The Cambridge Manuals of Science and
  Literature




  KING ARTHUR

  IN HISTORY AND LEGEND




  CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
  London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
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  KING ARTHUR

  IN HISTORY AND LEGEND

  BY
  W. LEWIS JONES, M.A.

  Professor of the English Language and
  Literature, University College of
  North Wales, Bangor

  Cambridge:
  at the University Press
  1914




  _First Edition_, 1911

  _Second Edition_, 1914

_With the exception of the coat of arms at the foot, the design on
the title page is a reproduction of one used by the earliest known
Cambridge printer, John Siberch, 1521_




PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION


This little book is an attempt to trace, in as clear and summary a
form as possible, the origin and growth of King Arthur’s historical
and literary renown, and follows, largely, the lines of a chapter
contributed by me to the first volume of _The Cambridge History of
English Literature_. Although I have had, necessarily, to refer to
much literary matter which is purely mythological, I have not sought
to give any account of the speculations of those who in our own time
have endeavoured to reconstruct and interpret the myths and beliefs of
pre-historic Celtic heathendom. Nor have I made more than the briefest
allusion to the subsidiary legends which, mainly through the agency of
French romantic scribes, came to be associated with Arthur’s name, and
to be included in “the matter of Britain” as it emerged out of the age
of high romance. The book deals, all but exclusively, with King Arthur
himself, as he is known to chroniclers, romancers and poets.

My obligations to particular writers will be found recorded in the
paginal notes. I must, however, express here my special indebtedness to
the writings of Sir John Rhys and the late Mr Alfred Nutt. To Mr Nutt,
in particular, whose tragic and untimely death last year was a grievous
loss to Celtic scholarship, I owe much private help and suggestion.

In one or two chapters of the book--the second and the third, more
especially--I have reproduced, almost _verbatim_, a few short passages
from articles of mine which have appeared in _The Quarterly Review_,
and in the Transactions of the London Cymmrodorion Society.

                                                       W. LEWIS JONES.

  BANGOR,
    _July 1911_.




PREFATORY NOTE TO SECOND EDITION


In this edition a few slight changes and corrections have been made in
the text. The “Additional Notes” at the end of the book (pp. 138-140)
supply a few omissions apparent in the first edition, some of which
were pointed out to the author by his reviewers.

                                                              W. L. J.

  _July 1914._




CONTENTS


                                                   PAGE

  INTRODUCTORY                                        1

  CHAP.

    I. THE EARLIEST ARTHURIAN RECORDS                11

   II. ARTHUR IN WELSH LEGEND AND LITERATURE         37

  III. GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE CHRONICLERS      60

   IV. ROMANCE                                       95

    V. ARTHUR IN ENGLISH LITERATURE                 116

  ADDITIONAL NOTES                                  138

  BIBLIOGRAPHY                                      141

  INDEX                                             143




KING ARTHUR IN HISTORY AND LEGEND




INTRODUCTORY


“It is notoriously known through the universal world,” writes Caxton
in his preface to Malory’s _Morte Darthur_, “that there be nine
worthy” kings “and the best that ever were,” and that the “first and
chief of the three best Christian and worthy” is King Arthur. Caxton,
however, finds it a matter of reproach that so little had been done
in his own country to perpetuate and honour the memory of one who
“ought most to be remembered amongst us Englishmen tofore all other
Christian kings.” Thanks mainly to Caxton’s own enterprise, and to the
poets who have drawn their inspiration from Malory’s book, there is
no longer any cause to accuse Englishmen of indifference to Arthur’s
name and fame. No literary matter is more familiar to them than “what
resounds in fable or romance of Uther’s son.” And yet nothing is
more “notoriously known” than that authentic historical records of
the career of this “most renowned Christian king” are distressingly
scanty and indeterminate. An old Welsh bard, who sings of the graves
of departed British warriors, and has no difficulty in locating
most of them,[1] tells us that “unknown is the grave of Arthur.”[2]
Would that this were indeed the sum of our ignorance! To-day, as of
old, Arthur remains but a shadowy apparition, clothed in the mists
of legend and stalking athwart the path of history to distract and
mystify the sober chronicler. A Melchisedec of profane history, he
has “neither beginning of days nor end of life.” Neither date nor
place of birth can be assigned to him any more than a place of burial,
while undiscovered yet is the seat of that court where knights, only
less famous than himself, sought his benison and behest. It is only
romantic story-tellers, like the authors of the Welsh _Mabinogion_,
who venture upon such positive statements as that “Arthur used to hold
his court at Caerlleon upon Usk.”[3] Geoffrey of Monmouth is, indeed,
even more precise and circumstantial than the professed retailers of
legend, for he actually gives the reasons why Arthur settled his court
at Caerlleon, or the City of Legions--a “passing pleasant place.”[4]
That, of course, is only Geoffrey’s way, and illustrates the genius
for invention which makes his so-called _History_ a work unique of
its kind. The “matter of Britain” is, much more than the “matter of
France,” or even the heterogeneous “matter of Rome the great,” the
despair of the historian.[5] But it is, for that very reason, the
paradise of the makers and students of romance; and, as a result, the
mass of Arthurian literature of all kinds which exists to-day,--prose
and verse romances, critical studies of “origins,” scholarly quests
along perilous paths of mythology and folk-lore,--is ponderous enough
to appal the most omnivorous reader. The Arthurian legend has indeed
been of late, both in Europe and in America, the subject of so much
mythological, ethnological and philological speculation as to tempt the
unsophisticated lover of mere literature to say, when he contemplates
the mounting pile of printed critical matter, that Arthur’s sepulchre,
wherever his mortal remains may lie, is at last well on the way to be
built in our libraries.

There is nothing in literary history quite like the fascination which
Arthurian romance has had for so many diverse types of mind. Poets,
musicians, painters, religious mystics, folk-lorists, philologists--all
have yielded to it. For some people the study of Arthurian nomenclature
is as engrossing a pursuit as the interpretation of ‘The Idylls of the
King’ is for others, while there are those who derive as much pleasure
from investigating the symbolic meanings of the story of the Grail as
lovers of music do from listening to the mighty harmonies of _Parzival_
or _Tristan und Isolde_. All this only makes us wonder the more why so
obscure and elusive a figure as the historical British Arthur should
have become the centre of a romantic cycle which presents so many
varied and persistent features of interest. Even in Caxton’s time, as
in our own, there were sceptics “who held opinion that there was no
such Arthur, and that all books as been made of him be but feigned
and fables.” This is not surprising, when it is remembered that even
when Geoffrey of Monmouth, some three centuries before, gave to the
world his astonishing record of Arthur’s achievements, a few obstinate
critics had their doubts about the whole matter, and one of them--the
chronicler, William of Newburgh--roundly denounced Geoffrey for having,
by his “saucy and shameless lies,” made “the little finger of his
Arthur bigger than the back of Alexander the Great.”[6] Caxton’s way
with the sceptics is ingenuous and short, but it is curious to note
how his preface to the _Morte Darthur_ succeeds, in its own quaint
and crude fashion, in suggesting what are still the main problems of
constructive Arthurian criticism. It will not do, he says in effect,
to dismiss summarily all Arthurian traditions as so many old wives’
tales. They are too widespread and persistent not to have some basis
of solid fact underlying them: besides, the people who believe them,
love them, and write of them, cannot all be credulous fools. Caxton,
in particular, cites the case of the “noble gentlemen” who “required
him to imprint the history of the noble king and conqueror, king
Arthur,”--one of whom “in special said, that in him that should say
or think that there was never such a king called Arthur might well be
aretted great folly and blindness.” This gentleman--of whom one would
gladly know more--was evidently both an antiquary and a student of
letters, and could give weighty reasons for the faith that was in
him. First of all, Arthur’s grave, so far from being unknown, might
be seen “in the monastery of Glastingbury.” Again, reputable authors
like Higden, Boccaccio, and “Galfridus in his British book,” tell
of his death and recount his life; “and in divers places of England
many remembrances be yet of him, and shall remain perpetually, and
also of his knights.” His seal, for example, “in red wax closed in
beryl,” could be seen in the Abbey of Westminster; Gawaine’s skull and
Cradock’s mantle were enshrined in Dover Castle; the Round Table was
at Winchester, and “in other places Launcelot’s sword and many other
things.” Caxton appears to speak in his own person when he goes on to
re-inforce all this by mentioning the records of Arthur that remained
in Wales, and “in Camelot, the great stones and the marvellous works
of iron lying under the ground, and royal vaults, which divers now
living have seen.” Moreover, Arthur’s renown was well established in
all places, Christian and heathen, so much so that he was “more spoken
of beyond the sea,” and “more books made of his noble acts,” than
in England. “Then all these things alleged,” he concludes, “I could
not well deny but that there was such a noble king named Arthur, and
reputed one of the nine worthy, and first and chief of the Christian
men.” Hence he decided in all good faith, “under the favour and
correction of all noble lords and gentlemen, to enprise to imprint” the
Book of King Arthur and of his Noble Knights of the Round Table. And,
in view of Ascham’s famous denunciation of the book as containing but
“open manslaughter and bold bawdrie,” and of Tennyson’s sensitiveness
to the touch of

        “the adulterous finger of a time
  That hover’d between war and wantonness,”

it is well to remember that Caxton held that all that was in it was
“written for our doctrine.” “For herein may be seen noble chivalry,
courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship,
cowardice, murder, hate, virtue and sin. Do after the good and leave
the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renommee.”

Caxton’s preface to the _Morte Darthur_ has here been taken as a
sort of preliminary text, not only because that famous work is, by
general consent, the fullest and the most fascinating presentment in
English of the great congeries of tales that make up the so-called
Arthurian “cycle,” but also because Caxton’s own words, as already
hinted, serve to raise, in a peculiarly suggestive way, most of the
questions with which the critical student of the Arthurian legends and
their origin has to deal to-day. The _Morte Darthur_ itself, it has
become a commonplace to say, remains unchallenged, in spite of its
inconsequences and inconsistencies, the supreme Arthurian “prose epic”
in English. The work is not, of course, “epic” in any strict sense,
but it was issued by Caxton to the readers of his day as pre-eminently
an English _Arthuriad_. Arthur alone of “the Nine Worthies” had not
had justice done to him in his own country. The two other Christian
“worthies,” Charlemagne and Godfrey of Boulogne, had been adequately
celebrated abroad, and Caxton himself had contributed to spread the
latter’s fame in England. Why should the great English “Christian
king” remain unhonoured in his own land? It was, therefore, with the
patriotic object of blazoning the fame of the greatest of _English_
heroes that Caxton undertook the publication of Malory’s book. Now,
the historical Arthur, so far as we know him, is not English at all,
but a “British” hero, who fought against the Saxons, and whose prowess
is one of the jealously treasured memories of the Celtic peoples, and
particularly of the Welsh. By what process of transformation had this
British warrior become, by Caxton’s time, the ideal “Christian king”
of England? And why, again, should he be singled out as pre-eminently
one of the three _Christian_ kings of the world, and his name linked
with “the noble history of the Saint Greal”? Here we come at once upon
one of the disturbing influences in what ought to be a straightforward
record of the doings of a fighting chieftain of early Britain. The
quest of the Holy Grail had, originally, nothing to do with Arthur.[7]
But, by Caxton’s time, the mystic, or religious, element in Arthurian
romance had become so prominent as to make it impossible to think of
Arthur except in association with the “high history” of the Grail. A
further complication meets us when we are told that Malory took his
material for his narrative of the deeds of the paramount English, or
British, hero “out of certain books of French.” Why should Malory so
constantly refer to “the French book” as his authority, and have so
little to go upon that had been written in English, or in Welsh? Why
is it that to-day, after four centuries of diligent search in both
private and public libraries, the amount of extant British literature
of an indubitably ancient date dealing with Arthur’s exploits is so
scanty? For Caxton’s statement still remains substantially true that,
down to the fifteenth century, “the books that had been made about
Arthur over sea,” and in foreign tongues, far outnumbered those that
had been made in Britain. How are we to account for the popularity
which the Arthurian stories thus enjoyed on the European continent, and
for the way in which they became, during the Middle Ages, practically
international literary property?

These are the main questions which have to be answered to-day by
those who attempt to trace the origin and growth of the Arthurian
legends, and they are all suggested in Caxton’s preface. This little
book does not pretend to furnish a final answer to any one of them.
It simply essays to present in a summary and, it is hoped, a clear
form the substance of what is told about King Arthur in history and
legend, together with a brief notice of the development of Arthurian
literature mainly in England. No attempt will be made to trace the many
ramifications of the subsidiary stories which have been grafted upon
the original Arthurian stock. Characters like Perceval, or Lancelot,
or Tristram, who figure so largely in the full-orbed Arthurian cycle,
could each easily be made the subject of a separate volume far
exceeding the dimensions of the present one. Here, attention will be
concentrated, as far as possible, upon the figure and the fortunes of
Arthur himself.




CHAPTER I

THE EARLIEST ARTHURIAN RECORDS


If, in Caxton’s words, “such a king called Arthur” ever lived in these
islands, he must have flourished during the period between the first
coming of the Saxons and the middle of the sixth century. So much, at
any rate, is clearly attested by the meagre historical records which
profess to recount his deeds. Nothing, however, can be found in these
records to warrant the belief that he ever became “king” of any part
of Britain. His achievements as a warrior alone are mentioned, and
all that we can gather besides from Welsh tradition only serves to
emphasise the fact that his renown among the British people rested
mainly upon his warlike prowess. His admission to the so-called “Celtic
pantheon,” and his gradual evolution in Celtic tradition as a great
mythological figure, are matters of purely speculative interest,
and cannot be taken into account in an attempt to answer our first
question--Who, and what, was the historical Arthur? In Welsh we read
of an “emperor” Arthur,[8] but this title, as we shall see, implies
nothing more than that he was a war-leader, or a commander-in-chief
of a group of more or less celebrated generals. His kingship, and his
state as the head of a great court, are entirely the creations of later
romance.[9]

Little, if anything, of historical significance is to be deduced
from the form of Arthur’s name. It appears in the Latin chronicles
as _Arturus_, and is probably of Roman origin, derived from the form
_Artorius_.[10] This is much more likely than that, as Rhys suggests,
it was “a Celtic name belonging in the first instance to a god Arthur.”
For the latter explanation, as readers of Rhys’s _Arthurian Legend_
will know, carries us into the world of mythology, and is made the
foundation of an ingenious hypothesis to account for Arthur’s Celtic
fame. That hypothesis, so far as it bears upon the name, is thus
summarised by its author. “The Latin _Artôrius_ and the god’s name,
which we have treated as early Brythonic _Artor_, genitive _Artôros_,
would equally yield in Welsh the familiar form _Arthur_. In either
case, the name would have to be regarded as an important factor in the
identification or confusion of the man with the divinity. The latter,
called Arthur by the Brythons, was called Airem by the Goidels, and
he was probably the Artæan Mercury of the Allobroges of ancient Gaul.
His rôle was that of Culture Hero, and his name allows one to suppose
that he was once associated, in some special manner, with agriculture
over the entire Celtic world of antiquity. On the one hand we have the
man Arthur, whose position we have tried to define, and on the other a
greater Arthur, a more colossal figure, of which we have, so to speak,
but a _torso_ rescued from the wreck of the Celtic pantheon.”[11] The
mythological Arthur, as he appears in Welsh literature and tradition,
will claim our attention in another chapter; here, our inquiry will be
confined mainly to the Latin records in which we find, or should expect
to find, the earliest authentic information about “the man Arthur.”

The oldest historical document in which Arthur is mentioned by name is
the famous _Historia Brittonum_ ascribed to Nennius. Parts of this work
may have been put together as early as the seventh century,[12] but the
compilation, as we now have it, was due to a Welshman named Nennius,
or (in Welsh) Nynniaw, who lived about the year 800.[13] The work may
be roughly divided into two parts,--the first, of sixty-six sections
or chapters, professing to give a cursory sketch of the history of
Britain from the earliest times down to the eighth century; the second
containing a list of the twenty-eight “cities of Britain,” together
with an account of certain “marvels” (_mirabilia_), or wonderful
natural phenomena, of Britain, which, the compiler tells us, he “wrote
as other scribes had done before him.” The quasi-historical part of the
work contains much the fullest notice of Arthur’s military exploits
to be found in any chronicle before that of Geoffrey of Monmouth,
while from sundry allusions to Arthur in the section on the ‘marvels
of Britain,’ we gather that legend was already busy with his name.
The celebrated passage in which Arthur is mentioned in the _Historia_
proper[14] runs as follows:--

“At that time, the Saxons increased and grew strong in Britain. After
the death of Hengist, Octha his son came from the northern part of the
kingdom to the men of Cantia, and from him are descended its kings.
Then Arthur fought against them in those days, together with the kings
of the Britons, but he himself was leader in the battles.[15] The first
battle was at the mouth of the river Glein; the second, third, fourth
and fifth on the river Dubglas, in the region Linnuis; the sixth on the
river Bassas; the seventh in the wood of Celidon, that is, Cat Coet
Celidon[16]; the eighth at the castle of Guinnion, when Arthur bore the
image of the holy Virgin Mary on his shoulders, and when the pagans
were put to flight and a great slaughter made of them through the might
of our Lord Jesus Christ and of Holy Mary his mother. The ninth battle
was fought at the city of Legion, the tenth on the shore of the river,
which is called Tribruit, and the eleventh on the mountain which is
called Agned. The twelfth battle was on Mount Badon, where there fell
nine hundred and sixty men before Arthur’s single onset; nor had any
one but himself alone a share in their downfall, and in all the battles
he was the victor. But the enemy, while they were overthrown in all
their battles, sought help from Germany, and continually increased in
number, and they brought kings from Germany to rule over those who were
in Britain up to the time of the reign of Ida, who was the first king
in Beornicia.”

One notes, in the very first words in which mention is here made of
Arthur, that he is not called a “king,” but that he fought “together
with the kings” of the Britons, not, seemingly, as their auxiliary, but
as their commander-in-chief--_sed ipse dux erat bellorum_. It has been
suggested,[17] with much plausibility, that the term _dux bellorum_
in this passage implies that Arthur held, after the departure of the
Romans, a military office similar to one of those established in the
island during the later years of the Roman administration. Since the
time of Severus Britain had been divided, for defensive purposes, into
two districts. At first, most pressure came from the Picts and the
Scots in the North, and the defence of Upper Britain was entrusted to
a commander called _dux Britanniarum_. Later, when the Saxons began to
threaten the eastern and southern shores, a second officer--_comes
littoris Saxonici_--was appointed to command the armies of Lower
Britain. Finally, a third officer, the _comes Britanniæ_, was given
a general supervision over the other two, and the supreme charge of
the defences of the entire country. Sir John Rhys discovers in Arthur
the representative in the sixth century of this third officer of the
Roman military organisation. This supposition undoubtedly helps to
explain better than any other both Nennius’s description of Arthur as
_dux bellorum_, and the seemingly wide range of country covered by the
twelve battles which he is said to have fought.

It is, however, to be noted, as Rhys points out,[18] that while the
title apparently given in early Welsh literature to those who succeeded
to supreme power in Britain was _gwledig_, that name is never given
to Arthur. The term _gwledig_, itself, means no more than “ruler”
or “prince,” and is indiscriminately used in that sense in mediæval
Welsh,[19] but there is good reason to believe that, as applied to
certain warriors of the sixth century, the title was a Brythonic
equivalent of the official military title, _comes_ or _dux_. The most
famous bearer of the title, Maxen Wledig, comes within the Roman
period, and his renown is mainly due to romance[20]; three others who
are so called, Cunedda, Ceredig and Emrys (the Ambrosius Aurelianus
of Gildas), may very well have held one of the military offices in
question. “Cunedda Wledig and Ceredig Wledig are connected with the
north and appear to be guardians of the wall, while Emrys Wledig is
the antagonist of the Saxons. Thus Cunedda and Ceredig may be regarded
as Dukes of the Britains, while Emrys is a British Count of the Saxon
shore.”[21] Arthur, on the other hand, is in Welsh literature _yr
amherawdyr Arthur_, “the emperor Arthur,”[22] and so, as Rhys suggests,
“it is not impossible that, when the Roman _imperator_ ceased to have
anything more to say to this country, the title was given to the
highest officer in the island, namely, the _Comes_ _Britanniæ_, and
that in the words _yr amherawdyr Arthur_ we have a remnant of our
insular history.”[23]

An even more difficult problem than the determination of Arthur’s rank
is the identification of the twelve battlefields mentioned in Nennius’s
record. The twelfth century chronicler, Henry of Huntingdon, tells
us that, even in his own time, “all the places were unknown”; hence
it is not surprising that those who have in our day sought to trace
geographically the course of Arthur’s campaigns have not brought us
much nearer certainty. The most plausible theory is that which would
locate most, if not all, the places named by Nennius in the region
of the Roman walls in the North,[24] a theory largely supported by
Geoffrey of Monmouth’s elaboration of Nennius’s account, and by the
fact that the names of several prominent characters connected with the
early exploits of Arthur are localised in Lowland Scotland. On the
other hand, it is contended that Mount Badon,[25] and Urbs Legionis,
at least, must be in the South, and that Linnuis--which in Geoffrey
appears as Lindisia (or Lindsey), “otherwise called Lindocolinum”--is
in the East. The localisation of Arthur’s battlefields is of no great
consequence as compared with the fact that the earliest record of
them, however vague and fragmentary, clearly points to a long and
victorious campaign conducted under his generalship against the Saxons
and other enemies of the Britons in the sixth century. Two, at least,
of the victories recorded by Nennius appear to have strongly seized
the imagination of later writers of Arthurian story. It mattered
less to them where “the castle of Guinnion” actually was than that
in the battle fought there Arthur “bore the image of the holy Virgin
Mary on his shoulders,” and thus established the tradition which
ultimately exalted him into “the first and chief of the three best
Christian kings.” Nennius’s brief statement is, of course, expanded and
embroidered by Geoffrey[26] and other romantic chroniclers in turn,
until the tradition becomes so firmly rooted as to make a modern poet
like Wordsworth single out Arthur as a champion of the early British
Church, and sing,

  “Amazement runs before the towering casque
  Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field
  The Virgin sculptured on his Christian shield.”[27]

Hence, even Tennyson takes no very great liberty with Arthurian
tradition when he converts “Arthur’s knighthood” into a Christian
fellowship avowing that

  “The King will follow Christ, and we the King,
  In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing.”[28]

The other battle, of those mentioned by Nennius, that looms large in
subsequent Arthurian story is that of _Mons Badonis_, or Badon Hill.
This battle is of exceptional interest because it is possible to
assign to it an approximately certain date. The record in the _Annales
Cambriæ_ of the year 516 as its precise date is of less importance than
the fact that Gildas, the celebrated sixth century scribe, expressly
refers to the battle as having been fought in his natal year. In his
_De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniæ_, amid much vehement denunciation of
the British people and their degenerate leaders, Gildas gives a short
sketch of the history of Britain down to his own time. Coming to the
Saxon invasions, he states that they were first successfully checked
under the leadership of Ambrosius Aurelianus, the last of the Romans,
“a modest man, who alone of all his race chanced to survive the shocks”
of that troubled time.

