. And Pellinore himse lf 
is an important personage throughout this book, a 
great figure of that older generation which is soon to 
vanish from the scene. He is the chief of a haughty 
clan, involved from the first in deadly feud with the 
• family of King Lot. For the next thing which Malory 
X. has to accomplish in his seemingly artless narrative 
is to indicate the tenacious enmities between diverse 
groups of Arthur's vassals. These enmities persevere 
throughout beneath the surface of the epic; they are 
the leading secondary causes of the final disaster. In 
depicting them, romance draws very near to suggest- 
ing the actual conditions of feudalism, the turbulent 
jealousies among great nobles, jealousies held imder, 
loosely or firmly, by fealty to a common overlord. 

Lot has already disappeared: Pellinore has killed 
him: and this act has inaugurated the feud. Jealousy 
enhances the lust for revenge; for at the very feast 
where Gawain, Lot's son, is made knight according to 
Arthur's promise. Tor, the young aspirant, is knighted 
before him, and presently Merlin formally establishes 
Pellinore in the seat of honor next to the Siege Perilous; 
whereat the new-made Sir Gawain "sat in great envy,"* 
and proposed to slay him out of hand with a sword 
that was passing trenchant. Gaheris, a brother always 
of more tranquil temper, dissuades him, — partly because 

« Morte Darthur, iii., 3. • Jbid., iii., 4. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 203 

he wants to share the vengeance, and partly for the 
finer reason that it were better to do the deed out of 
court, lest they ''trouble the high feast." Gawain 
lets himself be persuaded; the dawn is seen of that self* 



cootioLshich is to be^qne.j^.thfi.most necessary and 
also most precarious achieveme nts o f chivalry,'""Where 
Balin had gratified his vengelul impulse without scruple 
in the open court, Gawain refra ins. But the exmiity 
between the Houses is accented, and though it will 
often sink out of sight, occasion will arise to remember 
it. 

The Quests now follow, and they deepen the impres- 
sion of the disorder against which the new conception 
of courtesy, honor, and mercy must strive. As might 
be expected, it is Gawain who points the moral most 
sharply. He now, first among the greater personages of 
the story, emerges into the light, — one of the master 
figures in Malory, and, so far as material for judgment 
is at hand, largely an original creation. 

As already shown, Gawain holds, being Arthur's 
nephew, the official post of honor at the court, and he 
is doggedly devoted to both Arthur and the queen. 
Noble elements abound in him; yet his native harsh- 
ness and vindictiveness are already patent. These 
are eflfectively emphasized in his first recorded adven- 
ture. Albeit besought as a knight and a gentleman, 
he refuses mercy to a vanquished foe, Ablamar of the 
Marshes, who has killed his hotmds; and by misforttme 
he smites off the head of the knight's distraught lady 
who tries to intervene between them. The episode is 
effective, and new ideas shine out strikingly in the 
rebukes administered to Gawain. The first is by his 
brother Gaheris: "Alas, said Gaheris, that is foully 
and shamefully done, that shame shall never from you; 



204 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

also ye should give mercy unto them that ask mercy, 
for a knight without mercy is dishonored.'' ' 

It is a great phrase, — ^far indeed from heathendom 
and the old days when vengeance was the iSrst of virtues. 
Others repeat it till it rings in the ears like a refrain; 
Gawain is forced to bear the dead lady with him to 
Camelot; and arrived there, his sentence is sealed by 
Guenevere, who is felt throughout these early books 
as a gentle and restraining no less than queenly pres- 
ence. Her action moreover gives the due to the 
attitude, which Gawain is henceforth to maintain, of 
one especially vowed to ladies' service — an echo of old 
traditions sldllf ully utilized in the more modem char- 
acter-study: "And there by ordinance of the queen 
there was set a quest of ladies on Sir Gawain, and they 
judged him forever while he lived to be with all ladies 
and to fight for their quarrels, and that ever he should 
be courteous, and never to refuse mercy to him that 
asketh mercy. Thus was Gawain sworn upon the 
Four Evangelists/' ' Thus he takes his place in the 
Pageant: a knight honestly striving to conform to 
the standard to which he has been sworn, succeeding 
in no small measure, as many episodes will show, yet 
with vindictive native impulses which it would be a 
mistake to forget. 

Tor's quest is less interesting; the point of it appears 
to be direct contrast with Gawain's. As Gawain had 
refused mercy when due. Tor is forced by law of justice 
and by truth to his plighted word, to execute a cruel 
sentence when he would fain have spared. For chiv- 
alry is stem enough, and its song is of Mercy indeed 
but of Judgment too. Nor is there anything mechani- 
cal in the application of its rule. 

> MorU Darthur, iiL, 7. • Ibid., vL. 8. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 205 

^ The story of Pellinore brings out a fresh aspect of 
chivahy. Pellinore is so hot on his appointed quest, 
which is not one of prime importance, that he refuses 
to heed the appeal of a damosel who calls him to her 
aid in the Name of Christ; and therefore later he is 
sorely punished. For passing that way again, he finds 
her eaten of wild beasts, all but her head with its fair 
yellow hair, and that grieved King Pellinore sore, for 
much he cast his heart on the visage. And well he 
might, for when he has borne that piteous head to 
court, it is discovered that the damosel was his own 
daughter. At times, the knights seem to take their 
leisure in the fulfilling of their quests, and to be drawn 
aside by any adventtue that the road may offer. But 
scrutiny reveals a fairly definite code of values. The 
knight who loiters unduly may indeed be sore rebuked; 
yet no less blameworthy is he who is "so furious in his 
quest" that sense of proportion and selection are lost. 
Quick response must be made to the appeal of weakness 
though one's legitimate business be hindered thereby ! 

The time is ripe for the Oath that formally inaugu- 
rates chivalry, and binds the knights as with a golden 
chain. First sworn on the High Feast of Pentecost, 
the vow shall be renewed year by year on that same 
day. It is the Festival of the Spirit, the day of Pen- 
tecostal fire, whereon the Church Catholic bears her 
witness to the Holy Power that supplants the life of 
nature by a grace above nature.' The tale to come 
may often prove secular enough, — flight in morals, 
reckless, fierce. But deep at the heart of chivalry is 
a religious dedication, and the vow of knighthood 
possesses an all but sacramental quality. 

■ It has been suggested that this Feast may be the Christtan equiva^ 
lent of Beltane, the heathen sun-festival on May i. 



/ 



206 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Then the king stablished all his knights, . . . and 
charged them never to do outrageosity nor murder and 
always to flee treason; also by no means to be cruel, but 
to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of 
forfeiture of their worship and lordship of King Arthur 
forevermore; and always to do ladies, damosels and gentle- 
women succor upon pain of death. Also that no man 
take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law nor for 
no world's goods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of 
the Table Roimd both old and young. And every year 
were they sworn at the high feast of Pentecost.' 

Self-restraint; mercy, helpfulness to women; justice 
above the letter of the law; and ever loyalty, — the res- 
olute fleeing of treason, that Judas-sin, that sin of 
Lucifer, profoundest in the mediaeval Hell. To realize 
the ennobling and softening influence of this pledge, 
it suflSces to recall the images of honor in old heathen 
days, as presented by an author like Saxo Grammaticus. 
The new ideal was a great experiment. The rest of 
the MorU Darthur is devoted to showing how it worked. 

IV 

Merrily life begins, and it can not be said that the 
lofty ideals of chivalry are much in evidence at the out- 
set. Action occupies us rather; black magic and 
white, — ^mostly black, for the evil pranks of Morgan 
le Pay occupy much of Book IV. ; meaningless episodes 
told for pure fun, everywhere and always the eager 
spirit of adventure. After all, this is the impelling 
force. The moral ideal, for a time at least, is rather 
a restraining than a creating element; what creates 
chivalry and the romantic temper, is the amazed sense 

> Morte Darthw, xii., 15. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 207 

of the freshness of the world. To explore, to achieve* 
this is the universal thirst. Talk about the Song of 
the Open Road! It is the people of the romances 
who know how to sing it. 

''In wonder begins the soul of man/' says George 
Macdonald, "in wonder it ends: and investigation fills 
up the interspace." Strangeness added to beauty is 
the essence of romance, says Walter Pater. Here is 
wonder, here is strangeness, to satisfy the heart's 
desire. Happening of a water's side in a dark night, 
it is pleasant to see a little welcoming ship, ridily 
behanged with cloth of silk, and suddenly illumined 
by an hundred torches set upon all the sides of the 
ship-boards. Knights riding at random may well 
rejoice to come across damosels crowned with cirdets 
of gold or flowers, who sit waiting for them at the head 
of a stream in a deep valley full of stones, and forth- 
with lead them forth on sundry adventures. Sometimes 
the marvel is horrible, and none the less fascinating 
for that reason. The richest mantle that ever was 
seen in that court, set as full of precious stones as one 
might stand by another, is offered to Arthur; but when 
put upon the damosd that brought it, she falls down 
dead and burnt to coals. Life is shocking often, 
violent and perilous always; but never for one minute 
is it other than absorbing. 

Yet through all but entire haphazard of event, the 
plot progresses; and a somewhat purifying, disciplining, 
now and again makes itself felt. Wickedness, above 
all the supreme wickedness of treachery, begins to 
look blacker, now there is clear light to contrast it with. 
The atrocious intrigues of Morgan le Pay, the outra- 
geous behavior of Gawain, who disgraces himself 
in this fourth book in a way hard to forget, offset the 



208 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

magnanimity and high courage of Arthur and others. 
Brief artful touches accomplish much in revealing 
the characters. Kay, for instance, so crusty an old 
fellow that even Arthur's early promise to his father 
hardly justifies his honorable position as seneschal, 
here has his chance and takes it. Arthur is hard be- 
stead by five kings who are btuning and harrowing 
all the land, and prudence coimsels retirement. But 
Kay vows to slay two kings with his own hand, and 
fulfills his promise, turning the tide of fortime: where- 
fore a seat at the Table Round is his, and high com- 
mendation from Guenevere: "For ye spake a great 
word," said the queen, "and fulfilled it worshipfully."' 
Religion is not forgotten; the battle past, the king 
kneels down and thanks God meekly. King Bagde- 
magus, riding forth in grief because Tor is preferred 
before him, finds an holy herb that was a branch of 
the San Graal, and no knight found such tokens but he 
were a good liver. Courtesy, generosity, gentleness, 
abound; the sacred sense of fellowship is growing. 

Above all, a great abstract term begins to shine with 
increasing light. Gawain betrays his friend Sir Pelleas 
with hateful deliberation, and Pelleas, finding Gawain 
asleep in the arms of his own love Ettard, grieves so 
that hardly he can hold himself on his horse for sorrow, 
and is sore tempted to kill him. Natheless he says to 
himself, "Though this knight be never so false I will 
never slay him sleeping, for I will never destroy Ae 
high order of knighthood.^^ Arthur, crying out, "I had 
liefer to die with honor than to live with shame," was 
"so full of knighthood that knightly he endured" 
the pain of wounds. "Madam," said Sir Uwaine, 
"they do amiss, for they do against the high order of 

« Morte Darthur, iv., 3. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 209 

knighthood and the oath which they made/* " I make 
a vow unto knighthood," is the solemn and recurrent 
phrase. When an ideal is consciously invoked like 
this, for purposes of incentive and rebuke, society has 
outgrown barbarism. 

At the beginning of Book IV., Merlin vanishes, shut 
by Nimue in that stone prison whence his voice still 
sounds at times to sensitive ears. His mystic figtu^ 
so dominates one's memories of the MorU Darthur 
that it is hard to remember that he is beguiled and 
dismissed from the scene at the very inception of the 
action. This is the case however; and the first chapter 
of the book is an example of Malory's way of reducing 
long passages to the merest sketch. In a page. Merlin 
foretells his own end, journeys oversea to the land of 
Benwick where King Ban is fighting King Claudas, 
sees Queen Elaine and the yotmg Lancelot, cheers the 
queen by predicting the child's future greatness, and 
rettuns, to fall helpless under Nimue's spell. Such a 
chapter has no literary value ; but it does show Malory's 
capacity for succinctness. 

Glamour however does not die with Merlin. The 
entertaining wiles of Mo rgan le Fav o ccupy ten chap- 
ters of the book. Malory makes strangely little of 
this lady. She seems to be cast for the villain of the 
piece, and at this point she is deliberately placed in the 
center; but her wicked attempts are all frustrated, and 
she disappears, except for occasional mischief -making 
in the sub-action, till the mourning barge with the 
three queens plays its r61e at the very end in the dubious 
rescuing of Arthur. Is it that the play of magic, be- 
witching as it is, must yield to Malory's ardent per- 
ception that human forces suffice unassisted to produce 
tragedy? Is the subordination of Morgan an inter- 



210 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

esting witness to the humanizing of romance? Her 
shape-shifting when she transforms herself into a 
great stone is suggestive evidence of her ancient origin; 
but despite her subtle wiles the day of supematiual 
control is done. Her thwarted intrigues soon fade from 
memory, and the adventures of Gawain, Uwaine, and 
Marhaus lead out into a less dazing region. 

At this point another survival is recorded, the wax- 
ing and waning of Gawain's strength with the passage 
of the sun. But Gawain is none the less as human a 
person as Macbeth or lago. His adventures with 
/ Pelleas almost serve to set our contempt toward him 
for all time, yet should perhaps rather be taken as 
indications of the loose morals and low standards 
which it was the object of chivalry to oppose. The 
Uwaine adventure has no special point. In earlier 
romance, the Ywains are glorious knights; in Malory 
only the name survives. As for Sir Marhaus, the 
most interesting thing about him is the slight connec- 
tion established by his figure with the Tristram story; 
for the young Tristram shall later win his first spiirs 
in fighting with this Irish knight. Marhaus, oddly 
enough, as his old name Le Morolt implies, may once 
have been a sea-monster; but he is a perfectly decorous 
and normal person by the time he wanders into the 
pages of Malory. 

It is a youthful world, that of Book IV. : its boy-king, 
unburdened by the cares of state, still puts his person 
in light-hearted jeopardy. But this state of things 
can not last. Those grave ambassadors from Rome, 
who have already appeared for a moment in the first 
book, present themselves at court, olive-branches in 
hand, demanding tribute. Instantly the tone changes, 
— ^becomes political, dignified. The influence of the 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 211 

chronicle is once more patent, — ^the ^th book bein g 
based on the middle English al literative Mort e which 
in turn rests on Geoffre y. Speeches are made, re- 
motely echoing Tacitus and Livy. Presently a sober 
host sets forth on the Roman campaigns, which occupy 
the book; they leave Arthur at the end, not only ruler 
of Logres but vaguely designated as emperor of the 
known world. The campaign is fought automatically 
and the empire is won in a fairly casual way. The 
touches of romance vouchsafed originally by Geoffrey 
are still with few exceptions carefully preserved. It 
is pleasing to any right-minded person to learn that 
Lucius the Roman emperor has fifty giants engendered 
of fiends for his body-guard; the dolorous tale of 
Helena still awakes a shudder, though the splendid 
story of Arthur's fight with the monster cat of the 
Lake of Lausanne is lost. Priamus, the Saracen 
knight, still heals himself and Gawain with his phial 
full of the waters of Paradise, and primitive traits 
in the story antedate even the fifth-centiuy Arthiu' 
who may really have fought with Romans. Yet to 
find this chronicle-material incorporated in the full 
swing of romance is to realize more keenly than ever 
how inferior it is in charm. The fifth book is the 
dullest of the Morte Darthur. 



During these Roman wars, the main characters of 
the story are placed permanently in position. An 
allusion reveals that Tristram is already at the court 
of Mark, and lover of La Beale Isoud: and Lancdot, 
seen hitherto only in one glimpse of a little lad at the 
court of his father. King Ban, is now a knight of great 



212 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

prowess, fighting the Roman campaign, accompanied 
by his cousins, and, as a hint would imply, the lover 
of Guenevere. 

In the six th book, in which Ma lory turns to the 
pros e Lancelot for his material, this real protagonist 
ot tne Artnunad at last takes his proper place. Pre- 
liminaries are over. Arthur has conquered his enemies 
at home and abroad. The fellowship of the Table 
Round has enacted its own laws and gained a fair 
stage on which to play. The next necessity is the 
advent of the hero; Book YL js a ccordingly the Pa geant 
of Sir La ncelo t. — a. pageant somewhat disappomting, 
for it is as mechanical as any creaking show that ever 
graced or disgraced the mediaeval stage. 

The book opens with a stmimary of the briefest, 
presenting in a paragraph the situation ''after that 
King Arthur was come from Rome into England'': 
and Lancelot and his cousin Lionel ride forth promptly 
on adventures bound. This short book comprises 
all that Malory cares to use from at least two thirds 
of the immense French romance; and how far he is 
from slavish imitation is evident if one notes the care- 
ful selection of a few cogent and expressive episodes. 
It is time for the hero to appear; but Malory's ge neral 
scheme_ftnid dear intent ion is to subordinate the 
earlier to the later portions of Jh§ .story. The bo ok 
is therefore a. capital instance of conscientious and 
deliberate compression: it su£Sces in itself to refute 
the idea of haphazard copying, and shows clearly 
how the idea of the whole controls the choice of 
detail. 

Two reasons may be given for the somewhat cold 
and wooden result. The first is that, being mainly 
concerned just how to keep his material within boimds. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 213 

Malory has not a free hand. He is giving a synopsis ^ 

as it were of chivahic standards, illustrated by the 
first perfect knight who has come within ken, and 
the sdbematic character of the story hampers him. The 
second is the fact that Malory took his Lancelot as 
he found him. It has already been shown that the 
conventionality of the figure is partly due to its origin, 
L ^od ot ne ver Igi ew. like Qawain . Tristraffii^Perceval, 
a longUfeJn the unfoldingjm^gination of the r ace: 
he is d irectcreatio n. When he sprang into beiri^ in 
the twelfth centaxy, chivalry had already developed 
an artifice'^f its own which oystallized passion into 
etiquette. niir^tiAnVc TT^i^J^t r^ ikp Car/ inaugurated 
the formal and lifeless Lancelot t radition, the^rose 
romances continued it, Malory inherited it. His 
treatment in this sixth book is on the familiar lines, 
his incidents being chosen to illustrate as many aspects 
of Lancelot's perfection as possible. Lancelot repels 
the allurements of sorceress-queens fascinated by his 
beauty, he defends the honor of his lady Guenevere, 
he rescues his brother knights when captive, he fights 
like a *'wood lyon" in tournament and joust, ever 
yielding honor to others when they least deserve it, 
he even meets the supernatural tests of the Chapel 
Perilous. He slays giants, fulfills predictions, wins 
the greatest name of any knight in the world. He is 
consistently courteous, loyal, bold, gentle; and he is 
tiresome. There are effective episodes in the book: 
there is no characterization. 

Lancelot is most alive when expressing the spirit 
of adventure; when for instance, he sees a fair green 
court, * * and thither he dressed him, for there him thought 
was a fair place to fight in." ** Why should I not prove 
adventures? said Sir Lancelot, for that catise came I 



214 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

thither."' The authentic thrill is in such words; 
and this irrepressible enjoyment of a morning of the 
world saves the book from utter tedium. 

He is least alive, one regrets to state, in his relations 
with Guenevere. These relations are scrupulously 
defined, and the phrases of U amour Caurtois fall pat 
from the hero's lips; but in the course of this book 
he does not once meet his lady. Indeed, his attitude 
toward her appears so formal that no one would think 
of its affording occasion for repentance. Traces lin- 
ger in it of that type of connection so usual in the 
Middle Ages, so at variance with modem ideas. Lan- 
celot is by many years the junior of the queen. As 
already noted, he was originally the ideal represent- 
ative of the yoimg squire, dedicated to the service 
of a gracious chatelaine whose favor he must slowly 
win by carefully prescribed degrees: it is a relation 
which Tristram never bore to Iseult! Lancelot and 
Guenevere leave it behind, carried by the wind of 
their passion out into the wide waters of reality; but 
thus they began, and thus in the sixth book they are 
conceived. The reader of this book recalls the inter- 
minable negotiations in the prose Lancelot^ and far 
from regretting that he does not find Galeotto and 
the first kiss,* is grateful to Malory for sparing him 
the most frigid token ever given by one model of 
deportment to another. 

Malory, to be sure, blurs the discrepancy of age 
so that careless reading does not apprehend it. Not 
only here, but systematically he softens the fairly 
clear-cut but absurd outlines of the old chronology. 
This chronology demands consideration, although su- 
perficially there seems very little to consider, wild 

■ Moiie DarthuTf vi., 7. >See note p. 131. 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 215 

confusion appearing to reign. Lancelot, not yet bom ^"^ 
when his father Ban comes to Arthur's aid in Book L, 
a child when Merlin sees him in Book IV., — ^Arthur 
and Guenevere being by this time safely wedded, — 
holds his due place as a strong knight during the Roman 
wars, and is taken for granted in Book VI. as approved 
lover of the queen and flower of the court. The story 
now proceeds on a basis of calm impossibilities. Gener- 
ations are bom, mature and die; the sons and sons* 
sons of the earlier brood of knights appear; while 
Lancelot still loves as hot as ever, and Guenevere, — 
let no profane touch rest upon her years, — still moves 
in freshest prime, ''the vision of beauty among the 
passions of men." It is well to be overswept once ^' 
for all by the full bewilderment of Malory's chronology. 

The moment one tries to analyze, one is tempted 
to say, and be done with it, that this world of romance 
subsists in an eternal Now. Yet this is not quite 
true. Recurrent glimpses are caught of a tremendous 
past, and the drama moves toward an expected future, 
though on a scale so vast as to elude otu: meastues. 
The world of romance is the world of time. 

And a good excuse can be offered for the romantic 
method. In its placid disregard of those time-con- 
ventions under which the race more or less acciden- 
tally happens to exist, romance has chosen its own way 
of solving the eternal problem of art,— the reconcilia- 
tion of design with detail. No one life-span would 
suflSce for working out the mighty forces which art 
has to show; therefore art will elongate and expand at 
will, magnifying the time-scale till the literal-minded 
reader is reduced to scoflBng or despair. The contrast ^ 
between the depth and complexity of the human 
drama, and the ridiculously short allowance of otu: 



2i6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

mean little seventy or eighty years, forever maddens 
. and insults us. To disregard this arbitrary measure, 
^^^ to give lives space enough, is to reach a larger reality. 
Such reality is assuredly felt as we enter with a sense 
of relief that world of romance where time has not 
indeed ceased to be, but is measured not by moments 
but by experience. Emancipate from the casual 
bonds of lower realism, romance achieves a higher; 
for it can present in calmness, free from terrified ex- 
pectation of " the blind Fury with her accursed shears,'' 
the outworking of destiny and purpose, the gradual 
sure unfolding of effect from cause. 

Let it also be remembered that Malor y is giving 
more than the story of individuals, he is condensing 
\ the epic of a civilization. He has to render the rise, 
the triumph, the disintegration, of Christian chivalry. 
There is no need to quarrel with his art if again and 
again his knights become symbols rather than fleshly 
men. Suddenly, one will loom larger, vaguer, before 
our eyes, no longer a person, but a phase of the chival- 
ric ideal. Then we see, not Tristram but the im- 
mortal lover, not Bors, but fidelity, not Arthur, but 
kingship absolute. With such personifications, time 
has no concern. 

Even from the point of view of concrete story, 
moreover, the slow movement of fate is often effective. 
There is this degree of verisimilitude to the treatment, 
— that mature men and women are more subject than 
boys and girls to the full force of the passions. The 
intensity of experience may fade as life advances, but 
quite as often it deepens. Many a person is barely 
ready at fifty, at sixty, at seventy even, to drain the 
cup of ambition, of hatred, of sacrificial devotion, 
yes, — of love. Conventionality draws a veil over the 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 217 

tumults of later life; but it is by a sound inst inct that 
Malor y finds his people more interesting tow ard the end 
of then: c areers t han the beginning, and curlails tbeear- 
lier portions of Ills sources to place emphasis on the later. 

Reading him closely, development is seen, not only 
in the whole scheme of things, but in more than one 
important personality. This is especially true in the 
case of his protagonist, Lancelot. In this sixth book, he 
is the youthful knight, lightly adoring his lady accord- 
ing to the rules, with never a hint of genuine feeling. 
Later, in the full heats of middle life, he will come alive, 
and convince us of his p-eatness, not by his reputation, 
but by his words and deeds. It is in the Grail-books 
that the process is accomplished; there he is searched 
and foimd wanting, and through his touching penitence 
no less than through the ardor of his conflicting desires, 
is revealed a very man, a very brother. Increasingly 
careworn, perfect in relation to the younger knights 
who lean on him, endowed with a deeper power to 
attract than youth can know, he will be shown wearily 
faithful to a sin so ancient that after the fashion of 
ancient sins it has almost transformed itself into a virtue. 
At the end, his portrait possesses the vitality which 
only the great creations of the human mind can boast. 

Meanwhile, the sixth book leaves him the cynosure 
of all eyes, the central figure of the court and the story. 
But we turn with pleasure from his complacent excd- 
lendes to the next book, and the Pageant of one of the 
most endearing knights, — Sir Gareth. 

VI 

These introductory books conclude with a tale that 
shows the ideal of chivalry at its very best, dewy- 



2i8 MORTE DARTHUR OE THOMAS MALORY 

fresh in the morning of the great Arthurian day. It is 
a tale complete in itself, but also, as so often happens 
in Malory's art, necessary to the theme and intimately 
related to the evolution of the main plot. 

The first function is the more obvious. For in the 
character and career of Gaieth, all the qualities of 
the perfect knight, carefully suggested up to this point 
by both positive and negative means, find at last com- 
plete expression. What Malory did perfunctorily 
and formally in the preceding book, here does itself, 
so to speak, by the mere Han of the narrative. Malory 
is no longer concerned with compressing and preparing. 
He works with a free hand, lets himself go, and enjo>s 
himself hugely. 

Nobody knows where he got this charming story. 
It resembles the group represented in middle English 
by Libeaus Desconnus^ in Italian by Carduino, in 
French by Le Bd Incannu^ and in German by Wigalois, 
a group however in which the hero is not brother but 
son to Gawain. The contrast between this Gareth 
story and Libeaus Descannus is interesting. Libeaus 
it will be remembered is highly composite. The poem 
opens with the Perceval Enfances, ends with the Ser- 
pent kiss, and even in the central portion where the 
episodes have a rough resemblance to the Gareth 
story, includes the adventure of Violette and the giants 
and a Sparrow Hawk tournament recalling the Erec. 
Rich in incident, the poem is virtually devoid of char- 
acter-drawing. In Malory, the proportion is reversed. 
The story of Gareth and Linette is straightforward 
and uncomplicated; while it is in itself a capital tale, 
the personality of the young knight is the secret of its 
charm. 

It is a happy book, fine and dean, though with no 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 219 

hint of spiritual things, and little intensity of emotion. 
The pure excitement of living runs in the veins ct the 
young knight, as in the veins of Arthur himself, of 
Gawain, Lancelot, Eay, and all the company. From 
the moment when Gareth appears at court leaning in 
sham helplessness on his servant and demanding the 
strange boon of meat to eat in the kitchen, his large 
shapely hands and his great personal beauty suggest 
his possession of the first requisite to knighthood, 
noble birth; and his disguise only renders his aristo- 
cratic qualities more shining. Tliey become increas- 
ingly evident as the book goes on. Gareth is more 
alive than the Lancelot of the preceding book and less 
sullied than his brother Gawain. He is a perfect 
example of a chivalry neither dragged down by lower 
traditions nor distraught by inner conflicts. 

His magnetism is not chiefly due to the pro- 
priety with which he performs all expected exploits, 
— smites giants, frees damosels, wins tourneys and 
battles, — though he engages in all these pursuits with 
a convincing zest possible only in the mediaeval morn- 
ing. He charms because his conduct spontaneously 
illustrates the new code of honor point by point, not 
in copy-book fashion like a set pattern but with the 
freshness of unconscious living. His proud satisfac- 
tion in refusing to depend on his rank for entrance to 
court, his disguise as a kitchen knave, his patience 
under the insolence of rough-tongued Kay, his sdf- 
restraint while lashed by the words of the damosel 
Linet whom he is trying to serve, are pretty instances 
of that temperance and self-control which are as im- 
portant as courage in the make-up of a Christian knight. 
Let none of these qualities be confused with a mean 
spirit however: not only does Gareth all the time pri- 



220 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

vately enjoy the joke of his disguise; he ddightfully 
informs his damosel, when at last she is forced to admire 
him and nake amends, that he thanks her for her abuse, 
which by heating his blood has doubled his prowess! 

That prowess goes without question, and however 
blasS the reader may be over heroes who win facile 
victories against tremendous odds, there is a dare-devil 
ardor in the book which thrills him with pleasure 
when the black, the red, the blue, the green knight are 
successively overcome. This may be because Beau- 
mains or Gareth, grows better and better known 
through his days of fighting. It is not surprising to 
find that he has a clever tongue in his head. So far, 
Malory's personages have had little to say for them- 
selves. In the earlier and more political portions of 
the story, long speeches are made. Now and again 
a phrase of Merlin or Balin penetrates to the quick. 
Young Lancelot always says the proper thing. But as 
a rule, narrative is more developed up to this point 
than dramatic power. Malory is capable, however, of 
very spirited dialogue, and it is in this book that his 
gift at it begins to appear: 

And whether that I be a gentleman bom or none, I let 
you wit, fair damosel, I have done you gentleman's service, 
and peradventure better service yet will I do ere I depart 
from you. Alas, she said, fair Beaumains, forgive me all 
that I have missaid or done against thee. . . . With all 
my heart, said he, I forgive it you, for ye did nothing but 
as ye should do, for all your evil words pleased me, and 
damosel said Beaumains, syne it liketh you to say thus fair 
to me wit ye well it gladdeth my heart greatly, and now 
meseemeth there is no knight living but I am able enough 
for him.' 

> MorteDartkur, vii., 1 1. 



THE PR0LCX5UE TO THE MAIN ACTION 221 

Admirable in war and in good-fellowship, Gareth 
is no less satisfactory when it comes to love-making. 
He is a lover of his own time, not of otirs. / Tennjrson 
characteristically insisted on a modem sentimental 
arrangement of his love-affairs, and tried to wed him 
to Iinet,/That lively damosel would never have 
been his mate^ however, according to mediaeval ideas; 
for we shall greatly err if we imagine that all these 
damosels met in company with errant knights are 
sweethearts of their protectors. The etiquette of that 
relation is given in a passage already quoted from 
Chr6tien.' No I The proper love for Gareth is not 
Linet, but her sister Liones the lady whom he rides 
to rescue. Knowing her to be his destiny, he is imme- 
diately seized with the appropriate emotions when he 
sees her from afar, f 

Sir, said the damosel Linet unto Sir Beaumains, look ye 
be glad and light, for yonder is your deadly enemy, and at 
yonder window is my lady, my sister, Dame Liones. Where, 
said Beaumains. Yonder, said the damosel, and pointed 
with her finger. That is truth, said Beaumains, she seemeth 
afar the fairest lady that ever I looked upon, and truly 
he said, I ask no better quarrel than now for to do battle, 
for truly she shall be my lady and for her I will fight. And 
ever he looked up to the window with glad countenance. 
And the lady Lionesse made curtsey to him down to the 
earth, holding up both her hands.' 

A pretty scene and a true love at fiirst sight: does 
not Garetih, having conquered his foe, ''wallow and 
writhe all night for love of the lady of the castle"? 
Nevertheless, castle windows are high and eyesight 
has its limitations. The emotion seems a trifle con- 

*See p. 50. • MorU Dartkur, viL, 16. 



222 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ventional when it is discovered a little later that he 
does not recognize his love when he meets her face to 
facel At this point magic gets into the tale, and the 
wiles of Linet to hold the lovers apart, the ring given 
by Liones that changes the color of Gareth's armor, 
the tone, the devices, all belong to the earliest stratum 
of romance, an epoch removed by centuries from the 
later phases of the Lancelot story. The outlook is 
the same as that of Marie de Prance, innocent enough 
to a fancy that has followed without undue seriousness 
the pleasant game of courtly love, but lacking in 
depth. 

The whole book differs so widely from Malory's 
usual manner that the conjecture may be hazarded 
that his source if discovered would prove to be no 
work rehandled by successive generations, but rather 
some genuine twelfth-century poem. The book reads 
like a companion to Chr6tien's Erec; it suggests the 
early ix)etry, in its uncomplicated narrative, its ana- 
lysis of sentiment, its tone so "merry and light." Above 
sJl, the detail is extraordinarily fresh. It contradicts 
entirely what has been said about Malory's lack of 
visualizing power. There is a play of color in this story 
of Gareth, such as can only be equaled in Chr6tien 
and is f otmd nowhere else in the Marte Darthur. 

''So within a while they saw a tower as white as 
any snow, well matchecold all about and double dyked; 
and over the tower gate hung a fifty shields of divers 
colors, and under that tower there was a fair meadow." ' 
The Black Knight, the Red Knight, the Green Knight, 
above all the resplendent Blue Knight, Sir Persant of 
Ind, are of the old brilliance: and the tournament in 
which Gareth, thanks to the magic ring, changes his 

■ MorU Darthuff vii., la 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 223 

color from green to blue or yellow is almost as rain- 
bow bright as any in romance. The more the story 
is read, the more one feds how it breathes the aroma 
of the first mediaeval period. 

Yet if the sotirce be an independent work, — perhaps 
an episodic romance complete in itself and not fused till 
Malory's time with the general Arthuriad, — ^Malory's 
work appears the more remarkable. For the story 
as placed is more than an admirable tale; it is an 
essential link in the whole development. For one 
thing, certain figures of primary importance, as Tris- 
tram and Lamorak, are introduced into the narrative, 
some of them for the first time; and while they take 
no part in this special action, their presence aids the 
growing familiarity which needs to be acquired with 
the larger world of the main plot. More significant, 
however, is the careful preparation for future develop- 
ments in the relations between Lancelot and Gawain. 

Toward the end of the book, when Queen Margawse 
has come to court, all the main groups of the Table 
Round are marshalled. It has already been said that 
the relations among these groups plainly reflect the 
relations among arrogant feudal nobles, which gave 
endless trouble to more than one English king. United 
by loyalty to Arthur, by a real sense of fellowship, no 
less than by the necessity of defending the kingdom 
against its foes, the groups within the Table Roimd 
were yet always suspicious and potentially hostile to 
one another. These main groups are three: first, the 
sons of Lot and Margawse, nearest of kin to the king, 
— Gawain, Gaheris, Gareth, Agravaine, — ^to whom must 
be added the ill-omened Mordred. Second, the gens of 
Pellinore, which includes Lamorak, — a mighty knight 
and crude, lover of Margawse, always in early days 



224 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

matched with Tristram and Lancelot, — ^the saintly 
Percivale, the colorless Aglovale, and the half-brother 
Tor. Third, the gens of Lancelot, which includes 
Ector, Bors and Lionel, Blamore de Ganis and Bleo- 
beris: French knights these, acceptable to all the Table 
Round, yet always with a little foreign touch about 
them. 

Throughout the Marte, the House of Lot and the 
House of Pellinore are as aheady noted in deadly 
feud, and a dark undercurrent flows from this feud 
through the story. On the other hand, Lancelot and 
his friends, endowed with French suavity and charm, 
keep on the best apparent terms with every one. Ga- 
wain might easily feel bitter, seeing a stranger knight 
preferred before him by his honored uncle and by all 
the court; but it must be said for Gawain that like all 
true Companions of the Table Round, he possesses a 
real great-mindedness. Lancelot's courtesy and mod- 
esty moreover rob the situation of its sting. Yet 
that situation must be kept in mind throughout the 
unfolding of future events. And the key to it is in 
the relations of Lancelot and Gareth. 

Gareth is very proud of his family; it is with satis- 
faction that the yotmg Beaumains annotmces himself 
at the proper moment as Gareth of Orkney, brother 
to Gawain, Gaheris and Agravaine; there is an emo- 
tional meeting between Gawain and himself. But 
Lancelot, not Gawain, is his adored hero, — Lancelot, 
who first spoke him fair, who defended him against 
Kay's sharp tongue, who followed when the young 
unknown had ridden forth derided, and dubbed him 
knight, having received his confidence. Gareth had 
good reason for loving Lancelot. And in time he 
turns against his brother: 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAIN ACTION 225 

LordI the great cheer that Sir Lancelot made of Sir 
Gareth and he of him! For there was never no knight that 
Sir Gareth loved so well as he did Sir Lancelot, and ever 
for the most part he would be in Sir Lancelot's company. 
For after Sir Gareth had espied Sir Gawain's conditions, 
he withdrew himself from his brother Sir Gawain's fellow- 
ship, for he was vengeable, and where he hated he would 
be avenged with murder, and that hated Sir Gareth.' 

This sharp severance of the natural afiSnities of kin- 
ship is to be remembered; it is the stuff out of which 
tragedy is brewed. And Malory's development of his 
theme, which seems so casual and so episodic, is inex- 
orably motived and steadily sustained. 

Meanwhile, this is the last story Malory presents 
which is wholly happy, — ^uninvaded by moral scruples 
or by the sad recognition of conflicting forces within 
chivalry itself. Let the picture given in the Pageant 
of Gareth be enjoyed while it may, for it will not long 
remain unshadowed. The enemies of Arthur are sub- 
dued. The rdles of the characters are assigned. IQng, 
Church and Lady shine like guiding stars in the heaven 
of knighthood. The ideal so desperately needed in 
the earlier books, is now a potent reality. It has the 
world before it. The tournament held by Liones 
toward the dose of this seventh book, gives occasion 
for a sort of roll-call of the knights, marshalled in bright 
array like the saints triumphant. Year by year the 
Fellowship gathers at the Festival of the Spirit to 
renew its vows before riding forth on quest. These 
vows meet sharp tests in the course of the adventures 
encountered. Will the knights stand the tests? Will 
the Table Round achieve its ptupose? How long will 
the idealism of youth endure? 

> Morte Dartkur, vii., 34. 
x5 



CHAPTER m 

THB PAGEANT OF ROMANTIC LOVE 



THE books from Vm. to XI* are drawn from the 
proGe Tristram; and Book VIII. starts abruptly 
with a new beginning: "It was a king that hight Melio- 
das» and he was lord and king of the oountry of liones 
. . . and at that time King Arthur reigned." There 
is no finesse to Malory's transitions; whatever unity may 
obtain in the design as a whole, the joints are always as 
evident as in rough carpenters' work. The insertion 
of this brand-new story from a fresh source at this 
point seems at first si^t awkward; yet a ddiberate 
reason existed for it. 

Malory's method, once his stage is set, is to focus at- 
tention on one element in chivalry after another. 
Loyalty to the overlord needs no exposition just now; 
Arthur is the center of a devoted knighthood, and the 
relation to him is basic throughout the entire story. 
Two chief forces remain, — forces represe n ted, apart 
from chivalric romance, in those characteristic mediaeval 
works, the Famaunt of ike Base and the Legenda Au- 
rea: mystic asceticism, and woman-worship. Malory 
meant to show both* first in their succession, then in 
their conflict, and L'aniMr Ctwrfois had the right of way. 



THE PAGEANTiOP ROMANTIC LOVE 227 

To expound it, the Txistram story was the natural 
medium; for it was <Jie love story par excellence. 
Lancelot was indeed the greatest of lovers, — ^but he was 
vexy much more; Tristram is lover first, last, and always, 
and wherever he and Iseult sojourn the air is tremulous 
with lovers' vows. 

Hear the Rules of Loyal Love, as stated by an old 
knight to a young in the Livre des Cent Ballades^ about 
midway between Chr6tien and Malory": 

To be joyous day and night. To be envious of no one; 
to love God, to destroy no good man's reputation, to support 
no bad cause, to love his lady, to praise ses faUs, ses Hz, 
sesjeux, and to be curious to find things to please her. To 
be gerU, doulz ei plaisani; not to be silent, but to speak 
seasonably and gradously, to clothe himself neatly, not to 
slander anyone, to be generous in giving, to be secret, not 
to be proud, to sing, dance, joust and fight well. If one's 
own country is at peace, to get the lady's consent to go 
abroad to war; to discipline one's followers. To spare no 
pain, peril, or labor to win love. 

By following these laws, the old knight had won the 
love of the fairest of ladies and life had been Para- 
dise to him. The ideal he obeyed held its own all 
through the Middle Ages; and no one can wonder, for 
it was the source of noble disciplines competent ''to 
raise appetite into sentiment, and sentiment into 
purity."' Mediaeval love was an art as well as a pas- 
sion, possessing its own code and its own standards, and 
it is impossible to understand the Marte Darthur unless 
one realizes how defiantly the passion itself, indifferent 

< Origins and Sources rf the Court of Looe, p. 196. Ndlson, Boston, 
1899. See also Romania^ zii., p. 532. 
•J. W. Cornish, Chivalry, p. 13. 



«8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

to domesticity, reUgion or law, is still considered a 
hallowing and exalting force. 

For it was a passion regulated by no moral scruples of 
a modem type; complex in origin it was also complex in 
character, and its very disciplines proceeded in part 
from an evil root. 

The central point of the ideal in'Uamour Caurtois [says 
Dr. Neilson], was more often than not an adulterous passion. 
. . . But to social anarchy the human spirit is always 
in the long run averse . . . and there grew up around the 
new immorality a series of checks and restraints perhaps 
less burdensome but no less elaborate than those which 
surrounded the old ecclesiastical code.' 

As a result, the religious principles represented by the 
Church were steadily in revolt against the ideal and it 
is hardly too much to say that Catholicism and V amour 
Courtois became two rival institutions, each claiming 
the allegiance of gentle hearts. 

The antagonism grew more conscious as time went 
on. It was impossible for the later Middle Ages to 
regard these sex relations with the unquestioning en- 
thusiasm of the age of Marie de Prance. Yet taste 
cltmg tenaciously to what conscience challenged, and 
in these ensuing books, Malory allows the old sympa- 
thies to rule unrebuked. No tedious criticism shaU 
intrude: "Take thy way unto the court of King Arthur," 
cries La Beale Isoud with an almost terrible exultation, ^ 
— sending her message, by a refinement of cruelty, 
through her hopeless lover Palomides, — "And there 
recommend me to Queen Guenevere and teU her that 
there be within this land but four lovers, that is Sir 
Lancelot du Lake and Queen Guenevere, and Sir Tiis- 

* NeQaoa, Qmrt ofLcve, p. 176. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 229 

tram de Liones and Queen Isoud. '*' The message is in 
the tone of that last word, to be spoken near the end 
of the story, concerning the woeful Guenevere. Justice 
is meted out to her in strict measure, but all the same» 
superb inconsistency proclaims at the last, that ''while 
she lived she was a good lover, and therefore she had a 
good end." 

All mediaeval sentiment is implied in such return on 
the sterner morals of the story. And for us too, as we 
read, the Lord of the Gentle heart is the Master, and 
other interests and enthusiasms fade for the moment in 
his presence. Tristram may be in every particular all 
that a knight should be, — may slay the Morholt and 
redeem the land, may joust right valiantly, may seek 
by incessant exploits to win his place at the Round 
Table. We watch him indifferently, — rousing to inter- 
est only when, insolent and ardent in his hunter's green, 
he seizes his harp and enters the presence of Iseult. 



n 



The first feeling however in any reader of Malory who 
knows the older Tristram story, is disappointment. 

To begin with, Malory almost drowns the fine old 
tale in irrelevant matter. He throws nearly all he cares 
to tell about the lovers into the eighth book, and pro- 
ceeds in the ninth and interminable tenth to wander 
off into Arthur-land at large, — ^forever obliging us, 
when we want to hear about Iseult, to learn how Tris- 
tram jousted with Breuse Sans Piti6 or sought after 
Lancelot. Morever, he omits the best part of the story 
altogether, and slurs what he chooses to tell. In his 
mutilated and hybrid version, the lovers go about their 

* Morte Darthur, viu., 32. 



r 



230 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ptirsuits a little wearily. When they and the Middle 
Ages were young, they were creatures of the out-of- 
doors, seen habitually in woodland ways, or on the open 
sea. In their old age they have abjured these tastes; 
they play their parts decorously at court, and feel most 
at home as Lancelot's guests in the splendors of Joyous 
Garde. The reader must turn to B6roul if he would 
roam through the forest of Morrois with them till they 
grow haggard with want, he must turn to Gottfried if 
he would share their life in the good green wood and 
their joy in the enchanting love-grotto around which 
burgeons a mediaeval spring at its daintiest. Malory 
informs us casually at this point in their career that they 
withdrew to a " fair manor, " where doubtless they could 
profit by all the advantages of civilization. He has 
kept the harshness but not the charm of the old wilding 
flavor; he has given a mere travesty of the lovely tale. 
Conventionality has settled over the whole story 
like a blight. Tristram and Iseult love 'Vonderly 
much, " swoon when separated, grow mad when sus- 
pecting one another. We would gladly give all their 
throes for one such passage as that in which the 
earlier poets describe the drinking of the fatal potion 
or the final farewell. 

The exquisite version of Gottfried von Strassburg 
most directly invites comparison with Malory. This 
poem is perhaps the finest inspired by a secular theme 
in mediaeval literature, as Wolfram von Eschenbach*s 
Parzival is the finest inspired by religion. It has fresh 
feeling and direct movement. It presents a delightful 
and dramatic story, with extraordinary mastery of the 
psychology of passion, and with touches of ptmgent 
sarcasm which keep the sweetness from cloying. The 
crux of the Tristram tale, the drinking of the potion on 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 231 

the sea, may well be oontrasted as it is presented by 
Gottfried and by Malory. Tristram and Iseult are on 
their way to Cornwall, where Iseult is to become the 
bride of King Mark. There has to this point been no 
passion between them, only loyalty and friendship, and 
the devoted service of a lady by a youthful knight. In 
the summer heats, they drink by maladventure the 
cooling wine which is a love-potion, prepared by Iseult's 
mother to ensure love between the bride and her hus- 
band Mark. 