After this, he continues, the struggle went on with varying fortune
“until the year of the siege of Badon Hill, and of almost the last
great slaughter inflicted upon the rascally crew. And this commences
(a fact I know) as the forty-fourth year, with one month now elapsed;
it is also the year of my birth.”[29] So far as the date goes, this
seems to mean that the year of the battle of Badon and of Gildas’s
own birth was the forty-fourth from that in which he wrote. As the
_De Excidio_ must have been written before the death of Maelgwn
Gwynedd--the Maglocunus against whom Gildas directs some of his
choicest invective--in or about the year 547, the date of the fight at
Badon Hill cannot well have been later than 504. At any rate, Gildas’s
testimony is sufficient warrant that some time during the first decade
of the sixth century a battle was fought against the Saxons at a place
called Badon Hill, in which the Britons were the victors.

But that battle, according to Nennius, was the one of all the twelve
recorded by him in which Arthur gave the most signal evidence of his
individual prowess; before his single onset “nine hundred and sixty
men” fell. Now Gildas, an unimpeachable sixth century authority,
makes no reference whatever to Arthur’s achievements in this, or any
other, encounter with the Saxons. This silence, so far as it affects
the historicity of Arthur, is less disturbing than it appears to be,
when account is taken of the character and motive of Gildas’s work as
a whole. The _De Excidio_ is not so much a history as a homily. Gildas
belonged to a “Romanist” party, and what the more or less unorganised
Britons sought to do for themselves, and their independence, was
to him but a decline upon savagery and selfish native pride. It
did not suit his purpose to celebrate the name and virtues of any
British prince, and it is significant that, apart from Ambrosius,--by
birth, apparently, no less than by his training and sympathies, a
thorough-going “Roman,”--he does not mention by name a single British
chieftain except as a target for his invective.

In the _mirabilia_ attached to Nennius’s _History_ Arthur is a
mythical figure as remote and as elusive as he is in early Welsh
poetry and triadic lore. In them, as in the earliest Welsh poems, he
is pre-eminently Arthur “the warrior,” but he is known besides as the
owner of a famous hound, and as the father of a son whose name had
been given to one of the natural features of the country. The first
“marvel,” in connection with which Arthur’s name occurs, is in the
region of Buelt, or Builth. Here, we are told, is a mound of stones,
on the top of which is one stone bearing the mark of a dog’s foot.
This mark was made by Cabal, “the dog of Arthur the warrior” (_Arthuri
militis_), when he was hunting “the boar Troit” (_porcum Troit_). The
pile of stones was put together by Arthur, and is called Carn, or the
Cairn of, Cabal. The marvel lay in the fact that, though men might come
and carry away the top stone “for the space of a day and a night,” the
stone was invariably found in its proper place the next day. Another
marvel, described in immediate succession, belongs to “the region which
is called Ercing,” or Archenfield. There may be found a tomb close by
a spring which is called the Source of the Amir,--_juxta fontem qui
cognominatur Licat Amir_, after the name of the man who was buried
there. This Amir was the son of “Arthur the warrior,” who himself
killed, and buried him, on that spot. The “marvellous” property of this
tomb was that, when men came to measure it, at various times, they
never found it of the same size; “and,” the writer ingenuously adds, “I
have made proof of this by myself” (_et ego solus probavi_). These two
_miracula_, as he calls them, are all that Nennius, or his authority,
has to tell us of the mythical, as distinguished from the historical,
Arthur.

These apparently casual records of Arthurian marvels are noteworthy,
not only as indicating an early association of Arthurian traditions
with the topography of Wales, but also as affording a connecting link
between the earliest Latin documents in which Arthur’s name is found
and one of the very oldest of the Welsh Arthurian tales. In the Welsh
romance, or rather fairy-tale, of _Kulhwch and Olwen_,--the primitive
literary form of which probably dates from the tenth century,[30]--the
hunting of the _Twrch Trwyth_, or the Boar Trwyth (the _porcus Troit_
of Nennius), forms one of the capital features. Now, in that hunt, as
described in _Kulhwch and Olwen_, Arthur’s dog Cabal, or Cavall,--which
is the Welsh form of the name,--takes part; he is led to the chase by
Arthur’s faithful henchman, Bedwyr, or Bedivere.[31] Nor was it in
bringing to bay “the boar Troit” alone that Cavall took part. He was
conspicuous in the capture and the slaughter of another monster, who is
called an Arch- or Head-Boar, bearing the fearsome name of “Yskithyrwyn
Benbaedd.” “And Arthur,” we read,[32] “went himself to the chase,
leading his own dog Cavall. And Kaw, of North Britain, mounted Arthur’s
mare Llamrei, and was first in the attack. Then Kaw, of North Britain,
wielded a mighty axe, and absolutely daring he came valiantly up to the
boar, and clave his head in twain. And Kaw took away the tusk. Now the
boar was not slain by the dogs that Yspaddaden had mentioned, but by
Cavall, Arthur’s own dog.”[33]

The battle of Mount Badon, as we have seen, is recorded in the
_Annales Cambriæ_, contained in a MS of the tenth century. Still more
interesting is another record in that document under the year 537. In
that year, we read, was fought “the battle of Camlan, in which Arthur
and Medraut fell.” Although we hear nothing of Medraut’s treachery, or
of his being Arthur’s nephew, here, so far as we know, is the first
recorded allusion to what subsequently became one of the prime tragic
features in Arthurian story. Medrod, or Modred, is the villain of the
romances, and Camlan is that “dim, weird battle of the west,” where
Arthur fought the “traitor of his house,” and

  “Striking the last stroke with Excalibur
  Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell.”[34]

In Welsh prose romance we hear of Camlan both in _Kulhwch and Olwen_
and in _The Dream of Rhonabwy_; it is also mentioned in the Triads, and
there are two references to the place in the oldest Welsh poetry. In
‘The Verses of the Graves’ in _The Black Book of Carmarthen_, we are
told that “the grave of the son of Osvran is in Camlan,”[35] and in
a poem in _The Red Book of Hergest_, a nameless bard labouring under
forebodings of coming tumult in his own day, prophesies that “Camlan
will be heard again, scenes of groaning will again be seen, and dismal
lamentations.”[36] Apart from these meagre references, Latin chronicles
and early Welsh literature are alike altogether silent about what, in
later romance and poetry, stands out as the most fateful battle in
Arthur’s career. Geoffrey of Monmouth is the first to give us elaborate
details about Arthur’s encounter with Modred, and his motley army of
Saxons, Picts and Scots, on the banks of “the river Cambula,” or Camel.
The river, according to Geoffrey, is in the west country, and the
battle is popularly supposed to have been fought near Camelford,[37] in
Cornwall.

When we come to examine the remaining chronicle literature of the
pre-Norman period, we find no mention of Arthur’s name, and nothing but
the briefest allusion to the campaigns in which he is supposed to have
fought. Geoffrey of Monmouth, in the dedicatory epistle prefacing his
British _History_, expresses his surprise that Bede, in his “elegant
treatise,” has nothing to say about Arthur. If Arthur was indeed
widely known as a Christian champion, it is somewhat strange that an
ecclesiastical writer of the first half of the eighth century should
have passed over his deeds in silence. Moreover, Bede does mention
Ambrosius as a successful leader against the Saxons, and knows of “the
siege of Baddesdown-hill.” Bede’s silence about Arthur is not to be
lightly ignored, nor easily explained away, in any critical discussion
of the historicity of Arthur. Bede stands as the primary authority and
the model of what Stubbs calls “the most ancient, the most fertile,
the longest lived and the most widely spread” of all the “schools of
English mediæval history,”[38]--the Northumbrian. The best and most
trustworthy of the chroniclers who followed him--such, for example, as
William of Malmesbury and William of Newburgh (Geoffrey’s remorseless
assailant)--pay their tributes to his industry, wisdom and integrity.
His _Ecclesiastical History_ is no mere desultory, or mechanical,
record; it bears the impress of a great, and honest, personality. In
his record of the Saxon invasions, it is true, he follows Gildas,
even to the extent of largely reproducing his very words. There is
no conclusive evidence that he knew anything of the documents from
which Nennius compiled his _History_, although one cannot, of course,
deny the probability of his knowledge of them. The only plausible
explanation of his silence about Arthur is that he drew his materials
solely from Saxon tradition and from Latin records, and that he was
either ignorant of, or distrusted, the Celtic, or British, traditions
concerning Arthur which had their origin and home in the West and in
the then “farthest North.” If, on the other hand, stories of Arthur’s
deeds were widely current in Lowland Scotland, it is surprising that a
Northumbrian writer should apparently have known nothing of them.

Again, there is no mention whatever of Arthur in the Saxon _Chronicle_.
The fact that the _Chronicle_ contains no record of a fight, successful
or otherwise, against the Britons for a long period after 527, or
530, seems to confirm Nennius’s account of the decisive check to the
Saxon advance given in the battles with which he associates Arthur’s
name. On the other hand, the battle at Badon Hill must, as we have
seen, have been fought long before the year 527. There is no question
about the superior trustworthiness of the _Chronicle_ to Nennius’s
narrative as a historical authority.[39] Here, again, the silence can
only be explained on the assumption that the compilers of the Saxon
_Chronicle_ did not care much about recording British victories, and
cared less, or knew nothing at all, about the British chieftains
who won them. As against this assumption, it should be noted that
the _Chronicle_ does mention such British names as Vortigern and
Natanleod,--the latter a “British king” slain in the year 508, just
at the time when Arthur’s prowess, according to tradition, was at its
height.

The meagreness of the pre-Norman Arthurian records which have been
here reviewed stands in significant contrast to the amplitude and
the range of the Arthurian matter which we find in the romantic
productions of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The contrast is
so startling as to suggest at once that the coming of the Normans to
Britain had much to do with what may be called the aggrandisation of
Arthur. It was Geoffrey of Monmouth, as we shall see, writing under the
direct auspices of a cultured Norman potentate, who did more than any
other man to spread the renown of Arthur as a presumably historical
character, and to give him for centuries an assured place in the
chronicle literature of Britain. But Geoffrey could not have written
“to order” such a book as his _History_ had he not a large stock of
popular traditions to draw upon. All the evidence seems to point to
the period extending from the tenth to the twelfth centuries as that
of the popular growth of an Arthurian legend, on a large scale, among
“the Celtic fringe.” By the beginning of the twelfth century Arthurian
stories were circulating freely in Brittany, Cornwall and Wales. It
is only on this supposition that one can account, for example, for a
tumult caused at Bodmin in the year 1113, by a certain monk from Laon
who had the temerity to deny that Arthur still lived.[40] Later on in
the same century, as Alanus de Insulis records,[41] belief in Arthur’s
“return” was so firmly held in the country districts of Brittany that a
denial of it might have cost a man his life. Moreover, two chroniclers
of repute who wrote before Geoffrey bear clear testimony to the
widespread currency of Arthurian traditions in their day, and to the
curiosity aroused in serious historians concerning the deeds of the
British king.

None of the Anglo-Norman chroniclers ranks higher as a trustworthy
historical authority than William of Malmesbury,--the first great
successor of Bede, whom he calls his master and exemplar. In the first
chapter of his _History of the Kings of England_--the first version of
which was completed in 1125--we find the following passage referring to
the Saxon invasions in the sixth century:--

“When he (Vortimer) died, the British strength decayed, and all hope
fled from them; and they would soon have perished altogether, had not
Ambrosius, the sole survivor of the Romans, who became monarch after
Vortigern, quelled the presumptuous barbarians by the powerful aid of
the warlike Arthur. This is the Arthur of whom the idle tales of the
Britons rave even unto this day; a man worthy to be celebrated not in
the foolish dreams of deceitful fables, but in truthful histories. For
he long sustained the declining fortunes of his native land, and roused
the uncrushed spirit of the people to war.”

Then follows a reference, based upon Nennius’s narrative, to the battle
of Mount Badon. This passage, although somewhat confused in its account
of the relative positions of Vortigern, Ambrosius and Arthur in the
events of their time, is significant as indicating not only Arthur’s
fame as a fabled British hero in William’s day, but the historian’s
own regret at the absence of authentic information about a warrior
so worthy of lasting commemoration. Another noteworthy reference to
Arthur in William of Malmesbury’s history occurs in his account of the
discovery in Pembrokeshire of the grave of Gawain, “Arthur’s noble
nephew.”[42] Gawain, we are told, “was driven from his kingdom by the
brother and nephew of Hengist,” and “he deservedly shared, with his
uncle, the praise of retarding for many years the calamity of his
falling country. The grave of Arthur is nowhere to be seen; hence
ancient songs fable that he is still to come.” Here we have positive
evidence that, long before Geoffrey’s time, Arthur’s “return” was sung
of by British bards whose compositions, with the solitary exception of
the stanza in ‘The Songs of the Graves,’ already referred to, appear to
have been irretrievably lost.

Henry of Huntingdon is not so trustworthy a chronicler as William of
Malmesbury, and his account of Arthur is, substantially, borrowed, with
embellishments, from Nennius. Henry’s place in a review of Arthurian
records is due not to his _History_, but to a letter, addressed to a
friend named Warinus,[43] which singularly attests the interest then
felt in the history of Arthur. That letter recounts how Henry, while
on a journey to Rome in the year 1139, stopped at the abbey of Bec in
Normandy and was there shown by the chronicler, Robert of Torigni, a
“great book,” written by one “Geoffrey Arthur,” containing a history
of the early kings of Britain. The book in question was, almost
certainly, an early draft of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s famous _Historia
Regum Britanniæ_. But it is curious to find that Henry’s abstract of
the book, as given in the letter to Warinus, differs in one important
respect--and that alone concerns us at this stage--from the text of
Geoffrey’s _History_ as given in all the MSS of that work in its final
form. Geoffrey’s account of the “passing” of Arthur--an incident which
offered to so imaginative a writer unrivalled opportunities of romantic
decoration--is singularly devoid of ornament. Henry’s abstract of
this part of the book which he found at Bec is, on the other hand, a
highly-coloured piece of writing.

“When he (Arthur) was about to cross over the Alps, an envoy said unto
him, ‘Modred, thy nephew, hath set thy crown upon his own head with the
assistance of Cheldric, king of the English, and hath taken thy wife
unto himself.’ Arthur, thereupon, seething over with wondrous wrath,
returning into England, conquered Modred in battle, and after pursuing
him as far as unto Cornwall, with a few men fell upon him in the midst
of many, and when he saw that he could not turn back said, ‘Comrades,
let us sell our death dear. I, for my part, will smite off the head of
my nephew and my betrayer, after which death will be a delight unto
me.’ Thus spake he, and hewing a way for himself with his sword through
the press, dragged Modred by the helmet into the midst of his own men
and cut through his mailed neck as through a straw. Natheless, as he
went, and as he did the deed, so many wounds did he receive that he
fell, albeit that his kinsmen the Britons deny that he is dead, and
do even yet solemnly await his coming again. He was, indeed, the very
first man of his time in warlike prowess, bounty and wit.”[44]

The vivid personal details of this narrative may be due to Henry’s own
imagination, for it is well known that he, like Geoffrey, exercised
that faculty largely in his treatment of history; but, even so, the
passage is curiously significant in its bearing upon the martial fame
of Arthur, and upon the belief in his “return” cherished by “his
kinsmen the Britons,” in the first half of the twelfth century.

The review given in this chapter of the earliest Arthurian
records,--all of which are in Latin,--as distinguished from Celtic song
or fable, points clearly to the gradual growth, around the personality
of a real British warrior of the sixth century, of a legend which by
the twelfth century had assumed a form that arrested, though it might
baffle, the leading historians of the day. Now, it so happened that the
twelfth century was the seed-time of mediæval romance in Europe, and
how effectively the legend of Arthur was thenceforth exploited for
romantic purposes will be seen later on. It remains, however, for us,
first, to give some account of what was known, or fabled, about Arthur
among “his kinsmen the Britons” themselves, as recorded in their extant
prose and poetry.




CHAPTER II

ARTHUR IN WELSH LEGEND AND LITERATURE


To begin once more with Caxton, the preface to the _Morte Darthur_
states that of the “noble volumes made of Arthur and his noble knights”
there “be many in Welsh.” Caxton was, here, either drawing upon his
imagination or speaking with imperfect knowledge. It is true that
Arthur figures largely in the _Mabinogion_, but when we come to examine
closely even these tales, we find that he appears only in five out of
the eleven[45] which are designated by that name in Lady Charlotte
Guest’s well-known translation, while in the four tales--probably the
oldest of all--to which alone the title of “mabinogion” is strictly
applicable, he does not appear at all. Again, in the oldest Welsh
poetry Arthur is the merest shadow, and even the mediæval Welsh poets,
who might have been expected to drink deep of the wells of romance,
mention him only in the most casual and perfunctory way. There is,
however, just enough in these old Welsh poems and prose stories to
indicate that a legend of Arthur existed in Wales from a very early
period--certainly from a period long before the appearance of Geoffrey
of Monmouth’s _History_ in the twelfth century. The traditions embodied
in this literature are indeed vague and disconnected enough, for they
are drawn from an age when the art of romantic “exploitation” had not
yet been learnt; but they bear the unmistakable marks of a legendary
growth indigenous to Wales itself. As such, they are of exceptional
interest, and deserve a somewhat fuller notice than their actual range
and extent would seem to warrant.

The earliest Welsh literature in which we read of Arthur may be divided
into three distinct and well-marked groups. First come the few poems
in the oldest Welsh MSS which mention him. The allusions to Arthur in
these poems represent, probably, traditions derived from an earlier
period than anything contained in the second group of writings to be
noticed, the prose tales,--although, as will be seen, one or two of the
poems and prose stories appear to refer to the same legends. Lastly, we
have the Triads, which, according to Rhys, “give us the oldest account
of Arthur.”[46]

The compositions attributed to the oldest Welsh bards have come down
to us in MSS which date from the twelfth to the end of the fourteenth
century; the best known of them are four in number, and these were
edited long ago, with translations, by the late Dr W. F. Skene under
the title of _The Four Ancient Books of Wales_.[47] It is unnecessary
here to touch upon controversial questions affecting the antiquity and
the genuineness of the poems contained in these MSS. Many of them are,
plainly enough, not much older than the date of the compilation of the
particular MS in which they are found. Others, however, as plainly
contain what Matthew Arnold,[48] speaking of the prose _Mabinogion_,
calls “a _detritus_ of something far older,” and it is impossible to
avoid the conclusion that some of them refer to historical events
and personages of the sixth and seventh centuries, while others
contain mythological matter derived from a much remoter age. Here,
the references to Arthur in these poems alone concern us. They are
strangely few in number, and tantalisingly brief. In _The Black Book
of Carmarthen_ he is mentioned five times, in _The Book of Aneirin_
only once. He is the central figure in a remarkable poem in _The Book
of Taliesin_, and his name occurs in one other poem in that MS; in the
poetry of _The Red Book of Hergest_ nothing is heard of him, except
in a poem called ‘Gereint, son of Erbin,’ which is also found in _The
Black Book_. Three of the references in _The Black Book_ are of the
briefest character. In one poem[49] the bard tells us that he “has
been where Llacheu, the son of Arthur, was slain,” and that is all;
in another, evidently a late poem, we hear of “Arthur’s host,” or
“retinue” (_teulu Arthur_)[50]; while in a stanza, already alluded to,
in “The Songs of the Graves,” we are told that his grave is unknown. In
the solitary passage in which his name occurs in _The Book of Aneirin_
he is a standard of comparison,--a certain warrior is described as
being “an Arthur in the exhaustive conflict”[51]; the second of the two
poems in which he is mentioned in _The Book of_ _Taliesin_ refers,
without comment or description, merely to “Arthur’s steed.”[52]

There remain to be noticed the three poems which, alone, contain
anything more than such casual allusions as those we have just cited.
Two of them are in _The Black Book_, and one would seem to bring us
into touch, though but remotely, with the historical “Arthur the
warrior,”--the _dux bellorum_ of Nennius, who may have held “the place
of the _imperator_ himself, when Britain ceased to be part of the
dominions of Rome.”[53] This latter poem is called ‘Gereint _filius_
Erbin,’[54]--a title identical with that of the prose romance which is
the Welsh collateral of Chrétien de Troyes’s _Erec_,--and, although
Gereint is its hero, Arthur is introduced as a war-leader of seemingly
higher rank. “At Llongborth,” the bard sings,

        “saw I of Arthur’s
  Brave men hewing with steel,
  (Men of the) emperor, director of toil.

  At Llongborth there fell of Gereint’s
  Brave men from the borders of Devon,
  And, ere they were slain, they slew.”

Where “Llongborth,” or “Ship’s port,” was, we do not know, but the
whole poem appears to refer to an actual battle in which Gereint’s
deeds had left a profound impression upon his bardic eulogist. The
association, in this poem, of Arthur with Gereint brings us, for the
first time, into the company of one of the knights who, in later
romance, belong to the goodly fellowship of the Round Table. In the
second _Black Book_ poem we are introduced to two others who figure
prominently in the romances,--Kei, or “Kay the seneschal,” and Bedwyr,
or Bedivere, “the latest-left of all” King Arthur’s knights. This poem
is cast in the form of a dialogue between Arthur and the keeper of a
castle who is called Glewlwyd of the Mighty Grasp, and who appears in
the Welsh prose stories as one of Arthur’s chief “porters.” Arthur
seeks entrance to the castle, and Glewlwyd, apparently, will not
open the gates without satisfying himself as to the number and the
credentials of his followers. Arthur, thereupon, proceeds to name them
and to recount their achievements. They are a weird company, bearing
strange names reaching back to the remotest regions of primitive Welsh
myth. Among them are Mabon, the son of Modron, “Uther Pendragon’s man”;
Manawyddan, the son of Llŷr, “profound in counsel,” who “brought home a
pierced buckler from Tryvrwyd”[55]; Mabon, son of Mellt, “who stained
the grass with gore”; Llwch Llawynawc, Angwas the Winged, Arthur’s son
Llacheu, and others.[56] But the two doughtiest among the champions
Arthur has around him are Bedwyr and Kei. Bedwyr, like Manawyddan,
fought at Tryvrwyd, and “by the hundred they fell” before him there;
“nine hundred to watch, six hundred to attack,” continues the bard, was
the measure of Bedwyr’s prowess. Still mightier was “the worthy Kei.”
“Vain were it to boast” against him in battle; “he slew as would an
hundred,--unless it were God’s doing, Kei’s death would be unachieved.”
Kei, we are further told, “slew nine witches”; he went “to Mona to
destroy lions,” and he fought against a mysterious monster called
“Palug’s Cat.” Capable as he was of all this, it is not surprising to
hear that Kei’s drinking powers were equal to those of four men. Of the
deeds of Arthur himself the poem tells us nothing.

A still more remarkable poem,--the last that remains to be noticed,--in
which certain strange deeds of Arthur are commemorated, is found in
_The Book of Taliesin_ under the name of ‘Preiddeu Annwvn,’ or ‘The
Spoils of Hades.’ It refers to various expeditions made by Arthur and
his men, in his ship Pridwen to certain mysterious regions oversea.
Definite names enough are given to the different places visited--Caer
Sidi, Caer Rigor, Caer Vandwy, and so on,--but the places themselves
remain quite unidentified. “Three freights of Pridwen,” sings the
bard, “were they who went with Arthur” on these expeditions; “seven
alone were we who returned” therefrom. One of the exploits achieved in
the course of these voyages was, apparently, the rape of a cauldron
belonging to the King of Hades, and the whole poem, according to
Rhys,[57] “evidently deals with expeditions conducted by Arthur by sea
to the realms of twilight and darkness.”

The last two poems here referred to have several features in common
with what is, probably, the oldest of the Arthurian prose tales in
Welsh,--the story of _Kulhwch and Olwen_. That story also tells of the
rape of a cauldron, belonging not, indeed, to the King of Hades, but
to one Diwrnach, who lived across the sea in Ireland; Arthur went in
quest of it, with a small retinue, in his ship Pridwen, and brought it
home “full of Irish money.” The second of the two poems refers to “a
speckled ox” (_ych brych_), and the acquisition of “a speckled ox” was
one of the tasks imposed upon Kulhwch by Olwen’s father as part of the
price to be paid for her hand. Again, nearly all the persons mentioned
in _The Black Book_ dialogue between Arthur and Glewlwyd figure also in
_Kulhwch and Olwen_. So, where the oldest Welsh Arthurian poetry comes
into contact with the oldest Welsh prose, the Arthur that we find dimly
outlined in both is a purely mythical hero.

_Kulhwch and Olwen_, the most fantastic of all the Welsh prose tales
dealing with Arthur, palpably embodies Arthurian traditions current
in Wales at a very early date. “Almost every page of this tale,”
writes Matthew Arnold,[58] “points to traditions and personages of
the most remote antiquity, and is instinct with the very breath of
the primitive world.” The tale relates of the wooing of Olwen, the
daughter of one bearing the formidable name of Yspaddaden Pen Kawr, by
Kulhwch, so called because “he had been found in a swine’s burrow,”
but “nevertheless a boy of gentle lineage, and cousin unto Arthur.”
Kulhwch, after being told by his stepmother that he “should never
have a wife until he obtained Olwen,” is informed by his father that
“that will be easy for him.” “Arthur is thy cousin,” the father says;
“go, therefore, unto Arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as
a boon.” The winning of Olwen,--hard enough though it appears in the
story, which is mainly concerned with the long series of laborious
tasks imposed upon Kulhwch as conditions of gaining her hand--is
made “easy” through Arthur’s intervention. The hero starts by duly
presenting himself at “the gate of Arthur’s palace,” and he there meets
with the porter, Glewlwyd of the Mighty Grasp, who conveys to Arthur
the news of his arrival. Arthur is introduced to us as the head of
a court, keeping high state in his palace, or hall, which is called
Ehangwen (Broad-White). When Kulhwch comes to ask his “boon” of him,
Arthur replies, “Thou shalt receive the boon whatsoever thy tongue may
name, as far as the wind dries, and the rain moistens, and the sun
revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends,--save only my
ship; and my mantle; and Caledvwlch,[59] my sword; and Rhongomyant, my
lance; and Wynebgwrthucher, my shield; and Carnwennan, my dagger; and
Gwenhwyvar, my wife.” Kulhwch proceeds to ask for help in his quest
not only from Arthur himself, but also from his knights and retainers,
of whom a long and weird list is given. Kai and Bedwyr--an apparently
inseparable pair--are first mentioned; then follows a series of strange
and fantastic names, of most of which no other record remains in
fable or folk-lore. Characters such as Taliesin, the chief of bards;
Manawyddan, son of Llŷr; Gereint, son of Erbin; Gwynn, the son of Nudd,
and some others, are heard of elsewhere. But what are we to make of
beings like Sugyn, the son of Sugnedydd, “who could suck up the sea
on which were three hundred ships, so as to leave nothing but a dry
strand”; or, “Gilla of the Deer-Legs, the chief-leaper of Ireland,”
who “would clear three hundred acres at one bound”; or, Gwevyl, the
son of Gwestad, who, “on the day that he was sad, would let one of
his lips drop below his waist, while he turned up the other like a
cap upon his head”; or, Medyr, the son of Methredydd, who could from
Cornwall “unerringly shoot the wren through the two legs” as far away
as Ireland; and other weird people endowed with similar superhuman
attributes? Arthur himself figures in the tale as a fairy king, having
all these strange beings at his service, and giving them orders in the
most direct and matter-of-fact way. One of his most useful henchmen,
for example, is “Menw, the son of Teirgwaedd”--corresponding to the
conventional enchanter of the universal fairy world--who could “cast
a charm and an illusion over them, so that none might see them while
they could see every one.” Other characters in the motley crowd are
said to “come from the confines of Hell”; others are “attendants” and
“huntsmen” of Arthur, while quite a large group figure as his “uncles”
and “kindred on his father’s side.”

Among the many trials to which Olwen’s father submits Kulhwch is that
of “getting Arthur and his companions to hunt the Twrch Trwyth.” “He,”
says Yspaddaden, “is a mighty man, and he will not come for thee,
neither wilt thou be able to compel him.” Kulhwch knew better, for
he had already secured Arthur’s promise to help him to the utmost of
his own and his companions’ resources. The hunting of the Boar (the
_porcus Troit_) is one of the main features of the story; and, except
perhaps Meleager’s adventure to the quarry of the Calydonian boar,
there is no such swine-hunt in primitive literature. Many strange men
and beasts and implements were required for the chase and despatch of
Twrch Trwyth, and for the capture of “the comb and scissors” between
his ears, which Yspaddaden wanted for the proper trimming of his
unruly hair. Mabon, the son of Modron; Garselit, “the chief huntsman
of Ireland”; Gwynn, the son of Nudd, “whom God has placed over the
brood of devils in Annwn”; Gilhennin, “the king of France”; Drudwyn,
“the whelp of Greid”; Du, “the horse of Môr of Oerveddawg”; “the sword
of Gwrnach the Giant”;--all these, and many more such auxiliaries, had
to be secured for the Boar’s capture. But Kulhwch is not dismayed; “my
lord and kinsman Arthur,” he tells Yspaddaden, “will obtain for me all
these things, and I shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy
life.”

The story of the hunt, with its many marvels, is chiefly remarkable
for its minute topographical and personal detail,--the topography
being indeed so precise as to make it all but possible to trace on a
modern map the route taken by the hunters.[60] The Boar is finally
driven into Cornwall, and thence “straight forward into the deep sea;
and thenceforth it was never known whither he went.” “Then,” says
the story-teller, “Arthur went to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, to anoint
himself, and to rest from his fatigues.” He had, however, to assist
Kulhwch in one further enterprise,--the obtaining of “the blood of the
witch Orddu, of Pen Nant Govid (the Head of the Vale of Grief), on the
confines of Hell.” He did so by slaying the hag with his own hand,
cleaving her in twain “with Carnwennan, his dagger.” After that Kulhwch
goes boldly to Yspaddaden and asks, “Is thy daughter mine now?” “She is
thine,” said he, “but therefore needest thou not thank me, but Arthur,
who hath accomplished this for thee.”

_Kulhwch and Olwen_, it will be seen from this brief account of it,
is in all essentials a fairy-tale, embodying a mass of fantastic, and
even grotesque, folk-lore of an obviously pre-historic antiquity. It
is to fairy-land, also, that we are transported in another of the
Welsh tales, _The Dream of Rhonabwy_, composed probably during the
latter half of the twelfth century. Both it and _Kulhwch_ have much in
common with the mythic tales of Ireland. “We possess a considerable
number of Irish sagas, which betray the same characteristics as the
two Welsh tales: fondness for enumeration, triadic grouping, _bravura_
descriptive passages, and, notably in _Bricriu’s Feast_, a distinct
semi-parodistic tone.” The _Dream_,--of which the central feature, the
story of Owen and his ravens, must be very old,--is remarkable for a
series of minutely detailed and richly coloured word-pictures of

  “Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
  Bases and tinsel trappings.”[61]

Among the marvellous objects described are Arthur’s sword and mantle
(called Gwenn), but the story-teller does not let his fancy play around
them so freely as around most of the things he depicts. The sword was
in the keeping of “Kadwr, earl of Cornwall,” whose duty it was to “arm
the king on the days of battle.” “And the similitude of two serpents
was upon the sword in gold. And when it was drawn from its scabbard, it
seemed as if two flames of fire burst forth from the jaws of serpents.”
Gwenn, the mantle, was “of diapered satin” with “an apple of ruddy gold
at each corner thereof,” and “it was one of its properties that upon
whomsoever it was put, he became lost to sight though he himself could
see every one.” Arthur himself is, in this tale, constantly referred to
as “the Emperor,” and he is first met with “sitting on a flat island”
below the Ford of the Cross on the Severn, “with Bedwini the Bishop on
one side of him, and Gwarthegydd, the son of Kaw, on the other.” Among
his retainers are his “cousin” March (or Mark), the son of Meirchion,
prince of “the men of Norway”; Edern, the son of Nudd, prince of “the
men of Denmark”; Kai, “the fairest horseman in all Arthur’s Court”;
and a host of others, many of whose names appear in the long catalogue
given in _Kulhwch and Olwen_. Some of these names, such as Tristan, the
son of Tallwch, and Peredur of the Long Lance, bring us into touch with
the later developments of Arthurian romance.

The other three _Mabinogion_, so called, in which Arthur figures,--_The
Lady of the Fountain_, _Geraint_, and _Peredur_,--will be noticed in
a subsequent chapter, for these stories, whether they were directly
based upon French originals or not, palpably belong to a period when
the Arthurian legends had been, or were being, exploited for romantic
purposes by French writers. The natural transition from such stories
as _Kulhwch and Olwen_ is to the Welsh Triads, the oldest group of
which certainly contain traditions about Arthur as archaic as anything
to be found in either the poems or the prose tales already reviewed.
Here, only a few of the more significant allusions to Arthur contained
in them need be quoted. Arthur is first mentioned in connection with
Medraut’s, or Modred’s, treachery, and he is described--much as in
Geoffrey’s Chronicle--as conducting a victorious campaign against the
Romans. The final battle with the Romans, of which Geoffrey gives so
elaborate an account, is said to take place “beyond Mount Mynneu,”
and in it Arthur encounters, and slays with his own hand, the Roman
Emperor himself.[62] Modred, who had been left in charge of Britain,
hearing of the grievous slaughter of Arthur’s “best men” in this
battle, revolts. Arthur returns, “and then took place the battle of
Camlan between Arthur and Medraut, when Arthur slew Medraut, and Arthur
himself was mortally wounded; and _he was buried in a palace in the
isle of Avallach_.” In another Triad, Arthur is made responsible for
one of “the Three Wicked Uncoverings” of the Isle of Britain, viz.,
the uncovering of “the head of Brân the Blessed from the White Mount”
in London. The ‘mabinogi’ of _Branwen, daughter of Llŷr_, relates how
the head of Brân had been buried, by his own command, in the White
Mount, with its face towards France. While it remained undisturbed,
this island would be secure from invasion,--hence the “wickedness”
of Arthur’s “uncovering.” Another of the Triads speaks of Arthur as
the husband of three wives, each called Guinivere,--“Gwenhwyfar, the
daughter of Gwryd Gwent, Gwenhwyfar, the daughter of Gwythur, son of
Greidawl, and Gwenhwyfar, the daughter of Ogrvan the Giant.” This
strange statement, as Rhys points out, appears to have its parallel
in the Irish story of Echaid Airem, where we hear of three women all
bearing the name of Etáin, and “the three Gwenhwyfars are the Welsh
equivalents of the three Etáins, and the article in the Triads must
be held to be of great antiquity.”[63] One of the last records in
this group of Triads has affinities both with the four ‘Mabinogion,’
properly so-called, and with one of the old Welsh poems cited in this
chapter; it also contains a curiously interesting reference to a
character who, in mediæval romance, appears as the hero of the most
poetical of all the legends included in the Arthurian cycle. This Triad
refers, mainly, to certain swine legends, and is entitled _The Three
Stout Swineherds of the Isle of Britain_; but it mentions, besides
swine, “Palug’s cat,”--hence its connection with ‘Preiddeu Annwvn,’
the poem from _The Book of Taliesin_ already alluded to. The first of
the “three swineherds” is Pryderi, the son of Pwyll, “Head of Annwn,”
and his story is told in full in the ‘mabinogi’ of _Pwyll, prince
of Dyved_. It is strange, however, to find that the second of these
pre-eminent swineherds is Drystan, or Tristan, son of Tallwch,--the
knightly Tristram of later romance. “The second” stout swineherd, so
the record runs, “was Drystan, son of Tallwch, with the swine of March
(Mark), son of Meirchion, while the swineherd went on a message to
Essyllt (Iseult). Arthur and March and Kai and Bedwyr came, all four
to him, but obtained from Drystan not even as much as a single porker,
whether by force, or fraud, or theft.”

These four examples are quite sufficient to show that in the Triads,
no less than in the oldest Welsh tales and poems dealing with Arthur,
we come upon traditions handed down from a very remote age, which were
all but incomprehensible to the mediæval scribes who garnered them, and
are therefore preserved in a bewilderingly confused and disconnected
form. They are the _disjecta membra_ of a lost mythology, the legacy
of pre-historic Celtic heathendom, which even the most learned and
ingenious interpreters of primitive folk-lore and religion find it
well-nigh impossible to restore into a coherent and intelligible
whole.[64]

They, however, who would rob us of a historical and a chivalric
King Arthur must, perforce, leave us an Arthur whose attributes
as a presumed pagan deity do not prevent the unsophisticated from
recognising in him an ideal prince of fairy-land. It is as such a
prince that he appears against the setting of “old,” but not altogether
“unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago,” in which he is
presented in the early literature of Wales. It is as such a prince that
one, at least, of the great English poets accepts him. To Spenser,
Arthur, “taken from mother’s pap” and

                  “straight deliver’d to a Faery knight
  To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might,”[65]

was just the potent deliverer required to bring the Red Cross
Knight and the rest of that questing company out of their various
difficulties, and to establish, through a series of timely
interventions, his right to the hand of the Fairy Queen.

In both _Kulhwch and Olwen_ and _The Dream of Rhonabwy_, as also in the
Triads, we find frequent mention of Cornwall as a district with which
Arthur is intimately connected. It is to Cornwall that he retires to
rest after the hunting of the boar; and it is to Cornwall that Kai, at
the close of _The Dream of Rhonabwy_, bids all repair who “would follow
Arthur.” His home, and his court, there is at a place called Kelli, or
Gelli, Wic. In later Arthurian literature little, if anything, is heard
of Kelli Wic; Caerleon-upon-Usk displaces it altogether as the scene
of Arthur’s central court. But, with Geoffrey of Monmouth, two other
Cornish localities are brought into dramatic connection with Arthur’s
fortunes--viz., Tintagol, or Tintagel; and Dimilioc, or Damelioc. These
places are unheard of in the Welsh Arthurian tales, but, according to
Geoffrey, it was at Dimilioc that Uther besieged, and his men slew,
Gorlois; and it was this siege that enabled Uther, in the semblance
of Gorlois, to gain access to Igerne in her retreat at the castle of
Tintagel, and so to become the father of “the most renowned Arthur.” It
is a pity that no Cornish records have survived to throw some further
light upon these momentous events. It is, however, very unlikely that
Geoffrey would have incorporated them in his narrative, had there not
been, in Cornwall as in Wales, traditions long current which associated
the name of Arthur with some of the ancient strongholds of the country.
No less significant, as indicative of the existence of a separate
Cornish legend of Arthur, is that Geoffrey, with others, tells us that
the last and fatal battle with Medrod took place on the river Camel
in Cornwall. It is not, perhaps, easy to reconcile these traditions
with the theory that Arthur’s life and achievements were confined to
North Britain. But that theory is no less difficult to reconcile with
the abundance, and the ubiquity, of Arthurian place-names in all the
districts, except Ireland, that make up “the Celtic fringe.” “Only the
Devil is more often mentioned in local association than Arthur.”[66]
The precise significance of such association is perhaps, in both cases,
equally indeterminable.

Investigators of Arthurian origins talk a good deal about Brittany.
Unfortunately, there is no early Breton, any more than Cornish,
literature to draw upon for any further information about a
pre-historic, or a pre-romantic, Arthur. The _lais_ of Marie of
France are supposed to embody matter borrowed from Breton minstrels
who sang before the flourishing of romance; but only one of her
poems, ‘Lanval’--and that but remotely--has any connection with early
Arthurian lore. It may be that “the Bretons” whom Wace mentions as
“telling many a fable of the Table Round”[67] were Armorican Britons.
We know for certain, at any rate, that a legend of Arthur, which
included a belief in his “return,” had taken firm root in Brittany
by the twelfth century.[68] There is, therefore, no difficulty about
assuming that it was from the Bretons, rather than from the Welsh,
that the Normans derived their first knowledge of Arthur, and so came
to construct out of the stories connected with him the romantic cycle
known as the _matière de Bretagne_. The controversy waged about the
relative shares of Great and of Little Britain in supplying matter for
the French romantic writers[69] is of no real consequence--everybody
is agreed that that matter is to be ultimately traced to a Celtic,
and a British, source. What is of more importance is the fact that
before any “matter of Britain” is heard of as a great romantic theme,
a writer appeared who, by means of an orderly narrative embodied in an
apparently sober chronicle, aroused an interest in Arthur’s life and
deeds such as no mere romance could ever have succeeded in doing. He
was Geoffrey of Monmouth, and it is in his _History_ that we get our
first full-length portrait of Arthur as a great, and actual, “king of
Britain.”




CHAPTER III

GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE CHRONICLERS


Chaucer, in his _Hous of Fame_, gives a station of conspicuous honour
to a group of writers whose claim to distinction is that they are all
“besy for to bere up Troye.” Homer, inevitably, heads the list, standing

  “Ful wonder hye on a pilere
  Of yren.”

With him, however, are ranged persons of somewhat doubtful reputation;
to wit, Dares, the Phrygian, and “Tytus,” or Dictys, the Cretan, “Guido
de Columpnis,” and--significantly--“English Gaufride.” “Gaufride,”
or Geoffrey, owes his modern renown much more to his contributions
to Arthurian literature than to his modest additions to the tale of
Troy. His detractors will have it that the Arthurian portions of his
so-called _History_ are as fabulous as his account of the descent of
the British race from Brutus, the son of Æneas. He had, however, the
authority of Nennius, at least, for his use of the Brutus legend. He
had the brief records of Nennius, also, to work upon as a foundation
for the elaborate narrative which he gives of the life and deeds of
King Arthur. But that narrative came upon the world as quite a new,
and a startling thing. It is, perhaps, no exaggeration to term its
appearance the chief literary event of the twelfth century; at any
rate, it is certain that it aroused infinitely greater interest than
the story of what Brutus and his immediate descendants achieved in
Britain. Chaucer, however,--to judge, at least, by his _Tale of Sir
Thopas_,--regarded the newer romantic matters with good-humoured
contempt; and the tale of Troy, in its various ramifications,
challenged his imagination much more insistently than such a
new-fangled theme as the story of Arthur.

Notwithstanding the fact that Geoffrey’s use of the Brutus legend is
what constitutes the claim of his _History_ to rank as the first,
and the greatest, of a long series of “Bruts,”--English, French and
Welsh,--his real title to literary fame rests upon his achievement,
and his influence, as a contributor to Arthurian story. The Arthurian
legend would, undoubtedly, have attracted the attention of European
poets and romancers, had Geoffrey’s _History_ never been written.
It was current, as we have seen, in Wales, Brittany and Cornwall
long before his time. There is even evidence that Arthur, and tales
concerning him, were known in the south of Europe before he took up
his pen. But it is quite certain that Arthur would never have figured
as he does in chronicle literature, and so have come to be regarded
as an authentic historical character, were it not for Geoffrey’s
narrative. And it may be doubted whether English poets, at any
rate,--to judge from the homage which they pay Geoffrey,--would have
dallied so much over Arthurian fable had they not at their call what
Wordsworth describes as that

        “British record long concealed
  In old Armorica, whose secret springs
  No Gothic conqueror ever drank.”[70]

Now, it so happens that the “British record,” which Wordsworth, with
a poet’s licence, so confidently tells us was “long concealed in old
Armorica,” has never yet been discovered, and the mystery surrounding
it is the chief critical problem which still baffles every student
of the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth. This problem is deliberately
set us by Geoffrey himself at the very beginning of his Chronicle,
for he states that he is simply translating into the Latin tongue
“a certain most ancient book in the British language,” which,--as
he adds in his epilogue,--“Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, brought
hither from Brittany.” That he had some “book,” or books, other than
Nennius, to supply him with material, is not only highly probable,
but almost certain; and, if we are to believe his own statement, that
book must have been in “the British language.” But the fact remains
that no document, either in Welsh or in Breton, has yet been found
even remotely resembling that which Walter, the archdeacon, is said
to have brought over from Brittany. It is possible, however, that
those who have been searching for it have attached too much importance
to the “British” book, and that, even were it to be discovered, its
contents would only serve to show how deftly Geoffrey manipulated his
material, and how artfully he succeeded in making his story of Arthur
just what his Norman patrons, and the new romantic taste of the time,
required. No intelligent reader of Geoffrey’s _History_ can, at any
rate, escape the conclusion that the work, especially in its treatment
of both the Brutus legend and the career of Arthur, was written with
a motive. Besides, it is a work _sui generis_ among the chronicle
literature of its time, and bears clear evidence of deliberate romantic
embellishment. In order to apprehend what Geoffrey’s motive may have
been, and how far he is to be regarded as a conscious romancer, it
is necessary, first of all, to know something of the writer himself
and of the age and the people for whom he wrote; a brief examination
of the actual contents of the _History_, and more particularly of its
Arthurian portions, may perhaps serve, subsequently, to clear up as
much of the rest of the matter as is possible, in the absence of any
knowledge of “the British book.”