Here is Malory's story, — ^tame enough, and in spite 
of its brevity weakened by repetitions: 

And then anon Sir Tristram took the sea, and La Beale 
Isoud; and when they were in their cabin, it happed so that 
they were thirsty, and they saw a little fiacket of gold stand 
by them, and it seemed by the color and the taste that it was 
noble wine. Then Sir Tristram took the fiacket in his hand 
and said, Madam Isoud, here is the best drink that ever ye 
drank, that Dame Brangwaine your maiden and Govemail 
my servant have kept for themselves. Then they laughed 
and made good cheer, and either drank to other freely, and 
they thought that never drink that they drank to each other 
was so sweet nor so good. But by that their drink was in 
their bodies, they loved each other so well that never their 
love departed neither for weal nor for woe. And thus it 
happed the love first betwixt Sir Tristram and La Beale 
Isoud, the which love never departed the days of their 
life.» 

It is less easy to quote from Gottfried; for he draws 
out his details with a lingering sweetness, and pene- 
trates each successive emotion. Shakespeare, Meredith, 
have no lovelier love-scenes. The lovers drink: 

* MorU Darthur^ viii., 24. 



232 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

And even as it was done, Brangwaine entered, and saw well 
what had chanced. For very terror she became white as 
death. Cold at heart, she took that vessel of ill chance and 
flung it into the wild and stormy sea. "Woe is me, she 
said, within herself, that ever I was bom into this world! 
Miserable that I am, I have lost mii^e honor and failed in 
my trust. . . . Alas, Tristram and Iseult, for this drink 
shall be your death!" 

Now when the man and the maid had drunk of the potion. 
Love, who never resteth but besetteth all hearts crept softly 
into the hearts of the twain, and ere they were ware of it 
had she planted her conquest there. . . . But one heart 
had they; her grief was his sadness, his sadness her grief. 
. . . She felt shame of her love, and the like did he. She 
doubted of his love and he of hers. For though both their 
hearts were blindly bent to one will, yet was the chance 
and the beginning heavy to them, and both alike would hide 
their desire. . . . When Tristan felt the pangs of love, 
then he bethought him straightway of his faith and honor, 
and would fain have set himself free. Yet ever the more he 
looked into his heart, the more he fotmd that therein was 
nothing but love, — and Isetdt. Even so was it with the 
maiden. . . . Shyly she looked on him and he on her, 
till heart and eyes had done their work. ... So the 
ship sailed gayly on. . . . Each knew the mind of the 
other, yet was their speech of other things.' 

Never was the moment of confession more artfully pre- 
pared: never more sweetly rendered than in the sequel. 
Compared with such treatment as this, Malory's tone is 
that of a mere synopsis. 

In Malory, the development of the passion is almost 
entirely missed; from this first moment to the last fare- 
well in Gottfried, it is treated with extreme subtlety. 

> Tristan and Iseult, tr. from Gottfried von Strassbtug, by Jessie L. 
Weston, voL ii., pp. ^13. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 233 

The poetic and idyllic beauty of Gottfried finds no 
parallel in Malory ; and how can one forgive the English- 
man or his source his omission of the tmf orgotten story 
of Tristram's death — the tale of the rival queens, the 
white sail and the black, the thrice repeated cry for his 
amie, the lie of the wife, the piteous ending? Mal- 
ory's Tristram is tamely and incidentally slain as he is 
harping before his lady, — slain in a parenthesis, after 
attention has long been diverted to other things! 

It is Mark who kills him, and the degeneration of the 
story is sharply illustrated by the change in the treat- 
ment of the Cornish king. In the old version, he is 
entirely and pathetically noble: by Malory's time, he 
has become the meanest of comedy villains. He is the 
hated butt of Arthur's knights, so poor a sneak and 
coward that the lovers hardly need an apology. The 
story is impoverished and embittered by the change; 
the sweet spring airs that blew through it are replaced 
by sultry gusts in which life can not thrive. Sym- 
pathy goes with the lovers to be sure and no moral 
reprobation is expressed. But Tennyson had full 
justification in Malory, from whom he drew, for the 
most disagreeable of the Idylls of the King. 

Ill 

The right way to approach Malory's Tristram books, 
however, is not to compare them with the indubitably 
finer early versions, but to take them in relation with 
the whole of the Morte Darthur; and when they are 
so viewed the treatment of them is largely justified. 

Malory needed to remove his scene a little from the 
main action, in order to gain the effect he desired. He 
wished, for the time being, to command an undivided 



234 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

sjrmpathy for love and lovers. This could hardly be 
done at the court of Arthur, but it was a simple matter 
at the court of Mark. Cornwall is a region of wild liv- 
ing and evil customs; "appetite" needs to be "raised 
into sentiment " there, for in that dishonored and degen- 
erate land coarse manners and coarser morals prevail, 
and the relations between lovers, however they may 
share the general disorder, are often the best thing it 
has to show. In Arthur's court on the other hand, 
one has a right to demand that "sentiment" be 
"raised into purity," and in this latter endeavor, 
Vamaur Courtois runs considerable risk of coming 
to grief. 

Perhaps the point is better demonstrated by some of 
the minor characters than by the principals. Not all 
the love depicted is of the chivalric or romantic type, 
however; a cold-blooded Feminist might find material 
in them for a thesis on the Position of Woman as it 
developed from primitive to modem times. Without 
subjecting innocait romance to so pedantic a process, 
one may well feel interested in the hints afforded of a 
changing order. 

There are clear traces, to begin with, of a strattun in 
sex-relations when mere primeval instinct prevailed. 
Women are frequently viewed as plain booty. Iseult 
is Mark's possession rather than his wife, and his at- 
titude toward her is frankly that of the owner. Ladies 
are banded about from one to another. Li an unpleas- 
ant episode about the wife of Sir Segwarides, which 
precedes the main action, the lady is loved by Mark 
and Tristram and carried off by Bleoberis. Etiquette 
develops queerly; Tristram, reproached by the court 
ladies because he makes no effort to follow her, explains 
the proprieties of the situation: "It is not my part to 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 235 

have ado in such matters, while her lord and master is 
present here, " ' says he, — owner rather than lover hav- 
ing evidently the right of way. Segwarides, however, 
having vainly tried to rescue her, Tristram intervenes; 
and Sir Bleoberis and he, taking a fancy to each other, 
allow the lady to choose to which i^e will belong. 
Somewhat disgusted, she shows, to their surprise, 
enough spirit and common sense to demand that they 
restore her to her husband! He in his turn is the most 
placable of consorts: " I will never hate a noble knight, " 
quoth he later, "for a light lady."* 

Iseult herself is carried off in much the same wild way : 
a similar misadventure is later to befall Guenevere at 
the hand of Meliagraunce, who rides through these 
books sighing for her. Sometimes a crude phase of 
chivalric custom seems mixed with more barbaric ideas. 
Tristram on his way back to Mark's court with the 
young Iseult, soon after the drinking of the potion, is 
challenged by a certain knight with the abrupt dilemma : 
"If an thy lady be fairer than mine, with thy sword 
smite off my lady's head; and if my lady be fairer than 
thine, with my sword I must smite off her head. And 
if I may win thee yet shall thy lady be mine, and thou 
shalt lose thy head. Sir said Tristram this is a foul cus- 
tom and an horrible." Porced to conform to it, however, 
he " showed La Beale Isoud, and turned her thrice about 
with his naked sword in his hand. And when Sir Breu- 
nor saw that, he did in the same wise turn his lady. "^ 
Showman's tricks indeed, not much connected with 
V amour Courtois^ or with cotutesy or love of any kind! 

Instances of this sort make plain how much U amour 
Courtois had to do for the Middle Ages. They reveal 

* Marie Darthur, vilL, 15. * Ibid,, viii., 38. 

* IbU^t viii., 25. 



236 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

underlying the chivalric code, an inconceivably brutal 
idea of sex-relations, surviving from that primitive 
epoch in which so many of the Arthurian motifs and 
stories first took shape. Compared with this idea, the 
non-moralities of U amour Caurtois appear insignificant, 
while the self-control for which it calls, the respect and 
the tenderness toward women, shine almost as fair to 
our eyes as to the twelfth centiny. 

That means very fair indeed, and absorbingly inter- 
esting. Cotuteous Love, with its peculiar limitations, 
marks the climax of admirable things in Malory until 
the Grail quest has exalted life to a level undreamed by 
the knights riding boisterously through these pages. 
But Courteous Love itself has its varieties. Every 
one in these books is excited about Love, every one 
illustrates it. The habitual conversation would have 
sounded strange indeed in the ears of Charlemagne's 
peers! For the knights, mainly preoccupied till now 
with matters miUtant, are forever discussing the beauty 
of women. The endless tournaments which clog the 
action hinge on the presence of feminine spectators; the 
men constantly boast that their own ladies are the most 
fair. Groaning lovers are round every comer, seated 
by every well: Epinogris, Lamorak, Alisaunder le 
Orphelin, La Cote Mai Taill6, Palomides, — even Melia- 
graimce, boldly avowing, not yet with sinister hint, his 
passion for Guenevere. The imseen Lancelot is honored 
as the greatest of lovers, the example to them all. 
These knights are chiefly defined by their attitude in 
love; and they are vividly individualized. 

The idyll is the story of Alisaimder le Orphelin, and 
Alice La Beale Pilgrim, — an exquisite bit of writing and 
a perfect example of courtly love as conceived by medi- 
aeval fancy at its best. AUsaunder plays his part in 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 237 

the main action, inasmuch as he is nephew and victim 
to Mark, and bedazzled for a time by the wiles of 
Morgan le Fay. But his charming story needs no ex- 
cuse for being. Love comes to him and his lady, sudden 
as compelling: 

And when La Beale Alice saw him joust so well, she 
thought him a passing goodly knight on horseback. And 
then she leapt out of her pavilion, and took Sir Alisaunder 
by the bridle, and thus she said: Pair knight, I require 
thee of thy knighthood show me thy visage. I dare well, 
said Alisatmder, show my visage. And then he put off 
his helm; and she saw his visage, and she said: O sweet 
Jesu, thee I must love, and never other. Then show me 
your visage, said he. Then she unwimpled her visage. 
And when he saw her he said, Here have I found my love 
and my lady. Truly fair lady, said he, I promise you to 
be your knight, and none other that beareth the life. 
Now gentle knight, said she, tell me your name. My 
name is, said he, Alisatmder le Orphelin. Now damosel, 
tell me your name. My name is, said she, Alice La Beale 
Pilgrim; and when we be more at our heart's ease, both ye 
and I shall tell other of what blood we be come.' 

_ So he goes back to his fight with doubled zest. It is 
all perfect, from the frank and instantaneous avowal 
by the lady, to the little touch at the end about the 
" blood. " Lineage may not be ignored for long, what- 
ever love may dictate! 

Unalloyed sentiment, in sound art, all but invariably 
calls for comic relief. Again and again, Malory slyly 
laughs at his lovers. Lamorak, a figure vigorously 
etched, in contrast to the youthful and ingenuous 
Alisaunder, is an instance in point. Heavy, big-boned, 

* MorU Darihwr, z., 38. 



238 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

valiant and vulgar, he presents a coarse travesty of the 
chivalric ideal. Son to Pellinore, brother to Perdvale 
the Grail-seeker, he is honored for his prowess by all the 
fellowship; the book of Sir Gareth has already shown 
him ranked with Tristram and Lancelot in common 
estimation. But not content with tempestuous fight- 
ing, he must e'en conform to the pattern by tempestu- 
ous loving too ; and the lady of his vows is that extremely 
disagreeable person, Queen Margawse. He loves ve- 
hemently and coarsely as his nature is, but according to 
the rules. Riding with Meliagraunce, lover of Guen- 
evere, he engages in debate as to the rival charms of the 
ladies, sighs after approved fashion, comports himself 
perfectly. Mark, riding on adventure, — ^for Mark 
enjoys knight-errantry with the best, — comes across 
him by the brink of a fountain, making great languor 
and dole, and the dolef ullesit complaint of love that ever 
man heard — ^and this is the complaint: *'0 fair queen 
of Orkney, King Lot's wife, and mother to Sir Gawaine 
and to Sir Gaheris, and mother to many another, for 
thy love I am in great pain. "* 

It is hardly conceivable that the chronicler reported 
this elderly amour without a chuckle. The htunor 
broadens as the scene goes on, and Lamorak, who is an 
honorable man in his way and a Companion of the 
Table Round, tells home truths to the disguised Mark 
concerning his behavior to Sir Tristram the worship- 
fullest knight now living. But Lamorak is sinister as 
well as amusing. The grotesque and the tragic jostle 
one another in his story; the reader can not join in the 
general lamentation when the rumor is bruited abroad 
of his death at the hands of the sons of Margawse; but 
in the relentless though submerged movement of the 

> Morte Darthur, z., 7. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 239 

main plot, which proceeds through all these seeming 
wanderings, that rumor, too well based on fact, must be 
remembered. 

One personage, however, stands for jollity un- 
shadowed. This is Sir Dinadan, — as pleasant a sketch 
as Malory ever drew. Sir Dinadan is no lover at all, 
but sets off the theme of the books by perverse and 
merry contradictions. He is a knight of mediocre powers, 
but a capital goodfellow, — ^loyal comrade, with a knack 
at hero-worship and a sharp tongue in his head. He 
adds spice to the sighs of his lovelorn friends, poking 
fun at them and at all true lovers, only to be worsted in 
argument and joust. Bonhomie and merriment enter , 

the tale whenever Dinadan appears. Tristram, meet- 
ing him as he rides on htmting, allows his lover's state 
to be known, «and Dinadan remarks: 

Such a foolish knight as ye are I saw but late this day, 
lying by a well, and . . . there he lay like a fool grinning, 
and would not speak — ^and well I wot he was a lover. • . . 
Ah fair sir, said Sir Tristram, are ye not a lover? 
Marry fie on that craft, said Sir Dinadan. That is evil >^ 

said, said Tristram, for a knight may never be of prowess 
but if he be a lover. . . . And thus as they hoved still, 
they saw a knight come riding against them. Anon as Sir 
Dinadan beheld him he said, That is the same doted 
knight that I saw lie by the well, neither sleeping nor wak- 
ing. Well, said Sir Tristram, I know that knight well, 
with the covered shield of azure, he is the king's son of 
Northumberland, his name is Epinogris: and he is as great 
a lover as I know, and he loveth the king's daughter of 
Wales, a full fair lady. And now I suppose, said Sir Tris- 
tram, an ye require him he will joust with you, and then 
shall ye prove whether a lover be a better knight, or ye that 
will not love no lady. ' 

* Marte Darihur, z., 55. 



240 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Dinadan is never keen on jousting, — ^but hecanhardly 
refuse this challenge, so he tilts with Epinogris and 
gets a fall, whereupon Tristram taunts him gleefully: 
"How now, meseemeth the lover hath well sped." 
That love is the condition of valor is sound mediasval 
doctrine, which no reader is allowed to deny. 

IV 

Among these studies of lovers, Iseult and Tristram 
can certainly not be left out: and even if they are less 
winning than they once were, their portraits as drawn 
in Malory well deserve attention. 

It must never be forgotten that the Tristram story, 
unlike the Lancelot story, originally antedated the 
twelfth-century development of Courtly Love, and that 
the relation between the lovers was at iBrst a simple 
natural passion, tragic because fated, and excused on 
that score. It is in Gottfried that sophisticated twelfth- 
century sentiment took entire possession of the tale, 
and even through his version some of the original traits 
shine dear. In Malory's time, certain of these traits 
still linger. Tristram's Celtic magic has not wholly 
deserted him. All through mediaeval literature, he is 
par excellence the temperamental knight, full of emo- 
tional impulses and artistic accomplishments. He is a 
sylvan personage, at home in the woods, as expert in 
htmting as he is in harping. Although his figtu'e in 
Malory is coarsened and conventionalized, these sug- 
gestions are retained. It seems natural to find Tris- 
tram in his madness sousing Dagonet in a well, and 
coming naked through the wood at the Itu^ of a harp 
played by a kindly lady. He always loved dogs: sev- 
eral, named with playful affection, — ^Hudent, Petit- 
Cru, — ^are associated with him in the poems. He loves 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 241 

them still, and stall he haunts the woods dressed in 
huntsman's green. He has not forgotten his mastery 
of the noble art of venerie, and when borne in mortal 
languor across the seas to Ireland, he can still harp a 
merry lay from his pillows so that all men flock to the 
boat to hear. 

His very faults impart savor and vitality to his figure. 
These faults are many; for in Malory, Tristram, splen- 
did and famous knight though he be, is purposely and 
systematically degraded, in order that the high light 
may fall steadily on Lancelot. His inferiority to the 
protagonist comes out even in his atnours, for he is by 
no means the lover of Iseult only. He can hardly be 
blamed for the love bestowed on him by the daughter of 
the king of France, and one could ill spare her gift, the 
little dog, though he is a less alliuing creature than 
Petit*Cru, of the older tale, whose changeable hues 
and little bell came straight from fairyland. But it is 
shocking to find the origin of Mark's enmity to Tristram 
in their rivalry for the favors of the disreputable though 
entertaining wife of Sir Segwarides; and Lancelot was 
right in feeling that it was ill done to wed Iseult of the 
White Hands, nor does Tristram's neglect of his bride 
atone for the deed. Tristram is fiercer also than Ar- 
thur's knights. No gentle Companion of the Table 
Round would have decapitated the lady of Sir Breunor, 
were it ten times the custom of the castle. Rhetorical 
bragging is a favorite trait of old Germanic and Celtic 
heroes, and Tristram could have held his own against 
any of them at the game; but at Arthur's court, where 
men are fair-languaged and modesty of speech is ad- 
mired, he would have been listened to in pained sur- 
prise. Tristram is a very primitive person, after all the 
centuries of his experience. 
16 



/ 



242 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

And perhaps he keeps his original character a little 
more than Iseult does. In the early versions she is a 
delightful girl, — quick-witted, passionate, vindictive, 
with something vehement and pungent about her; 
always impetuous, occasionally crud, — as when she 
orders the death of her faithful woman Brangwaine 
with a hateful sort of policy that recalls fairy-tale 
morals. But she is true as steel to her lover, warm- 
hearted, clever and brave : a real Irish princess. By the 
time Malory gets hold of her, she has wandered thixmgh 
so many centuries that her vitality has departed. She 
no longer plays her enemies of the court with clever 
ruse against ruse. She can smile on other suitors, as on 
Kehydius, — ^though to do her justice the letter which 
drove Tristram mad with jealousy was written in mere 
compassion. She who had asked no better than to 
wander through the forest in tatters with her lover, now 
thrives on compliments and court-life, and likes best 
of anything to attend, richly beseen, innumerable and 
endless tournaments. Probably she is attending them 
to this day. 

Yet in this story, so mutilated and so dry, one un- 
spoiled thing remains; the picture of the early relations 
of the lovers before the fatal drink. For nowhere can 
be found a prettier example of the chivalric attitude 
toward women than in the earlier phases of their inter- 
course. The modem reader is likely to read the story 
amiss, supposing Tristram and Iseult to be "in love" 
from the occasion of Tristram's first visit to Ireland, 
when the queen-mother heals him of the poisoned 
wotmd inflicted by Sir Marhaus and he becomes the 
tutor of the little princess. On this theory, Tristram is 
to be pitied when he is later sent back to Ireland to win 
Isetdt for his tmcle's bride. But the theory is wrong. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 243 

The child-princess, taught by the youth in harping 
and, as is elsewhere told, in languages, "began to have a 
great fantasy unto him. " She begged him to enter a 
tournament to defend her against the imwelcome ar- 
dors of Palomides the Paynim knight, and Tristram, 
jealous of the Saracen's valor, is all too glad to comply. 
He agrees on condition that she shall be his lady, and 
she accepts joyously and arms him, giving him her 
device. Nothing could be more delicately true to the 
ideas of chivalry than the whole episode. But love- 
making in the modem sense has naught to do with it. 
The disinterestedness of the relation is evident when the 
queen discovers Tristram's identity as the slayer of her 
brother and he is forced to quit Ireland. Honorably 
and friendly he speaks to the long : 

I promise you as I am true knight that in all places I shall 
be my lady your daughter's servant in right and in wrong, 
and I shall never fail her to do as much as a knight may do. 
Also I beseech your good grace that I may take my leave 
at my lady your daughter and at all the barons and knights. ' 

Permission is accorded, and Tristram and Iseult say 
good-by; there is no shadow of passion in that parting, 
not though the little Isetilt weeps heartily. Tristram 
renews his promise to be her faithful knight; and she 
promises in return that she will not be married without 
his consent for seven years, and that he shall select her 
husband! ''And to whom ye will I shall be married, 
to him win I have, an he will have me if ye will consent. " xy^ 
So they exchange rings and separate in all innocence. 
Nor does Tristram suffer the slightest qualm when Mark 
later bids him return to seek Iseult for the royal bride; 
the danger of the adventure, rather than any violence 

* MorU Darlkurt viii., id. 



244 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

to his feelings, gives the point to his loyal devotion in 
obeying the king. His is pure chivalric service seeking 
no reward. 



Mediaeval tenderness comes out in odd and unex- 
pected ways. It is not in Tristram that V amour Caur- 
tais finds most perfect expression, it is in an unchristened 
man, — ^Palomides, Paymm lover of Iseult. He is a per- 
son invented by the prose romances, foil to Tristram 
much as Tristram is foil to Lancdot. His quaint and 
piteous figure is worth a dozen of Malory's Tristrams; 
it deserves a section to itself. 

Palomides is a child of nature; he has no self-control. 
When he has the bad luck to lose his horse, he can sit 
roaring and aying like a man out of his mind. He 
shocks the polished knights of Arthur: they hold toward 
this enfant terrible an attitude of mixed affection and 
disapproval. They condone his behavior on the score 
that he is a Paynim, and long for his christening, con- 
vinced that only the holy laver can subdue the proud, 
hot blood of heathenesse into gentleness, courtesy and 
self-restraint. And Palomides, before the story opens, 
has told Iseult that he has a mind to be christened for 
her sake, but he has made a vow to fight seven good 
battles for Jesu's sake before he seeks the holy rite, and 
meantime he behaves half the time like the heathen 
man he is. 

Palomides is the Lover Hopeless, and therefore the 
pure ennobling power of love is shown through him in 
its perfection. Before ever Tristram came to Ireland, 
he has served Iseult, and he remains her servant to the 
end. At her rebuke he can go mad, at her smile he can 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 245 

remove moiintains. Tristram overthrows him when 
first they meet, and bids him forego his lady's presence 
for a year. He obeys, but when the year is over he 
appears in Cornwall, — Iseult having married Mark in 
the interim, — and restores her lost handmaid Brang- 
waine to the queen, demanding a boon in return. This 
boon is Iseult herself; and when she escapes, he sits 
him down like a man out of his wits before the castle 
where she has taken refuge. Tristram, arriving, fights 
him, till Iseult stops the conflict. She is loath that 
Palomides should die a Saracen, and, woman-like, in- 
flicts punishment sharper than death on him by send- 
ing him to Guenevere with the insolent word of her love 
for Tristram. Palomides departs with great heaviness, 
and is heard of no more for a long time. 

He reappears in Book IX., following that strange 
companion, the Questing Beast; does marvelous deeds 
of arms, yet in spite of them is ever worsted and shamed. 
He is consumed by wistful ' admiration of that fair 
fellowship to which he is an alien. Of all men he loves 
Tristram the best, and would fain win honor of him; 
torn between envious jealousy and loyal devotion, he 
plays a half comic, half tragic, whoUy human part. 

Alas, said Sir Palomides [to Tristram tmrecognized] 
I may never win worship where Sir Tristram is. What 
would ye do, said Tristram, and ye had Sir Tristram? 
I would fight with him, said Sir Palomides, and ease my 
heart upon him. And yet, to say thee sooth. Sir Tristram 
is the gentlest knight in this world living.' 

So begins a curious friendship; for the kindly knights 
adopt him of their company, and by and by he is 
thrown into prison with Tristram and Dinadan. There 

> liork Darthur, iz., 51. 



246 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

he behaves very whimsically. Tristram was like to 
have died of great sickness, "and every day Sir Palo- 
mides wotdd reprove Sir Tristram of old hate between 
them. But when Sir Palomides saw the falling on sick- 
ness of Sir Tristram, then was he heavy for him and 
comforted him in the best wise he could. " The knights 
separate when released, and presently Tristram is 
saving the life of Palomides, and challenges him to 
mortal combat. But Palomides, with a gleam of real 
chivalric perception, refuses to fight with one so weary 
and foredone. 

Often however he shows no such self-restraint. His 
hot blood is always betraying him; he takes unfair 
advantage of his adversary, and incurs rebuke from 
knights better bom and bred. Thus he forces unequal 
combat on the wounded Lamorak. "Sir," says Lam- 
orak, " Thou hast done me wrong and no knighthood to 
proffer me battle considering my great travail, but an 
thou wilt tell me thy name I will tell thee mine." 
Palomides is impulsive and uncontrolled, but he is 
always as swift to repent as he is swift to err. When he 
heard Lamorak*s name, "he kneeled down and asked 
mercy, for outrageously have I done to you this day; 
shamefully and tmknightly have I required you to do 
battle. " ' Meanness is no sin of Lamorak's, he embraces 
and comforts him and welcomes him to his company. 

The great tournament of Surluse is the crisis of his 
career. Here, under his lady's eyes, he bears him 
valiantly and wins great honor; and Tristram, indolently 
condescending and appreciating his exploits, brings him 
to Joyous Garde where Iseult and he are the guests of 
Lancelot. This is apparently the first time that Palo- 
mides has laid eyes on his lady in many a year, and he 

s liarU Darthur, z., 19. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 247 

would hang back and would not have gone into the 
castle, but Sir Tristram took him by the finger and led 
him in. And when he saw La Beale Isoud he was 
ravished so that he might hardly speak, so they went 
into meat but Palomides might not eat. 

There is good-fellowship and fair for a time, reward 
for years of stumbling but honest effort. But Palomides 
is not yet by any means able to hold the favor of his 
friends steadily. Next day, in the very heyday of suc- 
cess in the tournament, intent on the excitement of 
jousting with Lancelot, he does a disgraceful thing: he 
smites the neck of Lancelot's horse, so that Lancelot 
falls to the ground! 

Then was the cry huge and great, See how Sir Palomides 
the Paynim has smitten down Sir Lancelot's horse! . . . 
Right then were there many knights wroth with Palomides 
because he had done the deed, therefore many knights held 
there against that it was unknightly done in a tournament 
to kill an horse willfully but that it had been done in plain 
battle, life for life.' 

A cruel change after the chorus of praise, — and Iseult 
all the time looking on! 

So the heart is taken out of poor Palomides. Lance- 
lot, hot with resentment, bears down on him; and the 
Paynim puts up no fight at all, but cries for mercy, with 
a childlike plea: "Have mercy noble knight, and for- 
give me my unkindly deeds. ... An ye put me 
from my worship now, ye put me from the greatest 
worship that I ever had or ever shall have in my life 
day." Lancelot would not be Lancelot if he did not 
forgive, adding a generous meed of praise. So Palo- 
mides gets his coveted "worship," — ^the honor and 

> MorU Darihur, z., 7(S 71. 



248 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

gree as for that day. And after the fighting, come 
feasting and fellowship and merry words: Dinadan 
handling Tristram roughly to sting him to greater 
valor; Palomides praising Lancelot: "For truly as for 
Sir Lancelot, of his noble knighthood, courtesy, prowess 
and gentleness, I know not his peer. For this day, said 
Sir Palomides, I did full uncourteously to Sir Lancelot, 
and full knightly and courteously he did to me again. ** 
Is it any wonder that every one was anxious for the 
christening of a man who could speak like that? And 
is not the quaint comment just, "This talking was in 
the houses of kings"?* 

But it is hard to outgrow outlandish ways, and the 
tournament in which Palomides had done so well ends 
in disgrace. He smites down Arthur himself through 
sheer stupidity, and changes sides, deserting Tristram 
in the middle of the fight. Wherefore Iseult is wroth 
with him out of measure and has for him cruel words 
and keen. So have Arthur and Lancelot, who speak to 
him plainly enough for the most thick-witted Paynim 
to tmderstand. Palomides, heartbroken, has all that 
night no rest in his bed, but wails and weeps without 
measure. The knights, watching him asleep, see upon 
his countenance that he has wept full sore, and com- 
ment not without tenderness: of a Paynim what can 
be expected ? But Palomides leaves that tournament in 
dejection. 

He talks his sore heart out to the languishing lover 
Epinogris, as they ride together exchanging laments 
and sighs. 

Well, said Epinogris, sith that ye loved la Beale Isoud, 
loved she you ever again by anything that ye cotild think 

> MorU Darihur, z., 7a. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 249 

or wit, or else did ye rejoice her ever in any pleasure? 
Nay, by my knighthood, said Palomides, I never espied 
that ever she loved me more than all the world, nor never 
had I pleasure with her; but the last day she gave me the 
greatest rebuke that ever I had, the which shall never from 
my heart. And yet I well deserved that rebuke, for I did 
not knightly.' 

Epinogris, with the usual egotism of the favored, 
insists that Palomides' sorrow is but japes to his, for he 
has enjoyed his lady and lost her. Whereupon Palo- 
mides wins back the lady for his comrade, and in^so 
doing falls into sore straits. The news is heavy to 
Tristram and to Lancelot, who love him right well how- 
ever severely they discipline him; Lancelot comes to his 
aid and brings him back forgiven, a rueful and penitent 
man, to Joyous Garde where Iseult waits. And all the 
courteous company devote themselves forthwith to 
making him happy, receiving him into their fellowship 
without reserve. 

So all is well as may be with Palomides, smce he has 
regained the privilege to consort with Tristram and 
Iseult and to be gently accounted of them. But it is 
a sorrowful privilege, and ever he faded and mourned, 
that all men had marvel wherefore he faded so away. 
One day in the dawning, he sees his defaced visage in a 
forest stream, and full of self-pity and love-pains begins 
to make a rhyme of La Beale Isoud and himself. One 
would like to overhear him: perhaps it was as exquisite 
a song of love defeated and triumphant in defeat as was 
ever sung by Cino or Guido Guinicelli; perhaps a medi- 
aeval "One Way of Love." Tristram overhears him, 
and puts himself in the wrong by resenting the song. 
He draws from the piteous knight an avowal, noble in 

* Morte Darihur, z., 82. 



250 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

dignity, expressive of the best and highest that romantic 
love could mean to the mediaeval mind: "When I re- 
membered me of La Beale Isoud," says Palomides, "I 
won the worship wheresoever I came for the most part, 
and yet had I never reward or botmtee from her all 
the days of my life, and yet have I been her knight 
guerdonless."* 

As the knight guerdonless let him be remembered; 
perhaps the most truly felt, the most nobly portrayed, 
among all Malory's lovers. He is not all to be pitied. 
In a later book he completes his tale of battles; he 
proves himself at last perfected in self-restraint and 
honor, in a memorable fight with Lancelot: he comes 
to Arthur's court, is christened, and is made Compan- 
ion of the Table Round. The event marks the open- 
ing of an epoch, for at this same feast at which Palomides 
is christened, appears the Holy Grail. We are not told 
that he entered the Quest, but surely he would have 
been worthy to do so. 

VI 

One could easily linger more than time here permits 
among the lovers with whom these books abound. 
But Malory's full purpose in these long stretches of his 
tale can not be understood in this way. There is 
a great deal here beside love-making. If mediaeval 
readers were like modem, they probably skipped along, 
omitting many a joust, to pick out the sentimental 
passages. But if any of them read critically, they 
would discover other interesting things. 

Malory had the deliberate intention to hold before 
his public the whole of chivalry implicit in its eveiy 

« Marie Darthur. s., 86. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 251 

part. That is why so many threads starting from 
Arthur's court and leading back again into the larger 
pattern entangle themselves with the simple design of 
the old Tristram story. It can not be denied that he 
has all but spoilt the old design in consequence, but he 
has gained his end. Throughout the tale of those two 
woeful lovers and the rest who gather round them, he 
has kept fresh before the mind the onward progress of 
his rna\r\ theme. 

The chief effect of the books is to show the splendor 
of the Table Round by contrast with that disordered 
outer world where its bright chivalries are known only 
by report. The main scene of the books passes remote 
from the center, now in Ireland, now in Cornwall, in 
drear forests or on far waters whither Arthur's adven- 
turous knights may find their way, but which are not 
brought under their allegiance. A sense of amplitude 
is the result. The world is wide and dark, and however 
men may play with ladies fair there is stem work to be 
done. Far away, object of longing admiration, shines 
the distant court of Arthur, — ^a well-ordered light in the 
savagery of surrounding darkness. To attain that 
light is a supreme desire, but the degraded Cornish 
knights, with the exception of Tristram and Palomides, 
may not hope for it. They are a poor lawless lot, 
treated with systematic scorn, and King Mark is the 
worst of them. 

As for Tristram, the longing to achieve fellowship 
with the Table Round is a passion second only to his 
love for Iseult, and sometimes apparently stronger. 
This is why Iseult is ignored through long reaches of the 
story; and while the diversion of interest is an artistic 
mistake, it is at least due to definite artistic purpose. 
.Lancelot is the center of the Round Table, and Tristram, 



252 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

even when most bespelled with woman's love, wishes 
intensely to encounter him. On this much-delayed and 
carefully prepared encounter, Malory throws his high 
light. The meeting has been predicted by Merlin; for 
by a symbolism in line with the central theme of these 
books, it occurs beside the tomb of those misfortunate 
lovers, Lanceor and his lady Colombe, who were done to 
death by Balin. Palomides too has his share in bring- 
ing it about, for his failure to keep tryst results in 
Lancelot's taking his place, tmknown to Tristram. No 
fight in Malory is so carefully staged and prepared. 
The antagonists joust in ignorance of each other, and 
pause at last, evenly matched, to reveal their names: 

Truly, said he, my name is Sir Tristram de Liones. 
O Jesu, said Sir Lancelot, what adventure is befallen 
/me? And therewithal Sir Lancelot kneeled down and 
3rielded him up his sword. And therewithal Sir Tristram 
kneeled down and yielded him up his sword. And so either 
gave other the degree. And then they both forthwith 
went to the stone and either kissed other an hundred times. 
. . . Andthenanon they rode to Camelot.' 

In Camelot, Tristram is joyously received and made 
in due time Companion of the Table Round. This is 
the climax of his career, the satisfaction of his supreme 
desire. After this, any elaboration of his later dealings 
with Iseult or of the last scenes would be an anticlimax 
from the point of view of the Morte Darthur; for the 
accredited story with all its beauty is irrelevant to the 
main Arthurian theme. 

In the pretty scene just quoted, Tristram and Lance- 
lot are for once equal. But through these books as a 

* Morte Darthur, z., 5. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 253 

wholct the superior glory of Lancelot is scrapulously 
enhanoed. His fame echoes to the farthest bounds of 
the British isles. More talked of than seen, he is felt 
to be the type of chivalry in its wholeness; when he does 
appear, he speaks with such spirit, acts with such mag- 
nanimity and charm, that a little warmth begins at 
last to dawn in the reader's feeling for him. Mean- 
while, the loftiness of mind and the courtesy of all 
Arthur's knights become more and more impressive; 
for through the leisurely ways of these long books, that 
goodly company gets to be intimately known. So we 
grow at home in the land of Logres; and while the con- 
fused and episodic nature of the treatment does retard 
the action, Malory allows no obsession by his special 
interest to obscure the supreme importance of fealty 
to sovereign and to Churdi. No man could be loyal 
to Mark, but far in Camelot rules a king whom all tnie 
knights serve gladly; Arthur, though rarely present is 
never forgotten. As for the Chtirch, though it be 
neither inspirer of sanctity nor censor of morals, it 
receives an honest allegiance. The wanderings of the 
knights do not take them beyond the bounds of Christ- 
endom, but Saracen civilization, pitted against it, is 
constantly implied. Palomides is the chief exponent 
of it; poor Palomides, whose manners reflect his disad- 
vantages, whose ill-breeding, so vociferously lamented 
by himself, is connected in all minds with his Paynim 
faith ! Christianity is the only parent of gentleness and 
honor: no one is surer of this than the lovers, who se- 
renely set at defiance one of its most ftmdamental laws! 
For in spite of the purely secular enthusiasms of these 
books, they can not wholly ignore the conflict between 
Christian ideals and the strange perversions of Courtly 
Love. Although love improves the manners of the 



254 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

knights and softens their tempers^ although the attitude 
of the people in the story is sympathetic, the picture 
presented is not wholly pleasant. Brutal passion is 
likely to break through etiquette at any moment; the 
story is marred by a certain ferocity, always stirring 
beneath surface courtesies; something coarse and vio- 
lent mingles with extreme refinement of manner. The 
complexity of tone is more noticeable in contrast with 
early versions where Arthurian aflSliations are absent 
or faint. In these, there is no division of sympathy. 
Mark can be presented as noble, because no blame 
attaches to the lovers and they need no excuse. Times 
had changed by Malory's day. The inferiority of his 
version is due, not only to his desire to fit the old tale 
into a larger scheme, but also to the fact that it was his 
lot to reproduce the story in a world which had out- 
grown it. On the surface, the old enthusiasm flourished 
unrebtiked; below the surface can be felt a growing 
restlessness; hints of question, and even of distaste 
abound. Multiplying details furnish that preparation 
for tragic catastrophe which is a chief f imction of these 
central books of the Morte. 

Arthtir himself is not above reproach. Malory 
softens his levities, gliding Ughtly over various episodes; 
but the briefly chronicled amours with the sorceress 
Annowse betray him, nor can a king be over-particular 
about home-affairs who extends royal protection with 
such zest to Tristram and Iseult, and seeks Iseult 
incognito that he may satisfy his curiosity about her. 
Nevertheless, standards are stricter in Camelot than 
in Cornwall and trouble is brewing. 

For suspicion is at work. Morgan le Fay is mischie- 
vously busy, as usual. Early in the books, her magic 
horn, meant for the court of Arthtir, is intercepted by 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 255 

Lamorak and sent to Cornwall. Only pure women can 
drink of this horn without spilling, and only four ladies, 
— ^Iseult not among them, — pass the test. It does not 
seem to matter much, — in Cornwall; but had that horn 
reached Logres and Guenevere essayed in vain to drink, 
the afiEair had not been passed over so lightly. Lamorak 
knows this perfectly well: "Were it to do again, so 
wotdd I do, " he says to the angry Tristram: "For I had 
liefer strife and debate fell in King Mark's court rather 
than in Arthur's court; for the honor of both courts is 
not alike."' Hardly! A jest in Cornwall might be a 
tragedy at Camelot. 

But how about Lamorak himself, — approved Com- 
panion of the Table Round and avowed lover of Mar- 
gawse? He is prominent throughout these books; and 
in the main he is not only accepted but admired; yet 
his rMe has another aspect. The House of Gawain 
though subordinate in these stretches of the story, is 
not forgotten; and Lamorak's insolent adoration of 
Margawse can hardly be grateful to these proud-blooded 
men. There is already animosity between the houses, 
for Gawain and his brothers have killed Lamorak's 
father Pellinore because they "had a deeming" that he 
had killed their father Lot. The present situation ex- 
acerbates the bitter feud past endurance; and Gaheris, 
in a terrible scene not unworthy of Sophocles or Eu- 
ripides, slays his guilty mother in her lover's presence. 

The act is the more tragic because Gaheris is next to 
Gareth the best of the wild crew, — sl gentler knight 
than Agravaine, or even than Gawain. It is Gawain, 
however, who Idlls Lamorak himself. No spectators 
witness that killing. It is never proved, — only bruited 
about in shocked undertones, an act which wins the 

> MofU Darthm, YiiL, ^8. 



256 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

execration of all true knights. These doings of the 
brothers incarease the suppressed dislike with which they 
are viewed. Their act is justified by the older law which 
knows no justice but retaliation ; but it is repudiated 
by the higher code to which men are bound by their 
vows. Lamorak, their conu^ade in arms, should have 
been inviolate, whatever his sins against them. At the 
same time, the provocation was great. The episode 
affords another reflection of the disturbed state of things 
in the Middle Ages, which must have been conmion indeed 
to transform that verbal root which in feudalism stood 
for fealty to the significant connotation of feud. And 
the tragedy, so Greek in its complications, leads into a 
deeper realm of confiict and moral feeling than that of 
romantic love. 

Presently an affair about a shield brings suspicion 
straight home to Camelot itself. Morgan is responsible, 
of course. She it is who designs an insulting device, of 
a lady and a knight with his feet on a king, and who 
binds Tristram, an unconscious but suitable instrument 
of her malice, to display the shield imder Arthur's eyes. 
To make sure that the insinuation bites, one of her 
damosds is ready to speak no uncertain words: "Sir 
king, wit ye well that this shield was ordained for you, 
to warn you of your shame and dishonor that longeth 
to you and your queen." Anon that damosel piked her 
away privily, but king Arthur was sad and wroth.' 
He was also tadtum, as usual; but in the tournament 
his eye was ever on that shield. He is the most discreet, 
the most forbearing of monarchs; but the queen com- 
plains bitterly, to Lancelot's ssmipathetic cousin, Sir 
Ector. Trouble is in the air. Not all the pleasant 
horse-play or true loyalty of the knights can obliterate 
> Mifrte Darthur, ix., 43. 



THE PAGEANT OP ROMANTIC LOVE 257 

it. The king may shut his eyes: but all others are 
aware that what is tolerated in Cornwall may not be 
condoned at Camelot. 

Evil grows more marked before long : for letters come 
from Cornwall, in answer to others sent by Arthur repri- 
manding Mark, and they are not agreeable to read. 
When Arthur read his letter, he mused on many things, 
and studied a great while, and held his peace. As for 
queen Guenevere, she is wroth out of measure when she 
reads hers, for it speaks open scandal; and she sends it 
to Lancelot, who is so wroth that he quaintly and medi- 
aevally lays him down to sleep; whereupon faithful 
Dinadan, — ^lucky it was not another, — ^finds that letter, 
and reads it, and takes satisfactory reprisals on Mark. 
Por he causes to be written and sung at the Cornish 
court "the worst lay that ever harper sang there," pre- 
sumably an open satire on the great Lovers. This is 
pleasing, — ^but it can not silence the sense of something 
gravely wrong. One is ill at ease — eager for some purify- 
ing wind to blow through this chiyalric world, so fair, 
so foul. 

These books, then, express the successive attitudes 
toward women and sex-rdations which had been known 
in Europe. The accepted conventions of Uamour 
Courtois are central; below that lies the play of sense, 
frank and unashamed, and, still deeper, traces of that 
earliest epoch when women were viewed, not as temp- 
ters nor as goddesses, but as mere possessions, to be 
treated like loot. But, while much is behind romantic 
love, and lower, so suggestions are not wanting of 
something higher. Troubled hints of remorse pursue 
us; desires increase for a world of purity and law. 
Would we escape we must rise. Beyond these haunts 
of lovers, beyond the world of Tristram and Iseult, of 



258 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Lancelot and Guenevere, a ray of light with the 
Grail at the heart of it, leads to that far sanctuary 
of the ascetic where earthly passion may not enter. 
Palomides is christened; the Pageant of the Holy 
Vessel is at hand. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE PAGEAirr OF THE HOLT GRAIL 



'' Le donne, i cavalieri, Tanne, gli amori, 
Le cortesie, Taudaci imprese." 

SO ran Ariosto's summary of chivalric interests and 
joys. They are all found in the first part of Ma- 
lory — ^women and knights, arms and love, courtesy and 
bold adventures. But the summary of mediaeval life 
is not complete. Through the absorbed delight in a 
purely natural existence, ran the recurrent desire for 
something which neither arms nor love could furnish. 
The quickening force in romance, the spirit of adven- 
ture, led out and away, beyond the region where Tris- 
tram fought the Morholt or sang to Iseult, beyond 
the court where knights swore all^;iance to Arthur. 
Toward far horizons it beckoned, past the edge of the 
visible world. Terms of sense no longer render it; for 
it turned from exploring the world without and pene- 
trated the world within. 

This spirit of adventure must always lead men to 
seek below the stirface of things. But in the modem 
world, the desire to pursue life's secrets to their sanc- 
tuary is largely satisfied by the inexhaustible analysis 
of natural phenomena. It works powerfully in the 



260 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

scientist who hangs over his microscope, and in the 
explorer who conquers the Pole. In the Middle Ages, 
a period which rarely tried to analyze nature, the in- 
stinct had to take another direction. These ages as- 
sumed the natural order as a matter of course and felt 
no challenge there. They regarded the visible world 
sometimes as a convenient abode, sometimes as an 
enemy to subdue; sometimes in higher moments as 
sjmibol or sacrament of ultimate reality; but never 
as a mjrstery to solve. That is, the organ of discovery 
worked not scientifically but mystically. It knew 
nothing of the ardors which chase the atom and pur- 
sue the secrets of force; it drew its elect away from the 
whole range of nattire and natural life into lonely regions 
where the vision of uncreated beauty hovered veiled 
before the seeker. 

To attain the unveiled vision, that seeker must be 
pure in heart; and purity of heart, to the Middle Ages, 
implied complete repudiation of the jojrs of sense. 
Mediaeval mysticism was systematically ascetic. We 
modems are just beginning to free what little mysticism 
we possess from the ascetic impulse, and our distaste for 
asceticism is a cause of our failure to understand with 
sympathy the more mystical phases of mediaeval im- 
agination, — ^a failure conspicuous in the work of some 
Arthurian scholars. During the centuries of reaction 
after the Renascence, as the desire grew to penetrate 
Nature's secrets instead of scorning them, mediaeval 
mjrsticism ceased to make any appeal. Even the 
romantic revival ignored it, and people who delight in 
the picturesqueness of the Middle Ages as shown by 
Scott or William Morris, would yet turn with contempt 
from tales of contemplatives in their rapts or ascetics 
in their agonies. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAH. 261 

But to-day, the quest for spiritual vision seems less 
alien than it did. Scientific methods reveal limitations, 
and science itself b^ins to whisper of a Beyond. Higher 
mathematics leads out suddenly into a region where hu- 
man reasoning can not follow ; natural science, no longer 
complacent, bears honest witness to forces beyond the 
range of its formulae. With the philosophic stress on 
the value of instinct and intuition, with the general 
advent of a more spiritual attitude, it is possible that 
mediaeval mystics may have justice done them at last. 