The amount of authentic biographical detail ascertainable concerning
Geoffrey is exceedingly scanty, and it is, therefore, not surprising
that what is told about him in many reputable literary histories is
distressingly inaccurate. Even the name of his famous book is, often,
wrongly given; it is constantly cited as _Historia Brittonum_--the
title of Nennius’ compilation--instead of as _Historia Regum
Britanniæ_. Walter, the archdeacon of Oxford, again, has been confused
with Walter Map, who could hardly have been more than about twelve
years old when Geoffrey died. Geoffrey himself is loosely designated
“archdeacon of Monmouth,” whereas there was no archdeaconry of Monmouth
in his time. He is said to have become, ultimately, bishop of Llandaff,
and to have died in the year 1152,--the actual facts, however, being
that he was ordained priest and, almost simultaneously, appointed
bishop of St Asaph in 1152, and that he died at Llandaff in 1155. The
exact dates of the beginning, and of the completion, of his _History_
cannot be definitely fixed; but we know enough about the work to say
that it must have existed, in some form, as early as 1139, at the
latest, and that it was complete in the form in which we now have it by
the year 1148.

There is no conclusive evidence that Geoffrey was of Welsh birth,
or that his home, other than a monastic domicile, was at Monmouth.
The dedication of his _History_, however, proves that he claimed the
patronage of a Norman prince who was lord of a tract of Welsh country,
the north-west boundary of which all but extended to the town of
Monmouth. Early in the twelfth century Robert, earl of Gloucester,
acquired the lordship of Glamorgan by marriage with Mabel, the daughter
and heiress of Robert Fitz-Hamon. Eminent as both statesman and
warrior, Robert of Gloucester, like his father, Henry Beauclerc, was
a student of letters and a generous friend of literary men. It is no
empty compliment that Geoffrey pays Robert when he hails him as “one
nurtured in the liberal arts by philosophy, and called unto the command
of our armies by his own inborn prowess of knighthood,” and “whom in
these our days Britain haileth with heart-felt affection as though
she had been vouchsafed another Henry.”[71] Robert’s enlightened
patronage of men of letters is sufficiently attested by the fact that
William of Malmesbury, the most distinguished historian of his day,
dedicated to him his _History of the Kings of England_. The abbey of
Margam, whose chronicle is an important authority for the history of
mediæval Wales, was founded by him; another abbey in which a valuable
chronicle was compiled--that of Tewkesbury--had in him one of its chief
benefactors. On his estates at Torigni in Normandy was born Robert of
the Mount, afterwards abbot of Mont St Michel, eminent as a chronicler
and known as a lover of the legends of his own Breton race. Robert of
Gloucester’s close connection, as thus indicated, with both South Wales
and Normandy at once suggests that he must have taken a considerable
interest in Welsh and Breton legendary lore. It is even possible that
it was at his instance that Walter, the archdeacon, and Geoffrey
embarked upon the quest which ultimately led to the discovery, real or
alleged, of the “book in the British tongue,” and to its translation
into Latin. It is obvious that Geoffrey, at any rate, was at pains to
produce a work which would please both his immediate patron and all
courtly readers who took pride in the growth of the Norman dominion.

A plausible, and by no means improbable, explanation of Geoffrey’s
motive in compiling the _Historia_ is that he meant it to be a kind
of “national epos,” blazoning the united glories of the composite
Anglo-Norman “empire” which reached the zenith of its power under
Henry II.[72] A book written with such a patriotic purpose would
certainly commend itself to Robert of Gloucester and other Norman
lords, and would appeal strongly to the imagination of less exalted
readers. The _History_ does, indeed, provide in Arthur a hero over
whose achievements Norman and Saxon, Welshman and Breton, could all
alike exult. Moreover, the common ancestry of the various constituent
races of the Angevin empire is shown by an account of their descent
from a branch of the great Trojan stock which founded imperial Rome.
Brutus, the son of Æneas, stands to Britain in the same relation as
Æneas himself stands to Rome, with the exception--and that was, of
course, to the advantage of Britain--that Brutus could be claimed as
the eponymous hero of this island.[73] Thus--as poets like Wace and
Layamon, and certain Welsh chroniclers, who use the name, were quick
to see--here was a _Brut_, which, though written in prose, had as
good a right to its epic title as the _Æneid_. There is, even, some
evidence that Geoffrey may, at one time, have cherished the ambition
of emulating Virgil himself by telling his story in verse; for, in the
eleventh chapter of his first book, we come across certain elegiac
lines which look uncommonly like fragments rescued from a projected
poem. Apart, however, from its account of the coming of Brutus, there
is little in Geoffrey’s _Brut_ that furnishes any real analogy with
the _Æneid_. It is not Brutus, but Arthur, who stands out as the hero
of the _Historia Regum Britanniæ_. The _Historia_ covers, altogether,
a period--according, of course, to the computation of its author--of
some fifteen hundred years; but more than a fifth part of it is devoted
to the record of Arthur’s life,--more than twice the space allotted to
the history of Brutus. It is upon the story of Arthur that Geoffrey
seems to concentrate all his powers, and, by magnifying the continental
conquests of the British king, he is able ultimately to point with
triumph to the fulfilment of a prophecy that “for the third time should
one of British race be born who should claim the empire of Rome.”

The main objection to this theory of an Anglo-Norman “epos” is the
difficulty of reconciling it, not so much with the Trojan and the
Arthurian parts of the _Historia_ as with the scope and character of
the work as a whole. The book is called a _History of the Kings of
Britain_, and would appear, _primâ facie_, to have been composed
by a writer of British birth for the sole purpose of glorifying the
forgotten heroes of his own race.[74] Through six books the narrative
is strictly confined to the insular history of Britain and its rulers,
many strange legends and marvels being interwoven with what professes
to be an authentic and ordered record of actual events. Even in the
first half of the _History_, dull though it is for the most part, one
alights upon many passages which betray the hand of the deliberate
romancer. But it is only with the introduction, in the seventh book, of
the prophecies of Merlin that Geoffrey finds his real opportunity for
romantic dilatation. With Merlin he is in the very heart of the land
of enchantment, and the spell of romance inevitably falls upon him. It
is to Merlin’s magic arts that the birth is due of “the most renowned
Arthur, who was not only famous in after years, but was well worthy of
all the fame he did achieve by his surpassing prowess.” Then follows,
in three books, the narrative which first revealed to an astonished
world that Britain once had a hero whose deeds challenged comparison
with those of Alexander and Charlemagne. Here, at last, was historical
confirmation of what had long been fabled in “the idle tales” and
“ancient songs” of the Britons. Here, also, was just what a romantic
age was thirsting for, and Arthur immediately became the central figure
of the most popular and the most splendid of the romantic cycles.
“Alexander”--and, we may add, Charlemagne--“had been an amusement;
Arthur became a passion.”[75]

Geoffrey’s _History_, to be properly understood, must thus be read in
the light of the general literary history of its time. Romance was in
demand, and Geoffrey was shrewd enough to perceive the romantic value
of the story of Arthur. It is impossible to read the Arthurian chapters
in his Book without feeling that the writer is conscious of having got
hold of “a good thing,” and that he is determined to make the most of
it. So he gives his imagination free play, and palpably expands and
embellishes his matter as he goes on. The _Historia_ is much more of a
romance than a sober chronicle, and it is quite conceivable that, in
an age of literary experiment, its author enjoyed the use to which he
was thus putting the time-honoured form of the chronicle. It is not,
of course, suggested that Geoffrey invented all, or even the greater
part, of his matter; nor need it be believed that the reference to
“the British book” is altogether a ruse. Like other chroniclers, he
borrows largely from his predecessors; what he has taken from Nennius
and Bede, for example, can be clearly traced in his text. But the
_History_ obviously contains much which Geoffrey either invented, or of
which he was unwilling to disclose the secret source. It is otherwise
unaccountable that he should warn orthodox and reputable chroniclers,
like William of Malmesbury and Henry of Huntingdon, not to pry into
the romantic enclosure which was his own particular preserve. In his
epilogue, Geoffrey tells these two eminent historians that they may
go on writing about “the kings of the Saxons,” if they choose, but he
“bids them be silent as to the kings of the Britons, since they have
not that book in the British speech which Walter, archdeacon of Oxford,
brought over from Brittany.”

Of scarcely less significance than his epilogue, as throwing a light
upon the general character of the work, is Geoffrey’s introductory
chapter. Its apologetic tone is distinctly suspicious, and seems
intended to disarm the critical by vouching an authority, both ancient
and written in a strange tongue, for the marvellous narrative that was
to follow and for the ornate style in which it was presented. It is
worth quoting in full, for it really strikes the keynote to the entire
work.

“Oftentimes in turning over in mine own mind the many themes that might
be subject-matter of a book, my thoughts would fall upon the plan of
writing a history of the Kings of Britain; and in my musings thereupon
meseemed it a marvel that, beyond such mention as Gildas and Bede
have made of them in their luminous tractate, nought could I find as
concerning the kings that had dwelt in Britain before the Incarnation
of Christ, _nor nought even as concerning Arthur_ and the many others
that did succeed him after the Incarnation, albeit that their deeds
be worthy of praise everlasting, and be as pleasantly _rehearsed from
memory by word of mouth in the traditions of many peoples_ as though
they had been written down. Now, whilst I was thus thinking upon such
matters, Walter, Archdeacon of Oxford, a man learned not only in the
art of eloquence, but in the histories of foreign lands, offered me a
certain most ancient book in the British language that did set forth
the doings of them all in due succession and order from Brute, the
first king of the Britons, onward to Cadwallader, the son of Cadwallo,
_all told in stories of exceeding beauty_. At his request, therefore,
albeit that never have I gathered gay flowers of speech in other men’s
little gardens and am content with mine own rustic manner of speech
and mine own writing-reeds, have I been at pains to translate this
volume into the Latin tongue. For, had I besprinkled my page with
high-flown phrases, I should only have engendered a weariness in my
readers by compelling them to spend more time over the meaning of the
words than upon understanding the drift of my story.”

Then follows the dedication to Robert of Gloucester.[76] Having thus
given us his authority, and having taken further shelter under the wing
of Walter, Geoffrey settles down to his task with all the gravity of a
pious monkish chronicler. As other chroniclers had done before him, he,
in his early books at least, makes brief references--as, apparently, so
many “guarantees of good faith”--to contemporaneous events in sacred
and profane history. When, for example, Gwendolen is said to have
handed over the sceptre to her son Maddan, we learn that “Samuel the
prophet reigned in Judæa, and Homer was held to be a famous teller of
histories and poet.” Carlisle, we are told, was founded at the time
when “Solomon began to build the temple of the Lord in Jerusalem.” “The
fortress of Mount Paladur, which is now called Shaftesbury,” was built
by Hudibras, when “Haggai, Amos, Joel and Azarias did prophesy.” We
get, in the account of the building of Shaftesbury, a characteristic
example of Geoffrey’s way of getting level with the sceptical reader.
“There, while the wall was a-building, an eagle spake, the sayings
whereof, had I believed them to be true, I would not have shrunk from
committing to memory along with the rest.”

It is time, however, to give some account of Geoffrey’s narrative of
the life of Arthur. He was, we are told, the son of Uther Pendragon[77]
by Igerne, the lawful wife of Gorlois, duke of Cornwall. Uther is
introduced to us as the brother of Aurelius Ambrosius, and becomes, on
the death of Aurelius, king of Britain. After conquering the Saxons
under Octa and Eosa, and strengthening his kingdom generally, he falls
in love with Igerne and quarrels with her husband. He, thereupon, makes
war upon Gorlois and besieges him in the castle of Dimilioc. Igerne
had, in the meantime, been sent for safer refuge to the neighbouring
castle of Tintagel, on the sea-coast. Thither Uther, transformed
into the semblance of Gorlois by Merlin’s magic powers, proceeds in
quest of her; he gains ready admission, and so becomes the father of
Arthur. Immediately afterwards Gorlois, in a sally from Dimilioc, is
killed, and in due time Uther marries Igerne. Another child born unto
them was a daughter, Anna, who became the wife of “Lot of Lodonesia,”
and the mother of Gawain and Modred. After another campaign against
Octa and Eosa, Uther is poisoned by the Saxons, and Arthur succeeds
to the throne. He is crowned by Dubricius, “archbishop of the City
of Legions,”[78] and is thus portrayed as he was at the time of his
coronation. “At that time Arthur was a youth of fifteen years, of a
courage and generosity beyond compare, whereunto his inborn goodness
did lend such grace as that he was beloved of well-nigh all the peoples
of the land. After he had been invested with the ensigns of royalty,
he abided by his ancient wont, and was so prodigal of his bounties
as that he began to run short of wherewithal to distribute amongst
the huge multitude of knights that made repair unto him. But he that
hath within him a bountiful nature along with prowess, albeit that
he be lacking for a time, natheless in no wise shall poverty be his
bane for ever. Wherefore did Arthur, for that in him did valour keep
company with largess, make resolve to harry the Saxons, to the end
that with their treasure he might make rich the retainers that were
of his own household.” Thus it comes about that Arthur begins his
career of conquest at once. He attacks the Saxon chieftains Colgrin,
Cheldric and Baldulph, and with the help of his nephew Hoel, king of
Armorica, subdues them after several battles--including the twelve
recorded by Nennius--of which the last is fought in “the country about
Bath.” Arthur himself, carrying “on his shoulder the shield Priwen,”
and armed with Ron, his spear, and “Caliburn, best of swords, that
was forged within the Isle of Avalon,” performed prodigies of valour
in that battle. “Whomsoever he touched, calling upon God, he slew at
a single blow, nor did he once slacken in his onslaught until that he
had slain four hundred and seventy men single-handed with his sword
Caliburn.” Having restored the whole island to its pristine British
dignity, Arthur, we read, “took unto him a wife born of a _noble Roman
family_, Guenevere, who, brought up and nurtured in the household of
Duke Cador (of Cornwall), did surpass in beauty all the other dames
of the island.”[79] His marriage only stimulated Arthur to attempt,
and achieve, further conquests; and, in rapid succession, Ireland,
Iceland, Gothland, and the Orkneys, are either subdued or forced to
pay tribute to him. Then follow twelve years of peace, during which
his court waxed in splendour, and his renown spread until “at last
the fame of his bounty and his prowess was on every man’s tongue,
even unto the uttermost ends of the earth, and a fear fell upon the
kings of the realms oversea lest he might fall upon them in arms and
they might lose the nations under their dominion.” Hence, one is not
surprised to learn that Arthur’s “heart was uplifted for that he was a
terror unto them all, and he set his desire upon subduing the whole of
Europe unto himself.” Norway, Dacia and Gaul are invaded, and quickly
reduced to submission. Lot, his sister’s husband, is given what was his
of ancestral right, the crown of Norway, just at the time, as we are
told incidentally, when “Gawain, the son of Lot, was a youth of twelve
years, and had been sent by his uncle to be brought up as a page in
the service of Pope Sulpicius.” Arthur’s visit to Gaul led to a single
combat between him and a man of giant stature, Flollo, “Tribune of
Rome”; the British king was wounded in the fight, but at last “raising
Caliburn aloft” he clove Flollo’s head “sheer in twain.” He concluded
his business in Gaul by giving “Neustria, which is now called Normandy,
unto Bedevere, his butler, and the province of Anjou unto Kay, his
seneschal.”

Returning to Britain, Arthur holds high court at Caerleon-upon-Usk,
and in the descriptions of the state that he kept there the colour and
pomp of the age of chivalry, and of Norman court-life, run unchecked
through Geoffrey’s narrative. Even before he had embarked upon his
continental conquests, Arthur had begun to “hold such courtly fashion
in his household as begat rivalry amongst peoples at a distance,
insomuch as the noblest in the land, fain to vie with him, would hold
himself as nought, save in the cut of his clothes and the manner of
his arms he followed the pattern of Arthur’s knights.” But, so far,
nothing has been heard of “the City of Legions,” except that Dubricius
was “archbishop” there. Now, however, we are given a picture of the
town “situate on a passing pleasant position on the river Usk in
Glamorgan,” which Arthur chose to be the seat of his court, and to
be the scene of the “high solemnity” of his second, and seemingly
imperial, coronation. The city “abounded in wealth” above all others;
ships came to it from oversea; its kingly palaces challenged comparison
with those of Rome itself; it was the third metropolitan see of
Britain, and “had, moreover, a school of two hundred philosophers
learned in astronomy and in the other arts, that did diligently observe
the courses of the stars, and did by true inferences foretell the
prodigies which at that time were about to befall unto King Arthur.”
To the coronation were bidden princes and warriors from every part of
the British islands and from realms oversea, until “not a single prince
of any price on this side Spain remained at home and came not upon the
proclamation.” The description of the splendours of the ceremonial
itself, and of the banquet that followed it, taxes Geoffrey’s
rhetorical powers to the full. He has, indeed, to give up in despair
any attempt to give a complete account of them; “were I to go about
to describe them,” he writes, “I might draw out this history into an
endless prolixity.” “For at that time Britain was exalted unto so high
a pitch of dignity as that it did surpass all other kingdoms in plenty
of riches, in luxury of adornment, and in the courteous wit of them
that dwelt therein. Whatsoever knight in the land was of renown for
his prowess did wear his clothes and his arms all of one same colour.
And the dames, no less witty, would apparel them in like manner in a
single colour, nor would they deign have the love of none save he had
thrice approved him in the wars. Wherefore at that time did dames wax
chaste and knights the nobler for their love.”

Here is a passage that must have delighted the hearts of Norman readers
nurtured upon ideals of chivalry and courtly love, and seems as though
designed to prepare the way for Arthur’s entry into the kingdom of
chivalric romance. It is no great step from Arthur’s court, as here
pictured, to the knightly fellowship of the Round Table, and all the
other elaborate fictions of professional romantic scribes. Of a part
with all this romantic presentment of the pomp and state surrounding
the British king is Geoffrey’s constant exaltation of his “bounty,” and
of his individual prowess as a warrior. Nor is the element of wonder
lacking in the narrative given of Arthur’s exploits. He encounters at
St Michael’s Mount, and slays by his own hand, a Spanish “giant of
monstrous size,” who had carried away and killed the niece of Hoel,
duke of Armorica. This adventure leads him to tell Kay and Bedivere,
who had accompanied him on the expedition, how he had once, in Wales,
despatched another formidable monster, “the giant Ritho,” of Mount
Eryri, “who had fashioned him a furred cloak of the beards of the kings
he had slain.” Again, in the last battle with the Romans, he is a truly
Homeric hero. “He dashed forward upon the enemy, flung them down, smote
them,--never a one did he meet, but he slew either him or his horse at
a single buffet. They fled from him like sheep from a fierce lion madly
famishing to devour aught that chance may throw in his way. Nought
might armour avail them but that Caliburn would carve their souls from
out them with their blood.”

The campaign against the Romans, undertaken with an army of
“eighty-three thousand two hundred, besides those on foot, who were not
easy to reckon,” seems to have followed close upon the festivities at
Caerleon.[80] The Romans were under the command of “Lucius Hiberius,
procurator of the Commonwealth,” who, summoning to his aid “the kings
of the East,” put into the field a host numbering “four hundred
thousand one hundred and sixty.” It is unnecessary here to give any
detailed account of the fighting, and of the final discomfiture of
the Roman forces. It need only be said that the British triumph was
obtained at heavy cost. Among the slain were the faithful Kay and
Bedevere,--in death, as in life, not divided. Bedevere was buried at
Bayeux, “his own city that was builded by Bedevere the first, his
great-grandfather;” Kai was laid to rest near Chinon, “a town he
himself had builded.” The chief disaster to the Romans was the loss of
their leader Lucius, whose body Arthur “bade bear unto the Senate with
a message to say that none other tribute was due from Britain.” Arthur
designed to follow up this message by a march upon Rome itself, and he
had actually begun to climb the passes of the Alps when news reached
him that “his nephew Modred, unto whom he had committed the charge of
Britain, had tyrannously and traitorously set the crown of the kingdom
upon his own head, and had linked him in unhallowed union with Guenever
the Queen in despite of her former marriage.”

So ends Geoffrey’s tenth book. “Hereof” begins the eleventh,
strangely enough,--but, of course, plainly referring to the affair of
Guinevere,--“verily, most noble Earl, will Geoffrey of Monmouth say
nought.” He will only treat of the battles which Arthur, after his
return to Britain, fought with his nephew, according to the account
given “in the British discourse aforementioned,” and what he “_hath
heard_ from Walter of Oxford, a man of passing deep lore in many
histories.”[81] The final, and fatal, battle did not take place all
at once; it came at the end of a campaign of some length. Modred,
retreating rapidly into Cornwall, is at last brought to bay on the
river Camel, and is slain in a battle in which “well-nigh all the
captains that were in command on both sides rushed into the press with
their companies and fell.” And “even the renowned King Arthur himself
was wounded deadly, and was borne thence unto the island of Avalon for
the healing of his wounds, where he gave up the crown of Britain unto
his kinsman Constantine, son of Cador, duke of Cornwall, in the year of
the incarnation of our Lord five hundred and forty-two.”

“Borne unto the island of Avalon for the healing of his wounds,”--here,
surely, are words never before used in a professedly historical
narrative of a kingly hero wounded unto death. This touch, alone, is
sufficient to attest the kinship of Geoffrey’s “history” of Arthur
with the waifs and strays of Celtic romance. The circumstances of
Arthur’s birth, as told by Geoffrey, were marvellous enough; like other
saga-heroes, such as Finn and Cormac, he was born out of wedlock,
through Merlin’s magical intervention. But what caught the imagination
of poets and romancers even more was the fable of his “return.” “Some
men say yet,” writes Malory, “that King Arthur is not dead, but had by
the will of our Lord Jesu into another place. And men say that he shall
come again, and he shall win the holy cross. I will not say it shall
not be so, but rather I will say, here in this world he changed his
life. But many men say that there is written upon his tomb this verse,
_Hic jacet Arthurus Rex quondam Rexque futurus_.” Later in the twelfth
century an attempt was made, at the instance--so it is alleged--of
Henry II to destroy the persistent belief in this “Celtic messiahship”
by an announcement that the body of Arthur had been exhumed at
Glastonbury by the monks of St Dunstan’s abbey.[82] It was, however, of
no avail. A poet of the next generation, Layamon, tells us that “the
Britons believe yet that Arthur is alive, and dwelleth in Avalon with
the fairest of all elves, and ever yet the Britons look for Arthur’s
coming.”