Indeed, the Middle Ages can not be appraised rightly, 
while mysticism remains foreign to the mind, for most 
mediaeval books are tinctured by it. They reflect a 
Catholic civilization, and Catholicism is mystical in 
its very fiber. Whole departments of literature are 
set apart and controlled by mystic and ascetic passion. 
All hagiology, for instance: the stories of holy men and 
women, so tenderly, so copiously preserved in the 
Legenda Aurea, so tedious to many modem readers, are 
chiefly interesting from one point of view, — ^that the 
saints had attained the secret places. The visible 
world was insistent, alluring; the Middle Ages could not 
feast exclusively on saint legends, nor on homiletic or 
theological literature. Yet not even the cycles of 
secular romance could escape the influence of mysticism. 
In Grail-romance, worldly adventure yielded to the ad- 
ventures of the soul. The bright trappings of chivalry 
were transformed into a parable of spiritual quest and 
the very images most cherished in the world of sense, 
were used to release the spirit from sense-dominion. 

In the lower form of magic or enchantment, the 
mystical impulse is present from the beginning of the 
Morte Darthur. Merlin and Morgan continually weave 
their wiles. Romance is differentiated from fairy-tale 



262 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

by moderation in its use of the supernatural; magic is 
the exception in it, not the staple, for the point of the 
whole matter is that the action goes on in the real 
human world. But it is a world vibrating, so to speak, 
with constant expectation of the unexpected; the com- 
monplace is charged with potency. When the land- 
scape Ues clearest, bedazzlement may oversweep it. 
Shield and sword can possess mysterious powers. 
White arms waving jeweled weapons may appear on 
the surface of still waters. In a Graveyard Perilous, 
one may stumble upon phantom knights, who fight 
till the solid earth is hollow and shadow-beset. 

But from the first the mystical impulse appears in 
higher wajrs also. Celtic magic is first supplemented, 
then superseded, by the Catholic supernatural. Strange 
things are abroad in the land, awe is in the hint of them. 
It is Merlin himself who first predicts the Grail, and in 
Malory, with fine artistic instinct, his prediction follows 
close on his gloomy arraignment of Arthur for the be- 
getting of Mordred. It is said that the misforttmate and 
magnanimous Pelleas' is to be one of four to achieve 
the Grail, though later books wot not of him. A hint 
of Grail-mysteries pervades the miserable tale of Balin. 
Faint at first, as if one heard from without a Chapel 
the Uttle bell that rings at the sacring of the mass, a 
silver note steals into the stormy orchestration of love 
and war; till the orchestra dies away and we Usten to 
far angeUc choirs. Satiated with joust and fight, with 
love in its courtesies and coarsenesses, with adventure, 
even, that no longer offers surprises, the mind finds itself 
in the presence of a new ideal. Arms and cavaliers, 
loves and brave deeds, still form the staple of the stoiry ; 
but they are strangly altered. Iseult has vanished. 

' M9rt$ DoHhur. iv., aft. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 263 

Guenevere in the background waits, restless and per- 
plexed, the return of Lancelot, who has left her this time 
bent on adventure which she can not understand and 
is forbidden to follow. The nun-like sister of Sir 
Perdvale, very wise, illumined with sacrificial passion, 
is the only woman on the scene. The Pageant of Gala- 
had follows the Pageant of Tristram. Arthur's knights' 
are bound on the Quest of the Holy Grail. 

n 

Weariness has descended on that adventurous life 
which seemed so inexhaustible. Toward the end of 
Book X. every reader is in revolt. He can not stand one 
more tournament or one more lover. There is nothing 
new under the sun. 

Therefore it is a reUef, when, at the outset of the 
eleventh book, Malory with his usual simplicity an- 
nounces a change of subject and source. "Now leave 
we Sir Tristram de Liones, and speak we of Sir Lancelot 
du Lake, and of Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot's son, how 
he was gotten and in what manner, as the French book 
rehearseth." But though in effect he does now turn 
to the Galahad Grail-Quest as presented in the prose 
Lancelot^ there is a Uttle interweaving. In the con- 
cluding chapters of Book XII. he reverts to the Tristram 
with no apparent reason, for the narrative of Palomides' 
last battle and christening might just as well have been 
continuous with the end of Book X. It is cliunsy join- 
ing; perhaps the idea was to bring the Tristram inter- 
est and the christening of Palomides up as sharply as 
possible against the developed interest of the Grail. 
At the beginning of Book XIIL, he turns away from the 
Tristram for good, and follows the prose Lancelot tiU 
the conclusion of the Quest. 



264 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

These books of the Grail do not reveal their beauty to 
a superfidal reading. They seem at first monotonous. 
The colors are faint, the visible world is seen as if 
through a blur of pallid moonshine, the knights pass 
through ghostly and unconvincing adventures, ex- 
plained in far-fetched allegories. And the reason for the 
sense of unreality conveyed is, that this portion of 
the Arthuriad suggests a new set of sjrmbols. Surface 
imagery, only slightly changed, is still drawn from a 
militant world. But if experience is a battle-field it is 
also a pilgrimage, and as a pilgrimage the knights of the 
Grail-Quest encounter it. 

If mediaeval literature abounds in the clash of arms, 
it abounds no less, from the time of Bede to that of 
Dante, in pictures of the perpetual journey. To the 
outer world, the pilgrim was as familiar as the knight, 
and the troops who passed chanting along the roads of 
Kent or of Provence, bearing their staff and scrip, im- 
pressed imagination indelibly. Their quest of geo- 
graphical holy places had a spiritual counterpart, for 
it is natural to view the soul as the Eternal Pilgrim; 
and pilgrimages, allegorically conceived, became a 
common literary type. They might occur in time or 
eternity. As Dante explained to Can Grande, that 
was all one. The Way that is trodden is always the 
Mystic Way, worn by countless feet, and discovered 
anew by each wanderer. 

The birthplace of the Christianized Grail-legends 
was probably to be sought among those holy places, 
goals of pilgrimage.* And the more Grail-literature is 
studied, the more intimate appear its affiliations with 

> See Weston, Tlie Quest of the Holy Grail, pp. 56-65, for a discussion of 
the probable influence on the legend of the Abbey of Fescamps where a 
^ Saint Sang" relic was preserved. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 265 

the Vision and Pilgrimage literature of the Middle 
Ages. The fighting, even against fiends, is dreamlike 
and unreal; mere incident of a jotimey that leads "o'er 
moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, " in a great solitude 
broken now and again by sweet companionship, and 
sununons the elect to endless joy. The knights are 
pilgrims in transparent disguise; and their adventures 
can best be understood as phases of the Mystic Way on 
which contemplatives love to dwell: the Way of Pur- 
gation, the Way of lUtunination, the Way of Unity. 

All this is especially true of the Galahad-form of the 
Quest, as given in Malory; and it is not strange if many 
readers prefer the warm humanities of the Perceval 
form, as given in Wolfram von Eschenbach. Parzival 
is much more interesting than Galahad as a hero. 
Every one is appealed to by the story of the innocent , 
uncouth boy, the careless sinner, the grim penitent 
seeking to expiate a fault he only half tmderstands; 
every one follows eagerly the process by which he is 
perfected in sympathy before he can utter the healing 
word and become the guardian of the Grail. Compared 
with him, the severe and silent figure of Galahad seems 
almost cruelly cold, — "too far from the sphere of our 
sorrow" to win either love or praise. 

Yet if the Galahad quest is considered, not by itself, 
but in relation to the whole epic movement of the 
Arthuriad, it is evident that no other story could be so 
eflfective. Two great results are gained by it. 

The first is that it completes from the religious side 
the glorification of national ideals which the Morte 
Darthur ever has at heart: it sets the final seal on the 
patriotic character of the epic. Historic influences 
play a large part in shaping both types of Grail-legend. 
The Perceval type, especially in the Parzival^ abounds 



266 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

in memories of the Crusades and of the Templars with 
their hidden rites and their palace on Montserrat. 
Crusades and Templars belonged to all Europe; sug- 
gestions of both are frequent in Galahad-romance. 
But the dominant historical influence in these later 
romances belongs to England alone: it is the proud con- 
viction that British Christianity derives straight from 
Christ Himself. As the vista lengthens from the land 
of Logres and the Table Round to the Upper Chamber 
at Jerusalem and the Foot of the Cross, the range of 
feeling is incalculably enlarged. The solemn scene in 
the Grand San Graal where Christ Himself consecrates 
the first Bishop of England with the oil to be used 
in the consecration of English kings, is always in the 
author's mind. The restoration of the Grail, sym- 
bolizing the purification of national life, was to the 
writer of the Grand San Graal the very object for which 
Arthur should be raised to the throne and the goodly 
fellowship of knights created. The writer of the Quest, 
as will presently be seen, though he can not fulfill the 
noble dream, does not forget it; and its eflFect upon the 
story is to enhance the national quality of the epic as 
could be done in no other way. 

Still more important, however, is the illustration in 
these books of a spiritual ideal. Malory's art, always 
gaining its eflFects by contrasts, needed to place in op- 
position to the hot earthly passion that surges through 
the earlier reaches of the story, the extreme of contem- 
plative and ascetic ardor. The Perceval tale is rifad-^ 
mentooi ancient elements; the Galahad tale is the pure 
creation of Catholic mysticism. Traditional elements 
are not absent in this version of Grail-story, but on the 
whole the stamp is new; and pleasure in the imagina- 
tive opulence, htunan tenderness and rare modernity of 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 267 

Wolfram's great work, need not lessen our honor for 
some twelfth-century heart which rejected traditional 
renderings, and, with a boldness surprising in that 
period when originality was vice rather than virtue, 
presented the world with a new hero and a new quest. 
The result is the fine flower of mediaeval religious litera- 
ture, not at its most S3rmpathetic but at its most 
distinctive. Nowhere out of Dante can a more exalted 
and delicate rendering be found of an ideal which the 
modem world has somewhat too lightly flouted. Apart 
from Beatrice, there is no image so pure of the search 
for Divine Beauty which is the quest of the Soul. 

It may almost be said that as Beatrice is to Matilda, 
so Galahad is to Parzival. The Grail itself is not the 
same thing in the two works. ' To the German poet it is 
holy and awesome, "fair blossom of Paradise garden," 
"the crown of all earthly wishes" ; but it has a practi- 
cal function. It selects kings for distant lands, thus 
helping to preserve earthly kingdoms in the clean like- 
ness of the heavenly. It abides in its castle, and the 
hero who wins it removes the curse from its domain and 
is to abide there too. The Galahad story also gives the 
Holy Vessel its own castle of Carbonek, but one rarely 
thinks of it there. Rather, it wanders free through all 
the land of Logres, appearing, vanishing, at will: now 
floating by the Cross where Lancelot lies drenched in 
slumber, now healing Ector and Perceval aftqr their 
fearful fight, ever burning red as love under its veil of 
white samite. Parzival, when he wins the Grail, rules 
over a country of this world which extends protection 

' The P&rzival Grail-ldngdom is not tmthinkably removed from that 
sensuous Earthly Paradise into which the Grail Castle later developed in 
Goman £ancy. See P. S. Barto, TaunhaOser and the Mouniain ef 
Venus^ L 



268 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

to the neighboring kingdom of Arthur; Galahad is 
king for one brief year in Sarras, the spiritual city, but 
he recks little of his kingdom, and presently is trans- 
ported to Paradise. His aim is to behold the Holy 
Thing, the aim of Parzival is to serve and guard it. 

The Parzival idea is more congenial to modem minds, 
but it is the other that was native to the Middle Ages; 
for their underlying assumption saw the object of life 
as a vision rather than a deed. And however the 
assumption may repel, it can never be quite forgotten. 
The very name of Galahad, — ^a name shared with many 
other characters in romance, — has become a symbol of 
purity. Picture and story, poem and pageant, witness 
to its hold on the imagination. Galahad however is 
not the only figure in these books; the human interest, 
concentrated in Wolfram's poem on one personage, is 
in Malory scattered among all the sometimes guilty, 
always groping and stumbling, knights who take the 
Vow of the Quest. That quest is to break up the realm 
of Arthur; it sanctifies, yet it also destrojrs, the earthly 
life it seeks to save. But it meets the deepest need of 
its period, it satisfies a restlessness which neither delight 
in arms nor love of woman nor loyalty to mortal king 
has been able to assuage. And the books in which 
Malory tells of it are in their unique beauty the crown 
of his work, and of the story of the Table Round. ' 

HI 

Books XI. and XII. are then transitional; and at first 
there is nothing unusual in the story. Old methods and 

* The Galahad quest is depreciated in many modem writers. Thus 
Miss Weston (Legend of Sir Launcelot, p. 113): "The false and wholly 
sickly pseudo-morality of the Grail-sections . . . can not but be utterly 
distasteful to any healthy mind. " Opinion is free. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 269 

properties are freely used. It gives no special sense of 
novelty to read how Lancelot releases from a spell a 
lady who has agonized these many years in a burning 
bath, the Adventure is an episode like any other. But 
when he takes by the hand this fair maid, ''naked as a 
needle/' and she presently addresses to him the beautiful 
words: "Sir, if it please you, will ye go with me hereby 
into a chapel, that we may give loving and thanking 
unto God, " a finer emotion creeps into the tale, a call 
is heard from a new depth. This maid is Elaine, the 
mother of Galahad, and the story proceeds to the tale 
of his begetting, accomplished in an atmosphere of holy 
mysteries unlike that of common amours. The episode 
is preceded by the passing of the Grail before Lancelot's 
eyes in the castle of King Pelles, cousin to Joseph of 
Arimathea: a little dove, coming in at the window, with 
a small golden censer in her mouth, is a lovely symbol of 
the purity and worship to which the castle is dedicate. 
But it is to be noted that the advent of the Grail is 
accompanied by a succinct yet explicit prediction of 
disaster: "Oh Jesu," said Sir Lancelot, "what may this 
mean?" "This is," saith the king, "the richest thing 
living. And when this thing goeth about, the Round 
Table shall be broken: and wit thou well," said the king, 
"this is the holy Sangreal that ye have seen. "' 

The ensuing insanity of Lancelot, due to Guenevere's 
misunderstanding his relations with Elaine, deepens the 
shadows. It is customary for mediaeval protagonists to 
go mad for an undefined but ample number of years. 
Tristram had preceded Lancelot in the fashion. But 
Tristram's madness was succinctly narrated in a half- 
jocund way, except for one brief scene when he is at the 
point of recovery and his little brachet recognizes him 

> MarU Darthtir., xi., 2. 



270 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

though Isetdt does not. The madness of Lancelot is, 
on the other hand, rendered with a good deal of realistic 
and psychological power. Lancelot, even in the vesttire 
of a fool and out of his wits, is Lancelot still; indeed it 
may almost be said that he is Lancelot for the first time. 
At all events it is after this insanity is healed by the 
Grail that he begins to possess the magnetism which 
has been conventionally ascribed to him all along. It 
is as if the breath of the Vessel had awakened him to 
life. No one can help feeling the pathos of his sojourn 
with Elaine, the acknowledged mother of his son, an 
honored, sad figure, kept wisely in the background. 
Under the self-chosen name of Le Chevalier Malfet, the 
knight who hath trespassed, Lancelot lives with her 
exiled in the Joyous Isle, and, being Lancelot, he never 
interferes with the joy, but adds to it by his gracious 
bearing. Only, "every day once, for any mirth that all 
the ladies might make him, he would once every day 
look toward the land of Logres, where King Arthur and 
Queen Guenevere was. And then would he fall upon a 
weeping as his heart should tobrast.'" This is the 
Lancelot who is loved by all the world. 

Meantime the court is plunged in sorrow for his van- 
ishing, and many a good knight is in search of him. 
This also is according to the rules: it is a sort of game, 
one of the commonest devices in romance. One char- 
acter disappears, his brothers in arms set out to find 
him, they too disappear, and others depart in search of 
them; adventures galore happen to everybody by the 
way, and any length of time may elapse before the 
chase is ended and the circle rounds on itself. Malory 
condenses what might become tedious, and manages his 
conventional quest very well. Motifs of the old secular 

* MarU Dariktir^ ziL, 6. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 271 

order are interwoven in it with others which suggest 
forces hitherto tinknown. New knights emerge into 
prominence; several, Bors, Lionel, and Ector, belong 
to the House of Lancelot, another, Perdvale, is to be 
second only to Galahad in the achievement of the Grail. 

Before long, these knights become vivid personalities. 
Bors is the fiaest and the most lovable of them, and it 
is Bors, to whom several chapters are devoted in Book 
XL, who has the rarest aptitude for spiritual things. 
Bors is first to see Galahad, in the arms of his mother, 
and to rejoice that his great kinsman is no longer child- 
less. To him are open the mystic Adventures of Car- 
bonek, — ^the fragrance of all the spicery in the world, the 
sight of the little dove, of the maiden bearing the Grail. 
He has the clearest glimpses yet vouchsafed of mysteries 
related to a past full of meaning. ''Anon withal there 
came an old man into the hall, and he sat him down in a 
fair chair and there seemed to be two adders about his 
neck ; and then the old man had a harp and there he sang 
an old song how Joseph of Arimathea came into this 
land." The old man, the old song! Phantoms of 
ancient, holy, forgotten things! An altar of silver, il- 
limiined in a great light as it were a summer light, a 
wavering image of a Bishop kneeling before it; blinding 
swords of naked silver hovering overhead; and Bors 
must go, unworthy to see more. 

Percivale is the other knight etched sharply in Book 
XL; and his figure has a greater interest, because he 
bears the name of the first Grail protagonist. * But he 
has lost everything except his name. He is the son 
to Pellinore and brother to Aglovale, a commonplace 
knight, and to Lamorak. Therefore he belongs to the 

s He is mentioned in the Gareth book, and in book x., ch. 33, the 
story is told of his coming to oourt and being hailed by a domb maiden. 



272 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

great family engaged in feud with the House of Gawain. 
The intensely secular character of his family makes it 
strange to find him here among the knights elect to the 
things of the spirit, yet here he is, apart from his kin, 
as Gareth is apart from the House of Gawain. Mal- 
ory's studies of family groups have a good deal of inter- 
est and unconventionality. 

There is a slight hint of Perdvale's original story, 
when he and Aglovale leave their mother despite her 
entreatings: "Ah sweet mother, " said Sir Perdvale, "we 
may not (stay), for we be come of kings' blood of both 
parties, and therefore, mother, it is our kind to haimt 
arms and noble deeds. "' She swoons at his departure 
as in the old story, but is not seen again. Perdvale, 
seeking Lancelot, fights unwitting with Ector de Maris 
bound on the same quest; the Grail, passing by, heals 
them both as they lie on the ground ; and to Sir Perdvale 
comes a glinuner of the holy sight: "So God me help, 
said Sir Perdvale, "I saw a damosel as me thought all 
in white with a vessel in both her hands and f orthwithal 
I was whole. " * It is plain that Perdvale, like Bors, has 
the spiritual gift. 

Much has now been learned, by indirection, of the 
Grail and its properties. It has been seen feeding and 
healing, surrounded by portents of beauty and terror; 
insensibly the whole atmosphere has changed. So back 
to the hall at Camdot, where Palomides has just taken 
his place among the knights who hold their annual 
Feast of the Spirit and wait as usual for the greatest 
Adventure of the year to befall. Arthur will not go to 
his meat on that day till he has seen such Adventure. 
It has never failed him, it will not fail him now. 

■ Morte Darthur, id., lO. 
' Ibid., xi., 14. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 273 
IV 

Never before, not even in the good days of Merlin, 
was there an Adventure like to this. The sword float- 
ing in the marble stone, the letters in the Siege Perilous, 
Lancelot's summons to the convent where he dubs a 
young lad knight, prepare the mind. And now all 
doors and windows of the hall are shut by supernatural 
means, yet is the hall not greatly darked (shut windows 
in those days before glass naturally mean darkness), 
and a good man and ancient, clothed in white, brings 
with him the young knight in red, without sword or 
shield, and places him in the Siege Perilous. And 
Galahad, named by the mystic letters, sits him serenely 
where no knight has dared to daim his place, though 
fearsome legends of things well-nigh forgotten speak of 
one who once had dared, and of fiery hands bearing him 
off to torment. Yet to Galahad naught befalls but good ; 
and rumors fly, and many say to the queen, who bears 
herself with queenly frankness however her heart may 
ache, that he resembles much unto Sir Lancelot. 

Presently Galahad has achieved the sword of the 
stone; and a weeping damsel has announced to Lancelot 
that he is no longer the best knight of the world. By 
this time all tmderstand what will shortly come to pass; 
and the king calls his last tournament, sure that after 
the quest of the Sangreal he will never again see his 
beloved knights whole together. Then after Evensong 
in the great Minster, when the knights are gathered in 
hall, comes the Visit of the Holy Vessel. The scene 
must be quoted, however familiar: 

Then anon they heard cracking and cr3ring of thunder. 
... In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam more 
ts 



274 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

dearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they 
were alighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began 
every knight to behold other, and either saw other by their 
seeming fairer than ever they saw afore. Not for then there 
was no knight might speak one word a great while, and so 
they looked everyman on other as they had been dumb. 
Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail covered with 
white samite, but there was none might see it or who bare 
it. And then was all the hall fulfilled with good odors and 
every knight had such meats and drinks as he best loved in 
the world. And when the Holy Grail had been borne 
through the hall, then the Holy Vessel departed suddenly, 
that they wist not where it became : then had they all breath 
to speak. And then the king yielded thankings to God, 
of EUs good grace that He had sent them. ' 

The true Advent of the Grail, shedding beauty, shed- 
ding radiance, source of most satisfying food, source 
of unquenchable desire! As all sit awestruck, vistas 
suddenly open, behind the order of chivalry, beyond the 
confines of sense. Still abiding in time, men become 
conscious of eternal things. Who is that old man 
clothed in white? Is he the same who appeared to Bors, 
singing the old song of Joseph of Arimathea? Is he 
perhaps Joseph himself, — ^Joseph, who knew in the 
flesh Our Lord Jesus Christ, who buried Him and was 
sustained in prison by His Blood? Men's wonder 
leaves the Land of Logres, to seek far centuries and 
secrets hidden in the Counsels of Heaven. 

Yet it is interesting to see how entirely the new emo- 
tions are in harmony with the old. The stress on noble 
lineage, so marked in the chivalric ideal, finds its climax 
in the honor paid to the holy and ancient lineage of 

> MarU Darthur^ ziii., 7. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 275 

Galahad. Guenevere is the person to point it out : and 
like a queen she bears herself, not shrinking from state- 
ment of the lad's splendid inheritance: only, she can 
apparently not bear to mention the mother, whose claim 
to holy descent is even more direct than Lancelot's 
own, she being of the line of Grail-keepers: 

So a lady that stood by the queen said, Madam, for 
God's sake ought he to be so good a knight? Yea, 
forsooth, said the queen, for he is of all parties come of 
the best knights of the world and of the highest lineage, for 
Sir Lancelot is come but of the eighth degree from our Lord 
Jesus Christ, therefore I dare say they be the greatest gen- 
tlemen in the world.* 

Noble lineage involves responsibility for noble ser- 
vice. And in a way, the aristocratic tradition was the 
mediaeval equivalent for the modem historic sense. 
It linked the present with the past, affording glimpses 
of continuity and of august purpose in the scheme of 
things. Perspective and causality, absent in the lighter 
phases of romance, enter with Galahad and the Grail. 
Dignity is added to knightly life: Arthur and the Table 
Round are stmimoned to a destiny higher than they 
had known. Fulfillment is the watchword of the hour, 
and Galahad is the PulfiUer. The Siege Perilous in 
which he takes his place is the Siege which Moys, a 
sinner of Joseph's company, had essayed when the first 
Christian pilgrims to England were fed in the wilder- 
ness by the Grail. The time had not been ripe; 
the purpose of Christ had been thwarted by sin, and the 
Grail had vanished. But now the hour has come, the 
prophecies of Merlin shall be accomplished at last, and 
the restoration of the Grail to England, through one 

• Morte Darthmr, zilL, 7. 



276 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

worthy to attain its mysteries, shall be the oonsuimna- 
tion of the glory of the Table Round. 

The ensuing story is in many respects badly told by 
Malory. The memories are so confused that without 
the help of the Grand San Graal no one can understand 
it, and the writer himself seems often to have lost the 
clue to what he narrates. Yet there is something com- 
pelling in these sudden flashes of hidden purpose 
through the world of sense, in this awesome expansion 
of time and scale. As the Grail passes through Came- 
lot, passion is on all who see to follow it, for not only 
Galahad, but all the Table Round, are sunmioned to 
this work. So the knights, as it were under comptdsion, 
swear the great Oath of the Quest. The lures of love 
and war grow faint, an impulse is upon them like sweet 
madness, and they ride forth on the greatest Adventure 
that has ever befallen, the Adventure that shall search 
and divide, in which only the elect can thrive. 

Arthur does not want them to go. Not wont to 
lament when his knights set forth on adventure, he is 
now possessed by a tragic instinct that this Quest will 
prove the end of the Order of the Table Round. There 
is something deeply dramatic about this instinct of his; 
it hints at that clash between the pursuit of earthly and 
of heavenly good which the Middle Ages felt more 
keenly than we, and which was to them the ultimate 
pain of mortal life. It is plain already that loyalty to 
the beloved woman may be at odds with loyalty to the 
Overlord; now that another summons sounds, though it 
sound from on high, though it be holy and compelling, 
the heart of the king scents danger, and he sends his 
knights out heavily, remaining at home, lonely and sad. 
That is assuredly the right place for him. Malory's ver- 
sion in this respect is far finer than some others, for in- 



THE PAGEANT OF THE HOLY GRAIL 277 

stance Perceval le Gallois, which sends Arthur also on the 
Quest. The reason is the same as that which led Mal- 
ory to suppress Arthur's many atnours as completely aa 
the exigencies of the denouement would permit. The 
king is the center, the magnet, of the three great forces 
in the story; he must not himself be subject in marked 
degree to any one, but must remain fixed and focal 
albeit he forfeit thereby some of the humanness which 
gives him in other versions more vitality. In him 
alone, the balance of forces is preserved; and on this 
very account he stands as a somewhat tms3rmpathetic 
and apathetic figure, till the storm breaks at the end. 

Arthur's instinct is justified, and the Quest, which 
should have been the fulfillment of glory, becomes the 
beginning of sorrows. And the inevitable question 
rises: Is it well for the veiled forces that control destiny 
to come too near, — to reveal themselves, even obscurely 
on that serene surface of life which they can stir to so 
insistent an unrest? Paradox and perplexity attend 
the pathway of the Seekers. The exact purport of 
Galahad's achievement and of the thwarted quest of 
the other knights is perhaps never made quite dear. 
The retrieving of wrong is in it, the release of sinful 
souls from aeonian torture, the purification of the spirit, 
all leading toward the attainment of the Beatific Vision 
in the unveiled Presence of the Grail. But confusion 
as of a drifting doud is over the tale. The greatest 
promise is never fulfilled. The Good Knight, heir of 
many prayers and hopes, was to succeed where his 
ancestors had failed, and to restore holiness to the land 
by restoring the Grail. But the visitation of the Grail 
is a fleeting glory. It disappears across the mystic sea, 
and the Good Knight with it. As for the other knights, 
many die in the quest; with one or two exceptions the 



278 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

rest return frustrate. The Land of Logres remains 
unredeemed. 

And so it is hard to understand why Merlin the na- 
tional prophet so eagerly predicted the coming of the 
Holy Vessel, and why all eyes intent on the glory of 
England had looked for it. But the very break and 
failure in the scheme of the original epic in itsmaturity, 
is characteristic of the age. For the conviction was 
forced on men that the New Law could never be estab- 
lished in the Land of Logres nor the Grail find its home 
there. The pessimistic asceticism of the Middle Ages 
took possession of the tale. That pessimism had trans- 
formed the glowing vision of the primitive Church, a 
vision of a Holy City descending to dwell among men, 
into the longing for a Paradise beyond the river of death. 
It sought not to "build Jerusalem in England's green 
and pleasant land, " but rather to withdraw men to the 
solitude where heart and voice might sink oppressed 
beneath the contemplation of a Jerusalem the Golden in 
Heaven. The achievement of earthly good, of national 
holiness, slipped beyond the horizon; the central and 
supreme aim became the mystic union of the individual 
with God, possible only when the spirit was divorced 
from interest in the things of sense. The social, the 
national hope dropped out of the Quest altogether, as 
it had dropped like a Utopia from the Christian dream; 
and while faint suggestions of the broader early thought 
pervade the story, interest in the Grail-books centers 
at last exclusively in the salvation of the individual 
and his progress along the Mystic Way. 



CHAPTER V 

THB PAGEANT OF THE HOLY GSAiL {Continued) 

BOOKS xiu-xvn 



IN one sense, the fears of Arthur prove needless, for it 
soon becomes evident that, to the great majority of 
the knights, the great Adventure is no adventtu^ at all. 
Presently they will be only too eager to get back to the 
old life again: Sarras has no charms for them, to rival 
Camelot. 

Their diverse experiences are narrated, as the case 
may be, with reverence, with sympathy, or with refresh- 
ing humor. The action in the Grail books may be 
rather shadowy, but the people moving through the 
shadows have, strangely enough, come thoroughly 
alive. A few important knights have received careful 
treatment from the first, but now every least person is 
etched with strokes, broad or fine, but always firm. 
Individual temperament has much to do with the dra- 
matic quality in this portion of the Morte Darthur, and 
even the most dull and allegorical adventures gain 
point when one realizes how cleverly they are assigned. 
In the early books, things might often as well happen 
to one person as to another. Now, occurrences are no 
longer simple events; they are revelations and tests of 
personality. One feds a more intimate quality in the 

279 



28o MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

affections which unite the knights; human situations 
abound. What a picture could be made of Guenevere's 
face gazing on Galahad! What pungency in the dia- 
logue between the two, — ^the queen wistful and haughty, 
the youth disconcerted and abashed by that sharp 
scrutiny, yet quite able to hold his own in repartee: 
"So said she that he was son to Lancelot. Then was 
Galahad a little ashamed, and said, 'Madam, since ye 
know it in certain, wherefore do ye ask it me?*"* 

Does the portraiture gain in power because character, 
properly speaking, only develops in proportion as the 
soul awakes ? At all events, it is in these books that the 
miracle of personality begins to emerge out of the daze 
of romantic conventions. To follow these knights one 
by one, on their quest, as we are now to do, is to watch 
them escape from the Arthurian frieze in which Malory's 
people are caught at the beginning, into the living round. 

II 

Precedence, in our discussion as at the court, should 
naturally belong to Gawain; but the Mystic Way is not 
for him. First to swear to the Quest, he is also first to 
abandon it. Little has been seen of Gawain since those 
early days when his vindictive instincts were rebuked 
and put under discipline. All verbal honor is accorded 
him, and indications now and then hint that he is really 
doing his best to live up to his vows. Yet he is the same 
Gawain still. The Tristram books report his underhand 
slaying of Sir Lamorak, and now, in the Grail-books, 
Malory completes his degradation. The treatment 
emphasizes the idea suggested from the outset: Gawain 
is heir to a pagan tradition, which reluctantly and im- 
perfectly tries to assimilate Christian ideas. 

' Morte Darihuft ziii., 8. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 281 

In continental works, Gawain, though never the 
Grail- winner, is often a holy and consecrated person, 
close second to Perceval himself. The prose romance, 
Perceval le Gallois, for instance, dwells at length on his 
exploits in achieving sundry secondary Grail adventures, 
and exalts him almost to the rank of sanctity. How 
Malory came to present so opposite a pictiu^ is hard to 
surmise; some though not all the romances from which 
he drew, show a similar tendency to degrade Gawain in 
favor of Lancelot. At all events, Malory contrives out of 
disparate elements to evolve a portrait consistent and 
extremely human. Never are the strokes more felici- 
tous than here. His Gawain in quest of the Grail is 
almost ridiculously ill at ease, and the figure affords 
important comedy relief. 

Helpless though he is among holy things, Gawain 
admires Galahad, and wants to be with him. But his 
desire is sharply snubbed. "Sir," said a monk whom 
he encounters at the beginning of his Quest, "Galahad 
win none of your fellowship." "Why?" said Sir Ga- 
wain. "Sir, " said he, "for ye be wicked and sinful and 
he is full blessed. "* Gawain does not appear to resent 
this brutal candor; perhaps it is because he does not 
feel overmuch respect toward the remarks of holy men. 
It is amusing to see how lightly he answers the various 
hermits whom he meets, when they try to restrain him. 
One of them, having heard his confession, — ^for Gawain 
is a good Catholic, — desires to impose penance on him: 
"'Nay,' said Sir Gawain, 'I may do no penance, for 
we knights adventurous oft suffer great woe and pain. * 
*Well, ' said the good man, and then he held his peace, " ' 
— and Gawain rides away. 

It is no surprise to find that he is bored as he pro* 

* MorU Darthw, ziii., 16. • Ibid., xiu., 16, 



282 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ceeds. He finds ' 'not the tenth part of adventures that 
he was wont to do. For Sir Gawain rode from Whit- 
suntide until Michaelmas and found none adventure 
that pleased him. "' The handling is certainly clever: 
just such is the usual fate of the secular man when he 
attempts the adventures of the spirit. Soon Gawain 
becomes as he announces without reserve, "nigh weary 
of this quest/' and eager for an excuse to leave it. 
Ector, brother to Lancelot, becomes his boon companion 
and Ector feels in much the same way; indeed he says 
that he has met with twenty knights who have made the 
same complaiatl Ector and Gawain agree that it is 
not much use for any one to seek the Grail except the 
four knights who have not their peers in these matters, 
— Lancelot, Bors, Perdvale and Galahad. Rueful, 
and perhaps touched with a little real regret, they come 
in their riding to a ruined Chapel, and seating themselves 
in the sieges thereof make their orisons a long while; 
for in those days even the most unspiritual knights ap- 
parently had an excellent habit of saying their prayers. 
But praying makes men sleepy, — and falling into dxmi- 
ber as tliey sit, they are visited by marvelous dreams. 
They wake to see a fair and terrible portent, — an arm 
clothed with red samite, the mystic color, that held a 
great candle burning dear which passed before them 
into the Chapel and then vanished away. A voice 
follows, addressing them as knights of evil faith, and 
warns them that they may not come to the adventures 
of Ithe Sangreal. 

So much and no more contact with spiritual mysteries 
is vouchsafed them. Proceeding, not overgrieved at the 
news, Gawain is so greedy for a joust that he rides 
against his own old comrade Sir Uwaine and slays 

> Morie DaHkuft xvi., I 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 283 

him. ' He is heavy for his misadventure, and it seems 
as if at last his worldly thoughts might be turned to 
heavenly things. But not A hermit who expounds at 
length his "advisioun " rates him soundly, and reiterates 
to him and Ector that they go to seek that they shall 
never find. Gawain with a touch of insolent satisfaction 
draws an inference from these admonitions: "Sir it 
seemeth me by your words that for our sins it will not 
avail us to travd in this quest. . . . An I had leisure 
I would speak with you, but my fellow here Sir Ector 
is gone and abideth me yonder beneath the hill. ''' So 
Gawain runs away from the sermon, — and after lan- 
guidly pursuing the Quest a little longer, — ^for he has a 
tenacious nature and hates to give up anything on which 
he has embarked, — ^he is overthrown in joust by Gala- 
had, receiving, as had been predicted, the biggest buffet 
he has ever had, from the sword of the stone, which he 
had vainly tried to draw. This is the end: with dis- 
gusted relief, he abandons the Quest forever. 

Ector, his '*fellow here," is as worldly-minded as Ga- 
wain. But he is of a different type. The keynote to 
his character is his adoring devotion to his great brother 
Lancelot. It is of Lancelot that he is perpetually think- 
ing when he ought to be thinking about the Grail: his 
one little vision at his only point of contact with spiri- 
tual things concerns Lancdot rather than himself. Por 
he dreams in the Chapel that Lancelot is beaten and 
placed on an ass, and that he comes to a fair well but 
seeks in vain to drink of the water, which perpetually 
sinks away &om him. There is truth in dreams, and a 

>He kiUs Bagdemagus too. The prose LanceM says that Gawain 
killed twenty-two knights of the Round Table while he was in the 
Quest; and Maloiy calls him "a great murderer, " "a destroyer of good 
knights." ' Morte Darikur, zvi*, 5. 



284 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

loving heart, even a dull one, can get very near in them 
to the fate of its beloved. The same dream has a 
prophecy of Ector's own future ; for it tells how he comes 
to a wedding in a rich man's house, but is turned away, 
learning that there is no room for him. 

Ector is lost to sight for a long time after Gawain's 
quest is finished. But at the last, when Lancelot is 
sitting within the Grail castle, where the Holy Vessel 
fulfills the table with all manner of meats, and hearts are 
full of still deep ecstasy, there comes a knocking at the 
door and an importunate cry to undo. Then Pelles 
the Grail king csdls through a window to that intrusive 
knight, and bids him begone for that the Holy Thing is 
there. "Then Sir Ector de Maris understood that his 
brother Lancelot was there, for he was the man in the 
world that he most dread and loved; and then he said, 
'Ah God, now doubleth my sorrow and my shame. * "' 
So he rode swiftly away as fast as his horse would carry 
him, and that was the end of his quest. 

Ill 

Thus fare the worldly-minded: baffled at every turn, 
— enveloped in blankness when through curiosity or 
gregarious instinct they seek to penetrate the spiritual 
realm. Their failure, however, is no fault of that strange 
region, wherein are adventures for such as are fit to 
meet them, — the knights spiritual, — Perdvale, Bors, 
Lancelot and Galahad. But these adventures areghostly 
weird, — dreams and "advisioims," encounters with 
dragons and wondrous monsters, fiends driven from tb(f 
bodies of dead hermits, burning water beneath the prow 
of a ship that bears a fair temptress away yelling and 
shrieking; adventures that are no longer comfortable 

' Morte Darthuft xvii., 16. 



THE PAGEANT OF THE HOLY GRAIL 285 

ends in themselves as the wont has been, but rather 
symbols of something unearthly. The fact carries with 
it the need for long explanations, proffered by conve- 
nient holy men. With these the reader could well dis- 
pense; the more mystery the better. It is pleasant to 
hear Gawain's queer dream of blacks and white bulls, 
but it is tiresome to have to learn that these bulls re- 
present knights chaste and unchaste; one sympathizes 
a little with Gawain's own tendency to skip the sermon. 
But these little teditmis must be put up with. For all 
insensibly the world of romance has been left for that 
of allegory, — or to speak more truly, the whole romantic 
world, intact with all its trappings, has become a par- 
able, a sense-veil through which marvelous meanings 
glimmer. 

It is interesting to ask if any principle of choice has 
governed the selection of those knights spiritual, who, 
each in his own degree and after his own kind, are privi- 
leged to attain the Grail. Lancelot and Galahad are of 
the holy lineage of St. Joseph, so is Bors: the prejudiced 
devotion of Malory's originals to Lancelot's House is 
plain enough. Yet Bors' brother, Lionel, is the worst 
knight these books present, and Perdvale, the fourth 
knight singled out, comes of a very bad stock. The 
"gens" of King Pellinore, so hated by the "gens" of 
Gawain, is, apart from Perdvale himself, peculiarly 
unsanctified. But Perdvale is next to Galahad in holi- 
ness. Ector on the other hand, half-brother to Lance- 
lot, is comrade to Gawain; all that he gets of the Grail 
is to be turned away from its doors. Thus sporadically 
works the prindple of dection to spiritual gifts. 

The Perdvale of these books is an emasculated figure, 
and the treatment of him marks the last stage in a 
progressive de-humanization. A transitional stage is 



286 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

found in the oxnovLsPerceoalleGaUois. In this ascetic 
romance, Perceval has lost all his attractions, to say 
nothing of his story. He has taken on the traits of 
Galahad; physical chastity has become the chief char- 
acteristic of the ere-while lover of Blancheflour or 
Kondwiramur. Malory's Grail-books carry the pro- 
cess still further; a monk is here slightly concealed 
under the trappings of knighthood Not without rea- 
son is Perdvale to stay in the city of Sarras when the 
others come home; he is of no value to the court or the 
world, and will not be missed by them. 

Gawain's adventures are scattered through these 
books, and the light note they strike is always welcome. 
Those of the other knights are more consecutive. The 
short fourteenth book, only ten chapters long, which is 
devoted to Percivale, is the least interesting in the 
Grail sequence. At the outset are a few graceful touches. 
Riding in search of Galahad, Percivale meets a recluse 
who turns out to be his aunt — a reminiscence of the 
real Perceval story, — and she asks after his mother. 
Perd vale's reply has its own beauty: *' Truly, said he, 
I heard no tidings of her, but I dream of her much in 
my sleep, and therefore I wot not whether she be dead 
or alive. " He has to be told of her death, from sorrow 
at his departure, — the touching episode in the old tale 
being tenaciously preserved, — ^but this cold Percivale 
shows no hint of penitence, and it is easy to lose all 
sympathy for him on seeing how he takes the news: 
* * Now God have mercy on her soiil ! It sore f orthinketh 
me, but all we must change the life. Now fair aunt 
tell me, what is the knight?"* Curiosity about Gala- 
had is all very well, — but there are moments when it 
seems out of place. 

> Morte Darthw, xiv., i. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 287 

Perdvale has no such trouble as Gawain and Ector 
in meeting adventures. They thicken around him, — 
no natural events, though often familiar enough in type, 
but spiritual tests, connoting depth of experience, 
events which really occur not on the physical plane at 
all but in the inner regions of consciousness. Por this 
figure moves wholly on mystical levels, and the parables 
of his inner life, despite their ecclesiastical tone and 
their dullness for the natural man, are told with occa* 
sional touches of rare romantic beauty. One hears 
with awe how Perdvale, riding a horse that was "inly 
blade, " comes to the brim of **a rough water the which 
roared, " and makes the Sign' of the Cross upon the 
steed's forehead: whereupon "when the fiend fdt him 
so charged he shook off Sir Perdvale and he went into the 
water crying and roaring, making great sorrow and it 
seemed to him that the water brent. " The atmosphere 
darkens, the sense of hidden issues grows more plain. 
ICnts of heavenly help meet onslaughts from the lower . 
regions; at the end of the book, Perdvale, having 
vanquished his temptations, which spring mostly from 
the flesh, vanishes from sight in a little boat where 
blessed company shall be his by and by. The temper 
of this fourteenth book recalls that of the Grand San 
Graal; the same prolix puerility so far as external nar- 
rative is concerned, the same evident depth of religious 
feding, the same beauty as of a light from other suns 
than ours, shining abruptly at times through the murk. 

The human note, absent in Perdvale, is strikingly fdt 
in the story of the second knight of the Grail, Sir Bors, 
Bors is lovable from start to finish; and he is studied 
with the affection of an old Dutch master for his sitter. 
Like many of these models, Bors is a very plain person. 
He is not so perfect as Perdvale ; he has fallen once from 



288 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

chastity, but the episode when he brings his little son 
Elin le Blank to court is read with natural pleasure. He 
is neither a strong knight nor a fascinating one; he has 
no accomplishments either in love or war; even in mat- 
ters spiritual, two others at least surpass him. In 
every way, he belongs quite to the second rank, and is 
fully aware of it. His latent spiritual powers are never 
analyzed or described. But we know without explana- 
tions that he is of those pure in heart for whom the 
great Beatitude was spoken. 

Simple human loyalty is the keynote of Bors' char- 
acter, and it is through his htunan affections that 
temptation reaches him. He is not called like Perdvale 
to struggle for the preservation of his own chastity, nor 
like Gawain to rise above light-mindedness. No great 
earthly passion drags him down, nor does he feel such 
burning hunger for spiritual vision as consumes a 
Lancelot despite his sin. Bors is a very unselfish man; 
he has reached a degree of true detachment from per- 
sonal interests. His test accordingly is the difficult ne- 
cessity of choosing between rival duties to other people. 
For he meets his brother Lionel, naked, bound, cruelly 
beaten by thorns and seemingly at the point of death; 
but as he dresses him to the rescue, a girl's voice cries 
near by : **St. Mary, succor your maid!" and the damsel 
in sorest peril a maid can Imow, beseeches him to save 
her honor. "Then was Bors sore distressed and he 
lifted up his eyes and said weeping: 'Pair lord Jesus 
Christ, whose liegeman I am, keep Lionel my brother 
. . . and for pity of you and for Mary's sake I shall 
succor this maid. * " ' It seems as if Christ had refused 
his prayer, for presently the body of Lionel is shown 
to him. Murder is a material disaster; dishonor is of 

* MarU Darikw, zvi., 9. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 289 

the spirit. Bors, sorrowing deeply over his brother's 
death, yet feels no penitence, so assured is he that to 
protect purity is a greater thing than to save life. 

Lionel, however, was not really killed at all: and he 
can not take this lofty view. The sequel to this Ad- 
venttare is perhaps the most dolorous among tales of the 
strife of brothers. For Bors and Lionel, unlike Balin 
and Balan, fight knowing each other, the combat forced 
by the raging resentment of Lionel. Bors in this crisis 
is a non-resistant, an unnatural rdle for a Knight of the 
Round Table! He kneels down meekly and awaits the 
onslaught of Lionel; only when his brother has sUun a 
hermit who would fain have intervened, and when 
Colgrevance his champion who has thrown himself 
chivalrously into the mUSe^ has been killed, does he 
lift up his hand in self-defense, weeping; "Well wot ye 
that I am not afraid of you greatly, but I dread the 
wrath of God and this is an unkind war. Now God 
have mercy upon me though I defend my life against my 
brother."" Then comes a portent, — a doud lighting 
between them in likeness of fire, so that they are super- 
naturally restrained. And Bors, perfected in piety and 
self-control, is led to the holy ship, where he is to rejoice 
in the fellowship of the waiting Perdvale. 

Bors' power of spiritual discernment is so great that 
he might well remain with Perdvale and Galahad, far 
from these our wars in the spiritual dty. Such is not 
his end however: he returns, the Quest concluded, sole 
survivor of that strange voyage, — returns to tdl the 
tale and to play his part in the last act of the tragedy. 
It could not be otherwise. Such a man could not sever 
himself from human responsibilities and the life of his 
fellows. His affections center in his dogged devotion 

' MorU Darihur, zvi., i6. 
Z9 



290 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

to the Head of his House, his great cotidn Lancelot, — 
a devotion as great as that of Ector but perhaps more 
clear-sighted. This pure knight perfected in rectitude 
and unselfishness, is loyal henchman and comrade to the 
greater man ravaged by passion and sin. Bors is not 
a leading figure in the last books, after the return from 
the Quest. But stanch, dose-lipped, unhappy, he is 
always close to Lancelot's side when the storms break 
and the scandal explodes and his Chief appears as arcfa- 
traitor to the sacred vows of the Round Table. 

IV 

The key to much ra the Grail-books is found, as 
already said, in their hints of mystical experience. 
Certain phases of such experience are suggested by the 
story of the minor characters. The dangers besetting 
the unioitiate who try to enter the arcana are indicated 
in several episodes at the outset of the Quest, as in the 
failure of Meliot of Logres to achieve the adventure 
reserved for Galahad, and the death of Uwaine les 
Avoutres. Gawain and Ector do not suffer ra the Quest 
because they are only formally in it. Bors and Per- 
civale suflEer, but though they must undergo purgation, 
they tread mostly the illmninative way, for the dis- 
ciplines to which they are subjected are designed rather 
to enlighten them than to serve as expiation. Beyond 
the illuminative region, however, they hardly mount. 
Even in their great hour when they behold the open 
glory of the Lord, a sensible Ptesence blesses them 
rather than an inward union. 

It is Lancelot, real protagonist of these books and of 
the whole Morte Darthur^ who knows every stage of the 
journey. For the most part, the Quest is the way of 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAH- 291 

purgation to hixn, and he finds it bitter and dark. He 
"repented him greatly/' for all that he did was greatly 
done. Even when he passes furthest, he lives much in 
darkness. Yet he has latent capacity to breathe on 
higher levels. At some points, purification certainly 
merges into enlightenment, and at the consummation 
of his quest, shrouded prevision at least of the joys of 
union is vouchsafed to him in trance. Through the 
successive stages of his experience may be traced a new 
apprehension slowly awakening, the advance by a 
thorny path to consciousness on a plane unvisited by 
mere lovers of good knights and ladies fair. 

Even the portrait of Bors, whose plain human quali- 
ties are so substantial in contrast with the exalted un- 
realities of Perdvale, seems thin beside that of this 
greatest of earthly knights, the despairing seeker, who 
of all sinful men gains the clearest vision, yet who is 
stimned by that vision and returns to fall to his old love 
again. Lancelot in the Grail-books escapes at last 
from convention, and in achieving heart-break achieves 
life. He does not undertake the Quest lightly; the 
force driving him is a real torture of spiritual desire. 
That conflict of loyalties which was the tragedy of 
mediaeval life and the doom of the chivalric ideal, now 
quickens in the heart of the protagonist; and through 
the struggle, he who has seemed at times a mere lay- 
figure becomes a living man. 

Lancelot's story surrounds that of the others; it is 
recurrent, opening at the outset of the Quest, dropped 
while other knights are followed and finally resimied 
toward the dose. The first stage of his struggle is 
suggested when the damosel who announces the Quest 
greets him with pity, — a feeling that he is not ac- 
customed to inspire, — ^because he is no longer the best 



292 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

knight in the world. ''As touching that, I know well 
I was never the best," says Lancelot: but in spite of 
his genuine modesty, every one knows how precious his 
reputation has been to him, and how sobering must 
be the discovery that he is to take a second place. 
The fact is soon proved, for when Lancelot is started 
on the Quest, he encounters Galahad, who overthrows 
him at a stroke. 

This is the signal for spiritual adventures increasingly 
searching and strange. In dark mood, Lancelot "rode 
overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no 
path but as wild adventtire led him."' Gawain and 
Ector, Perdvale and Bors, may know pleasant fellow- 
ship on the Quest; Lancelot must be alone. His 
ensuing story is conceived by the religious imagination 
at white heat. It is the product of the same period 
which set great sequences to solemn Gregorian chant- 
ing, which made mosaics where angels and archangels 
suggest invisible forces better than anything else in art 
except certain abstract Oriental forms. There are 
passages in these books which might find high place in 
direct religious literature, there are others where the 
romance of the interior life, — its contrition, htunility 
and aspiration, — ^are expressed in beautiful symbols. 
Such are Lancelot's confession to the hermit, the scene 
beside the wayside Cross, or that other scene, near a 
Chapel waste and broken yet filled with supernatural 
light, dear image of the sin-ravaged soul. What psy- 
diological truth in Lancelot's dazed sltmiber while 
the Grail goes by, in his half-paralyzed perception of 
spiritual mysteries! What reality in his bitter sdf- 
accusations, his penitential search! 

In the latter portions of the story, the mystic sequence 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 293 

grows plainer and plainer. Obedient to a vision, Lan- 
celot comes to the seashore and finds a little ship wait- 
ing. ''And as soon as he was within that ship, he felt 
the most sweetness that ever he felt, and he was ftdfilled 
with all thing that he thought on or desired."" It is 
the illuminative way. * * Fair sweet Pather Jesus Christ," 
he said, '' I wot not in what joy I am, for this joy passeth 
all earthly joys that ever I was in. " So he sleeps, and 
on waking finds a bier with the body of the gentlewoman 
that was Sir Perdvale's sister, — she who has given her 
life-blood that another woman might live. Romance 
yields no more exquisite situation. We are not told 
what winnowings of the wind of God swept all but dean 
the soul of Guenevere's lover, alone on the sea with this 
emblem of purity and sacrifice. Reticence is best. 
With this holy body, the hot lover, the sinftd knight* 
abides a month or more on the drifting waters. 

So purified, so illumined, he is ready at last for fellow- 
ship with Galahad. Pew rdations in fiction are more 
touching than those between the mature, sinning, re- 
pentant Lancelot, and the son to whom he has trans- 
mitted that spiritual capadty iimate in his own heritage 
but obstructed by his sin. It is a tender imagination 
which grants them long quiet intercourse before the 
end, and right sweetly and nobly does each bear him- 
self. Lancelot has learned before now who it was that 
overthrew him at the outset of the Quest, and has 
greeted the knowledge with his own humility and cour- 
tesy : **Wdl, " he sighed, "meseemeth that good knight 
should pray for me to the high Pather that I fall not 
again to sin. " ' A fine artistic instinct holds the two a 
long time apart. Their meeting when it comes is full 
of human beauty. During half a year, father and son 

* MorU Darthur^ xvii., 13. • Ibid,^ zv., 4. 



294 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

abide together on the seaooast, within the ship ^ere 
the incorrupt body of Perdvale's sister bears them 
company. It is a lovely human interlude in the stern- 
ness of the Holy Way. Galahad is perfect in reverent 
tenderness toward his father, Lancelot bears himself 
with a hushed awe. The end comes in time: Galahad 
is summoned away by a knight in white armor: 

Then he went to his father and kissed him sweetly and 
said : Fair sweet father, I wot not when I shall see you more 
till I see the Body of Jesus Christ. I pray you, said 
Lancelot, pray ye to the high Father that He hold me in 
His service. And so he took his horse and so they heard a 
Voice that said: Think for to do well, for the one shall 
never see the other before the dreadful day of doom. 
Now, son Galahad, said Lancelot, S3nie we shall depart and 
never see other, I pray to the High Father to conserve me 
and you both. Sir, said Galahad, no prayer availeth 
so much as yours. And therewith Galahad entered 
into the forest. And the wind arose, and drove Lancelot 
more than a month throughout the sea, where he slept but 
little but prayed to God that he might see some tidings of 
the Sangraal.' 

Thus prepared by holy contacts and by long solitude 
in prayer, Lancelot is ready to fulfill his quest: ready as 
one may be in whom old sin, primed indeed by severe 
and anguished discipline, is yet not torn out fnmithe 
soil of the soul. The mystic ship brings htm to the 
castle of Carbonek, whither he had been led in earlier 
days to fulfill fate in the begetting of Galahad. Elaine 
is dead, but Pelles the Maimed King still awaits the 
Healer, and solemn mysteries inhabit the castle where 
the Holy Vessel has its earthly home. Lancelot oomes 

* MorU Darthnff zvii., 14. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAH. 295 

doser far to these mysteries than at his former visit, 
Yety — and what truth there is in the symbol I — the ful- 
fiUment of desire is vouchsafed him only in dream. He 
approaches the Chamber of the Sangraal, and his 
yearning is evident in his prayer as he kneels in front of 
that closed door behind which a voice is singing with 
tmearthly sweetness. He is forbidden entrance; yet 
through the door, silently opened to reveal clearness as 
if all the torches of the woild had been there, he sees 
such things that he can not stay without. Disregarding 
words of warning, he peers in, to aid, as he thinks, the 
priest who bears the burden of the Redeemer before the 
slver altar where the Holy Vessel glows through its 
veil. Then a breath of fire smites him through the 
visage and he falls to earth and has no power to rise. 
And for four and twenty days, which correspond to the 
years of his sinning, he lies as one dead, rejoicing in 
marvels of great sweetness. Thus in anguish and terror 
is accomplished his closest approach to those mysteries 
which for Galahad and Perdvale hold full joy and per- 
fect calm. Thus only, as it were in trance, when the 
evil flesh is laid to sleep, may the unitive way be known 
to men of sin, with however mighty desire they yearn 
for it. It is a great handling, full of cryptic power; it 
shadows forth as could be done only by one who knew, 
the commerce with the high things of God of one who is 
a sinner but might be a saint. 

Lancelot awakes meekly, and gives thanks for even 
the veiled Presence he has beheld, and for fellowship 
with those who serve the GraiL And as he sits at 
table fulfilled of meats by the Holy Vessel, the loud 
knocking of Ector sounds from without. Learning 
that Lancelot is there, he flees abashed to bear the news 
to court; and to that court Lancelot now returns for his 



296 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

sorrow and tindoing, assured that all which may be 
vouchsafed him in the Quest of the Sangraal has been 
achieved. 



Light in these books is focused on Galahad. His 
grave and shining youth moves on a path gray with 
memories; he is called on to bring to a conclusion the 
episodes of a half-finished tale. It is the rdle of the 
Pure Knight, so long awaited, to atone for old wrongs, 
to achieve deferred feats of spiritual redemption; in 
thus fulfilling prophecy and satisfying the expectant 
desire of generations, he accomplishes the patient pur- 
pose of God. 

Throughout his story, allusions are constant to earlier 
acts in the drama; vague parallels multiply, to awe and 
rotise. On every hand he encounters relics of former 
days. His first sword is that with which Balin had 
given the Dolorous Stroke to Pelles, — poor Balin, whose 
faint capacity for spiritual things had harmed men 
rather than helped them because the time was not ripe. 
His second, the Sword with the Strange Hangings, is 
most marvelous of all swords in romance not excepting 
ExcaUbur, for it is the authentic sword of David, and its 
scabbard is made from the wood of the Tree of Life. 
His white shield with the red cross has been awaiting 
him for centuries; it is the very shield given by Joseph 
of Arimathea to Mordrains king of Sarras, whereon 
the Crucified appeared to convert that heathen king; 
and the cross is made with Joseph's blood. Mordrains 
himself lies blind, in extreme decrepitude, living for 
six hundred years till his prayer be granted that he see 
the Good Kiiight who shall finish the Mysteries of 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 297 

Britain; and Galahad releases him tenderly from the 
body. Woe to those, whether Bagdemagus the good 
old king or Melias the untried knight, who seek to ustirp 
the deeds of Galahad: strange deeds they are, for he has 
to aid, not the living but the dead, stanching the flames 
in which sinful kinsfolk of his have langtdshed, bringing 
repeatedly to fevered souls the cool touch of his com* 
passion. 

Galahad, as he proceeds on his appointed path, is not 
a very human figure. He does not appear much inter- 
ested in his own pursuits: his adversaries have no solid- 
ity to them and the ancient signs are performed as in a 
dream. The very climax of the old story, the healing 
of the Maimed King, is incidentally slurred over; inter- 
est in it has lapsed, till the Dolorous Stroke is ascribed 
at one point to BaUn, at another to the lance which 
strikes Pelles through the flank in Solomon's ship. 
Confusion prevails, and the result is easy to dismiss as 
a hopeless tangle of inconsistencies. 

Yet that can be no mean or casual art which created 
a figure whose beauty, when all is said, haunts men 
through the generations. Taken by himself, it is true 
that Galahad lacks human qualities ; he must be taken in 
his setting. He is pure symbol, — a rainbow apparition, 
untouched by shadow, among the ruder passions that 
sway romance. He shines like a visitant from the 
world of Fra Angelico in the midst of the dusky chiaro- 
scuro of Rembrandt or the rich tones of Titian. He 
wears the Pentecostal color of the Spirit, the flame-red 
of charity, like that of Dante's Love as she dances beside 
the chariot of Beatrice. He is very silent. Other 
characters speak at times with copious eloquence. 
Galahad is laconic. "Gladly," says he, and no more, 
when asked for some high service. "In the Name of 



298 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

God," he answers again and again. He achieves his 
marvels unconsciously, simply, nor is he ever seen long 
at a time. He is as it were always vanishing. He 
appears for a moment to rescue some one in distress, to 
deal a swift stem stroke at an enemy of good; then he is 
gone, and the eager knights who thirst for his company 
only hear from him afar. The more worldly men seem 
to pursue him in their quest rather than the Grail, — ^their 
wish to behold Galahad being apparently as near an 
approach to heavenly desires as they can compass. In 
a sense, his chief ftmction is to bring other personalities 
into clearer light, by affording a fixed point for com- 
parison and contrast. 

In two relations however Galahad attains reality on 
his own account. One is when he is with his father ; the 
other is in his charming if phantasmal reflection of 
loyalty to a chosen lady. 

Mediaeval imagination could not quite f or^o this 
loyalty, even in case of a virgin knight. Ladies may 
not accompany the knights on this quest; a stem mes- 
sage from Nasdens the hermit excludes them at the 
beginning. Yet tenderness will have its way; a woman 
is the central figure, a woman draws together the 
threads and directs the action during the latter portions 
of the Grail-books. She is the sister of Perdvale, — sl ray 
of purest light serene, blended of sacrifice and holy 
desire. She is unnamed ; but she will always be remem- 
bered with the three knights spiritual who attain the 
Vision, with Bors and Percivale and above all with 
Galahad. 

Hints of her rank are given at the beginning. She is 
a princess, daughter of King Pellinore, and her damsel, 
not herself, first summons Galahad to her castle. Thence 
she leads him to the boat where Percevale and Bors are 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 299 

waiting; and joyful are the tliree fellows in that re- 
union, though Bors, true to his loving nature, sighs for 
Lancelot. The boat bears them to a greater ship, no 
less than the Ship of Paith, strangest of all vessels that 
sail the crowded waters of mediaeval fantasy. In this 
ship, Nasdens, Mordrains and their company had come 
to Logres, to aid Joseph of Arimathea in the conversion 
of the land. Ever since, it has been sailing, expectant 
of the destined day when it shall be honored by the 
presence of Galahad. 

It is a perfect treasure-house of a ship, full of quaint- 
est associations with sanctified ancient things originally 
collected by the builder King Solomon and his wife: 
Solomon, as the Bible tells, being a famous virtuoso. 
Some of the most interesting marvels are the spindles, 
red, green and white, made from the Tree of Life; but 
the most important is the Sword of David, known as the 
Sword of the Strange Hangings. Por this sword the 
Blessed Maid has woven girdles of her own hair, "which 
I loved well when I was a woman of the world, *' says 
she. And after expounding the mysteries of the ship to 
the three awestruck knights, she binds the sword on 
Galahad with these girdles as chivalric custom decrees. 
"Now reck I not though I die,*' cries she: "Por now I 
hold me one of the blessed maidens of the world, which 
hath made the best knight of the world. " " Damosel, '* 
returns Galahad, "Ye have done so much that I shall 
be your knight all the days of my life. '"' We remember 
another ship, where Tristram and Iseult drank the fatal 
potion. Who shall say that the one scene has more 
truth to experience than the other? Who can assert 
that the contrast is wholly tmconsdous? 

Presently the nun-like maid completes her life of 

• UorU Darihw^ zvfi., 7. 



300 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

sacrifice by giving her blood for another lady, with the 
solemn consent of the three knights who love her well, 
and by her last commands she is set adrift after her 
death in a little skiff. There it is that Lancelot finds 
her, and therein he and Galahad sojourn during the 
months of their fellowship. As she predicted, the skiff 
is waiting when the three knights arrive later in the 
dty of Sarras. "In the Name of God, said Percivale, 
well hath my sister holden us covenant."' And there 
they btiry her in the " spiritual place " where later Gala- 
had shall be laid by her side. 

The parting from the Holy Maid may be taken as 
signal for the consummation of the tale. Lancelot 
attains his fiery vision and makes his way back to the 
court for his undoing. But for Galahad as for Perci- 
vale there can be no return. Galahad fulfills all des- 
tined deeds. Then he meets his fellows once more, and 
together they seek Carbonek the holy castle. Here 
Galahad had been bom: and hither he returns for the 
fulfillment of his earthly quest. 

The tone of the story has insensibly risen from the 
beginning of these books. Time was when we rode 
gayly with Gareth or Gawain, listened to the beguiling 
of Merlin or with jubilant sympathy watched Iseult 
outwit King Mark. Yet now it seems quite natural 
to be placed in the Holiest Presence, where fairy lore 
and mortal passion yield to sacramental mysticism at 
its most intense. To the Feast of the Grail spread at 
Carbonek, come knights from West and South and East, 
from Denmark, Gaul and Ireland. The Vision vouch- 
safed by the Grail many hundred years before, at the 
time of the consecration of the first Bishop of England, 
is now repeated; and this repetition completes the 

> MorU Darthur, xvii., 31. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 301 

solemn rhythm which binds the two phases of the Grail* 
story together. It is the consummation of more than 
the life of Galahad and the Quest of the Table Round. 
The significance is marked by the presence of these other 
knights who, according to the Gospel prediction, com- 
plete the tale of those coming from East and West and 
North and South to sit down at the heavenly Feast. 
And now, quaintness and fantasy are at an end; the 
remaining pages of the Quest have a liturgical solemnity 
blended with the courage of a child. The same book 
which tells us of Nimue weaving her spell and Lancelot 
in the bed of Guenevere, passes with no shock to show- 
ing openly Jesus Christ Himself, addressing His true 
children. 

The Saviour, proceeding from the Holy Vessel, speaks 
in gentle wise: "My knights and my servants and my 
true children, which be come out of deadly life into 
spiritual life, I will no longer hide me from you, but ye 
shall see now a part of my secrets and of my hidden 
things. Now hold and receive the high meat which ye 
have so much desired. '** So does He Who is "Himself 
the Victim and Himself the Priest " feed them with the 
Food of Immortality, and they are fulfilled of their 
longing. So the Open Vision is granted those who have 
passed "out of deadly life into spiritual life"; and it 
brings the word of command which bears them away 
from the land of Logres. 

For that land is never again to be blessed even with 
the veiled Presence of the Holy Grail. " Them of this 
land have been turned to evil living,'* says the Lord: 
"Wherefore I shall disherit them of the honor which 
I have done them."* Galahad, Perdvale and Bors, 
greatly favored, are to accompany the Holy Vessel back 

* MolU Darthmr, xvii., dO. • Ihid^ xvu., ja 



302 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

to Sarras whence it came. Logres is deserted, and in a 
sense the main action of the epic, the spiritual action 
behind the veil of sense, is here concluded in disastrous 
defeat. The object of the whole plan for which the 
Table Roimd exists has been to bring Logres under the 
new Law. This is the plan which sent Joseph across 
the sea, which the council in Hell had so vigorously and 
vainly sought to thwart by the scheme of Merlin, the 
plan which had so triumphantly persisted in spite of all 
the infernal powers, — till the very men trusted with its 
fulfillment have proved themselves the instrument of 
its failure. For it has failed. The Christianizing of 
England has made sterner claims than Arthur's chivalry 
can meet. 

In cursory fashion the Maimed King is healed, and 
the three knights spiritual are borne away as in a dream 
by the ship with the silver altar, above which hovers the 
gleaming glory of the Grail. The prayer of Galahad 
when he is lost in ecstasy, is that he may pass out of 
this world at such time as he may desire. Enough of 
humanity lingers in him to send a message to his father; 
but from that time what faint human semblance he 
had, disappears. In Sarras, persecution awaits him, 
followed by honor; he recks naught of either, — ^king or 
prisoner, sdl is one to him; his spiritual insight deepens 
till it seems new-bom: ''Then began he to tremble 
right hard when the deadly flesh began to behold the 
spiritual things.'*' In due time he is borne upward 
according to his prayer by a vision of angds, — Cleaving 
one last word of love for Lancelot. To Galahad, the 
pilgrim path has been one of union from the outset. 
Nor need the literal-minded be troubled by a seeming 
inconsistency, in that he had been brought up from 

s Morte Darihur, xviii., 32. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 303 

infancy in the Presence of the Hdy Thing that after- 
wards became his quest. It is true to fact and life 
that they who possess the light most fully from the 
b^^inning, are the same who seek it most ardently until 
the end. '"Union" is no static passivity^ but a per- 
petual progress. So Galahad departs from sight, slain 
by the exceeding radiance of that vision which he ever 
sees yet ever seeks. His is a marvelous figure, — ^yet it 
is hard not to love Bors a little better, — Bors, who re- 
turns to a world of sin full of strange sorrows, where 
fidelity affords the only due. Here is one of the truest 
and holiest stories in the world, says Caxton's colophon : 
surely also one of the saddest. 

VI 

The art in the Grail-books is peculiarly full of roman- 
tic suggestion. Neither theology nor asceticism is 
supposed to conduce to art, and these books are full of 
theology and convey an ascetic ideal. Yet "True 
beauty dwells in deep retreats, ** as Wordsworth says, 
and such a deep retreat is offered by the Grail-story. 
At the first advent of the Holy Vessel, when the sun- 
beam entered the darkened hall on the wings of thunder, 
and all they were alighted of the Holy Ghost, each man 
saw other fairer than ever they saw before. It is a 
symbol, this dower of beauty bestowed by the Grail 
upon its knights. Through the quickening of spiritual 
mystery, the beauty touched with strangeness always 
inherent in romantic art, is shed over all the scene. 

Merely from the point of view of style, Maloiy is at 
his best in this part of his work. His style is always his 
surest title to distinction, but it is sddom so nobly sus- 
tained and so full of lovely tmdertones: the rhythms, 
in their very simplicity, can not be forgotten. Often 



304 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the rhythmic charm has an almost liturgical effect, and 
indeed the prose vibrates with echoes of the rich Low 
Latin of Breviary or Vulgate: ''Damosel," said Per- 
dvale, "I serve the best man of the world, and in his 
service he will not suffer me to die, for who that knock* 
eth shall enter and who that asketh shall have, and who 
that seeketh him he hideth him not/'' [^ Especially in 
the last scenes, these effects are constant; the prose has 
a depth of tone like the Church Sequences. 

In addition to the beauty of sound, with its deep call 
to something within not wholly tmderstood, these books 
abound in beauty of pictorial detail; and such detail 
goes far to compensate for the tenuous and abstract 
nature of the central theme. The very setting suggests 
the adventures of the soul. The landscape, reticently 
treated as usual, is quite different from the ordinary 
landscape of romance, with its rich castles and friendly 
woodlands. It is wilder, stranger, it shows forest gloom 
and desert strands and wildernesses haunted by wild 
beasts. Twilights and midnights are shot through with 
light not of this earth. Great waters cold under the 
moon are ever near at hand. This is as it should be; 
for from the outset the Grail is associated with water; 
a swift river flows around its castle, or it is found at the 
end of a pier reaching out into the ocean, or the four 
streams from Paradise encircle its home. On these 
waters, lonely and restless though they be, many ships 
are sailing; the marvelous ship of Solomon, phantom- 
like as that in which the Ancient Mariner dreed his 
weird, the little barque where lies the bier of Percivale's 
sister, the Grail-ship, a floating Oratory, with its altar 
of silver and the hovering light of the Holy Vessd shin- 
ing rose-red above. 
> MarU Darikw, adv., S. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 3Q5 

The scenes are most often in twilight or shadow^ shot 
through with natural or supernatural light. Lideed the 
use of light and dark, of color, of fire, is consummate, 
and none the less charming to the eye for the constant 
symbolic suggestion, which charms the spirit too. The 
use of lights would be a study by itself in aesthetic effect. 
Silver and red are the dominant tones, — the moonlight 
of earth, illumined by celestial love. ''And so he rode 
through a forest and the moon shone dear, ** — ^the words 
sound almost like a refrain. An arm in red samite 
bears a candlestick which shines before the gaze of 
Gawain and Ector; six tapers light the way of the Grail 
through the night blackness, while Lancelot sleeps be- 
neath the Cross. From the red marble stone whence 
he draws his sword, to the last detail of his array, Gala- 
had is associated with this Eucharistic, this Pentecostal 
glow. His armor gleams like a star of fire as he recedes 
down long dim woodland waj^. 

For this use of red, of alver, of light and dark, derives 
its romantic potency from its constant hint of parable. 
Around all the common objects of nature hovers the 
suggestion of the occult and the holy. Lnpiessive 
above all is the imagery from Catholic worship. When 
so encountered, apart from its usual setting, it affects 
one as might the chanting of a Cathedral choir heard 
suddenly in the open, above the morning chorus of the 
birds. The recurrent ecclesiastical symbols gain pe- 
culiar reality, seeming to be expressions not of artificial 
human usage, but of life on a higher plane, natural as 
that of wave or tree. Such is the effect of the waste 
Chapel in the woods, found by Lancelot in dense dark- 
ness, within which is a fair altar richly arrayed with 
doth o^ dean silk, and alit with a great dean candle- 
stick which bare six great candles and the candlestidc 



306 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

was of silyer. In such a place, how be surprised when 
the Grail goes by? These hints of consecrate and or- 
dered beauty are in effective contrast with the surround- 
ings of wild free nattire. The Crosses in vague forest 
depths or at the parting of ways, — excellent spots at 
which to await a vision; those other Crosses so useful 
to tempted knights, at hand in the hilts of swords, all 
help to transform this ancient earth into a shrine; nor 
are hints laddng of angelic "'Presences plain in the 
place." 

The central Event of Catholic worship, the Mass, is 
also the center and end of the Grail-Quest, and the 
imagination makes reverently free with it. And rightly; 
for the ptirpose of the story is to open men's eyes, that 
they may behold the whole world sub specie Sacramenli. 
Airs may well breathe from a land that is very far off 
and very near, voices speak from the leaves, and phases 
of celestial worship enlighten dark earthly ways. For the 
universe is forever singing to the open^ ear its Holy, 
Holy, Holy; and these seeking knights catch echoes 
of that song through their "dull mortality. " The soul 
of romance is always in its suggestion of what may not 
be fully known, and the Sangraal, "which is the Secret 
of Our Lord Jesus Christ, '' is the ultimate symbol that 
may well abide in the central sanctuary of romantic art 

VII 

The last evidence of the romantic quality in Grail- 
story is the boldness of its symbolism. What contrast 
could be sharper than that between monk and knight, 
the ecstasies of contemplation and the energies of 
ceaseless deed? To present the ascetic armed as the 
warrior, contemplation under the metaphor of action. 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 307 

was a feat natural to a period when violently opposed 
ideals existed in outward unity, while they contended 
below the surface for control. 

To gain the full force of the method, it is helpful to 
hark back to the epic and heroic age preceding the ages 
of romance. Something in most of us vibrates still in 
response to the ideal presented, for instance in Beowulf 
in The Story of the VolsungSf or in the semi-historic 
chronicles of Saxo Grammaticus; but long before the 
age of chivalry, this ideal had been confronted by a new 
one. The Cross had been lifted high on the hill of 
the world, and the Sufferer slowly supplanted the 
Warrior as the central hero of humanity. Throughout 
the Middle Ages, Christian standards were at odds with 
the standards of the natural man; and the ^^ctim and 
Redeemer drew to Himself an adoration such as Poeman 
and Avenger had never known. Throngs, subdued 
by the supernatural beauty of the new ideal, sought 
to follow it without compromise; innumerable hermits, 
recluses. Religious of every type, abjtired abruptly 
the warrior ardors of their forefathers, accepted non- 
resistance as the truest courage and pain as the highest 
glory, and withdrew from a bloody world to stem self- 
mortification and cloistered peace. So many were 
there of these would-be disciples of an absolute ideal, 
that their figures were a commonplace, as matter-of- 
fact to the life and literature of the Middle Ages as 
shop-girl or factory-hand to ours. 

But all the same the great world went on its fighting 
way, not much affected by them. And Christianity is 
never contented with drawing a nimiber of individuals, 
however large, away from normal living. It can not 
rest, till its own vision becomes the normal one. Monks 
may have been willing to let the wicked world go to 



308 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

destruction, but Christianity is broader than monk- 
hood. In every period, the religion of Christ works in 
two ways: even while it invites men to follow its 
own tmcompromising standard, it is'busy in permeating 
and modifying the ideals and standards which it finds 
in possession. So, by the side of monastidsm, chivalry 
arose, — ^blended strangely of Christianity and Paganism, 
softening the tenacious warrior ideal by a new tender- 
ness, stressing mercy, instilling self -control. A perpet- 
ual contradiction inheres in the central figure of ro- 
mance, — the knight, who as an old Welsh poem has it, is 
"gentle, lowly, meek, before he receives the endowment 
of the brave, " yet rides out cheerfully predatory on the 
highway, confident that the proper thing for a gentle- 
man to do when he meets another gentleman is to run 
at him with a spear and knock him down. 

The ideal at this level governs the ordinary reaches 
of romance; with allowances for certain changes in 
civilization, it still holds the field to-day. Its conces- 
sions to the weakness of the flesh, combined with the 
elements of nobility in it, fascinate the imagination, 
and almost satisfy the moral sense, — ^but never quite. 
Conscience rarely succeeds in emancipating men com- 
pletely from compromise, but it is always restive be- 
cause it can not. Even the Middle Ages wavered in 
their allegiance between the chivalric ideal, and an 
asceticism which virtually repudiated earthly life 
altogether; and before abandoning themselves to either 
alternative, a further compromise was sought. 

Grail-romance, like the historic Orders of the Tem- 
plars and the Knights of St. John, represents that 
compromise. Christianity could not wholly substitute 
monk for fighter, prayer for action, as the center of 
attraction; men clung too strongly to their full-blooded 



THE PAGEANT OP THE HOLY GRAIL 309 

secular delights. But it could do more than modify 
the warrior ideal, it could use that ideal as a vehicle 
for another. Nor was there need to do much violence 
to religion in order to present the inner life under 
images of warfare. Prom Exodus to the Apocaljrpse, 
the Scriptures are full of such imageSi and it is to be 
feared that souls fighting spiritual foes will continue 
even shotdd nations disarm, to find the metaphors of 
Paid more native to them than those of Jesus. So 
the Grail-legends arose at the call of a true psycho- 
logical instinct for what men craved. The hold that 
they have on us, like the hold of chivalry, is due to 
an inconsistency open to criticism from the point of 
view of logic, but entirely consonant with life. 

And underljring the militant symbolism of the sur- 
face, is the constant suggestion of that other image, — 
the Quest, the pilgrimage of the sotd. It can hardly 
be questioned by any one familiar with mystical 
writing that Grail-romance is the product of minds 
intimate with esoteric thought. The "Sight of Soul" 
which is the end of desire has rarely been suggested with 
more power than in the words spoken by Lancelot on 
awaking from trance, by Galahad in the Spiritual City. 
The Middle Ages, singularly great in their God-con- 
sdousness, inherited a spiritual tradition handed down 
partly in the Sacramental system of the Church, partly 
in subterranean and heretical channels. Grail-romance 
apparently had access to both these channels and 
drank long and deep at their springs. 

So the Ages of Paith gave their best wisdom to the 
Arthuriad. Beyond all pleasure in adventure, beyond 
loyalty to love or king, lies another reach of experience. 
It is blank boredom for the Gawains and the Ectors, 
it is not meant even for the Gareths or the Arthurs. 



310 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

But for those who enter, it holds in reserve an aooes- 
sion of life such as no earthly passion can bestow. 
Institutional religion has this to do with it, that a 
kernel can not thrive without its shell. Incorporated 
with the Arthuiiadi this experience added a new power 
to the national epic, for it Ufted the Morte Darikur 
from the perfunctory though honest religion of the 
earlier books, to the higher region where only the saints 
breathe free. 

The air in those regions is dangerous, and it is 
possible to daim that the more secular phases of the 
romance are the more wholesome. In some ways, the 
Perceval quest, which finds its goal in the heaJing of 
anafiOicted king and the rule of its hero over an earthly 
though holy realm, would better have accorded with 
the original intent still discernible, — ^the redemption 
of the Land of Logres, — than does the story as we have 
it. Yet had we not been lifted to the plane of Galahad, 
the story wotddfail in showing at fullest intensity all 
the forces that govern the age. Tristram is no more the 
perfect lover of Iseult than is Galahad the perfect 
lover of God. The Middle Ages knew both types of 
love at their height, and romance wotdd be impoverished 
by the lack of either. Meantime, so far as epic action 
is concerned, the elements of the drama have now been 
all presented, and the hoiu: for their conflict has struck. 



CHAPTER VI 

SBACnON 

BOOKS xvm-jox 



IP the Grail-Quest be taken as a story complete in 
itself, interest ceases when Galahad dies at Sarras. 
The two^ motifs which play through it more or less 
at cross-purposes are both worked out. The sanctifica- 
tion of the.indbddtial, through detadunent IrdrS the 
evil, worlds is realized in the instances of the tEree elect 
knights; nor is there anything more to say about the 
sanctification of England. That has failed, and the 
failure throws tlie original scheme of the Quest awry. 
Malory was not responsible for this miscarriage. 
He but took the legend as he found it, crystallized 
long before his day by the mediaeval inability to 
picture the Kingdom of God on earth. Romance 
can go a good ways in. enjoying and conceiving im- 
ix)ssibilities; but such a picture was beyond its range. 
The chivalric compromise was conceivable enough; a 
Christian knighthood indtdging its fighting tastes for 
the sake of imposing baptism on a Pajmim world was 
a sympathetic and cheerful idea. But if religion tried 
to discard compromise the mind was sure to balk. Let 
monks stay monks. In their own place they are all 

3" 



312 MORT DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

very well, — desirable members of the community, to be 
treated with the highest respect, since they are btisy 
making for others as well as themselves the connection 
that ought to be made with the Four Last Things. 
But if they disguise themselves in armour and try to 
capture fellowship in that most jealously guarded of 
circles, the Table Round, they will find themselves 
tenderly dismissed to Sarras, — a dty which may 
stand for the spiritual Coventry to whidh inconvenient 
idealists are still consigned. An ascetic and separatist 
ideal is all that the world is ever ready to concede to 
holiness. The Grail is withdrawn from the Land of 
Logres and its true disciples follow it. After that, 
^)j^ outward and visible disaster is only a question of time. 
Conscience might be unable to carry to an end the 
splendid dream of spiritual victory in national life; 
but at least it saw, because it had to see, that the 
frustration of the Divine WiU on the mystical and 
spiritual plane was sure sooner or later to mean tragedy 
down below. That tragedy occupies the remainder 
of the Morte Darthur; the overthrow of the Rotmd 
Table is decided in the hushed scene in the Chamber of 
Carbonek, where the Saviour, even while feeding His 
true children with the Food of Pilgrims fulfilled of all 
sweetness, passes judgment on faithless England. 

So the story, having buried Percevale and Galahad, 
returns to Camelot where Lancelot waits with good 
Sir Bors. The two exchange a pledge when first they 
meet after the Quest is done: 

Then Lancelot took Sir Bors in his arms and said: Gen- 
tle cousin, ye are right welcome to me, and all that ever I 
may do for you and for yours ye shall find my poor body 
ready at all times, while the spirit is in it, and that I promise 



REACTION 313 

you faithfully and never to fa3. And wit ye well, gentle 
cousin Sir Bors, that ye and I will never depart in sunder 
whilst our lives may last. Sir, said he, I will as ye will.' , 

It is natural that these two shotdd seek comfort 
together, and cling one to the other in a special way; 
for they share sacred memories. And life is sad at 
Camelot. Arthur's prediction is fulfilled: a scant 
half of the knights have come back. The brave story ^ 
moves on, with no comment, toward the swift-approach- ^^ 
ing catastrophe, but it is painfully evident that chivalry 
is on the wane. Before Galahad came, the court got 
along very well and found the light of earth qttite good 
enough for it. Now that his yotmg presence has been 
there, now that the shroud^ Orail has been seen, 
men are a little lonely, more than a little restless. Re- 
action from overstrain is also in full sway, and the 
fiercer passions are all ready to break the leash. Things 
usually happen like this; the lower nature never so 
asserts itself as in the rebound from moments of aspira- 
tion. Only very sanctified people are free from im- 
pulses of irritation or worry, on returning to the 
world after making a Retreat, or after Early Com* 
munion. 

Nearly all the knights have been on the holy Quest. >r 
They have returned to take up the old life again with 
relief, but that life has lost a good deal of its savour. 
The light of conscience has been turned on its laxities 
and facile contradictions. Men will not pursue the 
old way any less vigorously, — ^^they, the defeated 
in the Quest; but they must pursue it with more 
unease. 

' Morie Darthur, xvii., 33. 



314 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

n 

People will make the best of things: and at first 
there is much joy in the court* The plot develops 
well and swiftly. One precious heritage at least 
remains from the Grail-books, — ^the human quality. 
Lancelot and Guenevere are no longer puppets but 
breathing man and woman; for Guenevere too has 
come alive at last. In earlier times, she was merely 
^ the queen-in-position; now she is very woman, alike 
in her gracious dignities toward the world without and 
her unreasonable petulance and jealousy toward the 
man she loves. Other characters too keep all the 
vitality they have gained, and new people emerge, 
sharply and clearly drawn. We are glad to be moving 
once more among solidities, in regions where no weird 
portents nor supernatural glories are to be expected, 
but the scene is occupied by good natural totunaments, 
by familiar loves and quarrels, picturesque and pleasant 
to any one. 

Only, the weather is hotter than it used to be. The 
pasdons, unprotected by those spiritual disciplines 
which have profited men so little, are more violent 
•than ever. They sweep the story on inexorably to 
the close. All the forces indicated at the beginning 
of the Arthuriad have now been brought out clearly into 
the light of day: earthly love, heavenly love, loyalty 
to Arthur. That they can not harmonize is increas- 
ingly evident. Their conflict is to break out now, — 
grim, desperate, to the death. 

So no surprise is occasioned by the Heading of the 
eighteenth book: ''Of the joy King Arthur and the 
queen had of the achieving of the Sangraal; and how 
Lancelot fell to his old love again/' It is piteously 



/ 



REACTION 31S 

true to fact that he who of all sinful kxiights came 
nearest to attaining the Vision, is now the chief cause 
of the moral catastrophe which overwhelms the realm. 

Then as the book saith Sir Lancelot began to resort unto 
Queen Guenevere again, and forget the promise and per- 
fection that he made in the Quest. For as the book saith, 
had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in 
his mind so set inwardly to the queen as he was in seeming 
outward to God, there had no knight passed him in the 
quest of the Sangreal. But ever his thoughts were privily 
on the queen, and so they loved together more hotter than 
they did tof orehand, and had such privy draughts together 
that many in the court spake of it, and in especial Sir 
Agravaine, Sir Gawain's brother, for he was ever open- 
mouthed.' 

In spite of all this, it is a new Lancelot on whom the 
light now falls, a Lancelot in whom the clash of forces 
has at least evolved a soul. Lancelot is not to forget 
the Grail; he is never to forget it. And Guenevere 
is never to remember. There is no inward under- 
standing between them any more. 

Minds are at no point analyzed after the fashion of 
the modem novelist. The mediaeval manner requires 
more alert reading than the modem if fine points are 
not to be missed, and deeds and words must speak for 
themselves. But no one following the dialogue from 
this time through the rest of Malory can mistake the im- 
plications. Lancelot's attitude to Guenevere from now 
on is rather a desperate and constrained loyalty than 
passion rebom. Or, at least, the elements in it are 
mixed. Doubtless the old fascination resumes its 
sway, — ^yet the chant of Grail-worship is in his ears, 

> Morie Darlhur^ xviii., i. 



3i6 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

and spirittial experience has quickened his lenumse 
for his sin against the king he honours. In Lancelot, 
religious and political loyalty are at one, and the third 
passion is their common enemy. Even while taking 
those "deep privy draughts" of guilty love, he seeks in 
every way the avoidance of evil appearances; not from 
crafty self-consdousness but from true regard for the 
honotu: of the court; and one feels that if Guenevere 
would permit, self-restraint in more than seeming 
might be his desire. 

The Queen however has grown restless. No expla- 
nation is given of the fierce unreasonableness that 
possesses her; but it is easy to understand. From the 
time when he came to court as a yptmg squire Lance- 
lot had been all her own. His will had received its 
every vibration from hers, as if that alone gave him 
Ufe and impelled him to action. All this is so no 
V longer. She is forced to share him with something which 
even in the privacy of her heart she can not condenm, 
but which is none the less alien and hateful to her. 
Prom the moment when Galahad came to court and 
Guenevere gazed on him and turned away, prepared 
haughtily to defend him against all criticism from 
others yet'tortured by the look of him, her inner turmoil 
has deepened. Lancelot has gone on quest, Lancelot 
has returned. Elaine is dead; Guenevere has no 
earthly rival. But though he is still her knight and 
her servant, there is that in his consciousness which 
she can not probe. Wretched, bewildered, her sus- 
picions are constantly acute. Her exactions increase; 
they are the measure of her misery. 

In this state of things, quarrel between the lovers 
is inevitable. It opens the book, — dramatic, highly 
toned. Lancelot has fotmd his tongue, and right nobly 



REACTION 317 

he speaks, imploring, all but rebuking, calling to mind 
with wistful desire for her sympathy, the high nature 
of the Quest from which he is so lately returned; then, 
when such appeal fails, speaking practically and 
plainly, as a man of the world to whom her reputation 
is dear and who sees it jeopardized by her recklessness 
every hour. It is the great gentleman who speaks, "^V 
even if it be the sinner too; Lancelot's sensitive recoil 
from scandal, his cherishing of all life's reticences and 
dignities, breathe in his every word. 

But Guenevere is past caring for scandal. Her self- 
control is lost; the queen has vanished in the woman. 
Her reply is to break out into passionate weeping, into 
a torrent of foolish and jealous accusation. Branding 
Lancelot as a false knight and a common lecher, she 
exiles him from court. Sorrowful, obedient, he departs 
at her bidding, to the disgust of Bors and his other 
friends. And here is the beginning of troubles. 

For his departure only increases the murmurs of 
suspicion abroad. Rancour abounds, evil speaking poi- 
sons the air. Guenevere, becoming politic a little late 
in the day, chooses to give a fateful dinner. It is 
planned to honour Gawain and his kin, — "and all was 
to show outward that she had as great joy in all other 
knights of the Round Table as she had in Sir Lancelot/* ^ 

Incidentally, the dinner serves as a roll-call of the 
greater knights returned from the Quest. The House 
of Gawain and the House of Lancelot are there in 
force, — also Palomides and Safere, La Cote Mai 
Taill6, Sir Persant, and Sir Ironsides whom Gareth had 
overcome and brought to court, and several others. 
Also, there is one Sir Pinel le Savage, cousin to Sir 
Lamorak of Gales. And now that ancient feud, so 

' Morte Darthur, xviiL, 3. 



3i8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

careftiUy kept before the mind through the preceding 
reaches of the story, enters the main plot — the feud 
between the House of Lot and Gawain and the House 
of Pellinore and Lamorak. For Sir Pinel does not forget 
the death of Lamorak, so bitterly lamented, subject 
of such dark rumours; to say nothkig of the death long 
ago of King Pellinore his tmcle. He seeks to kill 
Gawain with a poisoned apple. But another knight, 
not Gawain, eats the apple, and falls dead at the 
Feast, — a sinister scene powerfully presented. And 
suspicion lights on Guenevere who had made that 
feast: and they all turn on her with loud accusation, 
above all one Mador de la Porte whose knight-vassal 
had been the one to die. So there openly Sir Mador 
appealed the Queen of the death of his cousin; Arthur, 
right kingly, shows that respect for law fundamental 
in feudalism, the only earnest perhaps that it held of 
a future democracy. He makes neither evasion nor 
excuse, and after the fashion of the day it is appointed 
that Guenevere must meet the ordeal of fire like any 
other woman, and be burnt tmless some knight appear 
as her champion. 

So tragedy breaks out of a sudden: and Malory is at 
his most stem and swift in narrating it. The violence 
of manners, the all but brutal coarseness, so strangely 
blended with the elevation and the fine-spun delicacies 
of chivalry, are brought home with a shock. And the 
true situation in the realm of Logres appears as by 
flash-light; for Guenevere can not find any one to 
espouse her quarrel. Arthur is loved, but she is not 
loved, and all men apparently give easy and instant 
credence to the accusation which makes her what she 
certainly was not, — a destroyer of good knights. 
Arthiu: in a fine touch is annoyed that the greatest 



REACTION 319 

of his knights, the one on whom he can always depend 
in emergency, should be absent from the court: ''What 
aileth you/* says he, ''that ye can not keep Sir Lancelot 
on your side?'*' At last, not for her sake, but because 
Arthur begs him for the love of Lancelot, Bors under- 
takes the fight: not without some plain talking to 
Guenevere, who has to fall on her knees to entreat 
him. 