The popularity of Geoffrey’s _History_ was immediate and immense; it
is indeed difficult to find a parallel to it before the age of printed
books. So much is largely attested by the number of extant MS copies
of the work.[83] But the most striking evidence of the impression
it made is to be found in the number of translations, adaptations
and continuations of the _Historia_ compiled from the moment of its
first appearance down to comparatively recent times. Not long, if at
all, after its author’s death, Geoffrey Gaimar translated it into
Anglo-Norman verse.[84] By 1155 Wace had completed his _Brut_, which
in substance is almost entirely based on Geoffrey’s _Historia_. Early
in the next century Layamon wrote his English _Brut_, embodying,
with many interesting additions and embellishments of his own, the
main features of Geoffrey’s and Wace’s narrative. Then follow a long
line of English chroniclers, in both prose and verse, from Robert of
Gloucester down to Grafton and Holinshed, who pass on Geoffrey’s fables
as authentic history. In the Elizabethan age, in spite of attempts made
to discredit him by critics and antiquaries, like Polydore Vergil and
Camden, Geoffrey continues to be drawn upon by the poets. Sackville
and Spenser, Warner and Drayton, and others, give a new currency to
his British legends, and Drayton even goes out of his way to defend
his impugned reputation.[85] Spenser, in borrowing from his record of
British kings, pays him a well-known tribute in the second book of _The
Faerie Queene_. But, perhaps, the finest tribute of all to Geoffrey’s
_History_ is that of Wordsworth in ‘Artegal and Elidure,’ where he
sings of the “British record” in which

        “We read of Spenser’s fairy themes,
  And those that Milton loved in youthful years;
  The sage enchanter Merlin’s subtle schemes;
  The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;
  Of Arthur, who, to upper light restored,
        With that terrific sword
  Which yet he brandishes for future war
  Shall lift his country’s fame above the polar star!”

Although Geoffrey’s book found so much acceptance in his own time
and afterwards, it is significant to note that, even soon after its
appearance and in the very heyday of its repute, a few shrewd critics
ventured to question its authenticity. William of Newburgh, as we
have seen, denounced it unreservedly as a tissue of impudent lies.
He, at any rate, had no scruple in treating the work as a deliberate
experiment in fiction under the guise of a chronicle. A different
attitude towards the book might have been expected from Giraldus
Cambrensis, a Welshman proud of his race and of its “old and haughty”
traditions, who was himself not unskilled in the art of fiction. Yet it
is Gerald who, of all Geoffrey’s critics, says much the unkindest thing
on record of the _Historia_. He tells us of a Welshman at Caerleon
named Melerius, or Meilir, who had dealings with evil spirits, and was
“enabled through their assistance to foretell future events.” “He knew
when anyone spoke falsely in his presence, for he saw the devil as it
were leaping and exulting on the tongue of the liar.... If the evil
spirits oppressed him too much, the Gospel of St John was placed on his
bosom, when, like birds, they immediately vanished; but when that book
was removed, and the _History of the Britons_ by Geoffrey Arthur was
substituted in its place, they instantly reappeared in greater numbers,
and remained a longer time than usual on his body and on the book.”

Geoffrey, in the epilogue to his _History_, hands over the task of
writing of “the kings who succeeded in Wales” from the time at which
his narrative closes to “Caradoc of Llancarvan, my contemporary.”
Caradoc was an undoubted Welshman, but no Latin continuation by him
of Geoffrey’s chronicle dealing with the Welsh kings is known to
exist, and it is very doubtful whether a Welsh compilation bearing his
name, and bringing Geoffrey’s narrative down to the year 1156, is a
genuine work of his. It is, however, highly probable that he was the
author of the Latin _Life of Gildas_, preserved in a twelfth century
MS now in the library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. This work
is of peculiar interest as containing certain Arthurian traditions
which were apparently unknown to Geoffrey. Gildas is represented, in
this fictitious biography, as being a contemporary of Arthur, king of
all Britain, whom he loved and obeyed. He had, however, twenty-three
refractory brothers who refused allegiance to Arthur, and the eldest
of them, Hueil,[86] or Huel, King of Scotland, fought a battle with
him in “the isle of Minau” and was killed. Gildas, who was in Ireland
at the time, was much distressed to hear of this, but, as became a
saint, he prayed for Arthur, and, returning to Britain, granted the
king the pardon which he besought. Further on in the _Life_ we get a
version, probably the earliest in literature,[87] of the story of the
abduction of Guinevere by Melwas (the Mellyagraunce of Malory), “the
wicked king of the Summer Country,” or Somerset. After long seeking
for a convenient opportunity, Melwas carries her violently away to
Glastonia, or Glastonbury, a place chosen by him as being apparently
impregnable because of the marshes around it. Arthur, discovering her
retreat, besieges Glastonbury with a large army drawn from Cornwall
and Devon. Before, however, he and Melwas engage in battle, the monks
of the abbey, accompanied by Gildas, intervene; peace is made, and the
queen is restored to her lawful husband.

Of the many chroniclers who, either in prose or in verse, repeat and
embellish Geoffrey’s Arthurian narrative, by far the most interesting,
and the most important in their influence upon the literary development
of Arthurian story, are Wace and Layamon. Both are poets, and their
metrical _Bruts_ mark, as it were, the transitional stage between
the Arthur of history and traditional legend and the Arthur of pure
romance. Wace, according to Layamon, dedicated his poem, which was
completed in 1155, to “the noble Eleanor, who was the high King
Henry’s queen.”[88] This statement--and there is no reason to doubt
its truth--affords another indication of the interest of the Angevin
court in the literary exploitation of “the matter of Britain.” Geoffrey
had already besought royal approval for his presentment of British
legends, and had done his best to clothe his account of Arthur’s deeds
in the highly-coloured rhetorical trappings that would commend it to
courtly Norman readers. Wace went further. He took Geoffrey’s matter
and dressed it up in a poetical form in French, thus giving it a much
more widespread currency than a Latin prose chronicle could ever have
done. Arthur becomes, in his _Brut_, the flower of chivalry, and
his entire narrative is decorated in a way that would appeal to the
imagination of all knightly Anglo-Normans. Nor is he without thought of
the courtly ladies who took so lively an interest in tales of chivalry.
Like Chrétien de Troyes and other romancers, he is at some pains to
elaborate his descriptions of scenes of love. He takes delight in
dwelling upon the accoutrements of warriors, and upon their individual
exploits in the field. But it is not alone in such embellishments--the
deliberate attempts of a courtly writer to please a courtly circle of
readers--that Wace differs from Geoffrey. He adds to his narrative many
details which indicate that he also had at his command an independent
fund of Arthurian traditions. Wace’s literary celebrity is due,
perhaps, most of all to the fact that he is the first Arthurian writer
to mention the Round Table. “The Bretons,” he says, “tell many a fable
of the Table Round,” but he does not explain whence such fables came,
or where he heard them told.[89] He does, however, inform us that the
Table was made round because each of Arthur’s knights thought himself
better than his fellows, and Arthur devised this method of settling all
disputes about precedence among them. The praise of the knights of the
Round Table, he adds in another place, was loud throughout the world.
Again, Wace adds considerably to Geoffrey’s description of the passing
of Arthur. The king is not only taken to Avalon “to be cured of his
wounds,”--the Bretons confidently expect his recovery, and look for his
return. “He is still there; the Bretons await him; they say that he
will come back and live again.”

Wace’s metrical chronicle formed the basis of the still more elaborate,
and the more poetical, metrical _Brut_ of the Englishman, Layamon,--the
most remarkable English contribution to Arthurian literature until
we come to _Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knight_. Here we have a brave
attempt to do what Caxton long afterwards desired,--to make Arthur
the best “remembered among Englishmen before all other Christian
kings.” Wace’s poem was a contribution to the polite literature of
the Normans; Layamon’s, though his matter is so largely borrowed from
Wace, is a patriotic English epic. It was his aspiration, as we learn
from the opening lines of his _Brut_, “to tell the noble deeds of
England,” and in his record of those deeds Arthur, who had been all
but denationalised by the romancers, is restored to his fatherland and
duly figures as the great “Christian king of England.” But Layamon
was a poet no less than a patriotic chronicler, and could not help
listening to the blowings of “the horns of Elfland.” Arthur’s prowess
and royal attributes were such as could not be explained except for
the intervention of superhuman powers. Elves surrounded him when he
came into the world; it was from them that he derived the gifts which
made him the best of knights and the mightiest of kings.[90] Again,
at his passing, Arthur says that he is about to go to the splendid
elf, Argante (Morgain, or Morgan, _la fée_); “she will heal me of all
my wounds, and shall make me all hale; and afterwards I shall come to
my kingdom and dwell among the Britons with mickle joy.”[91] Arthur’s
byrnie was made for him by Wygar, “the elvish smith”; his spear by
Griffin, of the city of the wizard Merlin (Kaermerddin); his sword,
Caliburn, was wrought with magic craft in Avalon; the Round Table was
constructed by a strange carpenter from oversea. Layamon’s account of
the Round Table is much fuller than that of Wace, and is evidently
based upon popular legends of wizardry. It was in Cornwall, when there
was a quarrel among his knights, that Arthur met the stranger from
beyond the sea who offered to “make him a board, wondrous fair, at
which sixteen hundred men and more might sit.”[92] Though it was so
large, and took four weeks to make, the table could, by some magic
means, be carried by Arthur as he rode, and placed by him wherever he
chose. Layamon had evidently heard more about the Round Table, “of
which the Britons boast,” than he cares to disclose in his poem; but
“the Britons,” he tells us at the end of his description of the Table,
say “many leasings” of King Arthur and attribute to him things “that
never happened in the kingdom of this world.”

No more spirited, or more romantic, passage is to be found in Layamon’s
poem than that in which he describes Arthur’s last battle. It was
fought at Camelford, “a name that will last for ever.” The stream, hard
by, “was flooded with blood unmeasured.” The combatants were pressed
so close that they could not distinguish friend from foe; “each slew
downright were he swain, were he knight.” Modred, and all his knights,
were slain, as were also “all the brave ones, Arthur’s warriors, high
and low, and all the Britons of Arthur’s board.” None remained alive
at the end of the battle,--and they were two hundred thousand men who
fought there,--save Arthur and two of his knights. Arthur, grievously
wounded, bequeaths his kingdom to Constantine, Cador’s son, and says
that he himself will go unto Avalon to be healed by Argante,[93] “the
fairest of all maidens.” And “even with the words there came from
the sea a short boat, borne on the waves, and two women therein,
wondrously arrayed; and they took Arthur anon, and bare him quickly,
and softly laid him down, and fared forth away. Then was brought to
pass that which Merlin whilom said, that there should be sorrow untold
at Arthur’s forthfaring. The Britons believe yet that he is alive, and
dwelleth in Avalon, with the fairest of all elves, and ever yet the
Britons look for Arthur’s coming. Was never the man born, nor ever of
woman chosen, that knoweth the sooth, to say more of Arthur. But whilom
there was a seer hight Merlin; he said with words--and his sayings were
sooth--that an Arthur should yet come to help the Britons.”




CHAPTER IV

ROMANCE


Before the close of the twelfth century the Arthur of popular legend,
and of the chronicles, had been transformed into a purely romantic
hero. The British king, soon after the appearance of Geoffrey’s
_History_, becomes the centre of the most profitably worked of the
cycles of mediæval romance. Much of his individuality is, inevitably,
lost in the process; and that loss implies, no less inevitably,
a gradual obscuration of the primitive British environment which
originally surrounded him. The paramount chief of early Britain,
whose prowess and conquests form the prime epic theme of Geoffrey
and of Layamon, appears as the king of no known realm, numbering
among his retainers heroic figures drawn from the uttermost limits
of the mythical world. Exalted, as a world conqueror, to a level
with Alexander and Charlemagne, he becomes, like them, largely lost
to sight among the crowd of fabulous characters called up around him
by the professional romancers. The Arthur of the romances is no
more than a _primus inter pares_. He does, indeed, stand above his
knights by virtue of his royal dignity,--he is still “King Arthur,”
and the head of a great Court. But our interest in his own personality
diminishes with the increasing accumulation of exploits attributed to
his knightly retinue. The glory of the king is dimmed by the general
brilliance of his Court. It is as though the Round Table, originally
founded to put an end to all claims of precedence among his knights,
had had the result of bringing Arthur himself into the unvalued “file.”
Knightly heroes, of whom little, or nothing, had been heard before,
enter the Arthurian circle, and perform feats which interest us far
more than anything done by the king. In early Welsh tradition, and
in Geoffrey’s chronicle, Kay and Bedivere and, later, Gawain, alone
figure as warriors whose deeds are at all worth mentioning by the side
of Arthur’s. In the romances, Kay and Bedivere play quite subordinate
parts, while Gawain becomes much more prominent, only, however, to find
his high station challenged, and frequently usurped, by newcomers such
as Tristram and Perceval and Lancelot.

The cause of all this change is obvious. The age of Chivalry had come,
and the Arthurian stories provided “the raw material” exactly suited
to its romantic literary requirements. The original Celtic legends
concerning Arthur and his few primitive “knights” lent themselves, at
once, to adaptation and embellishment by writers whose main concern
was with knight-errantry and courtly love; while the conception
of an Arthurian “court,” with its fellowship of questing knights,
invited the importation into it of any and every legendary hero whose
story could in any plausible way be connected with Arthur. They had
another advantage which contributed to their supreme popularity in
the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries. They had about them an
element of mystery, of magic, of indefiniteness, coming as they did
from the Celtic wonderland in the West. The Arthurian kingdom had no
geography,--it was a “no man’s land,” which defied all cartography, and
the bounds of which could be extended by each romantic writer at his
will. It is true that British tradition, and the bards and chroniclers
who had sought to give it literary form, associated Arthur’s name with
well-known localities in Great Britain; but, even there, the “champion
of Britain” had no settled capital or court. London, the chief city
of the Norman kings, claimed him as her own; but so did Winchester,
Lincoln, York, Chester and Carlisle. Then there was Caerleon-upon-Usk,
the delectable “metropolitan city” where Geoffrey of Monmouth had
definitely located his court in Wales. Moreover places in Britain with
mysterious legendary associations came to be connected with Arthur’s
name. Glastonbury, whither Joseph of Arimathea was fabled to have
brought the Holy Grail, was reputed to be his burial-place, and the
district around it was identified with the mythical Avalon. The grim
old western castle of Tintagel was fixed upon as his birthplace, and
the tale of the battle on the Camel led to the building, in poetic
imagination,[94] of a new Arthurian court at “tower’d Camelot.” The
name of Camelot at once suggests such purely romantic regions as
“the wild woods of Broceliande” and “the sad sea-sounding wastes of
Lyonesse.”[95] Astolat, Cameliard, Sarras, Carbonek, Joyous Gard, and
other places, belong to the same romantic class, and lie quite beyond
geographical identification. Stories, in which the characters thus
roamed indifferently among places well known to Norman England and in
regions which belonged entirely to “the land of phantasy and illusion,”
lay open to the incursion of fabulous matter drawn from many varied
sources. In a word, the unrivalled possibilities of “the matter of
Britain” for all kinds of romantic exploitation established for it an
easy supremacy over the other romantic themes, and the literary uses to
which it was put by writers of romance throughout Western Europe all
but robbed it, ultimately, of its distinctive features as a native
British growth.

The various stages in the romantic use and adaptation of the Arthurian
legends, mainly by French writers, are not difficult to trace. First
of all, we get the metrical chronicles,--attempts to put Geoffrey’s
quasi-historical record into a poetical form which much better suited
its heroic theme than the sober garb of Latin prose. Wace’s _Brut_,
completed in the year of Geoffrey’s death, is our earliest extant
example of this poetical treatment of Arthurian story, and his work,
as we have seen, was written with a much more deliberate purpose of
pleasing courtly readers than Geoffrey’s. The tastes and requirements
of such readers, regarded solely from the standpoint of their interest
in knight-errantry and romantic love, determine the character of the
second and the third phase which Arthurian literature assumes. The
metrical, and the prose, French romances began to be written about the
same time, and from the same motive. It is generally held, however,
that the poetical romancers were in the field before the prose writers:
at any rate, the most famous of the metrical romances--those of
Chrétien de Troyes--are earlier than any prose romances which have come
down to us. Chrétien, in whom his admirers find the greatest mediæval
poet before Chaucer, wrote for the Norman aristocracy, and especially
for ladies, what were practically the fashionable novels of the day.
He dedicates his _Chevalier de la Charrette_ to the countess Marie of
Champagne, whose interest in everything appertaining to the French cult
of _l’amour courtois_ is well known; and all his poetical ‘novels’ are
largely designed for the entertainment of women eager for literature of
a more sentimental appeal than sagas of monster-slayers and warriors.
The sudden appearance of the immortal love-stories of Tristan and
Iseult, and of Lancelot and Guinevere, shows how triumphantly the
French romancers responded to the demands made of them.

Chrétien de Troyes’ share in the literary flotation of both these
stories entitles him to a place in the history of pure Arthurian
romance even above that of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Geoffrey can claim,
beyond any question, to be the literary father of King Arthur himself
as a romantic hero. But the Arthurian legend, as it emerged from
mediæval romance and as we know it in its modern presentment by the
poets, contains so much more than the story of Arthur that the French
romantic scribes who brought Tristan and Lancelot and Perceval into
Arthur’s court must be regarded as the first artistic fashioners of a
purely poetic “matter of Britain.” Among them Chrétien, and--if we are
to take him as the unquestioned author of the great prose _Lancelot_
romance--Walter Map, stand pre-eminent. As to Chrétien’s signal share
in the work there is, at any rate, no controversy, and his name is
associated with the poetical treatment of the stories of each of the
three celebrated heroes just mentioned. He is believed[96] to have been
the author of a lost Tristan poem--probably his first work, composed
about 1160,--which is surmised to have been the foundation of the long
prose _Tristan_ romance, whence Malory drew much of his material. It is
in his _Chevalier de la Charrette_ that we first hear of Lancelot as
a lover of Guinevere. His unfinished _Conte del Graal_ is one of the
first literary presentations of the story of Perceval.

Two other poems of Chrétien are, with the _Conte del Graal_, of
exceptional interest as bearing a close relationship to three Welsh
prose romances included in _The Red Book of Hergest_, and translated by
Lady Charlotte Guest. The Welsh analogue of the _Conte del Graal_ is
the so-called ‘mabinogi’ of _Peredur, son of Evrawc_; while the Welsh
tales called _Geraint, son of Erbin_, and _The Lady of the Fountain_
resemble, in their main features, Chrétien’s two poems entitled _Erec_
and _Le chevalier au lion_. The Welsh romances, as we have them, are
undoubtedly of later date than Chrétien’s poems, and bear such clear
traces of Norman-French influence as to have led many critics to deny
altogether their Celtic origin. But they are neither translations, nor
adaptations of Chrétien’s works.[97] The only explanation that meets
all the facts is that the French poems and the Welsh tales follow an
older and a simpler Celtic form of the stories embodied in them, which
was accessible both to Chrétien and the Welsh writers.

Although by no means the best, the _Chevalier de la Charrette_ is
perhaps the most interesting of Chrétien’s extant works, for the reason
that we obtain in it our first literary introduction to the story of
Lancelot of the Lake. It treats, indeed, of only an episode in that
famous knight’s career, but that episode reveals him to us as the lover
of Arthur’s queen, and so marks an important stage in the evolution
of Arthurian romance. In Chrétien’s poem, Guinevere is abducted by
Meleaguant,[98] the son of the king of a land whence no man returns.
Her rescue is accomplished by Lancelot, who, in order to achieve his
object, has to ride in a cart used as a tumbril to convey prisoners to
execution; hence the name given to him and to the poem, ‘The Knight
of the Cart.’ Welsh tradition knows nothing whatever of the loves of
Lancelot and Guinevere, although, as we have seen, Guinevere did
come to have in Welsh folk-lore a doubtful reputation that somewhat
debased her name. It is in his Lancelot poem alone that Chrétien
suggests that Guinevere was anything but a gracious and loving wife.
Whence, then, did he derive the story of her illicit relations with
Lancelot? Some see in it the influence of the Tristram legend, in which
passionate love breaks every bond. Others attribute the invention of
Lancelot as Guinevere’s lover to the personal suggestion of Marie of
Champagne, who, according to Chrétien’s own account, furnished him
with the material for his poem. Whatever may be the truth about its
origin, the story of Lancelot is an obvious, indeed the most signal,
example of the way in which the Arthurian legends were adapted to
suit the conceptions of chivalry. We have in it a capital instance of
what was implied in the cult of “courtly love,” and hence it is not
surprising that among mediæval tales women, as Chaucer informs us, held
“in ful gret reverence the boke of Lancelot de Lake.”[99] That book
was not Chrétien’s poem, but, much more probably, the prose romance
of _Lancelot_, usually assigned to Walter Map. The same prose story,
or one of its adaptations, was presumably the book in which Paolo and
Francesca read, as related by Dante in the Fifth Canto of his _Inferno_.

The prose _Lancelot_ is a vast compilation embracing what is really
a series of romances, including a version of the Grail story, and is
attributed, on good MS. authority, to the courtier Walter Map. If he
be indeed its author, he is entitled to as high a pedestal in the
Arthurian House of Fame as either Geoffrey or Chrétien. The difficulty
of accepting his authorship of the work is not so much that he was
a very active public man, as that the one book of which he is the
indubitable author, the _De Nugis Curialium_,--a sort of commonplace
book in which contemporary history finds a place side by side with
fairy tales, and much other odd lore,--does not afford the slightest
trace of interest in Arthurian story. Map’s name was used to give a
literary passport to the notorious Goliardic poems gathered from many
cryptic sources in the thirteenth century, and it may very well be that
the ascription to him of so wholly laudable a work as the _Lancelot_
was dictated by some too modest scribe’s desire for high credentials.