Of course, Lancelot rescues her at the last moment, 
when the solemn assembly is called and the faggots 
are ready and the queen stands helpless in the con- 
stable's ward. It is a picturesque passage, formal and 
serious in tone, reflecting with some accuracy the real 
code that obtained during at least some part of the 
feudal period. Danger is passed for the moment, and 
our old friend Nimue, — ^Merlin's Nimue, wife to Pel- 
leas, — clears up the matter of the poisoning: not sorry 
perhaps to show how well Gawain is hated. Neverthe- 
less, the glory of the court can never shine unclouded 
again, nor can Guenevere ever regain her full queenly 
dignity. Malory has jealously guarded that dignity 
up to this point. It is much less in evidence in his 
sources. The impeachment of the Queen would bring 
no special shock after the story in the early romances 
of the false Guenevere who once drove the true queen 
into exile in the Sorlois, where she lived for some 
time discredited tmder the protection of Galahad le 
Haut Prince. The art with which Malory suppressed 
that story is evident. The Queen has held her throne 
beside Arthur in unchallenged honotir: now, when 
preparation is to be made for the final tragedy, this 
episode of the alleged poisoning comes in with admirable 
force. Although she is proved innocent, men are not 

* MarU Dartkur, xviii., 4. 



r 
\ 



320 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

going to forget that she may sin and need defense 
like any other mortal woman. 
During these final books, Guenevere is threatened 
V three times with trial, and the gradation in tragic 
interest is marked with excellent skill. This first 
time, she is wholly guiltless: on the next occasion, 
to be narrated in Book XIX., she is guiltless on the 
precise indictment, but not guiltless in the sight of 
God. The third is the tragic denouement, when 
she stands in her smock, sentenced to death, her guilt 
real, and evident to all men. From now on, the air is 
ominous in Camdot. 

m 

Meanwhile, a little pause is made before the great 
storm breaks, for the refreshment of an idyll. Malory 
is past master in the fine art of retards, and nowhere 
is a better instance of their effectiveness. The story of 
the Lily Maid of Astolat, which occupies the rest of 
this book, is an interlude and a transition. It secures 
a descent not too abrupt from the high levels of the 
Grail-books to the heated plains where the last struggle 
is waged; and here is the place for it, immediately 
after a brief strong exposition of the precarious and 
threatening situation at the court. 

There is no touch of mysticism in this story, yet 
neither is there any touch of eviL It shows Lancdot 
in a wholly amiable light, and reveals more fully than 
before the ddicacy and fiddity of his nature. He 
appears worn and sorrowful, yet perfect in gentleness, 
courtesy, and honour, — ^just tite person to capture the 
affection of an honest maid. As for El^ifi^ she is a 
real mediaeval girl, — amazingly frank, as the habit of 

if "" 



REACTION 321 

mediasvrl women seems to have been, but never un- 
maidenly, making no pretence to holiness — (what would 
Percival«/s sister have made of her?) — not at all a 
diaphanous young person, but red-blooded as she is 
innocent: a girl of vitality and spirit, who dies for 
Lancelot with a kind of wholesome energy. The 
pathos of her death is direct and simple; she is no Clar- 
issa Harlowe, dying to slow music while she languidly 
designs her tombstone. Elaine dies swiftly and ener- 
getically as she has lived. Since Lancelot will have 
none of her, there is nothing else for her to do; there 
is no thought of shame in her and little of self-pity. 
Her heart is on Lancelot to the end: in vain does ner 
ghostly father bid her take it away: ''Why should 
I leave such thoughts?*' said Elaine: ''Am I not an 
earthly woman? " ' 

The pathos of her floating down to Camelot is in the 
situation itself, not in any sentimentalizing over it. 
But there are few scenes in romance more dramatic ^ 
than that where the barge bearing her dead body drifts 
under the palace windows, on the stream which has 
seen Galahad's marble stone, and other marvels in its 
day. Arthiu: and Guenevere discover the barge, and 
Elaine's letter is read in their presence: a succinct 
masterpiece, much finer than in the stanzaic Morte: 
it is here addressed to Lancelot: 

Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, now has death made 
us two at debate for your love. I was your lover, that men <? U ' 

called the fair maiden of Astolat: therefore unto all ladies 
I make my moan, yet pray for my soul, and bury me at 
least, and offer ye my mass-penny: this is my last request, 
and a dene maiden I died, I take God to witness: pray 

* Morte Darihur, zviii., 19. 



322 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

for my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless. This was 
all the substance of the letter.' 

Lancelot is sent for; and the talk betweeft him and 
the remorseful queen, ashamed of the wild suspicions 
' that have consumed her concerning his relations with 
this maiden, is superb. It is carried on in the presence 
of Arthur, and every phrase is charged with suppressed 
meanings. The unconscious words of the king, the 
bitter restraint of the queen, the weary forbearance 
and the dignity of Lanodot, with its hint of rebuke 
toward his trying lady, might be transferred to the 
stage without change. "For, madam, said Lancelot, I 
love not to be constrained to love, for love must arise 
of the heart and not by no constraint. That is truth, 
said the king, and many knight's love is free in himself 
and never will be bounden, for where he is bounden he 
looseth himself. Then said the king to Sir Lancelot, 
It will be your worship that ye oversee that she be 
interred worshipfully." • 

So passes the Lily Maid. And now, while minds 
are still sufficiently free, there shall be one more good 
old-fashioned tournament, where knights may hack 
and hew at each other gleefully and friendly, with no 
arrive pensie. Palomides and many other good com- 
rades shall pass across the scene, and occasion shall 
be taken, — occasion needed, as the sequel will make 
plain, — ^to recall the old fellowship between Lancelot 
and Gareth, a fellowship over which time has cast no 
shadow. Lancelot never loses a chance to praise his 
friend: "By my head, said Sir Lancelot, he is a noble 
knight, and a mighty man and well breathed . . . and he 

> Morte,Darthur, zviii., 30. ■ Ibid., zviiL, 30. 



REACTION 323 

is a gentle kxiight, courteous, true, and bounteous, and 
meek and mild, and in him is no manner of malengine 
but plain, faithful, and true/'' Generous and ample 
language, befitting the praiser and the praised ! As for 
Gareth, his feeling for Lancelot is but little this side 
idolatry. Now in the tournament, where Lancelot 
is fighting disguised against Arthtir and his party, 
Gareth deserts his own kin and comes to his friend's aid: 
not even in play can he bear to be against him; "For 
no man shall ever make him to be against Sir Lancelot, 
because he made him knight, " says Gawain to Arthur. 
And Arthiu:, having at first blamed him gently, gives 
his approval right royally when all is over: "Truly 
ye say well, and worshipfully have ye done, and all 
the days of my life with you well I shall love you and 
trust you the better."* 

So ends the pleasant Tournament of the Diamond, 
and the book closes with a little chapter, Malory's own, 
one of the quaintest and most delightfully cadenced 
bits of mediaeval prose, telling how there arrived in 
the court the lusty month of May, that giveth to all 
lovers cotuage, and how true love is likened to stmmier : 

Therefore like as May month flourisheth and flowereth 
in many gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship 
flourish his heart in this world first unto God, and next 
unlK) the joy of them that he promised his faith unto; for 
there was never worshipful man nor worshipful woman but 
they loved one better than another, and worship in arms 
may never be foiled, but first reserve the honour to God, 
and secondly the quarrel must come of thy lady; and such 
love I call virtuous love.' 

* Marte DarfUmr^ zviii., 18. ■ Ihid.^ zviii., 2^ 

*/Wd., zvitL, 35. 



324 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

Though tragic times are on the way, none the less 
shall we stand to it how that true love is good; and 
here shall be made that little mention of Queen Guene- 
vere; let it be held in mind through all woes to befall 
through her that at least ''while she lived she was a 
y true lover, and therefore she had a good end/' 

IV 

In this ''lusty month'' shall be presented a pretty 
Pageant of the Spring; it opens Book XIX. Out- 
wardlyt the medieval world is as brave and gay as 
evert and its tastes have not changed. Tristram and 
Iseult would have liked to be with Guenevere, as she 
rides forth into the forest Maying, with her ten knights 
and their retinues well mounted, clothed all in green 
silk or cloth; and as they bedash them with herbs, 
flowers, and mosses in the best manner and freshest, it 
would seem as if the May-tide of chivalry had returned. 
It is pleasant to hear the names of old friends, — Sir 
Kay le Seneschal, Sir Sagramour le Desirous, Sir 
Ozanna le Cure Hardi, Sir Pelleas the Lover, and others 
whose stories have been told in their day; pleasant also 
to hear of that goodly company of young Queen's 
Knights with their white shields, > who figure in the 
Merlin romance. The spirit of the company as it rides 
on, Maying in woods and meadows as it pleases them, 
is of the merriest. Yet these charming effects are 
only momentary, like Spring sunshine swiftly dark- 
ened by storm. As the book proceeds, we are soon 
forced to wonder whether chivalry is more than skin 
deep after all. 

The first part of the book is the part that shocks 
the reader. It tells the unpleasant old story of the 



REACTION 32s 

Rape of Gu enevere, here caught as she rides on her 
Maying by Melia pa nce, weak and vicious son of the 
good old King Bagdexnagus. Meliagrance has abeady 
appeared in the Books of the Lovers riding with Lamorak 
and insolently sighing after Guenevere. Now, his 
behaviour illustrates the worst features in that sensuous 
license always in those books ready at a touch to break 
through artificial restraints. The painful impression '^ 
of the incident is needed just here. The gayety of 
May» the refined etiquette of V amour Courtois are as 
fascinating as ever; the book has just been praising 
them in its most lyric manner. But their tenuous 
graces can be brushed aside like gossamer at any 
moment. Glamour is over: it is time that the world 
show itself in the harsh colors of reality. Perhaps 
Malory himself did not enjoy this story very much. 
At all events, he treated it in his most succinct manner, 
in sharp contrast to the great length accorded the 
episode in his source. 

This is Chretien's' story, The Knight of the Cart, — 
in which Lancelot first enters romance; but Malory 
handles it in an entirely different &tshion, reverting 
in a way to a more primitive tise of the motif. That 
motif is one of the most andeht in the Arthuriad. 
Welsh triads allude to the bearing away of Arthur's 
queen by a dark man of the shadows; it has been sug- 
gested that Meliagrance may be own cousin to Dis and 
Guenevere to Persephone. Malory's handling sug- 
gests, as does his handling of the Gawain-figure, a 
tendency of the primitive fands to assert itself even 

' The story is also told in the Latin Life ef GildaSt preserved in a 
twelfth-oentuxy manuscript. ''Mdwas," the *' wicked king of the 
Summer Country, ^^ or Somenet, here carries Guenevere away to 
Glastonbury. 



326 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

in the latest phases of romance. Malory's veraon 
is frankly and abruptly coarse and almost barbarous, 
where Chretien's is demure, formal, and a mirror of the 
proprieties of the age. Nowhere else in the Marte is 
the picture of civilization so gross, nowhere are manners 
/^ so shocking. 

The story would better befit the dark days of the 
Volkerwanderung than the courtly times of Arthur. 
And yet, Malory's version is in many points an obvi- 
ously late redaction. The central feature of the 
twelfth-century poem had been rather far-fetched 
and absurd; it was the hero's sacrifice of dignity in 
riding in a cart to rescue his lady. Times and tastes 
have changed, and by the fifteenth century this exploit 
has become a trifle flat. Very little is made of it. 
Guenevere has learned common sense since the days 
when she refused her champion the favor of her coun- 
tenance because he had hesitated an instant before 
getting into that cart; here she rates soundly a lady 
who jests at his appearance, and tells her that her jest 
is foul-mouthed. The relations between herself and 
Lancelot are a little tense and bitter, and tmfair words 
pass between them, enhancing the impression of strs4;n. 
But this is part of the general development through 
this part of the Morte^ and has nothing to do with 
Lancelot's behavior on this special occasion. 

The craven Meliagrance, abashed by the mere 
advent of Lancelot, yields his claims instaatly and 
tamely, offering to restore the queen on the morrow; 
and the episode would have no point at all were it 
not for the sequel. Guenevere, who bears herself well 
in a solicitude for her wounded knights which leads 
her to care for them in her own chamber, can as usual 
not restrain her passion. She encourages Lancelot to 



REACTION 327 

break his way and hurt his hands to come to her; is 
natttrally, though stupidly, accused by Meliagrance 
of misbdbavior with one of the knights she has tended, 
and is exposed to the Ordeal by Fire. 

The accusation is false, but the reader knows and all 
men except Arthur know that she is none the less a 
guilty woman. This is the sec ond or deal of Guenevere. 
In the first, she had carried our full sympatny; nere she 
is verbally but in no other way guiltless of the sin laid 
to her charge. A third time is to come. 

The effect of the episode is enhanced by the fact 
that it does not happen in some far outlying district, 
like Cornwall, but near the center of Arthur's domain. 
It would seem as if Guenevere might ride out in safety 
dose to her own palace. But the castle of Meliagrance 
is only five miles from Westminster. The local notes 
are frequent at just this point; Lancelot when called 
to the queen's help ''took the water at Westminster 
Bridge, and made his horse to swim over Thames into 
Lambeth. "' It is prestunably in the fields of London 
that she stands by the pyre waiting to see if a champion 
shall appear. 

Lancelot of course rescues her again, in spite of his 
detention by a mean trick in the prison of Meliagrance, 
whence he is released by another frank and lovesick 
damsel at the price of a kiss. Meliagrance, who is a 
much less careful and interesting study than in either 
the prose Lancdot or Chr6tien's poem, is comfortably 
slain, — Guenevere taking satisfaction in the fact. He 
well deserved his fate. But foul suspicions are now 
muttered louder and louder on every hand. A sense 
of discouragement and futility is abroad. In a world 
where Meliagrance can suddenly take possession of 

> MorU DarthuTt six., 4. 



328 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Guenevere by brute force close to the king's central 
city, where life can drop instantly, with no warning, 
to the level of disgraceful horrors, what has been gained 
by all the efforts of the Table Round? The Grail- 
Quest proved unavailing; it now appears that all the 
chivalric code, so zealously adopted, so earnestly 
sworn, has been helpless to dbeck the crudest passions. 
Does the beast in men conquer after all? Disgust 
threatens; nothing is left to look for unless it be some 
mighty purification of life by pity and terror. And 
the moment for this draws near.. 



But first another of those retard s in which Malory 
excels. As in the preceding boot the opening of the 
tragic action was contrasted with the human pathos 
of the Maid of^tolat, so here the painful episode of 
the Rape of Guenevere with its thickening gloom is 
followed by an episode bathed in tranquil beauty. 
This is the Healing of th e'^ otmds of Sir Urre. 

The season is again near the Feast of the Spirit, 
and a sick knight, whose seven great wounds can be 
healed only when the best knight in the world shall 
search them, is borne before the assembled court, 
accompanied by his mother and sister, the last a full 
fair damsel named Fel^lie. The phrase ''best 
knight" is evidently used here in a religious, not a 
worldly sense. If Lancelot is the destined healer, it is 
because of the power of faith that is in him. He, the 
cjmosure of chivalry, is before long to stand exposed 
to the common gaze as the betrayer of his king, the 
murderer of the innocent, the slave to fleshly lusts. 
Nothing shall be spared him by the stem old story. 



REACTION 329 

But first, we are to see into his very soul, and to discern 
there latent qualities of humility, of holiness, of prayer- 
ful tenderness, that make him strong to heal and to 
restore. Never elsewhere does he appear to such 
advantage; never perhaps, not even in the Quest of the 
Giail, is his inward life so clearly revealed. 

There is a liturgical solemnity about this brief 
Pageant of Sir Urre. First Arthur, then all the kings, 
dukes, and earls that be there present essay to search 
the wounds; but though they ''softly handle him" it 
may not be that he be made whole. Then come King 
Uriens of the land of Gorre, King Anguish of Ireland, 
King Carados of Scotland, all associated long with 
Arthtu". Political worthies otherwise unknown fol- 
low: then comes Sir Gawain, being of royal blood; 
and his three sons and his brethren, including Sir 
Gareth, the good knight that was of very knighthood 
worth all the brethren, all essay in vain. Even 
Bors may not achieve this marvel. The other knights 
follow in stately line, the enumeration of their names 
covering four pages. To the ordinary reader these 
pages are a mere list to be skipped; to the intimates 
of Arthur's fellowship they are full of delightful 
suggestions. For here is the l ast roll-call of the great >^ — 
Order before its fall, — marshalled in state, bent on a 
deed to which the purest spirit of their vows must 
stunmon. Forty knights, it is told, are away; many 
have perished, some miserably as Sir Lamorak, others 
gloriously as Galahad. Yet how moving the associa- 
tions roused by the names of those who are left! 

Malory himself has told the tale of a great many. 
Sir Kay, Sir Dinadan, Sir Lionel, Sir Ector and Sir 
Bors, Sir Hebes le Renomm6, Sir La Cote Mai Taill6, 
Sir Uwain les Avoutres, Sir Ozanna le Cure Hardi, 



\/ 



330 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Sir Tor, Sir Epinogris, Sir Pelleas, Sir Mador de la 
Porte, Sir Colgrevaunce, Sir Ironside, and various others, 
— ^many of these have had their separate Pageants 
long or short, all have passed familiarly in and out of 
the story, boldly delineated with a simple touch, always 
acting in character, till they have become no mere 
shades but flesh and blood companions. It must be 
confessed that Malory, probably taking his source as 
he found it, is rather careless about his roll-call, for 
some of these knights have departed this life long before 
Urre came to court. Sir Colgrevaunce for instance 
had been slain by Lionel as he sought to defend Bors, 
and Sir Uwaine had been killed by Gawain in the Grail- 
Quest. Other greater names of the past, whose deaths 
are less easily forgotten, receive a mention: the version 
of Tristram's death differs slightly from that in Book X., 
and Lamorak is coupled with him as treacherously 
slain; rumor this time rising into the bold statement 
that he was slain by Gawain and his brethren. Sir 
Alisaunder le Orphelin, whose graceful love-story with 
Alice La Beale Pilgrim was told in Book X., is here 
;%presented by his son. Despite slight lapses, this is a 
real review of the epic in all its wealth of incident and 
personality. 

It is more than this, it comes near to being a review 
of all romance. For here is many a knight not even 
alluded to elsewhere in Malory, well known in other 
romances. That most attractive person in the prose 
Lancelot, Lancelot's early friend Duke Galahad le 
Haut Prince is one of them, though by all rights he 
should have died long before, through devotion to his 
friend. Malory, who never pays any attention to this 
Galahad's story, merely mentions him as an import- 
ant figure. Here also, incidentally mentioned, is the 



REACTION 331 

Constantine who is to be Arthtir's successor; here is 
Meliot of Logresy ain interesting character in Perceoal 
le GaUoiSt and Sir Bohort, who was King Arthur's 
quite undistinguished son. Sons of Gawain are here 
too ; and Sir Marrok the good knight, that was betrayed 
by his wife, for she made him seven years a werewolf. 
Sir Marrok is a suggestive figure whose stoiy, told by 
Marie de Francei happens to be extant; Sir Servause 
cm the other hand is unknown, and Malory whets 
curiosity by a brief hint at a peculiarity of his: ''For 
the French book saith that Sir Servause had never 
courage nor lust to do battle against no man, but if it 
were against giants and against dragons and wild 
beasts."' 

The mere etymology of the nomenclature is signi- /^" 
ficant. French of course predominates; but good 
English names occur also like Sir Edward and Sir 
Ironside, and names oddly combining the two, like Sir 
Harry le Fise Lake; Celtic names like Sir Fergus and 
Sir Cardok, Latin names like Sir Lucan, names defined 
by possession or origin like Sir Galleron of Norway 
and Sir Pettipause of Winchelsea, and others defined 
by picturesque attributes like Le Cure Hardi and La 
Cote Mai Taill6, or Sir Selises of the Dolorous Tower. 
To enumerate the names is to gain a new sense of the 
depth in origin and the breadth in development pos- 
sessed by romance. 

X'All these hundred and ten knights search the wounds 
of Sir Urre, but in vain. Lancelot is absent: Arthur 
as usual yearns for him. He returns, and the heart 
of Urre's sister and of Urre himself presage healing. 
But Lancelot shrinks from the task and from the 
oommand that Arthur lays on him: '' Jesu defend me," 

' MorU DarthuTt six., II. 



332 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

said Sir Lancelot, ' Vhen so many kings and knights 
have essayed and failed that I should presume upon me 
to achieve that all ye, my lords, might not achieve. . . . 
Jesu defend me from that shame." '* Ye take it wrong," 
said King Arthur, "ye shall not do it for no presumption, 
but for to bear us fellowship, insomuch ye be a fellow 
of the Table Round.*** There is here no aflfected 
modesty on Lancelot's part, but such inward conscious- 
ness of imworthiness as may be only too easily imder- 
stood. Even when Arthur commands him in the name 
of the honor of the Round Table, he still hesitates, 
and he finally relents, in words too beautiful to remain 
unquoted, only when Urre himself sits up weakly and 
entreats him; 

Ah my fair lord, said Sir Lancelot, Jesus would that I 
might help you; I shame me sore that I should be thus 
rebuked, for never was I able in worthiness to do so high a 
thing. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down by the wounded 
knight, saying. My Lord Arthur I must do your com- 
mandment, the which is sore against my heart. And 
then^he held up his hands and looked into the East, saying 
secretly unto himself, Thou blessed Father Son and Holy 
Ghost, I beseech thee of thy mercy that my simple worship 
and honesty be saved, and Thou blessed Trinity, that Thou 
mayst give power to heal this sick knight by thy great 
virtue and grace of Thee, but good Lord, never of myself.^ 

The last phrase reveals the very soul of the man 
who in the Grail-Quest had passed all men living save 
Galahad had it not been for his privy sin; and his true 
prayer is answered. Devoutly kneeling, he searches 
the woimds with slow ritual solemnity, and they heal 

' Morte Darthur, ziz., 12. ' Ibid., zix., 13. 



REACTION 333 

fair. The king and all his knights kned down rejoicings 
with acts of thanks and love; and priests and clerks 
arrayed in devoutest manner bring Sir Urre within 
Carlisle in a sort of religious ceremoniaL The court 
for the moment is puiged with real religious exaltation. 
But as for the healer, — "ever Sir Lancebt wept as it 
had been a child that had been beaten": tears that may 
well be remembered in the dreadful days to come. 

SO| for a brief last moment, all is joy. Lavaine, 
a sympathetic minor character, brother to the dead 
Elaine, is wedded to Urre's sister Felelolie, — ^the matches 
of the minor characters are often arranged by Malory 
with delicate feeling: and Lavaine and Urre, good 
knights and true, will never leave Lancelot's side in the 
future ; for, sinner though he be, the men of finest temper 
cleave to him always. Thus live they in the court in 
noblesse and great joy; and Malory leaves here of this 
tale. 

All is now prepared for the tragic climax of the 
Morte Darikur. Agravaine is waiting^to put Lancelot 
and Guenevere to shame. The action of late has been 
speeded up; all the events of Book XIX. have appar- 
ently taken place within one month, for "this great 
anger and unhap that stinted not till the chivalry of 
all the world was destroyed and slain,'* fell as irony 
would have it in the month of May, when man and 
woman rejoice, and ''gladden of summer coming with 
his fresh flowers."' 

s Morte Darthur, xx., I. 



CHAPTER Vn 

THE CATASTROPHE 

BOOKS XX-XXI 

I 

TWO short books su£Soe for the breaking of the slow^ 
gathered storm and its clearing in a sad sunset. 
Malory's leisurely ways, in some preceding parts of the 
work» notably in the Tristram books, taxed reasonable 
patience. Now he changes his methods, proceeds 
y with concise directness, and as a result romance 
in these last books rises nearly if not quite to epic 
levels. Attention, no longer diverted by episode or 
secondary pageant, is focused on a few great actors; 
they stand out in the open, their gestures full of force 
and life, their words chaiged with energy. 

These personages are Guenevere, Arthur, Lancelot, 
and Gawain. Minor knights like the evil Agravaine 
and Mordred, and the loved Gareth and Gaheris, 
play their destined rdles; others, like Bors and Ector, 
continue to act in character and to command interest. 
But the significant group of the four principals holds 
the center of the stage. 

In one sense, Gawain takes the lead among thenu It 
is not he who brings about the great disclosure of 
Lancelot's guilt, feared and expected so long, but it is 

3M 



THE CATASTROPHE 335 

he who when this disclosure is onoe made, becomes 
the tenacious force of retaliation. Gawain's portrait, 
drawn with great care in the early books, has been 
developed at intervals with an elaboration which mig^t 
well indicate the important and leading part for which 
he has been held in reserve. Up to this tune, his share 
in the plot has not justified either his official prominence 
or the detail with which he has been presented. But 
now his time has come, and with decisive strokes he 
is brought into the immediate foreground. 
^ Gawain, l ike Tristram and Galahad, has his one 
controlling passion: it is fealty to his family and his 
king. Tristram and Galatiad haveliad their day and 
are dead, though the passions that they represented 
live in unceasing war within the rueful heart of Lancelot. 
There is material enough for tragedy in the conflict 
between religion and lawless love, which has gradually 
been brought out in almost its full force; yet a third 
strand in Malory's web is no less necessary to his com- 
plete design. This is political loyalty as it may be 
called, — ^the basic force that built up feudal Europe, 
the tie of fidelity to one's blood and to one's overlord. 
OflFense against this loyalty is treason par excellence^ — 
treason, the worst sin of which the Middle Ages were 
cognizant; from which all other sins took their colour. 
Through this offense, all the tragic elements in the 
Marte Darthur are precipitated and the outward 
catastrophe is forced on the realm. Had Guenevere 
been the wife of any one but Arthur, her amours might 
have passed unchallenged despite the grumbUng of holy 
hermits, and Agravaine's hatred would have had no 
handle to grasp. But Lancelot has betrayed his 
king; he has broken his sacred vow to "flee treason," 
at a crucial point; and the avenging loyalty of 



336 MORTE DARTHUR^OF THOMAS MALORY 

Gawain forces the issue almost against the king's 
will. 

In order that Gaw ain niay represent this single 
devotion, he is allowed^ no other interests. In treating 
the character, Malory, to use his own pleasant word, 
has " oyerskipped " the whole mediaeval tradition, and no 
trace remains of the Gawain whowas the idol of four-~~ 
t^ttcentmy England, who resistecl'" the blandish- 
ments of the Green Knight's lady,"*pul' his head in 
jeopardy to redeem his word, and achieved an Adven- 
ture reserved for the devout and pure. Malory 's 
Gawain is focused on one point and one only; no cross- 
currents are permitted to interfere with the fierce 
simplicity of his faithful ness to family and JflJflflg* 
The two are one with him^ tor Arthur is not only his 
sovereign but his tmde, and vehement devotion to 
his House blends with devotion to the throne. 

Strong light has been thrown from the first on the 
gens of Ga^ixl^ a family hailing from Scotland, as 
Lancelot hails from France and Tristram fromComwall. 
The hereditary feud between this House and that of 
Pellinore is stressed through all the earlier portions of 
the tale. More than one crime has sprung from it, 
and like a black thread in the weave it has given dis- 
tinctive accent to the gold and crimson of the story. 
This turbulent clan, with the etlucsjofJiie-Kendetta, 
probably resembles real feudal nobility more than do 
Lancelot, Galahad, or even Tristram. Revenge, Ba- 
con's "wild justice," is the only form of justice they 
recognize. The eflfort of Christie chivalry to trans- >t^ 
form the law of vengeance into the law of mercy, is a 
chief theme of the Arthuriad; it is not an effort in 
which the House of Ga'vain can be expected to offer 
help. 



THE CATASTROPHE 337 

Yet Gawain by no means jrields to his lower impulses 
without a struggle. Malory's portrait of him has been 
charged with inconsistency, ascribed to varying treat- 
ment in the romances from which he drew: the 
THstram and the Quest viewing Gawain in a more un- 
favorable Hght than the Lancelot proper or the Morte 
Darthur. But the truth seems rather to be that good 
and bad are mingled in him from the beginning. The 
Gawain who cut off a lady's head in Book IIL, and 
repented bitterly, is the same Gawain who is scored as 
''vengeful" in Book VIL, who kills Lamorak (trai- 
torously if Lancelot ^)eaks true) in the Tristram books, 
and is a ''destroyer of good knights " in the Grail-books; 
while yet all the time he is justly lauded for his courteous 
bearing in ladies' service, his devotion to his comrades, 
and, above all, his unswerving loyalty where once his 
allegiance has been given. Malor y's Gawain t akes his 
vows seriously, and means to fulfill them as a true 
Companion of the Table Round should do. All 
through the book his proud wild spirit is tmder disci- 
pline. If the pagan side of him proves conqueror 
at the end, the fault is largely Lancelot's, for through 
Lancelot's sin, the vindictive passion held in the 
Christian leash is released in the seeming cause of 
justice and order. 

'^^;-<jawain's portrait, next to Lancelot's, is the best 
example of the way in whidi romance-motifs, when 
they seem most jejtme with age, are capable of attain- 
ing new vitality, though perhaps by swerving quite 
away from the original idea. Whatever rich layers of 
tradition Maloiy may have ignored, however diverse 
and contradictory the conceptions in his sources, 
his resultant treatment has triumphed; for it has 
created a living man. Sir Gawain, "the gay, the good. 



>A.- 



338 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the gracious, *' is lost to sight in this sardonic rendering; 
Gawain the possible solar hero belongs to a forgotten 
age; but a real person takes their place, taking a definite 
and natural part both in the resolution of the plot and 
in the elucidation of the theme. 



Gawain has no desire to precipitate the tragedy. 
His better impulse of magnanimity and self-control is 
no mere veneer. Even if it has not reached the secret 
springs, it has penetrated deep, transforming much 
in his character, softening more. He has small reason 
to love Lancelot, the French knight from overseas 
who has ousted him from the pre&ninent position 
which would seem his ahnost by official right. Yet 
if he does not show toward the court favorite the 
adoring devotion of his younger brother Gareth, at 
least he never criticizes his rival, and even expresses 
enthusiastic admiration for him. Nor would Gawain 
ever have revealed the open secret of Lancelot's rela- 
tions with the queen. That is left for worse men 
to do, — ^for Agravaine the violent and Mordred the 
vicious. 

These evil men insist on forcing the sin of Lancelot 
and the queen to the knowledge of the rather willfully 
blind king, and Gawain, aided by Gareth and Gaheris, 
does his best to prevent them. The balance of sym- 
pathy for Lancelot is artfully preserved by the fact that 
these bad knights denounce him: the situation is as 
true to life and as dramatically satisfying as it is confus- 
ing to the moral sense. The sin is patent; but it is 
Lancelot the sinner who maintains the honour of 
Arthur, holds the allegiance of the best people in the 



THE CATASTROPHE 339 

oourtt and illustrates point by point the hard-won 
chivahic ideal, as no one else begins to. 

The shrinking of Gawain is finely presented. He 
throws his whole force on what he sees as the nobler 
side: 

Brother Sir Agravaine I pray jroii and charge you move 
no such matters, for wit you well, said Sir Gawain I will 
not be of your counsel. . . . Alas ye must remember how oft- 
times Sir Lancelot hath rescued the king and queen, and the 
best of us all had been full cold at the heart-root had not 
Sir Lancelot been better than we. . . . And as for my part, 
I will never be against Sir Lancelot for one day's deed, when 
he rescued me from King Carados of the Dolorous Tower.' 

Gareth and Gaheris join in the generous protest. 
To no avail. The bad brothers, actuated by no 
solicitude for virtue, but by sheer jealousy and fotd- 
mindedness, accuse Lancelot to the king. Arthur is 
not particularly grateful; nor is he surprised. ''The 
king had a deemin fr/^ says Malory drily. Deeming, 
indeed! He could hardly help it! Arthur, as revealed 
at the crisis, is also a very human figure. His pride 
and affection center in his knights; there is scant hint 
of any feeling in his official attitude toward his queen, 
and tiie sin of the lovers, while not condoned, is thus 
again given a certain excuse. 

Having no option, the king consents to a public 
exposure, and it is carried out. Omens and dreadftd 
dreams mark the night; the atmosphere recalls that of 
the hour when one king Dtmcan was murdered by 
his thane Macbeth. In a powerful scene, Lancelot, 
surprised in the queen's chamber, bids farewell to 
Guenevere, who at the approach of real danger finds 

*Mcrt$l>aHkm.TiL,i. 



340 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

new dignity and self-forgetfulness. He defends himself 
single-handed and unarmed against fourteen Scottish 
knights, — all from the house or following of Gawain, — 
and all, save Mordred, are slain. Agravaine and two 
sons of Gawain are among the number. Mordred 
flees to Arthur with the news, and the way in which 
the king receives it speaks volumes. His chief senti- 
ments are regret that the noble fellowship of the 
Round Table is broken forever, and admiration for 
Lancelot! " Jesu mercy, said the king, he is a marvel- 
ous knight of prowess.**' WhoUy the just rider, how- 
ever, he ordains that the queen shall ''have the law" 
and suffer death; for in those days, explains Maloiy, 
the law is such that if persons are found guilty of treason 
there shall be no remedy but death. 

Gawain, protesting against this inevitable justice, 
touches a high point of magnanimity. He pleads for 
delay, and earnestly presents lame excuses for the guilty 
lovers. Even his uncle is amazed, and reminds him 
how Lancelot has but just slain his brother and his 
two sons. But Gawain, answering that they brought 
their deaths on ^Efieniserves, still begs for mercy; and 
when the king bids him prepare to bring the queen to 
the stake, he flatly refuses obedience, saying that his 
heart will never serve him to this end. His refus al 
is the highest moral point he.-fiyer readies; it is the 
consummation of that long process of discipline which 
he has undergone. 

A compromise is struck; Gareth and Gaheris shall 
attend the queen; for as is learnt with surprise "they 
are full yotmg, and imable to say you nay." But 
they insist on attending in civilian dress, without armor, 
as a protest against the proceedings. "Alas," says 

* Morte Darthur, xx., 7. 



THE CATASTROPHE 341 

Gawaixii "that ever I should endure to see this woeful 
day!"' and he withdraws into his chamber, weeping 
heartily. Now comes the tr agic climax o f the Marie 
Darihur: the atuation prepared oy all possible use of 
suspense, of dread, of rhythmic reiteration. For the 
third time, Guenevere is "brought to the fire to be 
brent'*; and this time, no evasion is possible. Her 
death is righteous. 

Lancelot in the meanwhile has betaken him to his 
own people; and Bors their leader holds to him loyally, 
as does many another noble knight. It is worth noting 
that Bors, who has had his old distresses in the necessity 
of choosing between duties, now speaks without waver- 
ing. Since the evil is done, the way is plain. It is 
Lancelot's part now to rescue the queen, who is in 
jeopardy of her life through him, and to bear her away 
to safety. 

Despoiled of all save her smock, shriven from her 
misdeeds, Guenevere stands at th e stake and the 
knights keep grim guard arotmdlEer. But from delicacy 
the greater part of them are unarmed. It is a judicial 
occasion, solemn as the mediaeval mind could conceive. 
Into the press iidfis.JLaiK^lotfoll-armed, and in the 
rushing and turmoil, as he forces his way through 
the clustered men in their long robes, it mishaps him 
to slay many of his old and true comrades. So die 
Sir Tor, Sir Aglovale, Sir Pertilope, and Sir Peiimones; 
and so, woe worth thj^da^t die Gaheris and Gareth. 

It is the crucial point of 25e tragedy. "FofXancelot 
made Gareth knight, and Gareth has dung to him as 
ardently as have Bors and Ector, while Lancelot has 
lavished genial affection on him in return. Of all the 
secular Imights, Gareth has been the most lovable. 

> Morte Darihur, zz., 8. 



342 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

His story was chosen by Malory to present the diivalric 
ideal in its first bright perfection ; since it was completed 
he has held his place in the background, waiting the 
moment when he should make his contribution to the 
great outworking of the plot. That moment is here. 
Lancelot, who so rejoices in giving the advantage to 
yotmger and weaker knights, Lancelot, who is so perfect 
in courtesy and gentle self-control, Lancelot the loyal 
and tender-hearted, is the murderer of this splendid 
younger comrade. Not in fair fight, but in a mSUe 
where Lancelot alone is armed, he strikes down and 
kills the defenseless Gareth and Gaheris his brother. 

For this he is never to forgive himself, and Gawain 
^ is never to forgive him. In bitter triumph, knowing 
^ that there can never again be peace between himself 
and his old friends, Lancelot bears Guenevere away 
to Joyous Garde, where happier days had welcomed 
Tristram and Iseult as his guests. And the old instinct 
of revenge, which has ever beset Gawain, now over- 
sweeps him in a tidal wave. 

At first, he will not believe the rumor of his brothers* 
death which Arthur has kept from him as long as 
possible. Arthur too is grieving, and characteristi- 
cally : "And therefore wit you well my heart was never 
so heavy as it is now, and much more I am sorrier for 
my good knights' loss than for the loss of my fair 
queen, for queens I might have enow, but such a f ellow- 
stnp of good knights shall never be together in no 
company.''' And Arthur mourns for Lancelot as 
much as for those knights Lancelot has slain. Not so 
with Gawain; his sorrow turns to a single bitterness. 
There is a tender scene between him and his tmde 
when the dreadful fact comes out: he runs to the king 

* liorU DaHkWf xx., 9. 



THE CATASTROPHE 343 

like a child, crying and weeping, ''Oh King Arthur, 
mine unde, my good brother Sir Gareth is slain!" 
He begs to see the dead bodies, but Arthur has had 
them buried, lest the sight cause Gawain double pain. 
It falls to the king's lot to tell that the deed was done 
by Lancelot, and Gawain's incredulity, strong at first, 

has finally to yield. Then the work of years is un- 

done in a moment: Gawain takes a vow, in the most 
solemn terms a knight of the Table Round could use: 

My king, my lord, and mine unde, said Sir Gawain, 
"Wit you well now I shall make you a promise that I shall 
hold by my knighthood, that from this day I shall never 
fail Sir Lancdot tmtil the one of us have slain the other. 
. . • For I promise unto God, said Sir Gawain, for the 
death of my brother Sir Gareth I shall seek Sir Lancdot 
throughout seven kings' realms, but I shall slay him or 
else he shall slay me."' 

Thus reverting to type, strong in conviction of his 
own righteousness, Gawain becomes the implacable >^ 
instrument of vengeance. 

HI 

So is the realm destroyed; for this rdentless hate 
rends it asunder till the end. Arthur, cold except 
toward his knights and his kingdom, would gladly once 
and again have compounded the quarrd, and Lancelot 
fights against his king with breaking heart: ^'God 
defend me, said Sir Lancdot, that ever I should en- 
counter with the most noble king that made me knight." ' 
But Gawain n evCT_di ange s. The Christiani zing work 
of ditvaJr y j g all ti^done injiim, and he returns with 

' Ifoffe Dofi^Mr, SL, la '/Ud, sc, 35. 



344 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

his might to the anc ient code of honor, an eye for an 
eye, a tooth for a tooth, ii is oimcult to be severe 
on Gawain: neither men nor nations have outgrown 
that code. 

Arthur and Gawain, encamped before Joyous^Garde, 
carry on a long and dreadful siege. Very splendid 
knights hold with Lancelot: his own House, naturally, 
Bors, Lionel, Ector de Maris; also the special friends of 
Tristram, as Palomides and Hebes le Renomm6, who 
have transferred their allegiance to him; and many 
more, some for his own sake and some for that of 
the queen. As for Arthur, his host is big, assembled 
by stunmons from all the strength of the realm, but it is 
somewhat undistinguished. Lancelot forbears the king 
at every turn: holds his own, protects his lady, and 
wearily reiterates the false formula of her innocence 
and honor. His gentleness, his winning speech, that 
air of greatness which he never loses as he entreats 
and pleads, might have softened Arthur's heart. But 
the words of Gawain cut in, trenchant as swords. 
He too, in speech, forbears the queen, but he flings the 
death of Gareth in Lancelot's teeth; and Lancelot, 
remorseful and full of sorrow over that death as he is, 
yet finds himself forced to spirited altercation, and 
to a hint at that old rumor, that Gawain too has not 
been free from the reproach of slaying his brother in 
arms. Gawain is ready now to boast of the deed. 
''Ah, false knight," said Sir Gawain: "That thou 
meanest by Sir Lamorak. Wit yewell, I slewhim." "Ye 
slew him not yourself," said Sir Lancelot : "It had been 
overmuch on hand for you to have slain him":' and the 
contemptuous hint that Lamorak was killed "by fore- 
cast of treason" adds fuel to Gawain's ire. 

> Morte Darthur, zx., ii. 



THE CATASTROPHE 345 

So the great fighting comes on: and the troops of 
Lancelot issue from the castle in formal order, with 
almost a ritual touch, — ^Lancelot himself from the 
middle gate, Lionel and Bors from the gates on either 
side. Then indeed fra tricidal terror rules the day, 
relieved only by Lancelot's sad courtesy. Bors has 
Arthur at his mercy, and is ready to kill him at a word. 
But Lancelot, being Lancelot, bids him refrain: "For 
I wiU never see that most noble king that made me 
knight neither slain nor shamed.'* So Lancelot raises 
the king and places him on his own horse; and when 
Xing Arthur was on horseback he looked upon Sir 
Lancelot, and then "the tears brast out of his eyen, 
thinking on the great courtesy that was ia Sir Lancelot 
more than in any other man."* None the less the 
clash of battle continues, day after weary day : till in 
the i mpagg e, the Poge, — a personage of whom nothing 
has previously been heard, — comes to the rescue and 
with fine disregard of probability sends his command 
that Arthur receive back his queen. 

Unlikely though the message be, it reflects faintly 
more than one historic situation; and the scene where 
Guenevere is restored to Arthur might have been culled 
from the pages of Froissart. There is a great Pageant, 
the finest spectacle in the Morte Darthur^ which recalls 
the entry of Queen Isabel into Paris. The hundred 
knights ia green velvet carrying olive branches, the 
green and gold of the horses* trappings, the rich jewels, 
the white doth of gold tissue in which Lancelot and 
Guenevere are arrayed, lend dignity as well as pomp 
to the occasion. The whole ceremony is in the grand 
French manner, of which Lancelot is master. The talk, 
however, is yet more interesting. Malory's characters 

* MorU Darthur, zx., I5« 



346 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

do not indtdge in long pseudo-classic orations, after 
the manner of Geo£Erey's. But more than one of his 
people can if needs be make a g ood spee ch; and that 
which Lancelot^ on returnin g the Que en, addresses to 
Arthur, is the spe ech of a very great gentl eman. Rarely 
in any mediaeval report of actual doings, not even in 
Froissart himself, are words found so incisive, so ap- 
propriate, as these. 

The design of Lancelot is to persuade the king to a 
full reconciliation. His speech begins with formal dig- 
nity, but rises swiftlyin emotion: and presently Lancelot, 
who is of coxirse on the defensive, appears in a new 
rAle. Partly from real humility, but largely from good 
taste, he has always been studiously modest in talk, 
ever preferring others to himself. Now he speaks 
out, — proving himself thereby li neal heir of t he old 
epic traditipn which demanded from its hero no less 
zest in bragging than zeal'in'Sghfing. He whose 
modesty has seemed at times almost overwrought, who 
has been apparently pained by praise and who has 
always deprecated honors, ijow breaks in to vivi d 
selfraseertion: ''For now I will make avaunt," said 
Sir Lancelot, and splendid bragging it is, sonorous, 
outspoken, honest, as he proclaims his might, his 
exploits, his loyalty, his special services to Arthur and 
toGawain: 

And I take God to record, said Sir Lancelot, I never was 
wroth nor greatly heavy with no good knight an I saw him 
busy about to win worship, and glad I was ever when I 
foimd any knight that would endure me. . . .Howbeit, Sir 
Carados of the Dolorous Tower was a full noble knight and 
a passing strong man, and that wot ye, my lord Sir Gawain; 
for he might well be called a noble knight when he by fine 
force pulled you out of your saddle and botmd you over- 



THE CATASTROPHE 347 

thwart afore him to his saddle bow, and there my lord Sir 
Gawain I rescued you, and slew him afore your sight. . . . 
And therefore, said Sir Lancelot unto Sir Gawain, meseem- 
eth ye ought; of right to remember this; for an I might 
haye your good will, I would trust to God to have my lord 
Arthur's good grace.' 

Such s elf-assertion is the last toudi needed to hu- 
manize Lancelo t; the dialogue that follows is a sort of 
glorification of the fl3rting scenes in the old sagas. But 
it naturally maddens Gawain. With sharp brevity, 
he recalls the death of his brothers; and then surge 
out in great overflow the sorrow, the remorse, the 
shame, that underlie all sense of his own value in 
Lancelot's heart. The proud defender of his own 
honor becomes the penitent, offering reparation to the 
uttermost. He will go barefoot in his shirt through- 
out all England, from Sandwich to Carlisle, founding 
at every ten miles houses of religion wherein masses 
shall be sung day and night for the souls of Gareth and 
Gaheris; and tins will he do so long as his substance 
shall endure. ^'And this Sir Gawain methinketh 
were more fairer, holier and more better to their souls, 
than ye, my most noble king, and you, Sir Gawain, to 
war upon me, for thereby shall ye get none avail."* 
It is a majestic offer. All knights and ladies there 
wept as they had been mad, and the tears fell on King 
Arthur's cheeks. Yet very sadly, Lancelot, rebuffed 
and repelled, receive s his sen tence; "Banishment from 
the land of Logre s. ^^ 

It is for that land itself, rather than for aught else, 
that he sorrows, — ^the land, which is to him no mere 
geographical expression but a beloved person. "Alas, " 

* Morte Darthur, zx., 15.7 * ^^'f 3°^» ^^' 



348 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

he cries, "most noble Christian realm, whom I have 
loved above all other realms!"' One more passage of 
recriminating words, Shakespearean in vigor, one last 
kiss to the Queen, openly in the sight of all men, — and, 
to the sound of sobbing and weeping, Lancelot is gone. 
He had had seemingly no expectation of banishment. 
In the ensuing colloquy with his followers, held in that 
Joyous Garde which he now renames Dolorous Garde, 
his rueful devotion to Arthur and to England flash 
through the hurt feeling and angry pride of a strong man 
disgraced. But he takes his sentence, albeit his fol- 
lowers are ready to stand by him if he be disposed to 
dispute it; and departs regretfully, his last thought 
for the realm. His friends have insisted that the 
peace of the kingdom has depended on him. 

Truly, said Sir Lancelot, I thank you all of your good 
saying; howbeit I wot well, in me was not all the stability 
of this realm, but in that I might I did my devoir; and wdl 
I am sure I knew many rebellions in my day that by me 
were peaced, and I trow we all shall hear of them in short 
space, and that me sore repenteth. For ever I dread me, 
said Sir Lancelot, that Sir Mordred will n:iake trouble.' 

Lancelot and his kin, as Malory now first mentions, 
are lords of all Prance; thither they betake them, 
landing at Benwick or Bayonne, and there Lancelot 
parts the land among his friends, keeping it would seem 
nothing for himself. Thither Gawain goads Arthxxr, 
and they depart, leaving England at the mercy of whoso 
will. Fierce fighting ensues on French soil. The 
most interesting thing about it is the contrast with the 
early continental wars recorded in the first books of the 

» Morte Darihur, xx., 17; (f. p. 123. • Ibid., xx., 18. 