The other great love-story of Arthurian romance, that of Tristram
and Iseult, is the most poetical and the most poignant in tragic
interest of all the tales that came to be included in “the matter
of Britain.” The story of Lancelot, with all its charm and pathos,
betrays only too obviously its origin in the artificial conventions
of “courtly love.” The story of Tristram, on the other hand, is one
of sheer, over-mastering, natural passion,--the first really great
story of passionate romantic love in modern literature. It is also,
in its scene, its characters, its colouring, a distinctively Celtic
tale. Tristram[100] is known to early Welsh tradition under the name
of Drystan, the son of Tallwch, as a purely mythical hero; so also
is Mark, or March ab Meirchion, who, in the first literary versions
of the story, appears as King of Cornwall. The “proud, first Iseult,
Cornwall’s queen,”

  “She who, as they voyaged, quaff’d
  With Tristram that spiced magic draught,”

came from Ireland; while the other Iseult,

          “the patient flower,
  Who possess’d his darker hour,
  Iseult of the Snow-White hand,”[101]

had her home in Brittany. The entire atmosphere of the story is that
of the western Celtic seaboard, where lay the mystic land of Lyonesse,
then “unswallowed of the tides,” and

    “the wind-hollowed heights and gusty bays
  Of sheer Tintagel, fair with famous days.”[102]

Whence the French romancers derived the story it is impossible to say;
but it is probable that it existed in the form of scattered popular
lays long before the middle of the twelfth century. Fragments of two
_Tristan_ poems by the Anglo-Normans, Béroul and Thomas, otherwise
known as Thomas de Bretagne, have come down to us.[103] These two poems
were the foundations, respectively, of the German metrical versions of
the story by Eilhart von Oberge and Gottfried von Strassburg.

The most intricate, though not the least fascinating, problem connected
with the Arthurian legends is that of accounting for the origin, and
for the attachment to the original Arthurian stock, of the story of
the Grail and its quest. Here, at any rate, we have presented to us,
in Tennyson’s words, “Soul at war with Sense”; and it is clear enough
that the gradual manipulation of the Grail stories marks a deliberate
effort by ecclesiastical writers to neutralise the influence of the
dangerous ideals of chivalry upon Arthurian romance. Celibacy had to be
shown to be compatible with true knighthood; there was no reason why a
knight-errant should make love, and, all too often, illicit love, the
sole motive of his quest for adventure. So, we have ultimately created
for us the character of Galahad, who

      “never felt the kiss of love
  Nor maiden’s hand in his,”

and who alone, by virtue of his purity, is allowed to “find the Holy
Grail.” The earlier forms of the Grail legend know nothing of Galahad,
nor is there any reason for supposing that they had any religious
significance. Gawain, apparently,--he who, in his progress through the
romances, degenerates so much as to be finally described as “light in
life and light in death,”[104]--was the original hero of the Grail
quest. It is Perceval, however, who is the central figure of the
best-known versions of the story--as, for example, the _Conte del
Graal_, the Welsh _Peredur_, and Wolfram von Eschenbach’s _Parzival_.
But Perceval was not immaculate, and so had to be superseded by one
who “exemplified, in a yet more uncompromising, yet more inhuman,
spirit, the ideal of militant asceticism,”[105]--the virginal and
youngest knight of the Round Table, Galahad. And, in order to establish
Galahad’s right to a place in the Arthurian fellowship, he is
introduced as the son of Lancelot. Here is an artistic touch deserving
much more appreciation than it has yet generally received. The sin of
Lancelot is largely expiated by the unsullied purity of his son. Truly,
the “militant ascetics” knew their romantic business as well as the
best of the secular scribes.[106]

It is unnecessary, here, to outline the various ramifications of the
Grail legend, or to summarise the conflicting theories advanced as
to its origin and meaning. It comes to be connected with Arthur’s
court mainly through the knightly Perceval, who, though ultimately
deposed as the Grail hero by Galahad, remains to the end the real
protagonist of the story. The Grail romances are usually divided into
two classes,--one dealing with the “Quest” proper, and the other
with the “Early History” of the Holy Grail. In the “Quest” group of
stories--three of which have been named above--the main interest
lies in the personality of Perceval, and in his adventures in search
of certain talismans, which include a sword, a bleeding lance and a
“grail,” the latter, in Chrétien’s poem, a magic vessel, in Wolfram’s,
a stone. The “Early History” group--of which the chief representatives
are the _Joseph of Arimathea_ and the _Merlin_ of Robert de Borron,
and the _Quête del St Graal_ attributed to Map,--dwell chiefly upon
the origin and nature of these talismans. The Grail legends, as given
in these and other romances, and so far as they can be put into a
coherent whole, are undoubtedly a compound of remote mythical and
pagan elements, probably Celtic,[107] and of later accretions due to
monastic writers deliberately bent upon edification. A flagrant example
of the way in which the legends were turned to ecclesiastical uses is
furnished by the identification of the Grail with the cup of the Last
Supper, which Pilate gave to Joseph of Arimathea, and in which Joseph
treasured the blood that flowed from the Saviour’s wounds on the Cross.
Joseph brought this cup to Britain, and thus the Grail came to be
connected with the mythical story which attributed to Joseph the first
evangelisation of these islands.

It has been said that Gawain was, in all probability, the original
hero of the Grail quest.[108] Whatever the truth may be about that
matter, there can be no doubt that Gawain is the most famous of all the
knights grouped around Arthur in pre-romantic tradition. He figures
largely in the Welsh Triads and in the _Mabinogion_ under the name of
Gwalchmei, and in the story of Arthur’s wars as told by Geoffrey he is
the king’s most powerful lieutenant. Originally a mythical hero, he
was probably the centre of a cycle of traditional stories as old as,
if not older than, anything fabled or sung of Arthur.[109] No other
knight of the Arthurian court is the hero of so many episodic romances
and poems, while there is no more prominent figure in Arthurian
literature generally. No other knight, however, is subjected to such
churlish treatment at the hands of the romancers as he. In the earlier
stages of Arthurian story--in the _Mabinogion_, especially,--Gawain
appears as the very flower of chivalrous knighthood, no less courteous
and gracious than brave. His degradation is due largely to the later
manipulators of the Grail legends, who could not brook the importance
attached to so worldly a character. Malory and Tennyson follow in
their footsteps, until for modern readers Gawain is branded with the
words put into the mouth of Bedivere in _The Passing of Arthur_,--of
Bedivere, who, as one of Gawain’s oldest associates in Arthur’s
service, ought to have been spared the indignity of having attributed
to him so mean an aspersion upon a comrade in arms:

  “Light was Gawain in life, and light in death
  Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man.”

Gawain, however, was the favourite Arthurian hero in England up
to Malory’s time,[110] and the finest contribution to English
Arthurian romance in the Middle Ages,--_Sir Gawayne and the Grene
Knight_,--dealing, apparently, with an incident borrowed from the
earlier traditions about Gawain, does full justice to him as a knight
_sans peur et sans reproche_.

The most marvellous feature of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s story of Arthur
is the part played by the wizard Merlin in the events that led to
Arthur’s birth. It is in Geoffrey’s _History_ that we get, so far as
is known, the first definite association of Merlin with the Arthurian
legends. In subsequent romance Merlin stands in the first file of
Arthurian characters, and his name is given to a group of romances as
important as any of those dealing with the adventures of the great
knights mentioned in the last few pages. In Welsh tradition Merlin, or
Myrddin, was famous as both a bard and a magician, but the poetical
compositions which bear his name may safely be taken as spurious.
Geoffrey exalts him as a prophet as well, and the ‘Prophecies of
Merlin’ contributed largely to the renown of the _History of the Kings
of Britain_. Geoffrey’s authorship is sometimes claimed for a Latin
poem called the _Vita Merlini_, and composed about 1148, which tells
much about the enchanter that is not always easy to reconcile with the
account of him given in the _History_. The chief French romantic works
dealing with the Merlin legend are a fragmentary poem, dating from the
end of the twelfth century, and supposed to be by Robert de Borron,
and the prose romance of _Merlin_, which exists in two forms known as
the “ordinary” _Merlin_ and the _Suite de Merlin_, of the latter of
which Malory’s first four books are an abridgment. In these romances we
first read of the enchanter’s own enchantment, how he was, in Malory’s
words, “assotted and doted” on a “damosel of the lake,”--Ninien, or
Nimue, a name that in the latest forms of the story comes to be Vivien.
In these early French versions of the Merlin legend, also, appears
the first suggestion that Modred was Arthur’s son. When the wife of
King Lot,--the daughter of Igerne by her first husband,--came to
King Arthur’s court soon after his coronation, Arthur fell in love
with her, with the result that Modred was born. Modred’s rebellion,
and the tragic end of Arthur himself, were thus represented as a just
retribution for the king’s misconduct.

For English readers Malory’s _Morte Darthur_ is the book in which the
various strands of romantic matter reviewed in this chapter are woven
into a connected, though not always a coherently artistic, texture.
From a literary point of view, the relative values of the various
constituents of ‘The French book’ whence Malory derived most of his
material are of little consequence. What really matter are the style,
the tone, the atmosphere of his own book; and these are charged to
the full with the subtle magic of the enchanted land in which his
borrowed characters live and move. It is here that we reap the harvest
of mediæval romance, and catch, in the beautifully quaint style of
the narrative, something of the fresh odour and mellow colouring of
the ripened corn. Of equally small importance with the question of
the precise identification and the value of his sources is that of
Malory’s general motive, or plan. It may, indeed, be possible to find
in the book an epic in which “may be traced a thread of destiny and
providence, leading either to a happy triumph over circumstance, or
to a tragic doom.”[111] But it is for no such reason that the _Morte
Darthur_ is valued by the modern reader. We read Malory now both for
“his style and his love,”--his love of “King Arthur and his noble
knights of the Round Table,” attested so signally by his painful zeal
in garnering, and sifting, such a bewildering crop, both rich and rank,
of manuscript material. His “style” is sufficiently near to the English
of to-day, but at the same time retains so much in both vocabulary and
grammar which the invention of printing forced the language to reject,
as to be an almost ideal medium for the presentment to modern English
readers of what was storied in the verse and prose of the age of high
romance. Space does not allow of our giving any extended specimens of
it here; but the reader may be referred, first, to a passage where
Malory appropriately embroiders his narrative by expatiating upon “How
true love is likened to summer,”[112] and, secondly, to the noble and
pathetic chapter which tells of the passing of Arthur.[113] Incidental
felicities of style could be quoted from almost every page of his
book. Bedivere, when returning from his pretended attempt to “fling
Excalibur,” tells Arthur that he saw “nothing but the waters wap and
the waves wan.” Tristan, in a general fight, “fared among those
knights like a greyhound among the conies”; while, of another fight we
read that “the best of us all had been full cold at the heart-root had
not Sir Launcelot been better than we.” What, again, could be in better
chime with its theme than this sentence from the account of Gawain’s
fight with Launcelot--“then Sir Gawaine deliberately avoided his horse,
and put his shield afore him, and eagerly drew his sword, and bad Sir
Launcelot, Alight, traitor knight, for if this mare’s son hath failed
me, wit thou well a king’s son and a queen’s son shall not fail thee”?
Or, what more pathetic than Guinevere’s words when Lancelot found her
in the nunnery at Almesbury--“Sir Launcelot, wit thou well I am set
in such a plight to get my soul’s health; and yet I trust, through
God’s grace, that after my death to have a sight of the blessed face
of Christ, and at doomsday to sit on his right side, for as sinful as
ever I was are saints in heaven”? But the entire work is studded with
such gems, and he who would know and revel in the richest treasures of
Arthurian romance should devote his days and his nights to the reading
of what is ingenuously, and truly, styled in its epilogue, “this noble
and joyous book.”[114]




CHAPTER V

ARTHUR IN ENGLISH LITERATURE


English Arthurian romance before Malory, with the conspicuous exception
of _Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knight_--an alliterative poem composed in
the fourteenth century by an unknown author to whom three other poems,
_The Pearl_, _Cleanness_, and _Patience_, are ascribed,--possesses
little literary charm or distinction. The wearisome monotony and the
generally jejune character of the common metrical romances of his day,
with their stereotyped phraseology and futile rhymes, had probably
as much to do as anything with Chaucer’s attitude towards the newer
romantic matters. His _Tale of Sir Thopas_ is so openly contemptuous
a burlesque of the methods of the romantic rhymers of the time that
we may safely assume that the poet had little more respect for their
themes.

  “Into his sadel he clamb anon,
  And priketh over stile and stoon
    An Elf-queene for tespye;
  Til he so longe hadde riden and goon
  That he foond in a pryvë woon
    The contree of Fairye,” etc.

It was scarcely possible for one who could write so irreverently as
this of Elfland and its denizens to attune himself to the mood required
for grave poetical treatment of Arthurian story. An Arthurian setting
of a sort is indeed given to _The Wife of Bath’s Tale_; but the
facetious tone of the opening lines only too plainly reveals Chaucer’s
sense of the unreality of it all.

  “In tholdë dayes of the Kyng Arthour,”

he writes,

  “Al was this land fulfild of faërie.
  The elf-queene with hir joly compaignye
  Danced ful ofte in many a grenë mede.”

But, he adds, there are no fairies now; “lymytours and other holy
freres” have effectually driven them away.

  “For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
  Ther walketh now the lymytour hymself.”

With the elves had gone the knights-errant, and Chaucer’s poetical
genius was not of the kind to restore either to their original pride of
place in imaginative literature.

It was Malory who gave new life to the Arthurian legends, and to
him, more than to any other writer, is due the fascination which
Arthurian story has had for so many modern English poets. Malory’s
book, as we know from Ascham’s testimony, was exceedingly popular
in the Elizabethan age; but there were other causes of the interest
then so widely felt in ancient British legends. Throughout the
sixteenth century chroniclers were busy in recording, and antiquaries
in investigating, the early annals of Britain; and, in the reign of
Elizabeth herself, the heightened patriotic feeling of the day was a
potent stimulus to all who sought to discover material for, and to
reconstruct from it, the history of their country. Hence Geoffrey of
Monmouth’s Latin chronicle in its first printed forms comes to be one
of the most eagerly studied books of the time. And it is, perhaps, not
fanciful to find in the new interest aroused in the annals and legends
of early Britain the influence of the reigning Tudor dynasty. On what
other grounds are we to account, for example, for Spenser going out of
his way to remind Elizabeth that she can boast of a genuine British
ancestry, and that among her forebears is no less a person than the
great King Arthur himself?

  “Thy name, O soveraine Queene, thy realme and race
  From this renowned Prince derived arre,
  Who mightily upheld that royall mace
  Which now thou bear’st, to thee descended farre
  From mighty kings and conquerours in warre,
  Thy fathers and great Grandfathers of old,
  Whose noble deeds above the Northern starre
  Immortall fame for ever hath enrold;
  As in that old man’s booke they were in order told.”

Here is a compliment of which Geoffrey, could he have foreseen it,
would have been as proud as of his inclusion in Chaucer’s ‘Hous
of Fame.’ To have been singled out for honour as one “besy for to
bere up Troy” was much; it was more to be quoted, by a poet no less
illustrious, as an authority for the Arthurian descent of the greatest
of British queens. The glorification of the House of Tudor, and of
Elizabeth’s Welsh descent, is obvious enough in the lines in _The
Faerie Queene_ which refer to the “sparke of fire” that shall

  “Bee freshly kindled in the fruitfull Ile
  Of Mona, where it lurked in exile:
  Which shall breake forth into bright burning flame
  And reach into the house that bears the stile
  Of roiall majesty and soveraine name:
  So shall the Briton blood their crowne agayn reclame.

  Thenceforth eternal union shall be made
  Betweene the nations different afore.”[115]

In the second book of _The Faerie Queene_ Spenser, following
Geoffrey’s “auncient booke hight Briton moniments,” gives a versified

        “chronicle of Briton kings
  From Brute to Uther’s rayne,”

thus further emphasising the newly-discovered importance of early
British history. The same patriotic fervour accounts for the production
of such poems as William Warner’s _Albion’s England_ and Michael
Drayton’s _Polyolbion_. Warner is eminently practical, and, in his
reproduction of Geoffrey’s Arthurian narrative, leaves out its more
romantic incidents. Arthur’s

  “Scottish, Irish, Almaine, French and Saxone battelles got
  Yeeld fame sufficient: these seeme true, the reste I credite not.”

Drayton is inclined to trust Geoffrey more implicitly, and even takes
up the cudgels on his behalf against the critics who were then seeking
to disparage him. The “adversary says,” writes Drayton, that “Geoffrey
Monmouth first our Brutus did devise,” whereas the fact is that

      “pregnantly we prove, ere that historian’s days,
  A thousand-ling’ring years, our prophets clearly sung
  The Britain-founding Brute.”[116]

Drayton’s poem, so largely topographical as it is in its character,
affords him many opportunities of making effective use of Arthurian
traditions. When he comes, for example, to the river Camel, he
remembers that Arthur was born as well as slain in that tract of
western country,

  “As though no other place on Britain’s spacious earth
  Were worthy of his end, but where he had his birth.”[117]

Again, referring to the songs of the ancient Britons, he tells us--much
in Geoffrey’s manner--of Caerleon with

              “her temples and her groves,
  Her palaces and walls, baths, theatres, and stoves.”

With all his garrulous “asides” and prosaic disquisitions, Drayton’s
_Polyolbion_ is a well-intentioned poem, and its sympathetic treatment
of the legends entitles it to an honoured place in the Arthurian
library. Like Caxton, Drayton bewails the indifference of British poets
to the wealth of native tradition which lay ready for their use, and
regrets that a British Homer had not been found to rise to “the height
of its great argument”;

  “For some abundant brain, oh, there had been a story,
  Beyond the blind man’s might to have enhanced our glory.”

Although Elizabethan poets, from patriotic and courtly motives, were
so much interested in the early British legends as presented to them
by the English chroniclers of their time, it is somewhat strange that
these legends, and Arthurian story in particular, did not appeal
strongly to the imagination of the playwrights of our greatest
dramatic period. The only Arthurian drama of any consequence written
during the Elizabethan period was _The Misfortunes of Arthur_ by
Thomas Hughes, which was acted before the Queen in February 1588; and
the plot of that play is derived, in the main, not from Malory, but
from Geoffrey. In one important detail, however, Hughes departs from
Geoffrey’s narrative, and, like many of the later romancers, represents
Modred as Arthur’s son; and he is in touch with Malory in making the
tragedy of Arthur’s doom the nemesis that comes upon him for his sin.
The drama, as a whole, is a standard example of the Senecan type of
tragedy, so much in vogue at the time of its production, and action
and characterisation are altogether subordinated in it to narration.
Some life, however, is given to the characters of the two protagonists,
Arthur and Modred; and the introduction of the ghost of Gorlois at the
beginning and at the end of the play adds not a little to its general
dramatic effect. In his final speech the Ghost, exulting over the ruin
of the sinful house of Uther, is made to pay an adroit compliment to
Queen Elizabeth,

  “That virtuous Virgo, born for Britain’s bliss,
  That peerless branch of Brute,”

and gives utterance to the hope that she

  “Shall of all wars compound eternal peace.”

We are still without a great English drama based upon a theme drawn
from Arthurian story; but what the Elizabethan dramatists, and most of
their successors, rejected as either too unreal or too intractable for
their purposes, continued even down to the Victorian age to haunt and
challenge the imagination of the poets.

  “The mightiest chiefs of British song
  Scorn’d not such legends to prolong”[118];

and yet we possess no great Arthurian epic in English verse any more
than a drama. Milton and Dryden both cherished the ambition of writing
one, but both, in different ways, found the pressure of circumstances
too strong for the accomplishment of their design. When Milton,
after the turmoil of the Civil Wars and his entanglement in public
controversy, once more turned his attention to poetry, he had need of
higher argument for his long-projected ‘heroic poem’ than

                  “to dissect
  With long and tedious havoc fabl’d knights
  In battles feign’d.”[119]

Arthurian memories, however, lingered with him to the last, for even in
_Paradise Regained_ he cannot help referring to what once charmed him
in stories

  “Of fairy damsels met in forest wide
  By knights of Logres, or of Lyones,
  Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore.”

Dryden, again, who had aspired to write an Arthuriad, as he tells us,
“for the honour of his native country,” found himself obliged to turn
to more immediately profitable forms of literature,--“being encouraged
only with fair words by Charles II., my little salary ill-paid, and no
prospect of a future subsistence.”[120] But it is doubtful whether he
was quite the kind of poet who, in Scott’s words, could

            “in immortal strain
  Have raised the Table Round again,
  But that a ribald King and Court
  Bade him toil on to make them sport.”

Scott’s assumption, at any rate, is scarcely justified by the
character of the “dramatic opera” called _King Arthur, or the British
Worthy_, which Dryden composed shortly before Charles II.’s death.
This “opera” was written with a courtly, if not exactly a patriotic,
motive; it was meant to be a glorification of King Charles’s public
policy, but, unfortunately, Charles died before any performance of it
could be given. It was produced on the stage, ultimately, in 1691, to
music by Purcell; but, at that time, William and Mary were the reigning
sovereigns, so that the original point of the play was lost, and it
had to be “improved” to suit the changed conditions of the day. Thus,
what Scott calls an “ingenious political drama” was turned into “a mere
fairy-tale” without “any meaning beyond extravagant adventure.”[121]
The story of Arthur, also, is in many of its main features turned in
this play into something very different from its familiar forms up
to Dryden’s time. Several new characters are introduced into it, the
most notable being a blind girl, Emmeline,--a creature of Dryden’s
own invention,--who, in defiance of all tradition and of Guinevere’s
well-attested rights, becomes the wife of “the British Worthy.”

The Restoration age, despite its literary pre-occupation with ‘heroic’
plays and ‘heroic’ poetry, was unpropitious for the production of a
romantic epic worthy of the Arthurian, or any other similar theme. A
brave attempt, however, to achieve the impossible was made by “the City
Bard or Knight Physician,”[122] Sir Richard Blackmore, who in 1695
published _Prince Arthur, an Heroick Poem in Ten Books_, and followed
it up in 1697 with another ‘epic,’ in twelve books, called _King
Arthur_. These ponderous poems, written in heroic couplets, are really
political allegories, in which Arthur stands for the Prince of Orange,
and his Saxon enemy, Octa, for James the Second. But they aim at being
‘epics’ as well. Supernatural ‘machinery,’ evidently suggested in many
of its details by _Paradise Lost_, is introduced, and just as the gods
used to intervene in the struggles of the epic heroes of antiquity,
so angels like Uriel and Raphael watch over the fortunes of Arthur.
Indeed, the whole heavenly host befriends him, while Lucifer and the
rebel angels are the patrons of his foes. Blackmore, whatever else
may be said on his behalf, can claim to be at least faithful to the
tradition which represents Arthur as “the chief and best of the three
Christian kings,” for he makes him the supreme champion of Christendom
in his day:--

  “This great deliverer shall Europa save,
  Which haughty monarchs labour to enslave;
  Then shall Religion rear her starry head,
  And light divine through all the nations spread.”[123]

But, alas, who now reads Blackmore? The world generally is quite
content not to know him, and ready to echo Dryden’s pious wish--“peace
be to the _Manes_ of his Arthurs.”

Blackmore, grotesque and even ludicrous though his methods are of
allegorising the Arthurian stories, could, of course, claim high
poetical sanction for this particular use of them. Spenser had, long
before, “laboured to pourtraict in Arthure, before he was king, the
image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private morall
virtues, as Aristotle hath devised,”[124] and had also, though somewhat
obscurely, sought to “shadow forth” in him “a modern gentleman” of the
Elizabethan court,--the Earl of Leicester. There is not much to choose
between Leicester and William of Orange as “modern” types of Arthur,
but Spenser has, at least, succeeded in giving a romantic glamour to
his poem which helps us to forget its allegorical intent and takes us
back to the legendary Arthur’s native “land of faerie.” So, in _The
Faerie Queene_, Arthur appears in a rôle somewhat similar to that which
he plays in the romances as the helper and deliverer of sorely-beset
knights; and what the poet tells us about his person, his prowess,
and his accoutrements is, in spirit though not always in the letter,
quite in accord with romantic tradition. Delivered at birth to a faery
knight, “to be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might,” he was
put under the tutelage of Timon,[125]

  “Old Timon, who in youthly yeares had beene
  In warlike feates th’ expertest man alive,”

and who dwelt

  “Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,”

--the Merionethshire mountain, Yr Aran, where the river Dee has
its source. “Thither,” so Prince Arthur’s tale of his own history
runs,--[126]

  “Thither the great magician Merlin came,
  As was his use, oft-times to visit me;
  For he had charge my discipline to frame
  And Tutors nouriture to oversee.”

It was Merlin

            “which whylome did excell
  All living wightes in might of magick spell,”

who forged for Arthur his shield and sword and armour. Spenser,
however, departs from the romancers in calling Arthur’s sword
“Morddure,”[127] and in stating, what is nowhere told of Excalibur,
that it could not be

  “forst his rightful owner to offend.”

Nor do we hear in the romances of such marvellous details about the
prince’s shield as those which Spenser gives; it was made of “diamond
perfect, pure and cleene,” and when Arthur chose to uncover it,

  “Men into stones therewith he could transmew,
  And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all;
  And when him list the prouder lookes subdew,
  He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew.”[128]

Spenser, again, finds none of the knights of the Round Table suitable
for the main purposes of his allegory--the only prominent one who is
brought into the poem is Tristram, and he is introduced only as quite a
subordinate character. As the poet expressly tells us in his prefatory
letter that his purpose is to “pourtraict” Arthur “before he was king,”
_The Faerie Queene_, even had it been completed, could hardly have
contained any reference to the later, and more especially the tragic,
features of Arthurian story. Neither did Spenser’s general design admit
of any treatment of them. There could be no Guinevere in his poem, as
Arthur was destined at the end to marry Gloriana, the Fairy Queen, in
whom “I mean Glory in my generall intention, but in my particular I
conceive the most excellent and glorious person of our soveraine the
Queene, and her kingdom in Faery land.” There is indeed some excuse
even for Blackmore’s “particular intentions” in his egregious epics
when we remember that a really great poet was capable of thus imagining
Arthur, even in allegory, as the husband of Queen Elizabeth.

The uses to which Spenser and Blackmore, each in his own way, put the
Arthurian legends are not, after all, so dissimilar to those which
underlie the most popular, and on the whole the most successful,
poetical treatment of them in the nineteenth century.[129] _The Idylls
of the King_ have a palpably symbolical, not to say an allegorical,
meaning, and “a message for the times.” It may be that in no other way
could any new life be infused into stories of which Swinburne says that
“their day is done,”--

  “Their records written of the winds, in foam
  Fly down the wind, and darkness takes them home.”[130]

At any rate, Tennyson frankly confesses that what he presents in his
‘Idylls’ is a

                                        “tale
  New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul”;

and the new element in it is a didactic purpose suited to the moral
and sentimental temper of the Victorian era, and embodying what a
severe critic calls “the ethics of the rectory parlour.”[131] Tennyson
himself is responsible for revealing the “particular intention” which
equates the Arthur of the ‘Idylls’ with the Prince Consort; for he
dedicates the poems to his memory,

          “since he held them dear,
  Perchance as finding there unconsciously
  Some image of himself.”

It is hardly likely, however, that Tennyson, when he first thought
of the Arthurian stories as a poetic theme, had any very definite
idea of putting them into the form of an allegory such as most of
his interpreters now discover in them; but that he, from the first,
intended a “modern meaning” is plain from the lines appended to the
_Morte D’Arthur_ at the time of its original publication,--

  “To me, methought, who waited in a crowd,
  There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore
  King Arthur, like a modern gentleman
  Of stateliest port; and all the people cried
  ‘Arthur is come again: he cannot die.’”

That the ‘Idylls,’ when finally completed and put into their present
order, had “an allegorical or perhaps a parabolic drift,” in them,
is certain, for the words quoted are Tennyson’s own.[132] Tennyson,
however, complains that critics had “taken his hobby and ridden it
too hard, and have explained some things too allegorically.” “The
general drift of the ‘Idylls,’” he continues, “is clear enough. ‘The
whole ... is the dream of man coming into practical life and ruined
by one sin. Birth is a mystery and death is a mystery, and in the
midst lies the tableland of life.’” Modern though this “drift” may
be, it is perennial and universal enough in its appeal to save the
‘Idylls’--notwithstanding the references to the “modern gentleman” and
the Prince Consort--from being a merely Victorian poem, or series of
poems. They do not, together, constitute an Arthuriad: they are not
meant to represent “the epic, some twelve books” with “faint Homeric
echoes” which Tennyson may have been meditating in his earlier years
when he published his _Morte D’Arthur_. “He produced no epic, only a
series of epic idyllia. He had a spiritual conception, ‘an allegory
in the distance,’ an allegory not to be insisted upon, though its
presence was to be felt. No longer, as in youth, did Tennyson intend
Merlin to symbolise ‘the sceptical understanding,’ or poor Guinevere
to stand for the Blessed Reformation, or the Table Round for Liberal
Institutions. Mercifully Tennyson never actually allegorised Arthur in
that fashion.”[133]

Tennyson’s King Arthur is certainly modern enough in sentiment and
speech, but the position which he holds in the ‘Idylls’ is, in many
ways, in harmony with that which he occupies in history and romantic
legend. Tennyson himself warns his readers that they must not expect to
find in the ‘Idylls’

            “that gray king whose name, a ghost,
  Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak,
  And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still; or him
  Of Geoffrey’s book, or him of Malleor’s.”

Rather they ought to discern in him

  “Ideal manhood closed in real man.”

All the same, Tennyson’s pre-occupation with “ideal manhood” did not
prevent him from bestowing painful labour upon knowing the “real
man,” so far as the records, historical and romantic, reveal him; and
one of the outstanding features of _The Idylls of the King_ is their
remarkable fidelity to the details of Arthurian story as given in its
time-honoured literary sources. “Geoffrey’s book,” and “Malleor’s,” had
been carefully studied by the poet, and he had even been at pains to
garner all he could from early Welsh poetry and from the _Mabinogion_,
as presented in Lady Charlotte Guest’s charming translation. While
Malory is their main source, the ‘Idylls’ contain much that shows
how familiar Tennyson was with Arthurian lore generally in its most
primitive forms. The story of Geraint, for example, as told by him,
follows closely the Welsh version of it given by Lady Charlotte
Guest.[134] Again, the description of Britain in the opening lines
of _The Coming of Arthur_ as a country where each “petty king” was
ever waging war upon some other, and where the children “grew up to
wolf-like men, worse than the wolves,” until

                    “King Leodogran
  Groan’d for the Roman legions here again,”

recalls vividly the bitter lamentations of Gildas over the degeneracy
of his countrymen. The account which Lancelot gives of Arthur’s wars in
_Lancelot and Elaine_ is an expansion of the record in Nennius of the
twelve Arthurian battles. And Tennyson’s general conception of Arthur
as the flower of kings who

  “Drew all the petty princedoms under him,”

and “made a realm” in Britain, is far more in keeping with that of
the early chroniclers than with the picture given of him in the later
romances.

But it is not in such incidental features alone that the ‘Idylls’
are true to the older Arthurian tradition. Modern in their sentiment
and ethics though they may be, Tennyson’s main purpose in them of
“shadowing Sense at war with Soul” is not altogether unjustified by
the general literary history of the legends. Malory, at any rate, had
some such purpose, for Caxton assures us that the _Morte Darthur_
was “written for our doctrine, and for to beware that we fall not
to vice nor sin, but to exercise and follow virtue.” “In Malory’s
compilation, and in later mediæval romance, the fate of Arthur means
the fate of the chivalrous ideal, whose irreconcilable elements were
incorporated in him. In the romantic historians the fate of Arthur is
the fate of the Christian Britons in conflict with heathenism from
without and treason from within. Even in the old myths, his fate, if
we may trust Professor Rhys, is the fate of the culture-hero combined
with Father Sky, in conflict with the powers of Darkness and the
Nether-world. It was by a true inspiration that Tennyson was drawn to
the old legends, and reading into them his secret found it to be their
own. Accordingly, this identity of feeling with his predecessors kept
Tennyson on the track of the story.... Thus the ‘Idylls’ are both
truer to the authorities and nearer our own feelings than any other
of the adaptations of Arthurian story. Though the adventures are now
regarded from a modern point of view, this point of view is in the same
spiritual watch-tower from which the framers of the legend looked:
but it is the platform at the top, not a loop-hole on the winding
stair.”[135]

After all, however much the ‘Idylls’ may be cavilled at on the score of
their modern sentiment and occasional homiletic strain, their general
setting and atmosphere are genuinely romantic and in thorough keeping
with the far-off things of which they sing. Tennyson is true enough to
his sources in his descriptions of scenery and in his entire survey
of the traditional Arthurian country. “It is no land dwelt in by bold
bad men we see, when Arthur rides through the mountains and finds the
diamonds; when Geraint and Enid go through the green gloom of the
wood; when Galahad rides over the black swamp, leaping from bridge to
bridge till he sail to the spiritual city; when Lancelot drives through
the storm to the enchanted towers of Carbonek seven days across the
sea.”[136] In none of the ‘Idylls’ do we perhaps breathe more of the
atmosphere of pure romance than in the first and the last. Mystery and
magic surround both the coming and the passing of the King;

  “From the great deep to the great deep he goes.”

This “weird rhyme” of Merlin’s comes into Bedivere’s memory as he sees
the barge with the three dark Queens bearing Arthur away into the
distance

                              “till the hull
  Look’d one black dot against the verge of dawn.”

And the last scene closes with the faithful Bedivere left wondering
whether Arthur will “come again,” and whether, “if he come no more,”
the three Queens who bore him away be “friends of Arthur, who should
help him at his need?” So, Tennyson, like Malory and the romancers,
leaves Arthur’s “return” an open question; but Bedivere goes away
comforted by what seemed an assurance that “all was well” with Arthur
whither he had gone.

  “Then from the dawn it seem’d there came, but faint
  As from beyond the limit of the world,
  Like the last echo born of a great cry,
  Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice
  Around a king returning from his wars.”




ADDITIONAL NOTES


_Note A, p. 9._--The Grail and the Round Table, as originally drawn
into Arthurian story, were in all probability survivals of features in
old Celtic nature-worship.

_Note B, p. 26._--Cavall, it may be noted, is referred to in the Welsh
romance _Geraint, Son of Erbin_, as taking part in a stag-hunt under
the leadership of Arthur, and is there called “Arthur’s darling dog”
(_annwylgi Arthur_).

_Note C, p. 94._--Argante--afterwards known as Morgain, or Morgan,
_la fée_ or _le fay_--is first heard of, in literature, in the poem
called _Vita Merlini_, commonly dated 1148 and ascribed to Geoffrey
of Monmouth (see p. 112). She there appears as a maiden, possessed of
magic powers, who heals Arthur’s wounds after the battle of Camlan.
Although she is usually spoken of by the romancers as being Arthur’s
sister, she is also represented as one who hates, and is involved in
certain malign schemes against, him. Her place in Arthurian story is
one of the many points at which the records and popular legends of “the
British King” touch the borders of fairy-land. The fairy element in
Arthurian romance is a fascinating, albeit intricate, subject of study,
but the scope and purpose of this little book allow only the briefest
references to it. Those who are interested in the subject will find a
very full, and suggestive, treatment of it in _Studies in the Fairy
Mythology of Arthurian Romance_, by Lucy A. Paton (Radcliffe College
Monographs, Boston, U.S.A., 1903).

_Note D, p. 101._--Chrétien himself, in the opening lines of _Cligés_,
states that he had written of “_le roi Marc et Iseut la blonde_.”

_Note E, p. 105._--Tristram, or Tristan, is the most accomplished of
all the heroes who are associated with Arthur. In the romances he is
pre-eminent as hunter, horseman, linguist, musician, harp-player. He is
also a liar of infinite resource.

_Note F, p. 115._--Malory, it should be said, is indebted for some of
his most picturesque touches in his account of the passing of Arthur
and of other incidents to an unknown English poet who, probably in
the fourteenth century, composed a metrical _Le Morte Arthure_. As
the first edition of the present book has been accused of having
done “grave injustice to our vernacular Arthurian literature before
Malory” through failure to recognise the merits of “the unknown but
most true poet whose rightful laurels have so long been worn by the
prose writer,” an extract from the poem may be given in order to enable
the reader to judge to which of the two, from a purely literary point
of view, the “rightful laurels” ought to belong. Here is the poet’s
account of the flinging of Excalibur:--

  “The knyght was bothe hende and free;
  To save that swerd he was fulle glad,
  And thought, whethyr it better bee
  Yif neuyr man it after had;
  An I it caste in to the see,
  Off mold was neuyr man so mad.
  The swerd he hyd undyr a tree,
  And sayd, ‘syr, I ded as ye me bad.’
  ‘What saw thow there?’ than sayd the kynge,
  ‘Telle me now, yiff thow can;’
  ‘Sertes, syr,’ he said, ‘nothynge
  But watres depe, and waives wanne,’
  ‘A, now thou haste broke my byddynge!
  Why hast thou do so, thow false man?
  Another bode thou muste me brynge,’” etc.

_Note G, p. 130._--It would be impossible, within the limits of such a
book as this, to pass in review all the English Arthurian literature
of the nineteenth century. William Morris’s _Defence of Guinevere_,
_King Arthur’s Tomb_, and other Arthurian poems doubtless breathe much
more of the primitive romantic spirit of the legends than Tennyson’s
_Idylls_, but they are but slight experiments in comparison with
Tennyson’s elaborate design. Then there are other works like Heber’s
_Morte Arthur_, Lytton’s _King Arthur_, and Hawker of Morwenstow’s
_Quest of the Sangreal_, which claim a place in any full survey of
modern Arthurian literature, but are hardly of sufficient importance
to have required notice in so brief a chapter as the last had,
necessarily, to be.




BIBLIOGRAPHY

[The following list comprises only a brief selection of books likely to
be of most use and interest to the English reader. Welsh, French and
German authorities are left entirely out of account.]


  Six Old English Chronicles. Translated by J. A. Giles. Bohn’s Series.
  (Contains useful translations of Gildas, Nennius, and Geoffrey of
  Monmouth.)

  Geoffrey of Monmouth. History of the Kings of Britain, translated by
  Dr Sebastian Evans. The Temple Classics (Dent).

  The Four Ancient Books of Wales. Edited, with translations, by Dr W.
  F. Skene. Edinburgh, 1868.

  The Mabinogion. Translated by Lady Charlotte Guest. The best popular
  edition is that of A. Nutt, and is especially valuable for his
  critical notes at the end.

  Layamon’s Brut. Edited by Sir F. Madden. 3 vols. London, 1847.

  Malory’s Morte Darthur. Edited, in 3 vols., by H. O. Sommer (Nutt).

  ---- With introduction by Sir J. Rhys (Dent).

  ---- Edited, with introduction, by Sir E. Strachey (Macmillan--Globe
  Series).

  Dickinson, W. H. King Arthur in Cornwall.

  Fletcher, R. H. The Arthurian Matter in the Chronicles (Harvard
  Studies and Notes, 1906).

  Maccallum, M. W. Tennyson’s Idylls and Arthurian Story.

  Newell, W. W. King Arthur and the Table Round. Boston, 1897.
  (Contains excellent summaries of Chrétien de Troyes poems.)

  Nutt, Alfred. Celtic and Mediæval Romance. (Popular Studies in
  Mythology and Folklore.)

  ---- Legends of the Holy Grail. (Popular Studies, etc.)

  ---- Studies in the Legend of the Holy Grail (1888).

  Rhys, Sir John. The Arthurian Legend (1891).

  ---- Celtic Folklore (1901).

  Schofield, W. H. English Literature, from the Norman Conquest to
  Chaucer.

  Squire, Charles. The Mythology of the British Islands.

  Stephens, Thomas. The Literature of the Kymry (1872).

  Weston, Jessie L. King Arthur and his Knights. (Popular Studies in
  Mythology and Folklore.)

  ---- The Legend of Sir Gawain (1897), and other works included in
  Nutt’s ‘Grimm Library’.