THE CATASTROPHE 349 

Marte. Then, political interests were to the fore; ^'^^ — 
the story "was wholly concerned with the bloodiness 
of the conflict; and slight attention was paid to human 
or personal matters. Now, the exact contrary obtains. 
Into the fighting no one except Gawain can put any 
heart, but the prolonged pathos of the struggle, in 
which Lancelot ever forbears the king and restrains 
his knights, grows hateful and painfuL Lancelot is as 
non-resistant as it is in flesh and blood to be, but the 
time comes when he must defend him, "or else be 
recreant." It is Gawain who forces him, Gawain who 
stands at the center, Gawain ever if possible more and 
more vehement, more and more unyielding. Again 
and again Gawain is wounded only to renew the 
fight. His mysterious increase of strength in the morn- 
ing stands him in good stead, and for hours the fight 
is all but even ; but Lancelot wins out at last. Horribly 
wotmded j^Gawam anks on hisjide in a swoon. "And 
anon as he did awake, he waved and foined at Sir 
Lancelot as he lay, and said, 'Traitor knight, I am not 
yet slain, come liiou near me and perform this battle 
to the uttermost.*" Lancelot declines, "for to smite a 
wotmded man that may not stand, God defend me 
from such a shame"': and he returns to the city, 
Gawain calling Traitor! after him all the way. This ^ 
is real l^^te and a real fi ght. 

Arthur falls ill with the despair of it: Gawain lies 
wounded and fuming. And tidings come from England 
that recall the king and his host. For the prediction 
of Lancelot is fulfilled. Now comes to the front the 
sinister figure of ^fgrdxed, — held in the background 
from the moment of his begetting, every now and 
then recalled to memory as he moves like a shadow 

< Marie Darthur, zz., aa. 



350 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ax^ross the scenci always consQrting with the worst of 
knights, always evil in speech, evil in thought and 
deed. Malory does not elaborate his portrait, and it is 
perhaps more effective as a mere "mi dmost blotc h of 
black," the analyzed study being reserved for char- 
"atiers m'whom there is more give and take of good and 
bad. Malor y^s Mo rdred li ke his Ar thur is a symbol 
rather than a man, and his part is played, ^t uTthe 
central drama where men and women must be in- 
dividualsor nothing, but in that wide environin g action 
which gives majesty and typical connoTation to xhe 
plot, but which requires for its outworking embodied 
forces of good andevil rather than breathing m^and 
women. 

While Lancelot and Gawain battle in Prance, Mor- 
dred the real traitor, treacherous not through weakness 
like Lancelot, but through ingrained meanness and 
ambition, Mordred the bastard of Arthur, seizes the 
throne and aspires to the hand of Guenevere. Strangely 
enough, he carries England with him. The scornfully 
aristocratic trend in Malory is never more salient than 
in his contemptuous remark that "The most part of 
all England held with Sir Mordred, the people were so 
new-f angle." * Arthur has often seemed to be king in a 
^ doud-countiy, with topography unknown on our old 
planet; but the Arthuriad is after all the epic of the soil, 
and now the catastrophe is definitely placed. It is 
in Canterbury that Mordred is crowned, it is in Win- 
chester that he seizes Guenevere, and "said plainly 
that he would wed her which was his uncle's wife and 
his father's wife."* Guenevere does not wait helpless 
this time for a knight errant to come out of dreamland 
and rescue her: she behaves practically; with the 



THE CATASTROPHE 351 

initiative of a vigorous medieval English queen she 
throws herself into the Tower of London, where Mordred 
besieges her in vain. The Bishop of Canterbury, having 
relieved his noind by doing the cursing on Mordred 
^'in the most oiguUst wise that might be done, '' betakes 
him to poverty and holy prayers as a priest-hennit at 
Glastonbury. Mordred with a great host awaits 
Arthur's coming at Dover; and the tale goes on, suc- 
cinct, impassioned, in manner too familiar for either 
comment or summary, to the inevitable end: the 
drear peat battle of jthe West where Arthur and Mor- 
dred slay each the other, the devastation of the realm, 
and the final misty glimpse of a magic barque borne 
over the sea to Avalon. 

IV 

The fate which is roote<| in personal ity was surely 
never more fully expounded than in this complex 
scheme of an and retribution. Arthur, Guenevere, 
Gawain, and Lancelot, reap alike the harvest of that 
character which is destiny. There is no unmerited 
sorrow here, falling pointlessly on the guiltless, as in 
Tennyson's version of the old story, — a version which is 
fortunately losing its hold on enthusiasm. The law of 
causation works firmly, steadily, and profotmdly; and 
dose analysis reveals delicate balancings and adjust- 
ments, by which, despite the seemingly chaotic weaving 
of the mediaeval pattem, every instinct of poetic jus- 'X 
tice is satisfied. 

Arthur, as foretold by Merlin's dark hints, suffers 
for his early lawlessness, and thereby the whole easily 
unmoral sdieme of conduct which exists unrebuked 
in the earlier phases of this romance, and in much 



352 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

mediaeval literature, receives its condemnation. He 
has sinned half-unwittingly, and for the most aggra- 
vated and reptdsive feature of his deed he is hardly 
to be judged responsible. Yet the very carelessness 
which makes it possible for him to be the father of 
^ Mordred witnesses to a wild civilization and a casual 
idea of relationships. Lancelo t, however, product of 
a more highly evolved and more conscious stage of 
ethics, suffers more cruelly. His wrong-doing and his 
pvmishment are both on a higher level; and he is racked 
less by material catastrophe than by anguish of the 
heart. As for Gawain, h e represents, as has been seen, 
the survival of what in previous times had been the 
only code of heroic honor, into a period on which a 
new and better code had dawned. He commands our 
sympathy in his wavering between the two; but he 
knows the last code to be the truer, and in discarding 
it he sins against light. Through these diverse sins is 
the realm of Logres destroyed. For the most cruel 
feature of the tragedy is the illustration it .affords of a 
stem social law; our sins do not react in injury on otu:- 
selves alone but undermine the civilization which 
perhaps we would give our Uves to guard. 

The ideal ^^duxalry has two types of ad versary; 
those without its pale, whether Romans, Paynims, or 
bad knights at large, and those within, pledged by its 
vows, who betray its shelter by their false emphases or 
partial assimilations. The first type does not give 
much trouble, after the early years. It is the second 
that proves fataL Chivaliy is .dfistcoyed, not from 
with9ut but from within. 

>• Plain black evil, lurking at the heart of it, is repre- 
sented by Mordred, product of sin from the beginning. 
Moixlred like the other knights swore in the great 



\ 



THE CATASTROPHE 353 

yearly Pentecostal vow to "flee treason. " .1 But his 
place might be with the archtraitors, Brutus, Cassius, 
and Judas, ground by the jaws of Satan in Dante's 
nethermost and frozen Hell. In a nation or a heart, 
treachery always stalks, waiting its moment to pounce 
and to destroy. Mordred's figure is a very simple 
one however, and as has been said Malory does not fed 
any necessity of dwelling at length on him. 

The more insidious wrongs, that poison chivalry 
at the roots, are' wrought by men who are not intrinsi- 
cally bad at all, but who err from a false sense of rela* 
tive values. The sins of the chief characters are due, I 
not to anything bad in the standards that they follow, 1 
but to a partial emphasis, and a failure to grasp the 
chivalric ideal in its wholeness. Eveiy one of them, 
with the exception of Mordred, clings to an allegiance 
good in itself — ^but clings to that only. Even Lancelot, 
whose soul unlike that of the others is open on every 
side, denies his king and his God: 

" His' honor rooted in dishonor stood, 
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true/*' 

It is not enough to respond to the loyalties: one must 
also reconcile them. 

Thus it comes to pass that the conclu sion o f jhe Morte 
Darthur presents, not merely the tragic death ol Arthtir 
and his queen, but the death of the ] N/[iddle Ag^- 
The epoch witnessed a great experiment in living; and 
it failed, through the ancient failure to harmonize 
factors good in themselves but evil if stressed in isola- 
tion. The Hellenic ideal of moral and intellectual 
sjrmmetry was beyond the mediaeval range. The only 
solution that the age coxild offer was a confession of 

'TennyBoa. 



354 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

defeat, — ^the only substitute, an extreme asceticism, 
which, though men were unaware of the fact, contra- 
dicted their ideal because it was treachery to life itself. 
Galahad is as responsible as Mordred, or as Lancelot, 
for the destruction of the Table Rotmd* In one way or 
another, every character fails to keep the vow of "the 
high order of knighthood,'' for not one succeeds in 
"fleeing treason": wittingly or unwittingly, each in his 
turn betrays the fullness of truth. 

V 

So sets the mediaeval day; yet a light shines through 
the shadows. The last book leaves us, not distressed, 
but calm, our eyes fixed on the horizon of those wide 
waters over which Arthur has vanished. Mature 
criticism prefers the rendering of these final scenes in 
Malory to any sentimental modernization. This is 
because it gives, not only a satisfied sense of justice, but 
an outlook toward Eternity. 

Gawain, smitten on the old wound inflicted by 
Lancelot, dies as result of the skirmish in the landing of 
Arthur's troops at Dover: and he repents him full 
knightly and completely: "Had Sir Lancelot been 
with you as he was, " — so he speaks when Arthur finds 
him lying more than half dead in a great boat, — 
"this imhappy war had never begun. And of all this 
am I causer, for Sir Lancelot and his blood . • • held 
all your cankered enemies in subjection and danger."* 
The "q^e" which Gawain writes Lancelot, "Two 
hours and a half afore my death subscribed with part 
of my heart's blood," however absurd from a literal 
point of view, fully reinstates him in our affections. 
It is full, not of vain expressions, but of true penitence, 

' Morte Darihur, ud., 2. 



THE CATASTROPHE 355 

of a love for Lancelot which revives at the solemn 
moment of death, and above all of that thought for 
Arthur and for England in which he and Lancelot 
are one. The last glimpse of Gawain is through 
Arth ur's dre amt — a very old part of the story, — 
where G awai n appears in Paradise, surrounded by the 
ladi^ whom he has succored according to the vow 
whereby Guenevere had botmd him; these ladies have 
received t he grace to bring him to Arthur, that he may 
deliver a warning, — ^true, tEbfigh-gi^en alas in vain, — 
n ot to fight on. the morrow. This delivered, he vanishes 
from ken, but vanishes into peace. 

Arthur does not see Guenevere after his return to 
England. There has long been between these two 
only a political bond. But well and wofully he dies, 
smitten of Mordred, and his passing shall last as long 
as English speech endures. It is part of the usual 
irony of destiny that the battle co mes about by accident 
at the end, — ^the real agent being an jidder, whose 
sting causes a knight to draw his sword against orders. 
The murder of an archduke is also an accident; it is 
useless, in such cases, to shift responsibility from causes 
to occasions. Malory does his work briefly now; 
but every word tells. There is in these pages a quality 
of drearihead and heroic awe which makes the prose 
immortal; and human emotion breaks through the 
rhjrthmic phrase, as where we read how "they fought 
all the long day and never stinted till the noble knights 
were laid in the cold earth.'*' The crisis comes in a line, a 
word: Mordred, who has been leaning on his sword among 
a great heap of dead, receives his death-wound from the 
king, and turns in his agony: "And right so he smote 
his father Arthur,** — what more could there be said? 

> MarU Dartkur, sad., 4. 



356 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Those who were with Arthur at the beginning of his 
career are with him still, — ^Lucan and B«3ivere. And 
so Excalibur is reluctantly thrown into the lake, — ^for 
the glory of the realm is gone, — and the barge draws 
near with the weeping queens. Morgan the mischief- 
maker is M organ the healer at the last; the note of 
Celtic magic, more ancient than all the bells of Christen- 
dom, sotmds in this passing as Arthur is borne away, 
to be tended by her hands and by those of Merlin's old 
love Nimue, in Avalon. Bedivere may find Arthur's 
tomb the next morning in the chapel at Glastonbury, 
and be assured by the one-time Bishop of Canterbury 
that ladies had brought a corpse to burial. But the 
Hope of Britain lives forever, and on that very tomb is 
written, with superb inconsistency, Hic jacet arteurus 
REX QUONDAM REXQUE FUTURUs. Arthur is Icss a man 
,^ than kingship incarnate, and, democracy to the con- 
trary notwithstanding, kingship shall never die. 

Tlie national epic is over, and with the end of it, the 
interest of Geoffrey and the chroniclers had ceased* 
Nor did the prose romances pursue their theme beyond 
this end. Nationally, and materially speaking, the 
Arthuriad closes in failure and is rightly called a Morte. 
The Table Roimd is destroyed, the purpose of its being 
is thwarted, and the Grail has revisited Logres in vairu 
England is no more obedient to the law of Christ than 
before Joseph of Arimathea crossed the sea, or Arthur 
girt him with Excalibur. But there is some littie 
comfort. From the personal point of view, the Chris- 
tian ideal triumphs in every case: 

If we could wait! The only fault's with Time! 
All men become good creatures, — ^but so slow! ' 
> Biowoixig, LfiTMi. 



THE CATASTROPHE . 357 

EachdiaiacterintliestQiy, exceptMordiedtisleftona y( 
higher level, his spiritual victory won. 

As the Middle Ages went on, men had come more and 
more to center thought and love on the supreme 
miracle, on Persons* To compare mediaeval literature 
in the lai^ge with that of Greece and Rome is to realize 
what transformation had been wrought by the Christian 
sshifting of solicitude from State to Soul. In this 
emphasis on the interior Ufe, with its attendant disd^ 
plines, many phenomena have found their source: 
modem psychology, for instance, and the modem 
noveL And under such influences the Arthuriad had 
undergone deep inward change. Arthur is safe in 
Avalon, but the heart still broods over the two who 
have caused the loss of him: Lancelot and Guenevere. 

Lancelot, summoned back to England by Gawain's 
letter, must first visit Gawain's tomb, to pray and weep. 
Thence, regardless of peril, he must ride alone through 
the disordered realm, to seek the rumored nunnery at 
Almesbury, where lives ^'a nun in white clothes and 
black" that was Queen Guenevere. To men of English 
speech, nojqvers* parting can surpass this, — recorded 
in a page and a half of which eaj^'w^^'strikes home. 
Guenevere is last of Malory's people to emerge from 
shadow into reality; but she stands out now at the last 
in a dear and noble light. She has repented with the 
repentance of a queen, and noteworthy insight repre- 
sents her rather than Lancelot taking at the end the 
attitude of renunciation: ^ 

"Therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee 
heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us» that thou 
never see me more in the visage, and I command thee on 
God's behalf that thou forsake my company, and to thy 



358 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

kingdom thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from 
war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee, mine 
heart will not serve me to see thee, for through thee and 
v* me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. There- 
^ fore, Sir Lancelot, go to thy realm, and there take thee a 
wife, and live with her in joy and bliss; and I pray thee 
heartily, pray for me to Our Lord that I may amend my 
misliving."' 

These are no empty words; there is no touch of pose 
in them. She means them entirely, and she refusg 
the 1qc4^'«^s for r^^^\i-^^ TiA begs. For Lancelot, truly 
though he repents, is masculine, and human: "There- 
fore madam I pray you kiss me, and never no more," 
sajrs he. " Nay," said the queen, "that shall I never do, 
but abstain you from all such works.'' Her final prayer 
in dying is that she may never see him again. Here is 
> the last picture shown by the Middle Ages of romantic 
y love. That love was in its day the fairest thing the 
world had known. It was an immense advance on 
the attitude of man toward woman in Greek dajrs or 
Roman ; still more on the predatory attitude not wholly 
unknown even to Malory's pages. It had been one of 
the most important factors in softening and elevating 
the life of Western Europe, it had initiated men into a 
literally new world. Slowly it had risen from sentiment 
and etiquette into a human and convincing passion. 
Now, through the touch of penitence, it lifts itself at 
last into a spiritual purity. Its work is done. 

As for Lancelo t, best and longest loved of mediaeval 
protagonists, his real repentance is illustrated by the 
fact that he has forgotten what really prevented him 
from wiiming the GraiL He says, and believes, in the 
parting from Guenevere, that it was fealty to Arthur 

* liofU Darihur, zxi., 9. 



THE CATASTROPHE 359 

which brought him back into the world: ''For in the 
quest of the Sangreal I had forsaken the vanities of 
l^e world had not your lord been.'*' And it is no 
merely formal device that shows Lancelot in a priest's 
habit at the last. The priestly heart was in him 
always; it conquers at the end. No grief need be spent 
over him as he ''dried and dwined away'' in the hermit- 
age by Arthur's tomb; for he and his fellows, the few 
surviving knights, are exceedingly at peace through a 
great repentance. Bors is with him, having found him 
in his retreat; and Bedivere, who has not left his masters' 
tomb; and within the next half year come seven others, 
mostly those of his House. There is not much to tell 
of the seven years after they "take them to perfection, " 
while their horses — deKghtful touch! — go where they 
would; but seven years is time enough to traverse 
long reaches of the mystic way. Hea ven deals tend erly 
^^^;^j3nH^*^^: ^^ ^'^S hi^i Vy ° ^^^^^ thri ce repe ated, 
bring Giiraevereto her buri^ by Ail^ side. And 
wlieErfie saw her visage in death, "he wept not greatly, 
but sighed," and sung her dirge and mass as a priest 
should do, and he brought her to Glastonbury in pro- 
cession, with an htmdred torches ever btuning, with 
chants and frankincense, and buried her beside her 
lord. In these last pages, especially in Lancelot's 
lament over the graves, Malory recovers that peculiar 
and haunting beauty of phrase, most frequent in the 
Grail books, which seems in him to accompany spiritual 
suggestion: "For evermore day and night he prayed, 
and sometimes he slumbered a broken sleep; ever he 
was lying groveling on the tomb of King Arthur and 
Queen Guenevere."* 
He is not himself to be buried with them,' though he 

' Marte Dartknr, zzi., 9. • Ibid., xn., is. * Cf. p. 133. 



36o MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

fain would be. Long ago, he had made his vow to lie 
by Galahad le Haut Prince, the noble friend of his 
youth, at Joyous Garde; there he had discovered 
his true name, in the very tomb destined to receive his 
body; thither he must return when his hour has come. 
Gently it comes and quietly. It is right natural that 
the Bishop of Canterbury, his fellow-hermit, when ad- 
vised in dreams of his passing, should fall on a great 
sweet laughter, and be ready to tell of angelic hosts, 
bearing Lancelot into Heaven, — natural that "he lay 
as he had smiled, and the sweetest savor about him 
that ever they felt." His bier at least may be the same 
that Guenevere was laid in before she was buried. 

And as his body lies in the choir at Joyous Garde, — 
that castle rich in memories of dolour as of joy, — and 
the priests are at their service, who should come to the 
door but Sir Ector de Maris? For Ector and Lionel 
had not made them priests or hermits. Lionel had 
been slain, while seeking Lancelot, in London; and 
Ector, careless of the fact that he was king across the 
sea, had seven years roamed all England, Scotland, and 
Wales, seeking his brother Sir Lancelot. It is not 
the first time that Ector has arrived where Lancelot is, 
to find himself shut out and exiled where his brother 
keeps high feast. There is no betaking him to per- 
fection for such as Ector, and he does not even recognize 
his old comrades in~the chanting emaciated priests, till 
Bors makes himself known. Then he can only throw 
away his shield and sword and helm, and swoon, and 
weep. But because of the great love he bore his 
brotiber, because of the sheer force of human devoted- 
ness that was in him, it is granted him to pronounce 
the famous Elegy that is the Elegy of a ll true knig ht- 
hood; 



THE CATASTROPHE 361 

''Ali» Lancelot, he said, thou were head of all christian - "^^c ^,^^ 
knights, and now I dare say, said Sir Ector, thou Sir Lance- 
lot, there thou liest, that thou were never matched of 
earthly knight's hand. And thou were the courteoust 
knight that ever bare shield. And thou were the truest 
friend to thy lover that ever bestrad horse. And thou were 
the truest lover of a sinftd man that ever loved woman. 
And thou were the kindest man that ever struck with 
swonL And thou were the goodliest person that ever came 
among press of knights. And thou was the meekest man 
and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies. And 
thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever 
put spear in the rest."' 



This is the end; and Bors and Ector and Blamore 
and Bleoberis go into the Holy Land and die there on a 
Good Friday, fighting the Infidel. At least so says 
the French book which Malory considers "authorized, " 
though he makes an interesting allusion here to English 
books, unknown to us, that say these knights went 
never again out of England. In any case, Constantine, 
Sir Cador's son of Cornwall, is chosen king, and wor- 
shipfully he rules. All is well at the last. Slaughter 
has devastated the realm, and the fair order of the 
Table Roimd is overthrown. This for the sins of men 
and for their blindness. But the greatest craving of 
the imagination is satisfied, for law has triumphed 
and the spirit lives. This English national epic, the 
Morte Darthuff like the French epic, the Song of Roland, 
chronicles defeat. Yet because of its tmf altering wit- 
ness to the victory of justice, and to the eternal in the 
midst of time, all readers can say with old Caxton — 
to whom after Malory chief thanks are due: "Here 

' Morte DaHkuTt zxL, 13. 



362 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

endeth this joyous and noble book." Noble and joy- 
ous indeed, — it is the s wag-song of chivalry . 

And when Arthur comes again, perhaps the quest 
of the Grail will not disparple the Fellowship any 
longer. For men will conceivably have learned that 
the search for spiritual vision leads to no mystic land 
across the sea, but back to Camelot. They may accept 
at last the ideal dimly in the mind of some among the 
dreamers of the old story; they may know it their 
high task to convert the very land of Logres into a 
worthy shrine for the secret sanctities of God. 



^^■^t^ 




PART m 
MALORY AND fflS SOURCES 



afii 



^ 




CHAPTER I 

ICALORT^S INTERWEAVINGS 

A FINAL attempt to appraise Malory's art must be 
based on a comparison of the Morte Darthur with 
the sources from which it was drawn* 

Such a comparison is full of interest, but it calls for 
a caution at the outset. No one can tell how far 
Malory's book is original, and how far it may lean on 
some intermediate source, now lost, in which the 
process of combination and compression had already 
been carried out. After the tremendous expansion of 
romantic material which began in the early thirteenth 
century had spent itself, a cotmter process of condensa- 
tion had set in: compilations, and books of extracts, 
were fairly common, and Malory may have had access 
to one or more. The Marte Darthur is based on many 
long romances, and it is a question whether a simple 
Warwickshire knight would have had so large a ntmiber 
in his library. Dr. Sommer presupposes an undis- 
covered source, resting on some Brut, or imaginative 
history of England, and enlarged to include full treat- 
ment of the reigns of Uther and Leodogan and of the 
Table Rotmd. *'The French book" to which Malory 
frequently alludes may thus have been one solitary book 
of moderate size. One may conjecture that he picked 
it up during his campaign in France ; one may conjecture 

36s 




366 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 



anything! There may have been several books rather 
than one; a passage at the end of Malory's Book XIX. 
rather implies this. Here the author apologises for 
not giving more of Sir Lancelot's adventures, and " over- 
skips great books" of them, on the ground that he 
had ''lost the very matter'' of the Chevalier du Chariot 
— his manuscript being apparently incomplete at this 
point. So " I depart from the tale of Sir Lancelot, and 
here I go unto the Morte of King Arthur," says Malory; 
the use of two volumes at least is clearly suggested. 

And until some definite book which might have served 
as his original shall be forthcoming, there is nothing to 
disprove the assumption that the ultimate labor of 
selection and compression was Malory's own. The 
dispassionate reader certainly receives the impression 
that some one man of great individual genius was 
responsible for the Morte Darthur as it stands. And the 
admirable style, of which no one can rob Sir Thomas, a 
style incomparably in advance of any other the period 
can show, would indicate that Malory may well have 
been that man. 

For the Morte Darthur is unique, not so much in its 
type as in its genius. The fifteenth century was a great 
period of rifacimenti. It invented little or nothing, 
but it delighted in adapting old materiaL Fifteenth- 
century translations are not to be criticized for not 
reaching a modem standard of accuracy, because they 
never aimed at such a standard, bdng content to 
paraphrase or retell in their own way. But if the 
authors evaded the labors of the careful translator 
on the one hand, they almost entirely escaped the ener* 
gies of genuine creation on the other. They transcribed 
languidly, expanding or compressing at will, but rarely 
investing their expansions with freshness or rendering 



MALORyS INTERWEAVINGS 367 

their compressed matter with felicity. In the Arthurian 
field, chaiacteristic examples are afforded by the 
wooden prose Merlin^ translated from the French about 
twenty-five years before the Morte was published, or 
by the hopeless though fairly literal transcripts of 
great prose into mean verse accomplished by Hany 
Lovelich, Malory certainly does not belong in the 
same dass with these authors. 

And if the Marte rises quite above the crowd of 
fifteenth-century transcripts and adaptations in archi- 
tectonic power, — ^to borrow Matthew Arnold's phrase, — 
it differs yet more in plan from the ordinary mediaeval 
method, Slustrated by Chaucer, Gower, or Boccaccio. 
This method placed old stories bodily in some special 
setting, original with the author, — a pilgrimage, a garden 
festival, a series told by a priest of Venus to his 
penitent, visions shown by the god of love or by some 
other master of the revels. The device is effective and 
simple, and literature is always Ukely to revert to it 
from time to time, as in the case of Morris' Earthly 
Paradise. But it does not contribute much to the 
development of a real sense for narrative structure. 
In Gower's Confessio Amantis^ for instance, the setting, 
clogged by garrulous moralizing, has the scantiest 
possible relation to the stories, and *' Genius,'' who 
speaks, even apologizes for dragging in illustrations of the 
Seven Deadly Sins to develop the theme of the Lover's 
devotion. Perhaps only Chaucer has escaped all 
awkwardness and irrelevancy in the use of such a 
method; for in The Canterbury Tales each speaker tells 
a story which throws light on his own personality and 
gains additional point from the narrator, and the 
whole is an integrated work of art. But The Canterbury 
Tales remained half told. 



% 



368 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

The method of the Morte Darihur, on the other haxxd, 
with its ftision of various stories into one, marks a dis- 
tinct advance in structural instinct. The book could 
have been written only when it was. No future 
^'Corpus " of Victorian fiction is likely to attempt a novel 
composed of patches from The Pickwick Papers and 
Vanity Fair^ with interpolated chapters from Tess and 
Adam Bede. But the Marte drew on a tradition which, 
though preserved in numerous works, possessed com- 
mon feattires, and, to a degree, common characters; 
and it condensed this tradition at a moment when 
feeling for integrated and motived artistic work was 
dawning at last. 

Sommer's study of Malory's sources, contained in 
the first volume of his edition (1890), is drawn, so far as 
the prose Lancelot is concerned, from the printed edi- 
tion of 1543. His later reprints from manuscripts in 
the British Museum facilitate comparison greatly, 
although it must not be forgotten that no one of these 
manuscripts presents the precise version followed in 
the Morte Darthur; and it is on the reprints that the 
present study is based. 

The original genius of the author of the Morte is 
primarily evident in his broad principle of selection 
and arrangement. And the first point where personal 
initiative appears is in the choice to begin in medias 
res, instead of following the chief characters from their 
babyhood, as earlier romance had done. There seems 
no reason to accept the frequent statement that Malory 
could not have known the opening portions of the prose 
Lancelot; deliberate choice in the omission of these 
portions must have come in somewhere, whether with 
Malory or with his predecessors. The omission might 



MALORY'S INTERWEAVINGS 369 

have pnx^eeded from nothing more creative than common 
sense, cognizant of the tremendous ground to cover: but 
it has the felicitous result of presenting a complete dra- 
matic action such as is beyond the scope of the biographi- 
cal romances. The necessary tale of Arthur's begetting 
and youth, much condensed, is given; a few paragraphs 
are devoted to the childhood of Tristram. All the other 
characters are introduced in full maturity, as contem- 
poraries gathered around the central person of the 
king, and the action in consequence opens at one point 
as it were instead of returning on itself for successive 
beginnings. 

A good story might have been made from a mere 
condensation of the prose LanceloU But the author 
of the Morte had a wider outlook. His most important 
decision was that in which he determined to draw from a 
variety of sources. The first four books accordingly 
follow the French Merlin romances, which had absorbed 
so much of the old legendary history of Britain. Then 
the author — ^and at this point it is irresistible to call 
Viim Malory — ^broke oflE, to draw the material for his 
fifth book, which narrates the British conquest over 
Rome, from an English poem, the alliterative Morte 
Arthur. Aware that it was time for his hero to be 
presented, he proceeded in Book VI. to condense a few 
selected passages from the prose Lancelot; but he 
resisted the temptation to continue on the lines of 
this romance, and drew from some source unknown 
the picture of chivalry in its prime, the story of 
Gareth-' 

Then came a great decision. Instead of reverting 
to the Lancelot^ which would have been the obvious 
thing to do, he inserted long passages, comprising three 

« Cf. p. 218. 



370 MORTE DARTHXTR OP THOMAS MALORY 

bcx)ks in Caxton*s edition, from a rival romance com- 
plete in itself, the prose Tristram. The advantages 
of this choice are so great that it would seem as if they 
must have been consciously sought. Uncritical sym- 
pathy at this point in the story must be claimed for 
V amour courtois; and the Tristram books present love 
on a stage where it can reign supreme and unquestioned, 
instead of showing it in Arthur's court, where it would 
be instantly recognized as a menace to the realm. 
Ingenious touches throughout the books, moreover, as 
our study has already shown, further the main action. 

The Tristram books occupy almost a third of the 
whole MortCf and even so the author has not cared to 
pursue the story of the fated lovers to the end. It is 
evident that he is interested in them, not for their own 
sake, but as they hold a place in his completed picture; 
and as soon as Palomides is christened, or even a little 
before, the prose Lancelot is resumed, the transition 
being accomplished by a naive interweaving of chap- 
ters from the two sources. Prom this point on, the 
Lancelot^ with one or two doubtful exceptions, furnishes 
all that the author needs, and he f oUows it to the end. 
After the advent of the Grail, the story moves straight 
along the lines of the older romance, though the effects 
are sharpened by free compression, by changes of order, 
and by innumerable firm minor touches bringing out 
into fuller light the emotion more or less smothered in 
the old Prench. 

A closer comparison of Malory's work with this his 
most important source will follow. Meantime, in- 
teresting facts about his general method emerge from 
this brief summary. And the outstanding fact is 
that, by deferring so long as he has done his use of the 
Lancelot, he has effected a complete change of emphasis. 



MALORY'S INTERWEAVINGS 371 

He has replaced an obvious and straightforward story 
in which light is thrown exclusively on Lancelot and his 
friends, by a many-facetted treatment which restores 
Arthur, the great king, to the center of the stage* 
This fact alone would establish a presumption that this 
last stage of compilation, whether written in French or 
English, was accomplished in the British Isles. For the 
English emphasis is almost wholly absent in the prose 
Lancelot; if Walter Map gave this romance its animus, 
his enthusiasm was ptire Norman. The romance ig- 
nores all matter which would tend to the exaltation of 
Arthur, and treats the king as contemptuously as it 
dares, though there is something about the traditional 
figure which prevented even the most alien writer from 
degrading him to the type of Mark. But Malory, 
bound to restore the dignity of his king, renews stress 
on the Arthuriad as the national epic, by narrating the 
circumstances of the birth and accession, which the 
Lancelot had merely assumed. The same result is 
aided by the place which he assigns to the wars of 
conquest. The Lancelot introduced them rather casu- 
ally, late in the story, having forgotten or deferred 
them till they are pointless; and when they appear they 
are so confused with other interests that they command 
slight attention. Malory isolates them and gives 
them emphatic place toward the beginning; his fifth 
book, though curt and lacking in romantic interest, is 
essential to the impression of glorious achievements 
which he desires to convey. 

Another suggestive result gained by the combination 
of sources, is that chivalry is presented in the making 
instead of already made. In the Lancelot^ the hero 
grows up in a realm thoroughly under Arthur's control, 
where the laws and customs of chivalry are an accepted 



372 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS My/VLORY 

and static code; and the sentimentaKty of tome which 
mars the romance may well be due in part to th^ falsetto 
key in which it is pitched, — a key too high to ;;p3aintain 
and subject to no variations. By fusing other narra- 
tives with the Lancelot^ Malory has avoided this 
danger, and has secured an entirely different effect. The 
early books of the Morte show the gradual growth of 
the ideal as it struggles toward self-realization; the 
Tristram books admirably suggest the disorder and 
gross conditions prevalent in outlying regions, con- 
trasted with the "gentilesse" of the Table Round. 
Through these contrasts, Malory gains something in 
which the Lancelot is wholly deficient, an effective 
background for his main action. His world is a world 
of growth and effort, where wider forces and an ampler 
development obtain than could be suggested by a 
picture confined to Arthur's fellowship in its prime. 
For his purpose, the early adventures of Lancelot and his 
relatives, so copiously told in the French romance, are 
irrelevant; and though in omitting them he often 
misses stories very interesting in themselves, they are 
sacrificed without hesitation. 

The piecing, in the English Morte Dartkuff is done 
roughly enough. There are plenty of cracks and 
flaws and no attempt is made to fill the very evident 
joints with literary putty. Transitions give no trouble, 
and minor inconsistencies abotmd. Whether or no 
there are deeper inconsistencies, whether for instance 
the attitude toward the characters shifts according 
to the varying animus of the source-romances, is a 
question open to discussion; at all events, the careless- 
ness in detail is responsible for the fact that the effect 
of compilation sometimes overpowers the effect of 
unity. Yet it is only necessary to gain a little perspec- 



MALORY'S INTERWEAVINGS 373 

tive, in order to find all such carelessness merged in 
the ^ssaeral impression of proportion and design, finer 
thun can be shown by any of the complex romances 
from which the book derives. 



ALORY 
le which 



CHAPTER II 

THE ''MORTB DARTHUR'\AND the prose ''LANCELOT** 

MALORY'S handling of the material derived from 
the Merlin and the Tristram romances would be 
a fruitful subject for dose study. Space however does 
not allow us to pursue that study further here, and 
we must now concentrate our minds on a further 
comparison of the Marte Darthur with the prose 
Lancelot. 

The English Marte uses a very small proportion of the 
material in this French romance. The adventures in 
Malory's sixth book, which opens with Lancelot sle^nng 
under an apple tree and visited by three queens, occur 
when the French Lancelot is two thirds over. They 
are there inmiediately followed by the visit to Car- 
bonek and the begetting of Galahad. Malory on the 
other hand gives a sense of long elapsing time between 
the two series of events; for after the miscellaneous 
incidents in Book VI., which serve mainly to define the 
eminence of his hero, lie inserts the Gareth story and 
all the Tristram interests. During the many years 
implied in these sections of the romance, the figure of 
Lancelot flits across the scene, rather shadowy but 
more and more exalted; till the inception of the Grail 
story finds the reader eager to know more of the pro- 
tagonist and prepared to appreciate him to the fuIL 

374 



COMPARED WITH THE PROSE LANCELOT 375 

^i( The relation before the Quest has been '^intimate but 
&•• indirect"; it now becomes direct and so continues till 
i the end. 

There are however many interesting changes in order 
and detaiL Perhaps the most important is the position 
of the episode of the Charrette, or the Rape of Guene- 
vere. In the English Marte Darthur it will be re* 
membered that this episode occurs after Lancelot has 
returned from the Grail-Quest, between the death of 
Elaine of Astolat and the healing of the wounds of Sir 
Urre; but in the Lancelot^ the story precedes not only 
the Quest, but even the Adventure of the Three Queens 
with which Malory opens. There are advantages in 
both positions. Introduced at an early point, as in 
the Lancelot^ the episode serves to suggest how wild and 
gross were the conditions in the early part of Arthur's 
reign. Introduced later as in Malory, it brings the 
story back with effective dramatic contrast, to the 
earthly sin and passion from which the Quest had vainly 
sought to release the Table Round. Malory does not 
need the story early for he has conveyed his impression 
sufficiently by other means; but he does need to renew 
that impression, or rather to suggest the permanent 
background of lawlessness hdd in check with difficulty 
by the chivaliic code. The episode introduced at 
just this point suggests the futility of the Grail-Quest 
and procures the right tone for the final tragedy. It is 
also in fine rhythmic unison with the poisoning of 
Sir Patrise, the second episode by which Malory stresses 
his impending shadow. Each episode is the occasion 
of an Ordeal of Guenevere, and by introdtlK^g the 
Rape at this late point, the Ordeals are brou^tt into 
close proximity on an ascending scale. Malosy's 
sensitive art could never have introduced an Ordeal of 



376 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

the queen by fire during the early years when her 
regal dignity was unimpaired. 

This is not the only change which helps to make the 
dramatic sequence strong and dear, and to transform 
what in the old romance had been a mere sequence of 
incidents into a motived and progressive whole. Yet 
it must not be supposed that Malory is always superior 
to his source. Sometimes, the old romance has a richer 
romantic tone. The introduction to the Quest, for 
instance, is better handled there; for Malory's eleventh 
book is scanted and hurried, partly perhaps for lack 
of space, partly from the greater difSculty experienced 
by a more so^Jiisticated age in sjmipathizing with the 
story of Lancelot's relations with Elaine of Carbonek. 
The tale of Guenevere's jealousy, of Lancelot's madness, 
is very touching in the older version, and abounds in 
effective and beautiful details. The diild Galahad, 
for instance, is present in an island castle where the 
insane Lancelot is living with Elaine, although his 
father does not know who he is till he is healed by the 
Grail, and ready to depart. Meantime, Perceval is 
introduced, and he and Ector have much the same 
preliminary adventures as in Malory. But the older 
romance, here and during the Quest, has the advantage 
that the story of the characters has already been told 
in full and that they are well known. 

Nothing again could be more charming in the way 
of romantic invention than the incident of the Val Sans 
Retour where false lovers are retained by Morgan le 
Pay, or than the Carole of dancing folk bewitched long 
ago by King Bagdemagus, and finally released by 
Lancelot from their dreary gayeties. Yet the severity 
of Malory's selective principle is justified, for all these 
pleasant matters would be irrelevant to his purpose. 



COMPARED WITH THE PROSE LANCELOT 377 

The greatest loss perhaps is the friendship with Gala- 
had le Haut Prince, that majestic and pathetic 
person who has become a mere name in the English 
Marte. But this figure could not have been introduced 
without weakening both Lancelot's single-hearted 
passion for Guenevere and his relation with Gareth. 
Damon and Pythias must not have mistresses, and 
Lancelot's genius for comradeship is su£Sciently indi- 
cated by his devotion to Gareth, a devotion also essential 
to the catastrophe. The deepening instinct for dra- 
matic economy as narrative matured is well illustrated 
by this omission. 

During the Quest, Malory follows his source more 
closely than anywhere else; when it is over, his superior- 
ity becomes increasingly marked. From the opening 
of Book XVIIL, the successive incidents — ^the poisoning 
of Sir Patrise, the death of Elaine of Astolat, the rape of 
Guenevere, the healing of Sir Urre — show a regard for 
effective sequence, for contrast and relief, which if 
not conscious is all the more surprising, and which is 
entirely absent in the French romance. In particular, 
the healing of Sir Urre, which so beautifully recalls 
the Grail-motif and the religious undertone just when 
these are in danger of being forgotten, enriches the 
English story. The source of this episode is not known. 
On the first advent of Lancelot to court, in the French, 
there is a somewhat similar situation; Lancelot searches 
and heals the wounds of a sick knight. But this 
incident lacks the religious intensity which makes the 
story of Sir Urre so admirable an exordium to the 
tragic climax, and it leads out into a rather absurd 
sequence of events. Obviously, the incident must 
have been found in some version &om which Malory 
worked. 



378 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Malory's last two books have a refiresfaing directness 
as compared with the clogged motivation and uncer- 
tain touch of the French romance. The accusations 
against the lovers are not focused at one point in the 
Lancelot^ but scattered till the effect is feeble. Many 
dramatic opportunities are missed. The scene of the 
brothers debating whether to tell Arthur is not there. 
Agravaine is not killed when he surprises Lancelot in 
the queen's chamber, but later, at the Ordeal, and the 
discovery scene is short and flat. That fine motif, 
the slaying of the unarmed Gareth by Lancelot, and the 
subsequent vindictive rage of Gawain, are merely 
hinted, and treated without finesse. Gaheris, whom 
Lancelot slays, is ''he of the nephews of the king whom 
they of the House of Ban loved more than all others," 
and ^'he had ever loved Lancelot more than any stranger 
knight whom he had known." But Gaheris is armed; 
it is he who strikes the first blow; and in the final 
m616e, it is Ector who strikes off his helmet, although 
Lancelot then cleaves his head. Dramatic waste and 
diffusion are everywhere evident as compared with the 
concentration of the English work. 

The great scenes before Joyous Garde are sadly 
curtailed and flatted in the Lancelot. There is none of 
the superb dialogue beneath the walls of the castle, 
when Guenevere is returned to Arthur at the instigation 
of the Pope, — ^that dialogue which ''made the by- 
standers weep like mad," and produces a like if less 
obvious effect on our own more sober age. It is not at 
this point in the French that Lancelot offers to atone 
for the slaying of Gawain's brothers, but later, when the 
war has been carried over into France.' And then, 

' Lancelot, wt are told at this ixunt, is tweaty-one yean younger 
than Gawain, who is seveaty-dz. 



COMPARED WITH THE PROSE LANCELOT 379 

when Artiiur and Lancelot are fighting across the 
Channel, ^e Roman wars, of all things in the world, 
are introduced. The Ptench romance reverts here to 
the original chronicle tradition, which brings Arthur 
straight home from these wars to the fight with Mordred. 
But in the ampler development, the effect is very bad. 
Malory always slurs his wars ; he has in particular entirely 
dropped out the long struggle, necessary to the full 
epic, by which Lancelot regains his heritage from King 
Claudas. But he could never have made so confused 
a blunder as this. 

In the final portions of the older work, the same 
inferiority is constantly apparent. There are no part- 
ing scenes, whether between Lancelot and Guenevere 
or between Guenevere and Arthur. The serpent, which 
English romance with so fine an irony mentions as the 
occasion of the fatal battle, is absent, and there is a 
painful, almost burlesque tone at times, as in the 
preposterous mode of death of Lucan the Butler. 
Another opportunity is missed in the attitude toward 
Arthur. In spite of the warning at an earlier point 
that the king has not deserved or won the hearts of his 
Tpeople, he appears here as a popular prince, whose 
death is generally lamented, — a finale far less telling 
than Malory's brief bitter touch, that the public for 
the most part held by Mordred, "the people were so 
new-fangle." The English version is less obsessed by 
Lancelot than is the French; it can forget him for the 
moment when the dying king withdraws to Avalon. 
But it is in keeping with the unbroken emphasis in the 
earlier romance that Arthur's last thought there is for 
the friend who has betrayed him. "Ah, Lancelot," 
he cries, "the most valiant man in the world, and 
the best knight and the most courteous save Galahad 



380 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

your son! Would to Jesus Christ that ycni held the 
land of Logres and that I knew it!'*' The cry is 
effective but a Kttle overstrained. Better far is the 
treatment in the English Morte^ where the full dignity 
of the national epic is felt undisturbed, at the moment 
of the passing of Arthur. 

' Vulgate Version of Arthttrian Romances, Sommer, vi., p. 379. 



CHAPTER m 

PARALLELS TO BOOK XVm 

IT win be well at this point to make a more detailed 
examination of some one section in Malory's book, as 
compared with the corresponding portion of other ver- 
sions. A good part to choose is the eighteenth book, 
with the stories of the poisoning of Sir Patrise and of 
the Maid of Astolat; for these stories are found not only 
in the prose Lancelot but also in the middle English 
poem, written at least a hundred years before Malory. 
To place the three forms side by side is to find suggestive 
hints as to the degree in whidi development is due to 
Malory, or may already have occurred before his day. 
Malory's version runs very close to the older forms; 
indeed, the resemblance between his work and the 
poem is so great, extending even to verbal detail, that a 
lively controversy has been waged as to whether or 
no the poem was his direct source. The answer seems 
at present to be n^ative, yet it is diflScult to resist 
the conclusion that although Malory's verdon can not 
be wholly accounted for from the poem, he must have 
had a copy of that work before him while he wrote. 
There is, however, one great diflFerence between his 
telling of the tale and that of both his predecessors. 
He narrates the episodes consecutively; the prose 
Lancelot and the poem alike interweave them, interrupt- 

381 



382 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

ingthe story of the Maid of Astolat togivethestoiyof 
the poisoning, and pausing before the climax of the 
Ordeal of Guenevere for the scene where the dead 
maiden floats down the river. The shading and con- 
trast which Malory obtains from his sequence are thus 
forfeited, though on the other hand a good effect is 
gained by leaving Guenevere in suspense whether or no 
she can secure a champion while the action pauses for 
the burial of Elaine, and the consequent discovery on 
the part of the queen of her foolish tmreason in exiling 
from court the only man on whom she could depend. 

The poisoning, in both the Lancelot and the poem, 
is quite unmotived, and the episode concerning it 
slips out from the causal circle in which Malory so 
admirably holds it. For in Malory, it will be re- 
membered that the attempt to poison Gawain which 
leads to suspicion being cast on the queen, is made by 
dependents of the House of Lamorak, — ^that smolder- 
ing feud which plays so important a part in Malory 
being thus effectively recalled to mind.' In the other 
versions, there is no hint of this connection, and the 
whole incident is accidental. Guenevere makes no 
formal dinner, as in Malory, "to show outward" that 
she favors other knights as well as Lancelot ; she simply 
happens to sit at meat — ^the prose romance says it is 
in her own apartment — ^beside a knight to whom she 
innocently, as in Malory, hands the poisoned fruit. 
The dinner in Malory has much ceremonial dignity, 
and is narrated with pleasant detail, even to Gawain's 
special liking for apples and pears, owing to his being a 
hot knight of his blood. The confusion in which it 
breaks up, the clash and rage, the outbreak of violent 
suspicion, are excellently given. The other versions 



PARALLELS TO BOOK XVUI 383 

miss an this, and replace dramatic condensation by 
lagging narrative. Sir Mador, brother not kinsman of 
the poisoned knight, is not present at the dinner. 
He finds his brother's body later, lying in a chapel, and 
swears vengeance. The ensuing situation is however 
the same in all three forms. Guenevere has driven 
Lancelot from the court, and his kinsmen hold off from 
her in her hour of need. They are in a state of high 
disgust with her, and Ector, in the French, has even a 
prevision of a great war to come between Lancelot's 
men and those of Arthur: '^Vous verrez encore entre 
notre parent^ et le parent6 le roi Artu la grignor guerre 
que vous oncques veissiez, '*' says he, to his friends. 

The queen is impeached, and word of her plight 
spreads through the country. Lancelot privately de- 
termines to rescue her, althougjhin the French romance 
he shows very little enthusiasm for the affair, and even 
apparently believes her guilty ! " Car je sais vrai bien,'* 
he says to Bors, **k ce que j'ai entendu et oi dire que le 
tort en est siens et le droit est en Mador." ' One can 
hardly imagine Malory's Lancelot thinking or saying 
that! Arthur and Guenevere continue their desperate 
entreaties to Lancelot's kin to tmdertake the quarrel; 
but Malory alone has the effective touch of Arthur's 
rebtike to his queen: "'What aileth you,' said the 
king, 'that ye can not keep Sir Lancelot on your side?' " 
That is the sort of addition in which Malory or his 
original shows his genius. Bors in all the versions is 
naturally the one to undertake the quarrel; but he 
speaks plain language to the queen in private. The 
French makes him decidedly sarcastic; in the poem he 
scolds her outright: 

* Vulgate Vermon of Arthtirian Romances, Sommer, vL, p. 253. 
•7M.,TL,p.a63. 



384 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

"'Madame,* he said* 'by cross on rood, 
Thou art wele worthy to be brent; 
The noblest body of flesh and blood 
That ever was yet in erthe lent 
For thy wille and thy wicked mood 
Out of our company is went/ '*' 

The same motif is more delicately used by Malory: his 
Bors would never have told the queen tJiat she "was 
well worthy to be brent/* "Madam," said Sir Bors, 
" now miss ye Sir Lancelot, for he would not have failed 
you — and now ye have driven him out of the country, 
by whom ye and all we were daily worshiped by, — 
therefore madam I wonder how ye dare for shame 
require me to do anything for you." 

The conclusion of the conflict is flat in the earlier 
versions; Malory's Ordeal on the other hand is in the 
grand style. The ceremonial sense in which he is 
rich and the dramatic sense in which he is richer appear 
in every line. In comparison with his treatment, the 
whole effect in both the French romance and the 
English poem appears faint and bltirred. 

The Elaine stoiy is sweetly told in all three versions; 
yet the contrast in handling is even more marked. 
Only Malory mentions the name of the fair maid 
of Astolat. Perhaps she is a little more winning 
in the French than she is in the English poem; the 
twelfth-century tradition of fine emotional analyses 
seems still fresh in these pages, while the fourteenth- 
century poem takes her rather as a matter of course. 
The scenes between the maid and Gawain are charming 
in the French: Gawain makes love to her more than 
half seriously, and she, who is "si avenant" and "bien 

* Marte Arthmr^Two Early Bng. Romanoes, Everyman's, p. 128. 



PARALLELS TO BOOK XVm 385 

taill6e et si bien plesant de totes choses/' talks to him 
with delightful candor. He enoourages her to believe 
herself loved by Lanoelot. She^tellsnofibasintheEng* 
lish poem, where she boasts rather barefacedly of being 
Lancelot's ''leman/' but Gawain returns to court 
convinced that Lancelot has found his fate at last, 
reassures the king, and stirs up trouble with the queen. 
Lancelot, meanwhile, wounded in the tournament, has 
taken refuge with a very superfluous aunt of Elaine's. 
The superiority of Malory's version is manifest in 
many little details, as in the real agony conveyed 
by Lancelot's words when wounded, in contrast with 
the perfunctory remark that his wound is "grande et 
p6rilleuse," and in the pretty scene where Bors leaning 
on his bed tells him the gossip of the court. Elaine 
follows to her aunt's castle, and now, for the first 
time in the French, reveals her love to Lancelot; 
in the poem, she had declared herself on the very even- 
ing of his arrival at Astolat. It is a scene in the best 
French manner, which is very good indeed. The maid 
dresses herself beautifully to appear before her love, 
and approaches her subject daintily. Would not the 
knight who refused to love her be unkind? ''Certes," 
says Lancelot, ''if he were free. I am thinking of myself. 
Were I free as many a knight is, happy should I be if 
you bestowed your heart on me." "How, Sir, is not your 
heart 3rour own?" asks the maid. ''No, it is placed 
where I most rejoice to have it, in no other place could 
it be so well." "Certes, Sir," says she, "better that 
you have told me, for I shall the more swiftly die. 
Had you spoken more ambiguously, you had plunged 
my heart in a languor full of hope and sweetness: it is 
better as it is." 
She tells her brother that she must die for Lancelot's 



386 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

love; and once again she makes her plea, in vain re- 
proaching Lancelot that her death will be a poor 
reward for her brother's devotion. The poisoning 
episode then breaks in; and there is also another episode, 
concerned with a fateful visit of Arthur to Morgan le 
Fay. And when next Elaine is met, she is floating 
on her barge down the river. It is this last scene that 
is most altered in Malory, and altered most for the 
better. Arthur and Gawain are in both older versions 
the two to discover the barge, to read the letter, to 
discuss the situation. Neither Lancelot nor Guenevere 
appears at all. Later, Gawain tells the queen the 
story, apologizing for his former tale of the love between 
Lancelot and the Maid of Astolat: and Guenevere, 
''as wroth as wind," wrings her hands and laments. 
There is a page missing here fxx)m the poem: it may 
have contained some passage between Lancelot and 
Guenevere. In the French romance, he learns from 
her in due time, a good deal later, of the damsel's 
death, and laments it, but merely accepts her apology 
in the brief words: ''C'est dommage, car trop 6tait 
bel. Dame, on mescroit maint preudhomme k tort.'*' 
Nothing here approximates the noble situation in 
Malory, where Gawain quite rightly drops out, the king 
and the queen are the ones to see the barge and read the 
letter, and Lancelot when sent for holds with both that 
fine colloquy every word in which is tense with sup- 
pressed meanings. The Zance^t?/ indeed has not Malory's 
conception of Lancelot's character or mood at this 
point: it ignores the evident intention of the English 
writer to suggest a change wrought in his passion by the 
Grail-Quest, as shown by his constant effort to diield 
the queen and avoid publicity, and plainly says that 
s Vulgiate Version of Arthurian Romanoeai, Sommer, vL« 269. 



PARALLELS TO BOOK XVUI 387 

Lancelot is more careless of discovery than Guenevere 
herself. 

Considering all this loss of opportunity, it is no 
surprise to find that the letter,' veiy gracefully worded 
in all versions, is in the two earlier addressed, not to 
Lancelot, but "To King Arthur and alle his knights 
that longen to the Rounde Table/' The prose romance 
does not even name Lancelot as the cause of the maid's 
death. The poem is at its best in this passage: there is 
tender feeling in the king's words to Gawain as he 
sees "this swete derlynge" Ijring before him, and 
mourns over death's lack of courtesy in removing fxx)m 
the world so fair a thing: the letter is touching, and the 
situation is truly felt. But the finer dramatic possi- 
bilities are quite ignored, and the comparison certainly 
shows the sort of work Malory did on his original, in 
pulling his story together, in eliminating waste detail, 
in enhancing character through telling speech, and in 
touching the whole to a greater delicacy. In most of 
these respects, the poem shows an advance on the 
French prose, but Malory's version is in a different and 
higher category of art altogether from either of the 
others. 



CHAPTER IV 

SOME PHASES OF MALORT'S ART 

A STUDY of almost any other passage fxom the 
Marte Darthur would have the same result. It 
would show the author working with a free hand, 
modifying, suppressing, enhancing, nearly always with 
heightened effect. But it is not only in this intimate 
structural work that the Morte Darthur marks a great 
artistic advance on its sources. Rightly to appreciate 
Malory's art, one must consider other phases of it, — 
notably his use of varying tempo, his handling of con- 
versation, his production of romantic effects, and his 
inimitable style. 

) Nowise has modem narrative made greater artistic 
\ gains than in the matter of acceleration and retard. 
In a well-told story as in real life, the breath comes 
quickly as emotion rises to a climax, but settles into 
slow rhythmic ease in times of calm. Thackeray's 
habitual manner, for instance, is garrulous and con- 
fidential; leisurely analysis, description, and comment 
occupy the greater portion of his books. But this 
manner alternates with such brevity at the dramatic 
nodes that each word seems to do the work of ten, 
so that a paragraph may present and leave behind 
what long chapters have led toward. The great 
Russians, the French, do the same thing when the 

388 



SOME PHASES OP MALORY'S ART 389 

dxama becomes poignant. There is another method, 
less satisfying to either eagerness or delicacy; this is the 
method of the melodramatic school, used by Dickens, 
which elongates the crisis till the reader is defrauded 
of that swift perception outdistancing exposition, 
instinctive at intense points in the story if the link- 
work of transition has been properly done. This is 
not so good a way as the other, but what is worse 
still, is a monotonous movement which neither 
quickens nor slackens. Such monotony is exactly what 
habitually prevails in romance. There is nothing to 
distinguish transition from climax; the stoiy ambles 
along, never changing its pace. 

Almost alone among English story-tellers of the ' 
Middle Ages, if Chaucer be excepted, Malory uses 
change of tempo fully and with fine effect. The, 
general impression in his work is of that large mediaeval 
leisure which affords special gratification to those who 
savor it, nor is anybody likely to accuse the Morte 
Darfhur of overconcentration. But the story can move \ 
very rapidly when it likes. In the earlier books, Malory ' 
is concise because he is eager to get over the ground 
quickly and have done with preliminaries. As soon as 
the romantic interest develops, in the book of Balin, 
for example, or in Book IV., the movement slackens) 
and significant detail appears. In the Tristram books, * 
he draws deep breaths and proceeds at his leisure; 
adopting more nearly than anywhere else the manner 
of his predecessors. There seems no reason why the 
story should ever stop, for it hardly proceeds and one 
cannot stop unless one moves. This old way of escap- 
ing from time into perpetuity has its charm. But it 
must be acknowledged that along here Malory fails to 
compress or expand with any special artistic impulse. 



390 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

He regains himself in the Grail books, which are 
beautifully proportioned, the necessary reduction from 
the original being so planned as to hold Lancelot quite 
firmly in the central light. But it is as the end draws 
near that he achieves the real brevity of the master, 
such brevity as Shakespeare practiced, or Euripides. 
The swift movement in these final books is due to no 
sense of hurry but to the restraint of quickened emo- 
1 tion. The greatest scenes of all have the fewest 
words to spare. At the same time, when action is at 
its height, a pause may add dignity and increase sus- 

ese; as in case of the stately dialogue between Lance- 
and the queen when he is surprised in her chamber 
the knights are battering at the door with "a 
great form'' which they have taken fxx)m the halL 
Malory has always time for the vivid touch that makes 
the whole scene live: note how Gawain "waved and 
foined as he lay," when Lancelot had dealt him his 
death-wotmd. Sometimes the tension is artfully relaxed ; 
sometimes, as in the fighting in France, the agony is 
painfully yet effectively prolonged. Prom the pages 
which narrate the final battle, and the death of Arthur, 
of Guenevere, and of Lancelot, no word could be spared. 
Another secret of Malory's vitality is his handling of 
. conversation. There is a great deal of dialogue in the 
Morte: indirect discourse continually slips into direct, 
as feeling quickens. Malory in this habit is merely 
following his models, for the old Prench romances are 
largely made up of conversation, each character being 
indiscriminately endowed with a marvelous flow of 
words. But there is no individuality of accent in the 
dialogue of the prose Lancelot; the speeches go on 
forever, and anybody might be saying anything. To 
claim for Maloiy that he had achieved the supreme 



SOME PHASES OP MALORY^S ART 391 

artistic miracte of making all his people speak in char- 
acter would be too much; even the finest modem art 
falls short of life, in which no two people ever use 
the same vocabulary or the same cadence. But Malory 
does generally make us feel what sort of a person is 
talking, and what the circumstances are. His hermits 
drone on, catching the authentic accent of the mediaeval 
homily, as anyone can see by turning to their exposi- 
tions in the Grail books: ''And the Castle of Maidens 
betokeneth, — and the seven knights betoken'* — one 
more "betoken,'' and we, like Gawain, shall run away. 
The knights, on the other hand, speak succinctly and 
to the point: "Corsabrin, said Palomides, wilt thou 
release me yonder damsel and the pensel? Then was 
Corsabrin wroth out of measure, and gave Palomides 
such a buffet that he kneeled on one knee. And there- 
with he raced off his helm and said, Corsabrin yield ye, 
or else ye shall die at my hands. Fie on thee, said Corsa- 
brin, do thy worst. Tlien he smote off his head." • • .' 
''Sayest thou that? said the black knight, now yield 
thy lady fxx)m thee, for it beseemeth never a kitchen 
knave to ride with such a lady. Thou liest, said Beau- 
mains, I am a gentleman bom, and of more high lin- 
eage than thou, and that will I prove on thy body."* 

The speech of Lancelot, as is fitting, varies according 
to his mood. When he is making his confession, when he 
speaks to a gentlewoman, when he addresses a brother 
in arms, he finds the perfect accent. But now and again, 
a quick disposition breaks though his courtesies. A 
foolish woman, shooting at random in the woods, 
wounds him ignominiously just when he is straining to 
gain strength for a toumam^t, and Lancelot throws 

> Maloiy, MorU Darihur, Everyman's, z., p. 47. 
•/Wd., vii., p. 190. 



392 MORTE DARTHUR OF THOMAS MALORY 

his usual politeness to the winds: "He hurled up 
woodly, and . . . when he saw that she was a woman 
he said thus, Lady or damosel, what that thou be, in an 
evil time bear ye a bow; the devil made you a shooter/' 
In vain she fusses, apologizes, talks futile femininity; 
"Alas, ye have mischieved me," is all Lancelot will 
say. There is an endearing sort of simplicity about 
Lancelot. Woimded he cries for help: "Then he 
said with an high voice, O gentle knight Sir Lavaine, 
help me that this truncheon were out of my side, for it 
sticketh so sore that it nigh slayeth me." Even with 
Guenevere, he can on occasion be constrained and bitter. 
When she wotdd send him, capriciously enough, to 
the tournament at Winchester, "Madam, said Sir 
Lancelot, I allow your wit, it is of late come syne ye 
were wise." It is noteworthy however that after 
exposure comes, when Guenevere is reproached and 
reviled, Lancelot's scrupulous courtesy returns. His 
dignity of speech throughout the scenes before Joyous 
Garde is wholly admirable. 

These people do not harangue, though they can make 
good speeches at need: they converse, and red blood 
flows through their words. Some men are insolent, 
some gracious and "fair-languaged," some crusty. 
The tone of Arthur is full kingly, though he can stoop 
to coax in his distress, when he appeals to Sir Bors, 
"gentle knight,*' "courteous knight," to do battle for the 
queen. There is real repartee and intercourse. Note 
tiie dialogue between Anglides and her son Alisaunder 
when she swears him to avenge his father; note the light 
chat, full of individuality, between Dinadan, Palomides, 
and Tristram, the interview of Lancelot and Elaine after 
the begetting of Galahad, the talk between Lancelot and 
Guenevere when he enters the castle of Meleagrance, 



SOME PHASES OP MALORY'S ART 393 

his blood still hot from rescuing her. These passages 
and many others could with slight modifications be 
transferred to the stage. Indeed, Malory uses a larger 
amount of dialogue in proportion to narrative than 
much modem fiction. The reason is plain. The 
modem fashion of transcribing thoughts is all but 
unknown to mediaeval literattnre, and the story if well 
told has to develop through a constant flow of vigorous 
conversation. 

. But the style attains vitality in other ways than 
through conversation. The use of detail is rich. To 
give examples would be to quote from every page. 
When Arthur "lightly and fiercely" pulls the sword 
out of the stone, when a "great horse grimly neighed, " 
when Sir Marhaus, wotmded by Tristram, "rose 
grovelling and threw his sword and his shield from 
him,*' when Morgan seeks to loll her husband King 
Uriens and the damsel brings her her sword "with 
quaking hands," when Margawse rebukes Arthtu* 
because he had kept Gareth in the kitchen, "and fed 
him like a poor hog, " when the phantom giant knights 
who guard the Chapel Perilous "grinned and gnashed 
at Sir Lancelot," when Tristram "came a soft trotting 
pace toward them," the tale flashes into life. It 
will be noticed that nearly all these are motor expres- 
sions; Malory sees his people in action, and the long 
descriptions common in early romance, especially in 
verse, are rare. But no poem can convey a more 
romantic impression than the English romance when 
it likes: "Then the king looked about the world," — 
delightful expression ! — 

and saw afore him in a great water a little ship, all appar- 
elled with silk down to the water, and the ship came right 
unto them and landed on the sands. — So they went in all 



394 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

three, and found it richly behanged with doth of silk. 
By then it was dark night, and there suddenly were about 
them an hundred torches set upon all the ades of the 
ship-boards and it gave great Ught, and therewithal there 
came out twelve fair damosels and saluted King Arthur on 
their knees.' 



Pictures are more often suggested than presented, 
however, as in the account of the Valley of Stones, 
of the damosel kneeling half an hour before Abdleus 
in the mire, of the ''little leaved wood near where the 
tournament should be.'' 

Malory's nomenclature is not so fine as that of 
many romances: it can not, for instance, approach the 
extraordinary romantic suggestiveness of the names in 
Perceval le GaUois. Yet HeUawes the Sorceress, Lady 
of the Castle Nigramous, is an interesting person 
though nothing be known of her but hei? name, and 
the English knights. Sir Gilbert, Sir Baudwin, and 
the rest, play their part pleasantly among Fzench 
and allegorical personages. The vocabulaiy is doubt- 
less one source of the book's diarm. It has for the 
modem reader just enough archaism to be racy 
without obscurity: ''Then Plenorious gat his horse, 
and came with a spear in his hand walloping 
toward Sir Lancelot; and then they began to feuter 
their spears, and like two bulls they lashed together 
with great strokes and foynes." The "armyvestal" 
countenance of Arthur, the ''orgulous" cursing by the 
Bishop, the court held "full plenour" are words worth 
while. As a rule, however, adjectives are simple and 
scant, nouns and verbs doing the work. Vigor is won 
by repetition: "For she was false, and the sword and 

'Malory, UorUDarfhw^ iv., p. 97. 



SOME PHASES OP MALORY'S ART 395 

the scabbard were oounterfeit and brittle and false." 
Monosyllables carry many telling passages with hardly 
a break: "No, said she, an thou didst leave that 
sword, Queen Guenevere shouldst thou never see. 
Then were I a fool an I would leave this sword, said 
Lancelot." The habitual movement is ample as it is 
stately. And chief among Malory's assets must be 
reckoned the marvelous cadence of his style; a quality 
more surprising the more intimate one is with medueval 
prose: 

Well, said Balin, syne I shall thereto I am ready, but 
traveling men are oft weary and their horses too; but 
though my horse be weary my heart is not weary, I would 
fain be there my death slKmld be. 

Then Sir Lancelot asked her where he might be harbored 
that night. Ye shall not find this day nor night, but 
tomom ye shall find harbor good, and ease of that ye be 
in doubt of. And then he commended her unto God. 
Then he rode till that he came to a cross, and took that for 
his host as for that night.* 

The music of prose with its controlling laws is still 
imperfectly xmderstood; but the Middle Ages knew 
that such a thing existed. Mediaeval Latin had ad- 
vanced from a metric prose dependent on quantity to a 
rhythmical prose dependent on accent: such can be 
found in many Church fathers, as for instance Ambrose, 
Jerome, Augustine; to give a British example, Bede's 
Ecclesiastical History is written in this way. Prose in 
the vernacular had often been wholly flat, a mere 
series of unharmonized sounds; yet it had also at times 

> See Saintsbury, History of Engfish Prou JRkyUhmt London, 19x3, 
pp. 82-93. 



396 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

caught the law of rhythmic movement from the low 
Latin. The Old English translation of Bede, for 
instance, is rhythmical, jdelding a "cursus" now 
"planus," now "tardus," now "velox." As the 
Middle Ages continued, however, prose knew little 
development. When it was used as an emotional 
vehicle, a usual method was to intersperse, loosely and 
irregularly, lines with scansion of verse or with more or 
less regular alliteration; a method used with effect not 
unpleasing, for example, in the religious meditations 
of Richard Rolle, where an exceeding tenderness 
quickens in him again and again the "canor" which he 
describes as correlative with "calor" in contemplative 
passion.' There is no such introduction of bastard 
meters into the prose movements of Malory, His 
rhythms are prose, not verse.* But the rhythm is 
there, as is immediately evident if such passages as 
those quoted above are compared with the dismal 
absence of inward music in such prose as Chaucer's 
Parson* s Tale. Better still, one may place beside them 
a passage from that other fifteenth-century Arthurian 
romance, the Vulgate Merlin^ almost of the same period 
as Malory, and dealing with cognate matter: 

But above all he coveted the king's daughter, and right 
heartily she him loved, and mused hereon so much that she 
was sore troubled, and fain would she have him to be her lord 
and mate above all those that ever she had seen before, 
and the stories say that she was the wisest lady of all the 

>See Yorkshire Writers: Richard RoUe. Ed. by C Horstxnan'— 
London, 1896, voL i., page vii. 

' "The dominant of Malory's rhythm is mainly iambic, though he 
does not n^lect the precious inheritance of the trodiaic or amphibrachic 
ending, nor the infusion of the trochaic run elsewhere" (Saintsbuxy). 
A three beat foot is very frequent. 



SOME PHASES OP MALORY^ ART 397 

Uoye Bretayoe, and the fairest and the best beloved that 
ever was in the land or country save only Elaine that was 
without peer» that was the daughter of King Pelles of Ly- 
tenoys, of the castle of Corbenic, that was niece to King 
Pescheor, and of the sick king wounded, whereof the name of 
the town was deped Alain de Lille in Lytenors.' 

More than rhythm is lacking to that prose; some 
power of organization must precede harmony. But 
the Merlin forfeits its claim to be literature if 
only by the deadly flatness of the measure. It 
marks no advance on the Parson* s Tale^ adding words 
to words in the same stupid sequence of unintelligent 
speech, unillumined and unvaried. Within Malory's 
flexible prose on the other hand, the rhythms of life 
move obscure but deep. It is sensitive to them as 
waters to the sky or tides to the moon. At times, it 
catches the solemn movement of a liturgical chant, 
as when the sister of Perdvale gives her blood to 
heal a lady; again, the gallop of chivalry on the road 
sounds through it, spiiited and free, or it echoes the 
broken excitements of an arrival or a departure: 

Then Sir Palomides sailed evenlong Humber to the 
coasts of the sea, where was a fair castle. And at that time 
it was early in the morning, afore day. Then the mariners 
went tmto Sir Palomides that slept fast. Sir Knight, 
said the mariners ye must arise for here is a castle ye 
must go into. I assent me, said Sir Palomides; and there- 
withal he arrived. And then he blew his horn that the 
mariners had given him. And when they within the 
castle heard that horn they put forth many knights, and 
there they stood upon the walls and said with one voice. 
Welcome be ye to this castle.' 

« Merlin, B. E, T. S., ii., ch. adv. 

' Malory, Morte Darthur, Everyman's, ii., p. 6i. 



398 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

That is Malory at his plainest. At his best, when 
Arthur mourns over his knights departing on the 
Grail-Quest, when Lancelot and Guenevere part, in the 
Elegy on Lancelot, in the Passing of Arthur, his style 
has quality more rare: 

Alas, said King Arthur unto Sir Gawain, ye have nigh 
slain me with the avow and promise that ye have made; for 
through you ye have bereft me the fairest fellowship and 
the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in 
any realm of the world; for when they depart from henoe 
I am sure they all shall never meet more in this world, for 
they shall die many in the quest. And so it forthinketh 
me a little, for I have loved them as well as my life, wherefore 
it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of this fellow- 
ship. For I have had an old custom to have them in my 
fellowship. And therewith the tears filled his eyes.'. 

That is the true magic of prose, more subtle, one is 
tempted to say, than the magic of poetry, — ^the rise 
and fall as of waves swelling to the break, uneven 
yet harmonic, obedient in flexibility and freedom to 
law deeper than we can discern. Malory's style is 
truly "the man." It belongs to no school, is the result 
of no tradition. It is a gift from above. 

' Malory, Morte Darthur, Everyman's, ii., p. 173. 



CHAPTER V 
CAUsALrry in romance 



nPHE final quality of Malory's art lies deeper than 
^ cadence or diamatic narrative; it is his power of 
suggestion. Through the early part of the Morte 
a sense of hidden meaning is intermittent. It is 
conveyed largely through omens, prophecies, and 
hints of under-rh3rthm in the events. As the work goes 
on, the impression grows, till the whole story seems 
to move to some unheard music from secret places. 
To read it is like watching a complex dance, controlled 
by some orchestra which fails to meet the ear. 

Such qtdckening suggestiveness is the hallmark 
of romance at its conclusion rather than its inception. 
There is hardly a trace of it in the straightforward 
movement of Arthurian chronicles. Nor have the 
French verse-romances much of this quality though they 
inaugurate the romantic tradition. Twelfth-century 
poets did not know that they were writing romance. 
The memories their work enshrines were unconscious, 
and what most fascinates us in them is often what to 
them was mere daily commonplace. Their poems flow 
as brightly as shallow waters over a clear lx>ttom and 
while iridescent lights play through them, one is always 
conscious that the channel is not profound. It deepens 
as time goes on. In the long prose narratives from 

399 



400 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

which Malory drew, the stream of romance has akeady 
its dark currents, its tantalizing half-translucence; 
as Prof. Ker points out, these works with all their 
defects have more romantic quality in the modem 
sense than the poems have.' In Malory, the process 
is complete and one gazes into the flux of life with an 
intuition that its depths are imsounded and its source 
is far. The Marte Darthur is as full as the Faerie 
Queene of those echoes which "roll from soul to soul, 
and live forever and forever." It has more aflSnity with 
Keats and Coleridge than with Chr6tien de Troies. 

This impression of significance is not only conveyed 
by the detail of style, it is inherent in the whole concep- 
tion; one must return at the end of this study of Mal- 
ory to the same characteristic of his art which was noted 
at the outset. A sense of secret intention is rarely 
absent even in the most care-free and ofihand pas- 
sages; beneath the happy spaciousness, the apparent 
rambling, which impart surface charm, the whole story 
moves as Maeterlinck would put it in the shadow of a 
great expectation. And the explanation of Malory's 
heightened art is that the principle of causality has 
taken f uU possession of his mind. 

This principle is more difficult for the romantic 
temperament to grasp than for the classic; for romance 
is bom of conscious release into limitless freedom, 
and in its lighter moments snaps its fingers at cause 
and law. Yet the perception of law, which dominates 
classic art, if less irresistible and f tmdamental than the 
intuition of freedom, is more apparently justified by 
dispassionate scrutiny of the imiverse; and as the scope 
of romance widened to include a complex of human 
destinies, romance had to find this out. It was all 

«C/.p.74. 



CAUSALITY IN ROMANCE 40X 

very well for the dramatis persotuB of twelf th-centuiy 
fancy to live lives light and wandering as the wind, 
controlled only by the pleasant severities of a self- 
imposed code. Slowly, down the centuries, can be 
watched the rising conflict between this intuition of 
freedom and the gradually awakening recognition of an 
inhibiting and governing law. Neither will give way. 
Romance at no point forfeits the fascinations of free- 
dom; it depends on them for its very being. Yet 
more and more it responds to the relentless revelation 
of a universe not governed by caprice but by an in- 
evitable causal sequence. AU noble romance gives 
such response. In Spenser's Faerie Queens the Law, 
however lost sight of in pleasant meanderings, does at 
the end ''bring back all wanderers to a single track'' of 
a moral order. The romantics of the eighteenth cen- 
tury made a reactionary attempt to cast law to the 
winds; and their fantastic work is forgotten. The great 
romantics of the nineteenth century, though they repu- 
diated rule and routine, regained a steady intuition 
of the law to which all seeming freedom must conform. 
In their best work, as in the Ancient Mariner^ the 
principle of causation finds tritmiphant illustration 
in the wildest apparent inconsistencies, and overawes 
by its hidden but all-pervading presence. Probably 
the attempt to depict a universe governed by chance 
will never be repeated, for the race has outgrown its 
childhood, and only childhood can try the experiment 
of freedom uncontrolled. 

Arthurian romance covers the period during which 
Europe was growing up; and the developing recognition 
of causality can clearly be traced in it. In the amor- 
phous mass of the prose romances,the principle struggles 
to emerge; and the study of them throws much light 



402 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

on the slow growth of narrative art; they abound in 
half -realized schemes, all more or less inchoate but 
full of interest if one reads between the lines. Perhaps, 
as was hinted earlier, the use of narrative matter in 
large masses tends automatically to suggest causal- 
ity;' perhaps experience did its work as feudalism 
and Catholicism grew older. In any case, while the 
story expanded through the collaboration of many 
minds, the sense of purpose increased, and sundry at- 
tempts were made to centralize the theme and to 
draw uncorrelated elements into unity. 

But the very process of expansion, going on all the 
time, obscured this other hesitant process; and it is no 
wonder if the popular impression of these romances 
is that of unmotived confusion. The process of con- 
centration had to follow the process of expansion before 
the artistic achievement of Arthurian romance could be 
made dear. In this last process, Malory's work was 
the climax. The chief difference between the English 
Morte Darihur and the older romances is the intensifica- 
tion of purpose. Where it was confused, it has grown 
plain; where it worked blindly, it has come out into 
the light. And the last angle from which Malory's 
work can be appreciated is that which compares his 
plotting with the frustrated attempts at design and 
tmity in the intricate romantic development which 
preceded. 

n 

Arthurian romance abotmds in false starts and in 
miscarriages of intention, and more than one promising 
plan was discarded as time went on. Some works, like 
Perceval le Gallois, while exceptionally fine in detail, show 

'Seepage 183. 



CAUSALITY IN ROMANCE 403 

a maze of cross-purposes. In others, the original inten* 
tion was discarded as the story continued. An instance 
of this type is the Lancelot. As has been aheady 
noticed, this romance shows the disposition to exalt 
the Fx^ench tradition at the expense of the English, 
and to degrade Arthur. From the first, the king is 
bitterly condemned for his failure to help his vassal 
King Ban in Ban's hour of mortal need; Lancelot's 
relations with the queen thus become a sort of Nemesis 
action, and the disasters which befall the realm owing 
to the final rupture with Lancelot would be the just 
judgment on Arthur for his sin. More than one 
emphatic passage in the earlier part of the romance 
scores the king, and points the way to a doom which he 
must undergo in consequence of his wrong-doing. 
The idea is not bad; but it would not blend with the 
traditional story, and before the end it is obscured if 
not forgotten. Lancelot, in the original plan, was to 
find his chief duty in recovering his father's kingdom 
and in punishing the usurper Claudas. This also 
would have been a rounded epic action; it is technically 
performed, and long parts of the romance narrate 
Lancelot's wars with Claudas. But so far as interest 
goes, the sentimental theme, the love with Guenevere, 
has overshadowed everything else and the romance 
gives a completely uncentralized impression. Malory, 
or his source, did well in leaving out the elaborated 
figure of Claudas, and all the intrigue retrospectively 
referring to Ban. 

Another interesting example of ptnpose deflected or 
lost is the figure of Morgan le Fay. In Malory, she is 
a anister and fascinating but ineffective personage. 
Her machinations annoy, but accomplish nothing worse 
than to stir up a little stirface trouble here and there. 



404 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

Indications suggest that she once played a far noiore 
important part, less unworthy of her ancient and evil 
origin, as a Chooser of the Slain or a Celtic war-god- 
dess. Morgan and Merlin come on the scene at about 
the same time, he the protector, she the enemy of 
Arthur; and although in one confused version the two 
are lovers, they are naturally opposed throughout the 
action. Morgan's intentions are always evil; at first 
she even seeks the murder of the king. But after a 
little her purpose focuses on enmity to Guenevere, 
and on the attempt to reveal the hidden corruption of 
the coiut and so to shatter the illusions of Arthur and 
to thwart the divine intent. She is particularly anx- 
ious to expose the sin of Lancelot and the queen. In 
Malory she fails completely. Even in the Lancelot, 
her importance is less than it may have been in earlier 
forms of the story; but she is much more significant 
and prominent, and her wiles play a leading part in 
the causal sequence. For Arthur, who has repudi- 
ated the repeated warnings of Agravaine, is lured in his 
hunting to Morgan's palace, where Lancelot had been 
long imprisoned. The apartment in which the king 
is entertained is adorned with paintings, and Arthur 
as we are naively told knew enough of letters to read 
the inscriptions arotmd these works of art. His skill 
was to his sorrow ; for these paintings had been made by 
Lancelot, who solaced his]_heart in imprisonment by 
depicting on the wall the whole story of himself and the 
queen, just as Tristram in Thomas's poem made statues 
in the forest of himself and Iseult. The paintings 
convince the reluctant king of the lovers' guilt and 
precipitate the catastrophe: Morgan had preserved 
them for that end. Malory drops out this whole diain 
of events, as well as the effective opposition in the 



CAUSALITY IN ROMANCE 405 

Lancelot between Morgan and the benevolent Lady of 
the Lake, Lancelot's godmother, — another personage 
once prominent in the plot. His Morgan is left in the 
air, — a vague, threatening figure, much feared, carefully 
indicated, but in the end wholly inconclusive. 

But the most striking instance of an abandoned plan 
is also the most audacious expansion of the original 
legend : it is the enlargement of scope associated rightly 
or wrongly with the name of de Borron, This enlarge- 
ment transformed Geoffrey's somewhat conventional 
story of a ruler who exalted the glory of England by 
achieving world-empire, but was betrayed at last 
by his own blood, into something quite different. It 
saw in the Arthuriad an attempt to restore harmony 
between earth and heaven; the fulfillment of Sacra- 
mental ideals of perfect sanctity in the political life of 
a great nation. To this end, it drew into a single con- 
cept of eternal life manifest in time, the Table of 
the Last Supper where the apostles were first fed by the 
Pood of Inmiortality, the Grail-table in the wilderness, 
and the Table Round where the great knights rally for 
refreshment as they pursue their work of creating a 
Christian nation. The grandiose idea came late. It 
was perhaps the final effort of the creative imagination 
during the period of vital romantic growth. And it 
could not command conviction. Long before Malory's 
time, that scheme which was to have shown the tri- 
umphant march of mediaeval htunanity toward a 
restoration of its ideal had been deflected and changed 
into a defeat. 

The strongest witness to the change of direction is 
Merlin, for the whole conception of his rdle has altered. 
In de Borron's trilogy, his figure knit the entire scheme 
together. Begotten of a fiend that he may become the 



406 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

instrument of Hell to prevent the restoration of the 
Grail to England, he becomes instead, through his 
mothers' prayers, the instrument of God to protect 
the Round Table, and the Fore-runner of the Holy 
Vessel. According to this carefully motived plan, his 
life would have been triumphant whatever his personal 
fate, for he would have contributed to that final Chris- 
tianizing of the realm on which his strange will was set. 
But in Malory's version, there is no triumph for Merlin. 
The Cassandra r61e is assigned to him, for he under- 
stands the dangers which he is powerless to avert. 
Malory indicates this with light swift stroke when 
Arthur proposes to wed Guenevere. In the Vulgate 
Merlin^ still fairly dose to de Borron's conception, the 
enchanter plans the marriage. His attitude in Malory 
is quite the contrary. He listens in somber mood to 
Arthur's imperious demands for the maiden, warns 
the king covertly ''that it was not wholesome for him 
to have her," and then in a fine touch seeks spiritual 
consolation, "for so he turned his tale to the adventures 
of the Sangraal." Merlin's figure is profoundly sad, 
and his own beguiling becomes a rhythmic symbol of 
the miscarriage of the entire plan he fain would further. 
It can hardly be questioned that he is more impressive 
in defeat than he could be in success. For after all, 
what else than defeat was possible? De Borron's plan 
if successful would have run flatly athwart the most 
tenacious and essential fact in the original stoxy, — the 
overthrow of Arthur and his retreat to Avalon. 

But the failure of Merlin does not mean that blind 
Fate has triumphed or that the devils win the day. 
It only means that romance accepted fact, as it must 
do if it is to retain any veracity at all. What Malory 
did was to turn aside both from de Borron and from the 



CAusALrry in romance 407 

chromders. He rejected alike the faintly-traceable 
dream of a struggle leading to ultimate victory^ and 
the older stoiy of an unmotived and accidental tragedy. 
His verdon transforms the Arthuriad into a Nemesis 
Action, perfectly developed and profoundly satisfying 
to the human craving for justice; and as a result he 
faroui^t the story back to the earth we know. And 
what de Borron's scheme contributed to this final 
form of the epic is of incalculable value* Thevisionofa 
kingdom in which the Mysteries of God are openly 
manifest and protected by the secular arm is beyond 
the compass either of mediaeval or modem belief. But 
the stem recognition that failure in the quest for holi- 
ness means ultimate national disgrace is no less true, 
and Malory's version knows it. All mediaeval writers, 
trained in Catholic disciplines, conceived the will as 
free. The Christian conception of responsibility, not 
the Greek conception of necessity, underlies Malory's 
work; it is no mesh of hopeless circumstance in which his 
characters find themselves. The web which entangles 
them is of their own weaving, and the doom which 
overtakes them, the destruction of the aims they have 
cherished, is the solemn witness to the freedom they 
have enjoyed. If the whole nexus of events reveals 
unrelenting law, the individual characters are never 
conceived as victims, for their choice shapes the events. 
Pate, as romance at its best presents it, is one with 
law because it never falters, it is one with freedom 
because it is self-imposed. 

So the chivalric ideal takes its place among the 
many unrealized ideals of harmony among the forces 
needed to create a perfect manhood or a perfect state. 
Nor is its failure quite complete. Deliberate sin, not 
on the part of enemies, but on the part of those chosen 



4o8 MORTE DARTHUR OP THOMAS MALORY 

and dedicate, overthrows the Table Round. But 
because this sin is less the victory of evil undisguised 
than the result of good loyalties too exclusively followed, 
faith in humanity is greater not less when the book is 
ended. The nation is destroyed, but the individual 
is rescued, and though the modem seeker for the 
Grail cannot rest in this result, it is a partial triumph 
which sufiSces to reconcile the soul to art and life. 
Romance may never again oflfer the simulacrum of 
freedom afforded by a long tether and ample space for 
wandering as it did in the days of its youth; but it can 
give more. For romance is the offspring of Christian- 
ity, and Christianity knows that to a sinful race there 
is one life only whidi ensures the freedom of the sons 
of God. It is the life of penitence, — and on the note of 
penitence, therefore on the note of hope, the Arthuriad 
concludes. 

The ideal of narrative art has been defined by a good 
critic as ''epic fullness of life within the limits of ro- 
mantic form," or "the recovery of the fuller life of 
epic for the benefit of romance."* This ideal, he 
goes on to say, was never attained in the Middle Ages 
though many mediaeval writers seem to be making 
their way toward it. The contention of this book 
is that Malory has attained the ideal. There can be 
no question of the "fullness of life" within the Morte 
Darthur^ and this fullness is redeemed from romantic 
inconsequence and raised to epic dignity by the all- 
pervading sense of purpose, which binds the broad 
conception into unity. Malory's is a winding road 
which moves in great curves imder varying skies; but 
in his farthest wanderings into seemingly irrelevant 
[ * W. P. Eer, Epic and Romance, p. 355. 



CAUSALITY IN ROMANCE 409 

regions, his sense of direction is never lost. And in 
consequence it is hardly too much to claim that the 
MorU Darthur is the most important single book 
produced in England during the Middle Ages. Chaucer 
is indubitably a greater genius than Malory: the 
schools of Langland produced more penetrating writing 
on one special line. Certain poets, notably the author 
of Sir Gawaine and The Pearl, have perhaps surpassed 
Malory in charm. But no other book so carries the 
weight and force of a whole epoch, crystallized in the 
alembic of the imagination, and emerging in its im- 
mortal part alone. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 



4" 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Note: The following simple lists and tables suggest 
only works easily accessible to the English reader who has 
no desire to become a specialist. Monographs and maga- 
zine articles axe rarely mentioned, and references with 
few exceptions are confined to works in English. 

EETS, Early English Text Society. STS, Scottish Text 
Society. AEMR, Ancient English Metrical Romances. 

PARTI 
CHAPTER I 

GENERAL REFERENCES 

Encydopadia Britannica, eleventh ed. 

P. W. Cornish: Chivalry, Social England Series. New 

York, 1908. 
M. Edwardes: Summary of the Literature of Modem 

Europe. London, 1907. 
J. Lewis Jones: King Arthur in History and Legend. 

Cambridge, 1811. See also chapter in Cambridge 

Hist, of Eng. Literature. 
W. P. Ker: Epic and Romance. 1897. 
M. W. Maccallum : Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Glas- 
gow, 1904. 
H. Maynadier : The Arthur cf the English Poets. Boston, 

1907. 
Gaston Paris: Medicspal French Literature. Temple 

Primers. 

413 



414 BIBLICXJRAPHY 

L. A. Paton: Studies in Fairy Mythology qf ArAurian 

Romance. Boston, 1903. 
J. Rhys: Arthurian Legend. Oxford, 1891. 
G. Saintsbury: Flourishing of Romance and Rise cf AUe- 

gory. New York, 1897. 
W. H. Schofield: English Lit. from the Norman Conquest 

to Chaucer. Ch. v. London, 1906. 
H. L. D. Ward: Catalogue of Romances in Ae British 

Museum. 1883-1910. 
J. L. Weston: King Arthur and his Knights. Pamphlet. 

London, 1905. 
Note : Fuller bibliography may be found in Schofield. 



CHAPTER n 

MYTH AND CHRONICLB 

A.Nutt: Celtic and MedujBoal Romance. Pamphlet. Lon- 
don, 1904. 
The Mabinogion. Tr. by Lady Charlotte Quest. Notes 

by A. Nutt. Everyman's Library. 
Ivor B. John: The Mabinogion. Pamphlet. London, 

1904. 
Gujss: Six Old English Chronicles. London, 1901. 
Geoffrey of Monmouth: History of the Kings of Britain. 

Everyman's Library. 
Wage and Layamon. Arthurian Chronicles. Everyman's 

Library. Layamon. Ed. by Sir Frederic Madden. 

London, 1847. 
R. H. Fletcher: Arthurian Material in the Chronicles. 

Harvard Studies, 10. 
A. C. L. Brown: The Round Table before Wace. Harvard 

Studies, 7. 
See also Dictionary of National Biography on Geoffrey and 

Layamon. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 415 

CHAPTER ni 

nSNGH VBSSB KOXANCBS 

Maiib db Pbancb. Ed EL Warncke» Halle, 1900. Tr.^ 
Four Lais of M. de Franco^ J. Weston, London, 1904. 
Satn Lais of M.de France^ E. Rickert, London, 1901 : 
French MedicBoal Romances^ Everyman's Library. 

CHK&nEN DB Troibs. Ed. W. W. Foerster. TV. Every- 
man's library, Eric and Enide^ W. W. Comfort (includes 
everything except the Perceval). W. Newdl, King 
Arthur and the Table Sound (Paraphrases). Boston, 

1897. ^ 

W. A. Nbilson: Origin and Sounee of the Court of Love. 

Harvard Studies, 6. 



CHAPTER IV 
fbench vbssb komancbs iconUnued) 

G. Scboefpbblb: Trislan' and IsouU: a Study of the 

Sources. London, 1913. 
J. B£dibr: Le Roman de Tristan. Paris, Soc. des Andens 

Textes Fzansais, 1902-1905. Le Roman de Tristan el 

Iseui (a retelling). Paris, 1900. Eng. tr. by F. Sim- 

monds. Phila. and London, 1910. Also by Hilaire 

Belloc, Portland, Me. 
E. MuRET. Le Roman de Tristan, par Bdrotd. Paris, Soc. 

des Andens Textes Fzansais, 1903. 
J. L. Weston: Story of Tristan and IseuU. Abridged tr. 

of Gottfried von Strassburg. London, Nutt, 1902. 
J. L. Weston: The Quest of the Holy GraU. London, 

I9I3. Gives account of de Borron. 
Note: See W. P. Ker, Epic and Romance, for good general 

study. 



4i6 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

CHAPTER V 

FRENCH PROSE ROMANCES.* THE GRAND SAN GRAAL 

W. P. Ker: Epic and Romance. 

H. O. Sommer: Vulgate Version of Arthurian Romances. 

Carnegie Inst. Washington, 1909-16. 
E. Hucher: Le Grand San Graal. 1868. 
Harry Lovelich. Early Hist, of the Holy GraiL Ed. 

EETS, D. Kempe. 
J. L. Weston: • The Quest of the Holy Grail. 
The High History of the H. Grail. Tr. by Sebastian 

Evans. Everyman's Library. 

CHAPTER VI 

MERLIN romances 

Merlin. EETS. Ed. by Henry B. Wheatley. Introduc- 
tion by Wm. M. Mead. This is the prose Merlin in 
English, version of the French "Vulgate" Merlin. 

H. O. Sommer. Ed. Vulgate Merlin. 1894. 

J. L. Weston. The Legend of MerKn. Vol. xvii., 2-30, 
Dictionary of National Biography. 

CHAPTER VII 

LANCELOT ROMANCES 

J. L. Weston : The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lake. Lon- 
don, 1901. 

Paulin Paris: Les Romans de la Table Ronde. Vols. 
3, 4, 5. Good and full summary of the prose Lancelot. 

H. O. Sommer. Pr. Vulgate Lancelot. Carnegie Inst., 
Washington, 1909-16. Vols. 3-5. 



BIBLICX5RAPHY 4^7 

CHAPTER Vra 

UWXXLR ENGLISH ROMANCES 

J. E. Wells: Manual of ike Writings in Middle English. 
Yale University Press, 1916. 

A. H. Billings: Middle English Metrical Romances. 
New York, 1901. 

J. L. Weston : Chief Middle English Poets. Boston, 1914. 

J. L. Weston: Romance Vision and Satire. Boston, 1912. 

C. S. Baldwin: Introd. to Eng. Mediaval Literature. 
Longmans, 1914. 

Arihoure and Merlin. Ed. K5lbing, Ldpsic, 1890. Partial 
tr., Weston Chief M. E. Poets. 

Ywain and Gawain. Ed. Ritson, AEMR. Partial render., 
Weston, op. cit. A. C. L. Brown, Ywain, Harvard 
Studies, 8. 

Sir Tristrem. Ed Scott, 1884, Kolbing, 1882, MacNeill, 
STS, 1886. 

Libeaus Desconnus. Ed. Ritson; London, 1802. Elaluza, 
Leipsic, 1890. Mod. version, Weston, Sir Cleges, 
London, 1902. Schofield, Studies on the L. 2)., Har- 
vard Studies, 4. 

Sir Launfal. Ed. Ritson, reprinted 1891. 

Sir PerceoeOes of Galles. Ed. HalliweU, Thornton 
Romances. Morris, Zehnscott Press. Weston, Le- 
gend of Sir P., 2 vols., London, 1906-9. Griffith, 
Sir P. of Galles, Chicago, 191 1. 

Joseph of Arimathea. Ed. EETS. 

History of the Holy Grail. Lovelich. EETS. D. Nutt: 
Studies in ihe Legend of the Holy GraU. London, 1888. 
D. Kempe, Legend of the H. G., EETS. 

Morte Arthur. Thornton MSS. Ed. Mary A. Banks, New 
York, 1900. Tr. Everyman's Library, Two Early Eng. 
Romances. 

Le Morte Arthur. Harleian MSS. EETS. Everyman's 
Library. Op. cit.. Riverside Literature Series. 



418 BIBLICXJRAPHY 

Lancelot of the Lath. Ed EBTS. 

Awnters of Arthur. EcL Sir F. Madden, Syr Gawaym. 

1839. 
Gawain Romances. Ed. Sir P. Madden, Syr Gawaym. 
J. L. Weston, Legend of Sir Gawain^ London, 1897, 
1900. Sir Gawain and the Grail Castle, London, 1903. 
Gawain and the Green Knight, ed. Madden, EETS. 
Tr., Weston, in prose, London, Nutt, 1898; in verse, 
Romance, Vision and Satire, Boston, 191a; G. L. 
Kittredge, A Study of Gawain and the Green Knight, 
Cambridge, 1916. Monograph, J. R. Hulburt» reprint 
fr. Mod. Philology, sdii. 

PARTH 

CHIEF EDinOMS OF 7HB MORTB ARXBUS 

Caxton: 1485. Seven black-letter editions between Caxton 
and 1634. 1816: Robert Soathey; 1817: Th. Wright; 
1855, 1856: Sir E. Strachey; 1868 (Globe ed.); 1880: 
H. 0. Sommer. Reprint of Caxton; 1888*1891 : 3 vols. ; 
1894: Ed. J. M. Dent. Introduction by Ptof. Rhys. 
Illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley; 1893-94: Temple 
Ed., ed. by Israel GoUancz, 1898, 1906: Everyman's 
Library; 1910: The Medici Society, ill. by W. [Rus- 
sell Flint. 

TABLE OF MALORY'S SOUBCBS 

Books I.-IV. : Merlin Romances. 

Mostly from the ''Suite" known in the unique Huth 

MSS., L, 8-18, from the "Ordinary " or Vulgate JkftrZw. 

Last chapters of Book IV. known from Malory only, 

as the Fr. MSS. is imperfect. 
Book v.: MorU Arthur, Thornton MSS. 
Book VI. : French Prose Lancelot. 

Chs. i-ii from Vulgate Lancdot; 13-18 from un* 

identified source. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 419 

Book Vn.: Source Unknown. 

BookB Vin.-X.: Ptxm Tristan. 

X., ai.-28, are from The Proflkecies rf Merlin. 

Books XI.-XVII.: French Ftose Lanceht; The Quest of the 
Holy Grail. 
XII., ii~i3> ^1^ from li pnaa JViftanf but from no 
version known* 

BookXVIIL: 

Exact source uncertain. M*s version runs dose to 
M. B. poem, Morte Arthur^ Harleian MSS. See dis- 
cussion stunmarized, Brace's ed. of this poem. Som- 
mer's conclusion seems reasonable that M. had before 
him both the poem and some version of PL. 

Book XIX.: French Prose Lancelot. 

First part of Rape of Guenevere episode may be from 
another source. Source of chs. 10-13 unknown. 

Books XX., XXI.: French Prose Lancelot, La Mart au roi 

Artus. 

Not very dose in the final scenes. The parallels to 

the English stansaic Marte show that Malory used 

some version other than that W6 know. 

Note: See» for relation of Malory to the prose Tristan 

romances, Somxner's Studies on the Sources, p. 281 seq. 

PARTin 

See Sommer's Studies on Ae Sources, Le Morte Darthur, 
London, 1891, iii. Also Weston, The Legend of Sir 
Lancelot du Lake, London, 1901. 



INDEX 



Abelleus, 394. 

Ablamar of the Maisbes^ 203. 

Acquitaine, 3B. 

Adams, Heniy, 46. 

i£neas, 20. 

jEneid, 77, 148. 

iCschylus, 184. 

fsop, 149. 

Aglovale, Sir, 224, 271, 272, 341- 

Agravaine, Sir, 115, 139, 223, 224, 

955> 3I5» a33r 334> 535> m 

339, 340. 378, 4<4- 
Agrestes, 97. 
Alain de LUle, 397. 
Albion, 20. 

Alexander, Cng, 163. 
Aleyn, 96. 
Alice La Beale Pilgrim, or La 

Beale Alice, 236, 237, 330. 
Alisaunder le Chphdun, Sir, 236, 
^ 237, 330, 392. 
Almesbury, 357. 
Ambrose, 395. 
Ambrosius, lOI. 
Amiloun, 134. 
Amis, 134, 

AncteniMannerf 504, 40Z« 
Androcles, 63, 149. 
Angevins, 28. 
Anglides,332. 
Anguish, King, 329. 
Annowse, 254. 
Arabian Nights, 92, X03. 
Aries, 201, 202. 
Aciosto, 2^9. 

Arnold, Nlatthew, ia, 63, 367. 
Arthoure and Merhn, 102, 143, 

146, 148. 
Arthur, King, 4, 5, 6, 7, 12, 13, 

14. 15. 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 

24. 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 31. 32, 

33, 34i 35, 39> 4^, 49, 54, ^5, 75, 



76, 78, 79» «o» 84, 95» 96, 99, 

100, lOI, 102, lOd, 106, no, III, 
112, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 
125, 130, 131, 132, 133, 135, 136, 

138, 139, 141, 143, 148. 149, 150. 
152, 154, 157, 158, 159, 160, 
161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 
167, 168, 173, 177, 185, 186, 
187, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 
194, 195, 196, 197, 200, 201, 202, 
206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 212, 215, 
216, 219, 223, 225, 226, 228, 229, 
233, 234, 241, 244, 248, 250, 251, 
253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 262, 
263, 266, 268, 270, 272, 275, 276, 

277, 279, 302, 309, 3I3» 314, 318, 
319, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 327, 

329. 33i» 332, 334» 335» 33^, 339, 
340, 342, 343, 344, 345, 34^, 347, 
348, 349, 350, 35if 353, 354, 355, 
356, 358, 359, 362, 369, 370, 371, 
372, 375, 378, 379, 380, 383, 386, 
387, 390, 392, 393, 394, 398, 403, 
404, 406- 

Arihunad, 10, 22, 23, 42, 59, 60, 75, 
85, 103, 122, 124, 158, 164, 183, 
184, 212, 223, 264, 265, 309, 
310, 314, 325, 336, 350, 356, 357, 

^ 371,405.407,408. 

Augustine, St., 83, 395. 

Auniers of Arthur at the Tame' 
wathelan, IA4, 148, 160, 167, 169. 

Aurelius Pendragon, 105. 

Avalon, Vale of, 23, 28, 32, 59, 84, 
85, 166, 189, 351, 356, 357, 379, 
406. 

Avaron (see Avalon), 80, 84. 

Avowing of Arthur, The, 144, 145. 

B 

Bacon, 336. 

Bagdemagus, King, 48, 50^ Zio, 
208, 297, 325, 376. 



421 



422 



INDEX 




Bidaa, Sir, 195, 196, 199, dte. 
Balm, Sir, 195. 196, 197, I9«» «» 

300, 30I, 205, 220^ 253, 262, 289, 

296, 297, 389, 395. 

an. King, ixi, 118, 125, 126^ 131. 
.211,215,378.41^ 

V 142. 

dwin, ^, 394. 
Beatrice, 267, 297. 
Beaumai&s, 22O9 221, 224. 391. 
Beattvaif, I2. 

B^er, i/L Jotepb| 56. 
|«div(B«, iL 13, 23, 75, 356. 3S9. 
Bedwi (see Bedivere}^ 15. 
Bel Ineonnu, Le^ 218. 
Belloc, Hilam. 56. 
Benwick, Land of, 209, 348. 
Beawtff, 29, 35, 307. 

53i 54. 55» 56^ 61, 23a 



Black Knighty 222. 

Black Prince, 161. 

Blaise, loj, 

Blamore de Gania, Sir, 224, 361. 

Blancheflour, 286. 

Bledhericus (see Br6ri), 53. 

Bjepberis, 224, 234. ^35, 361. 

Blihia (see Bi^ri), 53. 

Blodwenn, 1%. 

Boccacdo. 367. 

Bohort, Sir (see Bon), 331. 

de Borran, Robert, 59, 60, 61, 78, 
80, 99» 102, 103, no. III, 157, 
405,406,407. 

Bors, Sir, 123, 125, 126, 127, 139, 
188, 216, 224, 271, 372, 374, 383, 
384, 385, 387, 388, 389, 390, 391, 
393, 398, 399, 301, 303, 3". 317. 
319, 329. 330, 334* 34i» 344* 345* 

^ 359, 36c^ 36i» 3«3f 384t 385. 392. 

Brandon, St., 93. 

Brangjmne, 5^ ^31. ^3Si^» ^«. 
Br€n (Bledhencus or filihis), 53. 
Breuse Sans Piti^ Sir, 339. 
Breonor, Sir, 335, 341. 
Bncntt, Feast o^ 33, 173. 
Bridal rf Triermain^ Z52. 
Briok. Forest of, 107. 
Britain, 5, 20, 22, 23, 28, 6x» 81, 
83. 85, M, 95. 96. 100, 14X. 167, 

Britisk isles, 5, 23, 55, 61, 82, xoi, 
X43, 144, 177. 353. 371. 



Britidi Mttsenniy 77. 3^8. 

Britoosy 28, 29. 

Brittany, ^ 

BroceUande, Forest of, lox, X09. 

Broiis,96. 

Bruges, 125. 

Brutus, 20, 353. 

Buxgundiaiis^ 28. 

Bysaatium, 66. 



Oulor, Sir, 25, 361. 

CaerS o n, 193. 
Calveriey, 143. 
Cambio of Perugia, xi. 
Cwnek>t, 7, 79, 97. 101, 188, 199. 

204, 353, 353. 354. 255. ;>56, 357. 

373, 376, 379, 313, 313, 3^ 3^1. 

362. 
Cunille, 132, 133. 
Canterbury, 83, U, mo. 
Canterbury, Archbunop of, 190, 
^351.356, 360. 
CanterbwyTaleSt 367. 
Caiados, King, 113, 194, 3^ 339. 



cDU: 



267, 271,994, 300, sM- 
Cardok, Sir, 331. 
Cofduimo, 144, 218. 
Carle ol Carlisle, 144. 
Carlisle, 347- 
Cassandra, 406. 
Cat ol Losanne (Lausanne), 6, 

1x3. 
CalkoUe Bneychpmdea, S4. 
Gaxton, 6, 177. 178, 182, 303, 361, 

ciiWna,90,98. 

Champagne, Countess of, 47. 

Chanaan, 97. 

Chariot, Cnevalier du, 366. 

Chanson de Roland, 46. 

Charlffnagne, 4, 2X, 236. 

Chartres, X2. 

Chaucer, 29, ^6, 63, 70, X43, 144, 

X46, 149, 367, 389. 396, 409. 
Oiester, X42. 

Chestre, Thomas, X44, 151. 
Chevalier an Lion. 42, X44, 149. 
CheeaUer de la CharreUe, 42, X2a 
Chevalier Malfet, 27a 



INDEX 



4^3 



ChOde Roland, t^ 

Chretien de T^roies, 13, 15, 36, 41, 
42, 43» 44* 45> 46, 47» 52, 53. 55> 
60, 61, 70, 74. J^ "1, 123, 131, 
144, 148. 149. 154. 156, 169, 172, 
180, 213, Mif 222, 227, 325, 326, 

327 f¥^ 
Christabd, 72. 

Christian {PUpim's Progress), 49. 
Christianity, 8t, gd, 95. 
Church of En^Uuid, 84, 88. 
Qaudas, King, 76, 125, 126, 127, 

139, 140, 141, 209, 379» 403- 
Qaudin, 141. 
Clig^ 120. 

CUmd of Unknowing, The, 9a 
Coleridge, 64, 400. 
Colgrevance, 71, 289, 33a 
Colombe, 197, 199, 252, 
Conmums, House (tf, 192. 
Omfgssio Amands, 367. 
Constans, 33. 
Constitatine, Sir, 331, 361. 
Corbenic, 98, 139, 140, 397. 
Cornwall, 23, 142, 234, 245, 251, 

254. 255. 257. 327. 336. 361. 
Corsabnn, 391. 
Cote (U)Mal TaiU^ 180,236, 317, 

_ 329. 331. 
Cradok, Sir, 163. 
Crtey, 160. 

Crusades, 9, 35f .^» 266. 
Crwdelx, 97. 
Cumberland, 145, 167. 
Cure Hardi, Le,*33i. 



Dagonet, 112, .24a 

Dame de Malehault, 136. 

Damon, 377. 

Dante, 36, 60, 78, 89, 92, 156, 264, 

267,297,353. 
David, 126, 296, 299. 
Denmark, 300. 
De Nugis Curialium, 122. 
Diana, 20, 107, 127. 
Dinadan, Sir, 239, 240, 245, 248, 

257,3^.392. 
Dionas, 107. 

Dolorous Garde, 133. 
Dolorous Stroke (see Dolorous 
Garde), 198, 200, 297. 



Donne eke kanno inUttetto d^amore, 

36. 
Douglas, Gavin, 148. 

Duncan, King, 339. 
Durham, u. 

B 

EoHy Htslory (see Lestorte, also 

Grand San Graalijj^, 143. 
Eartkly Paradise (Wm. Morris), 

EcdenasHcal History (Bede), 395. 

Ector de Maris, Sir, 139, 141, 224, 
256, 267, 271, 272, 282, 283, 284, 
285, 287, 290, 292, 295, 305, 309, 
329. 334. 34lf 344. 360, 361. 376, 

„ 378. 383. 

Edda,35. 

Edward, Sir, 331. 

Edward II., 149. 

Edward III., i6a 

Edward IV., 177, 178. 

Egyptians, SS. 

Elaine of Carbonek, 117, 134, 140, 
269, 270, 294, 316, 333, 376, 392, 

3?7. 
Elaine the lily Maid of Astolat, 

164. 320, 321, 322, 328, 375. 377. 

381, 382. 384, 385, 386. 

Queen, 125, 126, 209. 

Eleanor of Aoquitaine, 24, 38, 41, 

Ehezer, 117. 

Elin le Blank, 288. 

England, 3, 5, 6, 9, 18, 20, 24, 25, 
27. 29, 34, 37, 38. 42, 43. 56. 
58, 61, 63, 77. 78, 79. 80, 81, 82, 
88, 90, 92, 94. 96, 99. "5. "3, 
124, 142, 143, 145, 146, 147, 149. 
150, 158, 159. 160, 161, 164, 168, 
173. 179. 187, 189, 192, 212, 266, 
275. 278, 300. 302, 3". 3". 336, 
347. 348, 349, 350, 355. 356, 360, 
361, ^65, A05, 406, 409- 
North of, 143, 145, 151. 

Enide, 45, 66, 69, 153. 

Ephesus, 14. 

Epinogris, Sir, 236^ 239, 240^ 248, 
249, 330. 

Erec, 15. 34. 45. 66, 75, I53, 218. 

Erec (Erec and Enide), 42, 46, 47, 
66, X20, 222. 



424 



INDEX 



Ettafd,ao8. 

Euripides, ^55, 39©. 

Europe, 4> 6> 9. 26, 35, 38. 47, 7a, 

73. 76, 266, 335, 358, 401. 
Evaine. 126. 
Evalacfa, King, 87, 88. 
ExcalitNir, 195, 396^ 356. 



Faerie Queene^ 400^ 401. 
Pe]ek>liL338, 333. 

Petcamp6» Xbbesr d, 84. 

Plorenoe, Sir, 17a 

Polk-MigratioQ, 35. 

PorcaixB the Pirate, 93* 

Pra Angelioo, 89, 397. 

Prance, 4, 5, 6, 35, 42, 63, 76, 82, 

123, 12A, 146, 147. 160, 173. Mh 

336, 346, 378- 
PranoB, St., I79i 
Preine, La, 68. 
Prench Revolution, 8. 
ProiflBart, 345, 346. 



Gaheris, Sir, 115, 139, 202, 203, 
22 j, 224, 238, 255, 334, 338, 339. 
340, 341. 34i». 347. 378. 

Gainiar, 24. 

Galafres, Kbtig, 98. 

Galahad, 4, 21, 24, 75, 79, 80, 82, 
87. 90. 93. 95. 96, 97. 98, 102, 
122, I2A, 139, 140, 157. 158, 
. 167, 186, 188, 199, 263, 265, 
266, 267, 268, 269, 271. 273, 275. 
276, 277, 280, 281, 282, 283, 
284, 285, 286, 289, 290. 292, 293, 
294. 295. 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 
301, 302, 303, 305, 309, 310, 31 1, 
3", 313. 316, 321. 329, 332, 335. 
336. 354j 360,. 374. 376, 379. 392- 

Ic Haut Prince, Duke {see 

Galehault), 319, 33^ 377; 
— ^Sir (son of Joseph of 
Ariznathea), 140. 

Galehault le Haut Prince {see 
Galahad le Haut Prince), 112, 
122, 125, 134, 135, 136, 137. 138. 

Galeotto, 214. 

Galleron of Norway, Sir, 331. 

Gareth, Sir, 115, 153, 187, 217, 
218,219,220,221,222,223,224, I 



225. 238. 255, 27B, 3«^ 309. 3x7. 
322,323.329.334.338,339.340^ 
341. 342. 343. 344. 347. 3^9. 374. 

^377.378.393. 

Garlon, 197, 198. I99- 

Gaul, 22, 83, 1^9, 141, 300. 

Gawam, Gawame, Sir, 5, 6, Ii» 15, 
23. 25. 34. 44. 50, 69, 70, 75. 80, 
loi, 110, 112, 114, 115, 117, 119, 
120^ 123, 139, 144, 146, 152, 154, 
160, i6x, 164, 166, 167, 168, 169, 
170, 171. 172, 173. 185, 186, 188, 
189, 194, 195, 199, 200, 20I, 202, 
203, 204, 207, 208, 210, 21 X, 2x3, 
2X8, 2x9, 223, 224, 225, 238, 255, 
272, 280, 28X, 282, 283, 284, 285, 
287, 288, 290, 292, 300, 305. 309. 
3154317. 318, 319. 323. 325. 329. 

330, 331. 334. 335. 336, 337. 338, 

339. 340, 341. 342. 343. 344. 346. 

347. 348. 349. 350, 35i. 352. 354. 

355. 357. 378, 382, 384. 385. 386* 
^.387, 390, 391. 398. 
Str Gawatn and ike Green KmgK 

145, 146, X48, 158, x6x, 169, X70, 

X71, 409. 
Gaynor, 164, 166. 
Geoffrey of Monmouth, 3, 4, 5, 6, 

12, X9, 20, 2X, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 

27, 28, 29, 3X, 32, 34, 58, 81, 99, 

100, loi, X02, X03, 120, 122, 191, 

2x1,346,356,405. 
Geraint, 13, 15. 
GerairU and Enid^ 42. 
Giant of Mont St. Michel, 21, x6o. 
Gilbert, Sir, 394. 
Gildas, X8. 
Ginglain the Fair Unknown, Sir, 

170. 
Glastonbury, 84, 97. 138, 189. 35i. 

GodmtM de Legni, 47. 
GolairusandGawain, 144, 160, 170 
Golconda, 74. 
Gounore (see Guenevcfe), xoo, 

"3. "4- 
Gone (land of), 329. 
Gottfried von Strassbuis, 4. '2, 

56, 60, 6x, 67, 151. I8CH 230. 231, 



_ 232, 253. 240. 
Govemail, 2 



Gower, 36; 



231, 



r, 367. 
GraH (see Holy Grail), 4, 7, 22, 44, 
59. 60, 78, 79, 80, 8x, 82, 87, 88, 
89. 94. 95. 96, 98. 99. 102, 103, 



INDEX 



425 



104, 106, io8y iz6| 117, 122, 124, 
139, 140, 141, 143. 144. 155. 
156* 157. 158. 159, i«. i«I. i«6. 
188, 19A. 197. 198. 200, 217, 238. 
250, 258, 259, 261, 2d2, 263, 264, 
265. 266, 267, 269, 270. 271, 272, 
274. 275. 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 
281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287. 
290, 291, 292. 295, 298, 300, 301, 
302, 303. 304f 305» 306, 308, 309, 
311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 320, 338, 
329» 330, 332, 337f 35^, 358. 359. 
362, 370, 374. 375. 376, 377. 3», 
390, 391. 398. 405. 406, 408. 

beareiB, 04. 134. X40. 

Charch, 82. 

keeper, 98. 

jdiigs,9^ 

knight, 42. 

l^ead, 13, 153, 158, 159. 

264. 
■ ■■ pfocessiOQ, 67. 

quest, 59, 60, 79. "2, 126, 

155. i«6. 236, 263, 264, 

375- 
romance, 84. 

Btofy, 82, 158, X59. 

wmner, jf, 79. 80. 102^ 155, 

Grand San Graalor Early Htstory 
of the GraU (see Lestarie), 80, 81, 
82, 84, 85, 99, 100, loi, 103, III, 
123, 144. 148, 158,266,276,287. 

Green Kmght {see Gawatn and the 
Green Knighl), X44, 171, 172, 
222, 316. 

Grddawl, 15. 

Grisdda, 68, 69. ^ 

Guanhamaia, 23* 

Gudrun, 30, 68. * 

Guenevcre, 6, 28, 36, 44, 47. 49. 
65, 71. 76, 78, 84, 100, 101, 113, 
115, 119, 120, 121, 122, 124, 125, 
128, 130, 131, 132, 133. 134. 136. 
137. 138, 140, 141, 148, 164, 165, 
167, 169, 189, 200, 201, 204, 208, 

212, 213, 214, 215, 228, 229, 235, 
236, 238, 245, 255, 257, 258, 263, 
269, 270, 275, 280, 293, 301, 314, 

315. 316. 317. 318, 319. 3^0, 321, 
324. 325. 3^6, 327, 328, 333, 334, 
335. 339. 341. 342. 345. 350, 35i. 
355. 357. 359, 3^0, 375. 376, 377. 
378, 379, 382, 383, 386, 387, 390, 
392, 395. 398, 403, 404. 406. 



Gueoevere (half-dster of Queen), 

1x4, 133, ^10. 
Guido Guiniceili, 36, 249. 
Gutgemar, 39. 
Guingbun, 152. 
GuyoQ, Sir, 67. 

Gwalchmai (Gawain), 15, x68. 
Gwawiddur £Iyrvach« 15. 
Gweohwyvar, X7, 
Gwynn, X5, X7. 
Gwythyr, X5. 



Haficaxnaasus, X4. 

Hanv le Pise Lake, Sir, 33X. 

Hastinra (Battle of), 20. 

Hebes le Renomm6, Sir, 329, 344. 

Helena, X94, 211. 

Hellawes, 394. 

Hengist. 2X, xoo. 

Heniy XL of England, 24, 37, 38, 

84. 
Henxy VI., X78. 
Heorot HaJl, 3X. 
Hervor, 68. 
Hippocnw, 93- ^ . 
Htstorta Regum Brtiamm^ 3, 4, 5, 

X9, xoi. 
Holy Grail (jsu Grail). 
Holy Land, 361. 
Horsa, 21, 190. 
Hrothgar tbie Generous, 3a 
Hucher, 81. 
Huchowne, X59. 
Hudent, 240. 
Humber, 123, 133, 397. 



Idylls rfaeKini,2ss. 

Ireland, 17, 22, 54, 105, X32, 191, 
241, 242, 243, 244, 251, 300, 329 

Ironsides, Sir, 317, 330, 331. 

Isabel, Queen, 345. 

Iseult, 22, 36, 39, 53, 54, 60, 67, 75, 
134. 153, l8i, 214, 227, 229, 230, 
231, 232, 234, 235, 240, 241, 242, 
243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 
251, 252, 254, 255, 257, 259, 262, 
270, 300, 310, 324, 342, 404. 

Isle de Joie, 140. 

Isolt (or Iseult) of the White 
Hands, 54, 55. 57, 241. 



426 



INDEX 



laoad (see Isealt), i8o, 229. 

la Beale (see Iseult), 186, 

2n, 228, 231, 235, 247, 
248,249,25a 



ack the Giant Killer, 21. 

acopone da Todi, 90, 147* 

erusalem, 59, 82, 85, 93, 266, 278. 

oseph of Anmathea, 80, 84, 85, 
87, 88, 89, 94, 97, 140, 145, 146, 
158. 269, 271, 274, 275, 285, 296, 

299f 3<»i 356. 
Joseph of Arimathea^ Merlin, 

Perceval (trilogy), 59, 80, 102, 

143. 158. 
Josephs. 89, 90, 98. 
Joyous Ganie, 134, 138, 230, 246, 

249, 342, 344. 348, 360, 378, 39a. 
Joyous Isle, 270. 
Judas, 206, 353. 
JitdUh, 29, 30. 



Kay, Sir, 5, 15, 23, 49, 69, 70, 71, 
75, 76, 112, 173, I9^f I93t 208, 
219,224,324,329. 

Keats, 65, 146, 181, 40a 

Kehydius, &, 242. 

Kent, 14^, 264. 

Ker, Professor W, S^ 36, 69, 74, 
85> 400. 

Kilhwch, 16. 

KUwch and Olwen, 13. 

Kittredge, Ptofessor, 172. 

KnigJa of the Cart, 47, 213, 325. 

Knight's Tale (Chaucer), 70. 

Kondwiramur, 286. 



Lady of the Fountain, The, 13, 17. 
Lady of the Lake, 126, 128, 129, 

130, 132, 138, 196, 197, 405. 
LambeweU, 144. 
Lamorak, Sir, 223, 236, 237, 238, 

246, 255, 256, 271, 280, 317, 318, 

325. 3«9, 33O; 337, 344, 382. 
Uamour Courtots, 50, 51, 52, 226, 

228, 234, 235, 236, 244, 257, 325, 

370. 
Lancelot, Sir, a, 21, 24, 34, 35, 36, 

42, 44, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 68, 



69, 75. 76, 7«. to, 97, 9«, 100. 
loi, 102, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 
X2I, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 
129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134. 135, 
136, I37f I3«, 139, 140, 141, I57» 
158, 159, 164, 166, 167, 168, i8o, 

186. 187. 188. 189. 200. 209. 211, 
2x2, 213, 214, 215, 217, 219, 220, 
222, 223, 224, 225, 227, 229, 230, 
236, 238, 240, 241, 244, 246, 247. 
248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 256, 
257, 258, 263, 267, 269, 270. 271, 
272, 273, 275, aSo, 281, 282, 283, 
284, 285, 288, 290, 291, 292, 293, 
294, 295, 299, 300, 301, 302, 305, 
309, 3", 314, 315, 316, 317, 319, 
320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326. 327, 
328, 330. 331, 332, 333, 334, 335, 
336, 337, 338, 339, 340. 341, 343, 
343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348, 349, 
350, 35if 35s, 353, 354, 355. 357, 
358, 359, 360, 361, 366, 371. 372, 
374, 375, 376, 377, 378, 379. 383, 
384, 385, 386, 387, 390, 391, 392, 

, 393, 394. 395, 398, 403, 404. 405. 
Lancelot, 78, 112, 114, 118, 122, 

124. 125. 135. 139. 145. 167. 212, 
214, 263, 327, 330, 337, 368, 369, 
370, 371, 372, 374. 375, 378, 381, 
382, 386, 390, 403. 405. , ^ 

Lancelot du Lake (see Lancelot), 

165, 166, 199, 228, 263. 
Lancelot oftheLaih, 121, 143, 166. 
Lanceor, 197, 199, 252. 
Langland, 409. 
Lanzelet (see Lancelot), 121. 
Launfal, Sir (see Lancelot), 39, 

152. 
Launfal, Sir, 144, 148, 151. 
Lavaine, Sir, 333, 392. 
Layamon, 5, 6, 24, 25, 27, 29, 31, 

32, 33, 34, 35, 102, 103, 142, 159. 
Lay of Yonec, 41. 
Le Bel Inconnu, 144. 
Legenda Aurea, 226, 261. 
Le Liore Darthus^ 78. 
Leodof:an, X14, 365. 
Lestorte; or The Early History of 

the Holy Grail, sometiQies called 

Le Grand San Graal, 78. 
Libeaus Desconnus, 'The Fair 

Unknown," 144, X47, 152, 153. 

218. 
Libellus MerUni, loi. 
Lile, Lady, 195 



INDEX 



427 



LiHth, 153. 

lily Maid ol Astokt (sm Slalae). 
Linet, ai8, 219, 321, 222. 
Lioad, Sir, 125, 126, 127, 137, l%% 
141, 212, 224. 271, 285, 288. 289, 

3^, 330, 344» 345, 36a 

Lioaes, 221, 222, 225, 226, 229. 

Livre des Cent Ballades^ 227. 

Llandoff , Archdeaoon of, 2a 

Logres, 21, 35, 50, 90, 94, 103, no, 
112, H4, 117, 123, 135, 139, 164, 
188, 189, 192, 253, 255, 266, 267, 
270, 274, 278, 299, 301, 302, 310, 
312, 318, 331, 347. 352, 356, 362, 
380. 

Lohot, 112. 

London, 38, 58, 142, 146, 192, 327. 

Lot, 22, 23, 1 1 1, XI4, 202, 223, 224, 
238. 255, 318. 

Lovd, Sir, 170. 

Lovelich, Harry, 81, 85, 103, 143, 
148, 158, 367. 

Lucan, ftr, 331, ^36, 379. 

Lucius (Emperor^ 211. 

Luf amour, 155. 

M 

MabinopcH, 12, 13, 18, 19, 156. 
Macbeth, 210, 339. 
Macdonald, Ge^ge, 79, 207. 
Mador de la Porte» Sir, 3x8, 330, 

383. 

Maelduin, 86. 

Maeterlinck, Z50, 40a 

Mahomet, 87. 

Maid of Astolat (see Elaine). 

Malehault, Lady d, 122. 

Maleore, Sir Thomaa (see Malory), 
177, 178. 

Malory, Sir Thomas, 3, 4, 6, 12, 
17. 32. 34. 47. 50. 53. 54. 58. 61, 
73. 74. 77. 78. 79. 80, 87, 100, 
103, 104. 105, 106, III, 112, 113, 
114. 115, 116, 117, 123, 125, 127, 
130, 131. 132, 133. 138, 139. 140, 
142, 143, 144, 145, 153, 164, .169, 
170, 172, 173. 177. 178, 179. 180, 
181, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 189, 
190, 191, 192. 193. 195. 196, 198, 

200, 201, 202, 203, 209, 210, 212, 
213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 
222, 223, 225, 227, 228, 229, 230, 
231, 232, 233, 236, 237, 239, 240, 
241, 242, 244, 250, 252, 253, 254, 



2S9, ato, 263. 265. a66, 968, 270. 
276, 277, 280, 281, 285. 286, 303. 
3". 315* 3l8t 3X9» 320, ^2^ S»5» 
326, 328, 329, 330, 331, 333. 334. 

335* 336, 337. 339» 340, 343. 345f 
348. 350, 353f 354. 355. 357. 358» 
359, 361, 365. 366, 367, 368. $69. 
370, 371. 37a, 374. 375. 376, 377. 
378. 379. 381. 382, 383, 384, 385, 
386, 387. 388, 389, 390b 39X. 393. 
394. 395, 396, 397» 398. 399, 400, 
402,403,404,405,406^407,408, 
409. 

Map, Walter, 76, Z22, 371. 

Maigawae, Qoeen, 195, 223, 238, 

^/55. 393. 

Marnaus, Sir, 2X0, 242, 393* 
Marie de Champagne, 41. 
Marie de France, 37, 38, 39, 4X, 42, 

43. 53. 55. 6z, 65* 68, 144. X5X. 

222, 228, 33X, 
Mark, King, 54, 56, z68, X99, 2x1, 

231. 233. 234. 235. a37. ^38, 24X, 

243, 245, 25X, 253, 254, 255, 257, 

Manok, Sir, 33X. 

Mat0da,267. 

Maximilian, a, 

Meleagant, 48, 49, 5a 

Me^a, 30. 

Mebagrance, 6, 233, 236^ ^38. 325. 
326, 327, 392. 

Melias, 297. 

Meliodas. 226. 

Meliot of Logres, 290^ 331. 

Merlin, 22, 28, 32. 98. 99. 100, XOX, 
102, 103, X04, 106, X07, X08, X09, 
iio, xxi^ XX3, ix(^ XX7, 125, 126, 
X90, X9X, 192, X93, 194, X95, X99, 
200, 201, 202, 209, 2x5, 220, 252, 
26X, 262, 273, 275, 278, 300, 302, 
319, 324, 351, 356. 367. 369. 374. 

Merltn, 78, 79, 85, loo^ 112, 123, 
X33, X43. 1^, 397- 

rt%Bnch), 148. 

Suite de (Huth MS.). 

(Vulgate), 103, 120^ 143, 

396,406. 

Middle Ages, 9, 10, ix, 18, 22, 39, 
43, 62, 64, 67, 75, 79, 8x, 85, 9X. 
94, 106, XX2, X24, 129, X3X, 137, 
138, X49, X52, X56, x$7, 163, 166, 
169, X77. i8x, X85, X87, 2x4, 227, 
228, 230, 235, 256, 260, 26X, 265, 



428 



INDEX 



Middle Aj:e8—(C9fa»»«e4) 
268, 276, 278, 307, 308, 309, 310, 
d35» d53f 357» 358» 3S9» 395> 396, 

Modred, 23, 28, 1x4. 

Montserrat, 266. 

Mordrains, 88, 91, 92. 93, 95, 98, 

Mordre^i20, 132, 139, 141, z6o» 
161, 163, 169, 172, 187, 192, 194, 
262, 334, 338» 340, 348. 349, 35©, 
^ 351, 352, 353» 354, 355, 357. 379- 
Morgan le Fay, 6, 99, xii, 140, 
195, 206, 207, 209, 237, 254, 256, 
261, 356, 376, 386, 393, 403, 404, 

405- 
Morolt (Morholt), The» 54, 210, 

229, 259. 
Moms, William, 36, 146, 152, 260, 

367. 
Morri^6. 

Morrois, Forest of, 54, 55, 230. 
Morte Arthur (alliterative), 143, 

145, I46,:i48. I59» 166, 194, 211, 

369. 
Morte Darthur (Malory), 3, 6, xoo, 

125, 178, 179, X84, 187, 191, 206, 

209, 211, 222, 224, 227, 233, 252, 

254, 261, 265, 279, 290, 310, 312, 

326, 333, 335, 34i» 345. 349, 353. 

356, 361. 365, 366, 367, 36«. 369. 

370, 372, 374. 375. 377. 380, 388, 
^ 389.390,399.400.402,408,409. 
Morte Darthur (stanzaic), 79, 

143, 145. 147, 148, 164, 169, 337. 
Mother JuHaaa, 9a 
Mouiit fiadon, Battle of, 18, 19. 
Moys, 97. 275. 
Myrrdin or Merlin, xai. 

N 

Nasdens, 88, 92, 93, 95, 96, 98, 

XT ^7. 298, 299. 
Neilson, Dr., 228. 
Nennius, 18, xoi. 
Newbold Revell, X78. 
Nioodemus, 80. 
Nigramous, Castle, 394. 
Nimue, 106, 107, xo8, 126, 191, 
^09, 301, 319, 356. 
Norman Conquest, 9, 18. 
Normans, 14, 28. 
Norroway (see Norway), 87. 
Northumberland, 145. 



Norway, 22. 
Nudd, 15. 



Obefge, Eilhart von, 54. 

Olwen,. 16. 

Oliver, X34. 

Orgeluse the Proud Lady, 170. 

Orkney (Gaieth of), 224. 

(Queen of), 238. 

Ovid, 40. 

Ozanna le Cure Hardi, Sir, 324, 

329. 



Pallas, 91. 

Palomides, Sir, 228, 236, 243, 244, 
245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 
252. 253, 258, 263, 272, 317, 322, 

_ 344. 370, 391, 392, 397- 

Pans, 24, 345. 

Paris, Gaston, 43, 46, 56. 

Paris, Paulin, 82, 128. 

Panival, 60, 67, 156, 170, 230, 265, 
267, 26S. 

Parson's Tale (Chaucer), 396, 397. 

Pater, Walter, 207. 

Patrise, Sir, 375, 377. 381. 

Pearl, The, 409. 

Pellam, 198. 

Pelleas, Sir, 208, 210, 262, 319, 

PeUes, the King, X17, 269, 284, 

294, 296, 297, 397. 
Pelhnore, King, 193, 199, 201, 

202, 205, 223, 224, 238, 255, 271, 

285, 298, 318, 336. 
Pendragon, 190. 
Pendrs^onship, 116. 
Perceval, 4, 7, 13, x6, 34, 42, 44, 

75. 79. 80, 102, 114, 119, 153, 

154. 155. 156, 158, 168, 186, 200, 

213, 2x8, 265, 266, 267, 281, 286, 

310, 576- 
PerceM, 44, 45, 61, xio, 169. 
Perceval le GaUois, 12, 76, 86, X12, 

157, 277. 281, 286, 331, 394, 402. 
Perdvale, Sir, 91, 224, 238, 263, 

271, 272, 282, 284, 285, 286, 287, 

288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 

295. 298, 300, 301, 304. 312, 321, 

397. 
Percyvelle, Sir, X44. 145. '53. 156. 

X58. 



INDEX 



429 



.331. 



Peredur (see Perceval), 13, 17, 156. 

Perimones, Sir, 341. 

Perlesvaux^ 157. 

Persant of Iiid» Sir, 222, 317. 

Persephone, 6, 325. 

Pferti«>pe» Sir, 341. 

Pescheor, King, 397. 

Petit-Cm, I53f 240, 241. 

Pettipause of Winchelsea, Sir, , 

Piers, 08. 

Piers ike Plowman, Vision of, 146. 

Pinel le Savage, Sir, 317, 318. 

Plenorious, 304. 

Pompey the Great, 92. 

Pope, The, 345, 378. 

Pnamu^ 160, 211. 

Prince of Hades, 15, 

Prologue (Chaucer), 7a 

Provence, 9, 62, 264. 

Pythias, 377. 



Ragnell, Dame, 169. 

Raoul de Cambrai, 46. 

Ravenna, 80. 

Red Book ofHergesl, 13. 

Red Knight, 154, 155, 222. 

Rembrandt, 297. 

Renascence, 67, 89, 147, 179, 182, 

184, 260. 
Richardson, 69. 
Rience, 103, 194, 196. 
Robert, Brother, 56. 
Robin Hood, 153. 
Rochester, Bishop of, 123. 
Roland, 40, 134. 
Rolle, Richard, 90, 396. 
Roman de Brut, 24. 
Romans, 100, 141. 
Romaunt of the Rose, 226. 
Rome, 22, 82, 83. 84, H3, 163, 195, 

210, 212, 357, 369. 
Roncevalles, 40. 
Roses, Wars of the, 178. 
Round Table (see Table Round). 
Royce, Josiah, 9. 
Rules of Loyal Love, 227. 

8 

Safere, 317. 
Saga, 29, 31, 173. 
Sagramour, Sir, 324. 
Salustes, 91, 92, 93. 
Sandwidi, 347. 



SangiTial, Sangraal (see Holy 
Grail), 201, 208, 269, 273, 282, 
394f 295, 296, 306. 314, 315, 

^ 359. 406. 

Saracen, 87, 95, 97, 155, 161, 243. 

Saracynth, 91. 

Saial^87. 

Saraide, 127, 238. 

Sarr^, 87, ^, 93» 158, 268, 279, 

o ^^? *^' 300, 301, 302, 311, 312. 

Sawle's Ward, ^. 

Sazo Grammaticus, 206, 307. 

Saxons, 22, 100, 102, 113, 114, 132. 

Scandinavian, 56. 

Schofield, Professor, 152. 

Scotland, 22, 26, 121, 132, 329, 336, 
360. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 64, 152, 260. 

S^warides, Sir, 234, 235, 241. 

Selises, Sir, 331. 

Seiaphe, 88. 

Serpent-Kias, Le Fier Baiser, 153. 

Seivause, Sir, 331. 

Shakespeare, 64, 120, 145, 179, 
184, 231, 390. 

Sherwood Forest, 153. 

Ship of Solomon, 93, 98, 297, 304. 

Sigurd, 4, 31, 35. 

Smadoun, 153. 

Solomon, Ki^, 299. 

Solomon s Ship (see Ship of Solo- 
mon). 

Somerset, 142. 

Sommer, Dr. Oskar, 77, 78, 79, 

^365,368. 

Song of Roland, 9, 36, 47, 361. 

Sophocles, 255. 

Sorlois, 112, 125, 133. 135, 137, 

^319. 

Spenser, 43, 67, 182, 401. 

Stabal Mater, 147. 

St. Asaph, 20. 

Stonehenge, 105, 191. 

Story ofOie VoUungs, 35, 307. 

St. St^hen (Minster of), 123. 

Suite de Merlin (see Merlin). 

Surluse, Tournament of, 246. 

Sword of the Strange * 

296, 299. 
Symew, 97. 

T 

Table of the Gxail, 97, 405. 
Table of the Last Supper, 32, 97, 
405. 



430 



INDEX 



Tktble Round (Round Table), a8» 
32. 54* 75. X06. 108, III, 114, 
119, 123, 132, X40, 159, 165, 173, 
185, 187, 189, 194, I95t 200, 206, 
208, 212, 223, 224, 225, 229, 238, 
241, 250, 251, 252, 255, 266, 268, 
269, 275, 276, 289, 290, 301, 302, 
312, 317, 328, 332, 337. 340, 343> 
354. 356, 361, 365» 373. 375» 387» 
405,406,408. 

Templars, 266. 

TennyMi, 18, 42, 43, 64, 107. 114. 
123, 221, 233. 351. 

Thames, 327. 

Tbolomes, 87. 

Thomas, 53. 54> 55t 56^ 57* 60. 
151,404. 

Thomas k Kempis, 279. 

Thompson, Fnmds, xa 

TJopas. Sir, 63, 143. 147. 

Thornton, 159. 

Tintagel, 57. 

Tor, Sr, 201, 202, 204^ 208| 224, 

Tower of Marvels, 97. 

Tristan, Sir (see Tristram), 4, 21, 
39. 42. 53. 54. 55. 5^. 57. 5*, 60, 
67, 68, 69, 75. 79. 99. "9. "o, 
123, 134. 143. 153. 233- 

Tnstam aiw IseuU^ 61, 122. 

Tristram de Leones, Sir {see 
Tristan), 12, 36, 114, 151, 168, 
180, 186, 187, 188, 199, 210, 211, 
213, 214, 216, 223, 224, 226, 227i 
228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 
235. 238, 239. 240, 241, 242, 243, 
244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251 
252, 254. 255. 256, 257, 259, 263. 
269, 280, 299. 310, 324, 330, 334. 
335. 336, 342, 344. 369. 370, 372, 

^^74. 389, .39a, 393. 404- 

Tftsirem, Str, 143. 145. 147. 148. 
150, 151, 152. 

Ttoy, 76. 

Turning Isle, 93. 

Tydlet, 39, 121. 



Ulfius, 19X. 

Ulrich von Zatrilrhniven, 121. 

Una,X49. 



Uriens. Kmg, 42, 329. 393. 
Urre, Sir, 328, 329. 330, 331, 332, 
_ 333, 375, 377. 
Utber Pendragon, 31, 90^ 105, 125, 

190, loi 365. 
U wame les Avoutres, Sir, 208, 2 zo, 

282,290,329.33a. 



Va]]cyrie,6. 
Val Sans Retour, 376. 
Vatican Stance, 11. 
Vespasian, 87. 
Colette, 153, 218. 
Viia MerUn$, lox. 
Vifa i^tMso, 36. 
Vivian, 107. 

V^Ukerwandemng, 15, 326. 
Vortigem, 33, X02, 190. 

W 

Wace, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 33. 58, 
102. 

Wales, 5. 19, 4a. 83, 142, 239. 360. 

Walter Ardideacon of Oxford, 20. 

Warwick, Earl of, 178. 

Wauchier de Denain, 169. 

Wedding, The, 170. 

Westminster Abbey, 177, 327. 

Weston, Jessie L., 82, 120. 

Weyland, 16, 31. 

Wheel of Portane, 162. 

Whitby, 83. 

Widow of £phesus, 15a 

Wife of Bath, 144. 

Wifplais, 144, 218. 

William of Malmesbory, 19, 28. 

Winchelsea, 160. 

Winchester, 142, 350, 392. 

Wolfram von Es^ienbacfa, 4, 10^ 
60, 65, 67, 70, 123, 154, 155. 156, 
170, 180, 230, 265, 267, 268. 

Wordsworth, 74, 143, 303. 

Wygar, 31. 

Y 

Ygralne, 191, 195- 

IW, 43, 47, 63, 7a 

Ywam, Sir, 34, 42, 45, 70, 112, 145. 

146, 148. 149. 150.210. 
riMiJi and GoaNiiii,X44, 149. 



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