INDEX


  Æneas, 60, 67

  _Æneid, The_, 67

  Agned, 15

  Airem, 13, 54

  Alanus de Insulis, 31

  _Albion’s England_, Warner’s, 120

  Alexander the Great, 5, 70

  Almesbury, 115

  Ambrosius Aurelianus; _see_ Emrys

  Amir, 24

  _Aneirin, the Book of_, 40

  Anna, 75

  _Annales Cambriæ_, 21, 26

  Aran, Yr (Rauran), 128

  Argante (_Morgan le fay_), 92, 94, 138

  Arnold, Matthew, 39, 45, 105

  Ascham, 7, 118

  Astolat, 98

  Aurelius Ambrosius, 74

  Avalon, 76, 91, 93

  Avallach (Avalon), 53


  Badbury, 20

  Badon, Mount, 16, 19, 21, 22, 26, 29, 32

  Baddesdown-hill (Mount Badon), 28

  Baldulph, 76

  Bassas, 15

  Bath, 76

  Bayeux, 82

  Bec, 33

  Bede, 28, 71, 72

  Bedwyr; _see_ Bedivere

  Bedivere, 25, 42, 55, 78, 82, 111, 114, 137

  Beornicia, 16

  Béroul, 106

  Blackmore, Sir Richard, 126

  Bledri (Bledhericus, Bleheris), 109

  Boccaccio, 6

  Bodel, Jean, 3

  Bodmin, 31

  Brân the Blessed, 53

  _Branwen, daughter of Llŷr_, 53

  _Bricriu’s Feast_, 50

  Brittany, 31, 58, _seq._

  Broceliande, 98

  Brooke, Stopford, 136

  Brutus, son of Æneas, 60, 67

  Brythons, the, 13, 29, 36

  Builth, 23


  Cador (Kadwr), Earl or Duke of Cornwall, 51, 76, 83

  Cadwallader, 72

  Cadwallo, 72

  Caerlleon upon Usk, 2, 3, 57, 78, 97, 121

  Caledvwlch (Excalibur), Arthur’s sword, 46

  Cambula (Camel), 27

  Camden, 85

  Camel, 57, 83, 98, 121

  Camelford, 27, 93

  Cameliard, 98

  Camelot, 6, 98

  Camlan, 26, 53

  Caradoc of Llancarvan, 87

  Carbonek, 98, 136

  Carlisle, 73, 97

  _Carmarthen, The Black Book of_, 2, 12, 26, 40, 74

  Carnwennan, Arthur’s dagger, 46, 50

  Cavall (Cabal), Arthur’s dog, 24, 25, 138

  Caxton, 1-10, 11, 37, 135

  Celidon, 15

  Ceredig, 18

  Charlemagne, 8, 70

  Chaucer, 60, 103, 116

  Cheldric, 34, 76

  _Chevalier au lion_, 101

  _Chevalier de la Charrette_, 100, 102

  Chinon, 82

  Chrétien de Troyes, 41, 90, 100, 138

  _Chronicle_, The Saxon, 29

  Colgrin, 76

  _Comes Britanniæ_, 17, 18

  _Comes littoris Saxonici_, 17

  _Coming of Arthur, The_, 134

  Constantine, 83, 94

  _Conte del Graal_, 101

  Cormac, 84

  Cornwall, 31, 34, 49, 56-58, 83, 105

  Cradock, 6

  Cunedda, 18


  Dafydd ap Gwilym, 77

  Dante, 103

  Dares the Phrygian, 60

  David, St, 81

  Dictys the Cretan, 60

  Dimilioc (Damelioc), 57, 74

  Dover Castle, 6

  Drayton, M., 86

  _Dream of Rhonabwy, The_, 12, 18, 26, 50-52, 56

  Dryden, 123, 127

  Dubglas, 15

  Dubricius, 75, 78, 81

  _Dux Britanniarum_, 16


  Edern, son of Nudd, 51

  Ehangwen, Arthur’s hall, 46

  Eilhart von Oberge, 106

  Elbodugus (Elfodd), 14

  Elizabeth, Queen, 118, 123, 130

  Emmeline, 125

  Emrys (Ambrosius Aurelianus), 18, 21, 23, 28, 32

  Eosa, 74

  Ercing (Archenfield), 24

  _Erec_, 41, 101

  Etáin, 54

  Evans, Dr Gwenogvryn, 39, 45

  Evans, Dr Sebastian, 3, 35, 65, 67

  Excalibur (Caliburn), Arthur’s sword, 26, 46, 76, 93, 114, 129


  _Faerie Queene, The_, 119, _seq._

  Finn, 84

  Flollo, 78


  Galahad, 106, 136

  Gawain, 2, 6, 32, 75, 77, 107, 110

  Gelli (or Kelli) Wic, 49, 56

  Geoffrey of Monmouth, 2, 4, 14, 19, 27, 60 _seq._

  Geoffrey Gaimar, 85

  Geraint, 47, 136

  _Geraint, son of Erbin_ (Welsh romance), 2, 52, 101, 138

  _Geraint, filius Erbin_ (Welsh poem), 41

  Germany, 16

  Gildas, 18, 21, 22, 28, 72, 88, 134

  _Gildas, Life of_, 88

  Giraldus Cambrensis, 5, 84, 87, 109

  Glamorgan, 65, 79

  Glastonbury, 6, 84, 89, 98

  Glewlwyd of the Mighty Grasp, 42, 45

  Godfrey of Boulogne, 8

  Goleuddydd, 17

  Gorlois, 57, 74, 122

  Gottfried von Strassburg, 106

  Grafton, 85

  Grail, The Holy, 8, 9, 98, 107, 138

  Griffin of Carmarthen, 92

  Guest, Lady Charlotte, 37, 134

  Guido de Colonna, 60

  Guinevere (Gwenhwyvar), 46, 53, 76, 82, 100, 115

  Guinnion, 15, 20

  Gwalchmei (Gawain), 110

  Gwenn, Arthur’s mantle, 51

  Gwledig, 17

  Gwynn, son of Nudd, 47, 48

  Gwythur, 2, 53


  Hawker, R. S., 140

  Heber, _Morte Arthur_, 140

  Hengist, 15, 33

  Henry II., 84

  Henry of Huntingdon, 19, 33, 71

  _Hergest, The Red Book of_, 27, 101

  Higden, 6

  _Historia Brittonum_, 14

  _Historia Regum Britanniæ_, 64, _seq._

  Hoel, King of Armorica, 76

  Holinshed, 85

  Huel, King of Scotland, 88

  Hughes, Thomas, 122


  Ida, 16

  _Idylls of the King, The_, 4, 130, _seq._

  Igerne, 57, 74

  Iseult (Essyllt), 54, 100, 104


  Joseph of Arimathea, 98, 109

  Joyous Gard, 98

  Juvenal, 12


  Kadwr; _see_ Cador

  Kay (Kei), 42, 52, 54, 78, 82

  _King Arthur, or The British Worthy_, 125

  _Kulhwch and Olwen_, 17, 25, 44, 45, _seq._


  _Lady of the Fountain, The_, 3, 18, 52, 101

  Lancelot, 6, 10, 100, 103, 107, 115, 136

  _Lancelot and Elaine_, 134

  Lang, Andrew, 133, 134

  _Lanval_, 58

  Laon, 31

  Layamon, 27, 67, 84, 85, 89, 91, _seq._

  _Le Morte Arthure_ (poem), 139

  Legion, City of, 15, 19

  Leicester, Earl of, 127

  Leodogran, 134

  Lincoln, 97

  Linnuis (Lindisia, Lindsey), 15, 20

  Llacheu, Arthur’s son, 43

  Llamrei, Arthur’s mare, 25

  Llandaff, 64

  London, 53, 96

  Lot (of Lodonesia), 75, 77, 112

  Lucius Hiberius, 53, 81

  Lyonesse, 98, 105

  Lytton, _King Arthur_, 140


  _Mabinogion, The_, 2, 3, 12, 17, 18, 37, 39, 101, 110, 134

  Mabon, son of Mellt, 43

  Mabon, son of Modron, 42, 48

  Maccallum, M. W., 136

  Maelgwn Gwynedd (Maglocunus), 22

  Malory’s _Morte Darthur_, 1-10, 36, 113-115, 118, 135, 139

  Manawyddan, son of Llŷr, 42, 47

  Map, Walter, 64, 101, 103, 104

  Marie of Champagne, 100, 103

  Marie of France, 58

  Mark (March, son of Meirchion), 2, 51, 54

  Maxen Wledig, 18

  Meleager, 48

  Melwas (Meleaguant, Mellyagraunce), 89, 102

  Merlin, 69, 75, 94, 111, 128, 137

  _Merlin, The Prophecies of_, 69, 112

  Milton, 50, 123

  _Misfortunes of Arthur, The_, 122

  Modred (Medrod, Medraut), 26, 27, 34, 52, 75, 82, 112, 122

  Monmouth, 65

  Mont St Michel, 66

  Morris, William, 140

  _Morte Darthur_; _see_ Malory

  _Morte D’Arthur_ (Tennyson’s), 131

  Mynneu, Mount, 52


  Natanleod, 30

  Nennius, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 29, 41, 71, 134

  Neustria, 78

  Nutt, Alfred, 45, 50, 107


  Octha, 15, 74

  Owen and the ravens, 50


  Palug’s Cat, 53, 54

  _Parzival_ (Wagner’s), 4

  Pembrokeshire, 23

  Perceval (Peredur), 10, 52, 100, 101, 107

  _Peredur_ (Welsh romance), 52, 101

  Picts, The, 16, 27

  Polydore Vergil, 85

  _Polyolbion_, 86, 120

  _Prince Arthur, an Heroick Poem_, 126

  Prince Consort, The, 131, 132

  Pridwen, Arthur’s ship, 44

  Priwen, Arthur’s shield, 76

  Pryderi, 54

  _Pwyll, prince of Dyved_, 54


  Rhongomyant (Rhôn), Arthur’s lance, 46, 76

  Rhys, Sir John, 2, 12, 13, 17, 38, 44, 49

  Ritho, of Mount Eryri, 81

  Robert de Borron, 109, 112

  Robert, earl of Gloucester, 65, 73

  Robert of Gloucester (chronicler), 85

  Robert Fitz-Hamon, 65

  Robert of Torigni (Robert of the Mount), 33, 66

  Rome, 67

  Round Table, The, 6, 80, 91, 93


  Sackville, 86

  St Asaph, 64

  St Michael’s Mount, 80

  Sarras, 98

  Saxons, The, 11, 15, 16, 27, 28

  Scots, The, 16, 27

  Scott, Sir W., 123, 125

  Severus, 16

  Shaftesbury, 74

  _Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knight_, 91, 111, 116

  Skene, W. F., 39

  Somerset, 89

  Spenser, 56, 86, 118, 127

  Stubbs, 28

  Swinburne, 105


  Tacitus, 12

  Taliesin, 17, 37, 47

  _Taliesin, The Book of_, 40, 43

  Thomas de Bretagne, 106

  _Thopas, Tale of Sir_, 61, 116

  Tennyson, 7, 21, 26, _seq._

  Timon (Sir Ector), 128

  Tintagel, 57, 74, 105

  Triads, The, 26, 38, 52-55

  Tribruit (Tryvrwyd), 15, 43

  Tristram (Tristan, Drystan), 10, 52, 54, 100, 104, 114, 129, 139

  _Tristan und Isolde_ (Wagner’s), 4

  Troy, 60

  Trwyth, the Boar (_porcus Troit_), 24, 25, 49, _seq._


  Uther Pendragon, 42, 57, 74, 122


  Virgil, 68

  _Vita Merlini_, 112

  Vivien, 112

  Vortigern, 30, 32, 69

  Vortimer, 32


  Wace, 58, 67, 85, 89

  _Wales, The Four Ancient Books of_, 39, _seq._

  Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, 68, 71, 83

  Warinus, 33, 34

  Warner, William, 86

  Westminster, abbey of, 6

  Weston, Miss J. L, 108, 109, 110

  White Mount, The (in London), 53

  _Wife of Bath’s Tale, The_, 117

  William of Malmesbury, 2, 28, 31, 66, 71

  William of Newburgh, 5, 28, 69, 86

  William of Orange, 127

  Winchester, 6, 97

  Wolfram von Eschenbach, 107

  Wordsworth, 20, 62, 86

  Wygar, the smith, 92

  Wynebgwrthucher, Arthur’s shield, 46


  Yspaddaden (Pen Kawr), 26, 45, 50




  PRINTED BY
  TURNBULL AND SPEARS
  EDINBURGH




FOOTNOTES:

[1] ‘The Songs of the Graves,’ in the twelfth century _Black Book of
Carmarthen_. “A grave there is for March (or Mark),”--so the lines
run,--“a grave for Gwythur, a grave for Gwgawn of the Ruddy Sword; a
mystery is the grave of Arthur”: or, as Sir John Rhys translates, “not
wise the thought--a grave for Arthur.”

[2] William of Malmesbury (_Gesta Reg. Angl._, Bk. III.), referring
to the discovery in Wales of the grave of Gawain, Arthur’s nephew,
speaks of the grave of Arthur himself as being unknown--hence, he says,
ancient songs (_antiquitas næniarum_) prophesy his return.

[3] The opening words of the Welsh romance, ‘Gereint, Son of Erbin.’
_Cf._ also the first sentences of ‘The Lady of the Fountain,’ as given
in Lady C. Guest’s _Mabinogion_.

[4] See Geoffrey’s _History_, Bk. IX. Ch. 12, in the excellent
translation by the late Dr Sebastian Evans (Temple Classics).

[5] The three great romantic “matters” are thus categorised in a
well-known passage in the _Chanson de Saisnes_ by the twelfth century
writer, Jean Bodel,--

  “Ne sont que trois matières à nul home attendant,
  De France et de Bretaigne et de Rome la grant.”

[6] _Hist. Rerum Anglic._ Proemium (Chronicles of Stephen, etc., Rolls
Series, 1884-85).

[7] See note _A_ on p. 138.

[8] See a poem entitled ‘Gereint, Son of Erbin,’ in _The Black Book of
Carmarthen_, and several passages in the _Mabinogion_,--especially in
‘The Dream of Rhonabwy,’--which are referred to later on.

[9] It is worth noting, by the way, that the “Saeson,” or Saxons,
against whom he is presumed to have fought most of his battles, are not
even mentioned in the Welsh Arthurian romances.

[10] The name _Artoria_ occurs is Tacitus, _Annals_, xv. 71; _Artorius_
in Juvenal, _Sat._, iii. 29. It was common enough in Rome.

[11] Rhys, _Arthurian Legend_, p. 48. In Chap. I. of the same work Rhys
puts and answers the main question suggested in these pages as follows:
“How did Arthur become famous above other (Welsh, or British) heroes,
and how came he to be the subject of so much story and romance? The
answer, in short, which one has to give to this hard question must be
to the effect, that besides a historic Arthur there was a Brythonic
divinity named Arthur, after whom the man may have been called, or with
whose name his, in case it was of a different origin, may have become
identical in sound owing to an accident of speech” (_A. L._, p. 8).

[12] The chief authorities on Nennius are Mommsen (see his edition
of the _Historia_, and of Gildas, in _Mon. Germ. Hist._, Berlin,
1898), and Zimmer (_Nennius Vindicatus_, Berlin, 1893). See, also,
Fletcher (_The Arthurian Matter in the Chronicles_, Boston, 1906) and
M. R. James (_Camb. Hist. of Eng. Lit._, Vol. I. Ch. 5). Thurneysen
(_Zeitschr. f. Deutsche Philologie_, 1897) fixes 827 as the date of the
completion of the _History_.

[13] This date must be accepted if we are to believe Nennius’s
statement that he was a disciple of Elbodugus, or Elfodd, bishop of
Gwynedd.

[14] Chap. 56.

[15] _ipse dux erat bellorum._

[16] This is simply the Welsh (modern, _cad coed_) for “the battle of
Celidon Wood.”

[17] Rhys, _Arthurian Legend_, p. 7.

[18] _Arthurian Legend_, p. 7.

[19] A number of chieftains are styled _gwledig_ in the _Mabinogion_
(see index to edition of Welsh _Red Book_, text by Rhys and Evans, p.
342). Among them is one Amlawdd, or Amlodd, who in _Kulhwch and Olwen_
is the father of Goleuddydd, the mother of Kulhwch, “a boy of gentle
birth and cousin unto Arthur.” In a poem ascribed to Taliesin the deity
even is called _gwledig_--“gwledig nef a phob tud,” “ruler of heaven
and of every land.”

[20] Viz., to the tale, included in Lady C. Guest’s _Mabinogion_,
called ‘The Dream of Maxen Wledig.’ The glorification of Maxen, or
Maximus, in Welsh tradition suggests many points of analogy with the
story of Arthur.

[21] Lloyd, _Hist. of Wales_, Vol. I. p. 100.

[22] See the opening words of ‘The Lady of the Fountain,’ “Yr
amherawdyr Arthur oedd yng Kaer Llion ar Wysc.” See also _The Dream of
Rhonabwy_, _passim_.

[23] _Arthurian Legend_, p. 7. See also _The Welsh People_ (Rhys and
Jones), pp. 105 _sqq._

[24] The most elaborate and ingenious expositions of this theory will
be found in Skene’s _Four Ancient Books of Wales_, Vol. I. Chap. 4, and
Stuart-Glennie’s _Arthurian Localities in ‘Merlin’_ (Early Eng. Text
Soc., 1869).

[25] “Mons Badonicus” is still unidentified. Guest, in his _Origines_
_Celticæ_ (ii. 187-189) makes a brave attempt to prove that it was
Badbury in Dorset.

[26] _Hist. Reg. Brit._, Bk. IX. Ch. 4.

[27] _Ecclesiastical Sonnets_, i. 10.

[28] _Coming of Arthur._

[29] The translation is that of Dr H. Williams in his edition of Gildas
(Cymmrodorion Record Series, London, 1901), p. 63.

[30] Such, at any rate, is Rhys’s opinion. See Preface to Dent’s
_Malory_, p. xxxv.

[31] See p. 142 in Nutt’s reprint of Lady C. Guest’s _Mabinogion_.

[32] _Op. cit._, p. 139.

[33] See note _B_ on p. 138.

[34] Tennyson, _The Passing of Arthur_.

[35] Skene’s _Four Ancient Books of Wales_, Vol. I. p. 311.

[36] _Op. cit._, p. 291.

[37] Layamon, in his _Brut_ (l. 28,533), is the first to locate the
battle definitely at this place.

[38] Preface to Rolls Edition of Roger of Hoveden’s _Chronicle_.

[39] For an interesting comparison between the _Chronicle_ and Nennius
in respect to the Arthurian period, see Fletcher, _Arthurian Matter in
the Chronicles_, pp. 21-23.

[40] The account of this incident is given in Migne’s _Patrologia_,
156, col. 983.

[41] _Prophetia Anglicana_, etc. (Frankfort, 1603), Bk. I. p. 17.

[42] _Hist. Reg. Angl._, Bk. III.

[43] Published in Rolls Series, _Chronicles of Stephen_, etc., iv. p.
65.

[44] Quoted from the Epilogue to the late Dr Sebastian Evans’s
translation of Geoffrey’s _History_ (Temple Classics, 1904).

[45] Lady Charlotte Guest’s translation contains twelve tales, but one
of these, the _History of Taliesin_, is from a late sixteenth century
MS. and has no claim to rank with the rest as a genuine mediæval
production.

[46] _Arthurian Legend_, p. 6. “The Triads give us the oldest account
of Arthur, and this now and then in a form which the story-tellers and
romance-writers found thoroughly untractable and best ignored.”

[47] There are, of course, more than four “ancient books” in the Welsh
language--for example, the MS. of what is known as the Venedotian code
of the laws of Wales, and _The White Book of Rhydderch_, the contents
of which have recently been made accessible to Welsh readers in Dr
Gwenogvryn Evans’s fine edition. But Skene’s “four books” contain all
the oldest Welsh poetry that is of any account. These four, named
in chronological order, are known as _The Black Book of Carmarthen_
(twelfth century), _The Book of Aneirin_, _The Book of Taliesin_, and
_The Red Book of Hergest_.

[48] _The Study of Celtic Literature._

[49] See Skene, _Four Ancient Books_, Vol. I. p. 295.

[50] See Gwenogvryn Ewans’s edition of _The Black Book_, p. 103.

[51] Skene, _Four Ancient Books_, I. p. 426.

[52] Skene, _Four Ancient Books_, I. p. 308.

[53] Rhys, Preface to Dent’s edition of _Malory_, p. xxv, where a full
account of these three poems is given.

[54] Skene, _Four Ancient Books_, I. p. 266.

[55] Tryvrwyd, in the form _Tribruit_, is one of the twelve battles
recorded by Nennius. See _ante_, Chap. I.

[56] All the names here cited are found also in the prose story of
_Kulhwch and Olwen_. The connection of the poem with _Kulhwch_ is
referred to later on.

[57] See Preface to Dent’s _Malory_, where a translation of the whole
poem is given, and its correspondences with _Kulhwch and Olwen_ are
pointed out.

[58] _The Study of Celtic Literature._ Rhys’s opinion that the
primitive form, and substance, of this tale date from the tenth century
has been already referred to. Dr Gwenogvryn Evans, in the Preface to
his edition of _The White Book_ ‘_Mabinogion_,’ without assigning to
it so definite a date, holds that _Kulhwch and Olwen_ “is the oldest
in language, in matter, in simplicity of narrative, in primitive
atmosphere,” of all the tales to which the general name ‘mabinogion’
is given. Mr Alfred Nutt, while holding that portions of _Kulhwch and
Olwen_ are of “pre-historic antiquity, far transcending in age any
historic Arthur,” assigns the story in the form we have it to the
twelfth century, on the strength, mainly, of its affinities to eleventh
century Irish sagas.

[59] The Welsh name for “Excalibur.”

[60] Sir John Rhys does this in his _Celtic Folklore_ (Vol. II. pp.
512 _sqq._). See the whole of Chap. IX. in that work for a learned
discussion of the significance of the names, both local and personal,
in _Kulhwch_.

[61] Milton, _Paradise Lost_, ix. The prominence given to these
descriptions in the tale is emphasised by its brief epilogue. “And this
tale is called the _Dream of Rhonabwy_. And this is the reason that
no one knows the dream without a book, neither bard nor gifted seer;
because of the various colours that were upon the horses, and the many
wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and of the precious
mantles and virtuous stones.”

[62] The Emperor (Lucius Hiberius, called in the Welsh narratives Llês)
is said by Geoffrey _(Hist. Reg. Brit._, X. xi) to have been killed by
“an unknown hand.”

[63] Rhys, _Arthurian Legend_, Ch. II.

[64] The most brilliant of these re-builders of “the Celtic Pantheon”
is Sir John Rhys. See, especially, his _Arthurian Legend_ and _Celtic
Heathendom_.

[65] Spenser, _Faerie Queene_, Bk. I. Canto 9.

[66] Dickinson, _King Arthur in Cornwall_ (Longmans), p. vi, where an
interesting account is given of Arthur’s Cornish associations.

[67] _Roman de Brut_, 1. 9994

[68] See above, p. 31.

[69] See the final chapter, on “Great Britain and Little Britain,” in
Rhys’s _Arthurian Legend_.

[70] _Ariegal and Elidure._

[71] _Hist. Reg. Brit._, Chap. I. (Dr Sebastian Evans’s translation).
I have used this translation for nearly all the extracts from Geoffrey
given in this chapter.

[72] This hypothesis is ingeniously elaborated by the late Dr Sebastian
Evans in the epilogue to his translation of Geoffrey (Temple Classics,
1903).

[73] This explanation of the name “Britain” is not, as has been pointed
out (pp. 60, 61), original to Geoffrey. It is his elaboration of the
Brutus legend that is significant.

[74] William of Newburgh, the severest of all Geoffrey’s critics,
writing about 1190, suggests that either this, or his own “love of
lying,” was the motive of the work. “It is manifest that everything
which this person wrote about Arthur and his successors, and his
predecessors after Vortigern, was made up partly by himself and partly
by others, whether from an inordinate love of lying or for the sake of
pleasing the Britons.” William also held that Geoffrey’s account of
events before the time of Julius Cæsar was either invented by himself,
or “adopted after it had been invented by others.”

[75] Jusserand, _Lit. Hist. of the English People_, Vol. I. p. 131.

[76] One MS of the _History_, preserved at Bern, contains a double
dedication addressed to both Robert, and King Stephen. I have given
some account of this MS, and of its bearing upon the date and character
of the _History_, in a paper on Geoffrey published in the _Transactions
of the Cymmrodorion Society_ (London, 1899).

[77] Where, apart from “the British book,” Geoffrey derived the name
and history of Uther, still remains an unsolved problem. It is worth
noting, however, that “Uther Pendragon” is mentioned in a poem in _The
Black Book of Carmarthen_ noticed in the previous chapter (see p. 42).

[78] Dubricius, or Dyfrig, is a well-known early Welsh saint, but
the archbishopric of the City of Legions is entirely a creation of
Geoffrey’s fancy.

[79] I have italicised the words “noble Roman family” here, because
this “Roman” descent of Guinevere would seem not to have been derived
from a Welsh source. In the Triads we read of a Guinevere who is
described as “the daughter of Ogrvan the Giant” (see _ante_, p. 53).
She is, apparently, the one among “the three Guineveres” who is best
known to Welsh tradition as the wife of Arthur. She is mentioned both
in a poem by the famous Welsh poet of the fourteenth century, Dafydd
ap Gwilym--referring to her adventure with Melwas--and in an old Welsh
rhyme, which gives her a somewhat disreputable character (see Rhys,
_Arthurian Legend_, Chap. III.).

[80] It is interesting to note, incidentally, that after the
“solemnity” at Caerleon, Dubricius is reported to have resigned his
archbishopric, and “David, _the King’s uncle_, was consecrated in his
place, whose life was an ensample of all goodness unto them whom he had
instructed in his doctrine.”

[81] This statement appears to indicate quite explicitly that Geoffrey
was indebted to Walter for oral information as well as for the British
book.

[82] The best-known account of the affair is given by Giraldus
Cambrensis (_De Principis Instructione_, viii. 126-9).

[83] There are, for example, thirty-five in the British Museum and
sixteen in the Bodleian.

[84] No copies of Gaimar’s version are known to exist, but his
rhymed chronicle of Anglo-Saxon and Norman kings has been edited and
translated by Duffus Hardy in the Rolls Series.

[85] _Polyolbion_, Song x.

[86] Hueil, and the cause of his quarrel with Arthur, are incidentally
mentioned in _Kulhwch and Olwen_. Hueil, we there read, had stabbed his
sister’s son Gwydre, “and hatred was between Hueil and Arthur because
of the wound.”

[87] Rhys, who doubts Caradoc’s authorship of the _Life of Gildas_, is
“certain that the story” of Melwas “is ancient, for Chrétien de Troyes
in his _Erec_ speaks of Maheloas as the Lord of the Glass Island--‘Li
sire de l’isle de voirre.’” _Arthurian Legend_, p. 52.

[88] Layamon’s _Brut_, ll. 42, 43.

[89] The question of the mythological origin of the Round Table is
one of the many indeterminate problems of Arthurian “criticism.”
For a suggestive study of the question see Brown, _The Round Table
before Wace_ (_Harvard Studies and Notes_, Vol. VII., 1900), where he
confidently states that “the Round Table was a very early Pan-Celtic
institution.”

[90] _Brut_, ll. 19,254 _sqq._ (Madden’s edition).

[91] ll. 28,610 _sqq._

[92] ll. 22,910 _sqq._

[93] See note _C_ on p. 138.

[94] Camelot is, apparently, first heard of in Chrétien de Troyes’
_Chevalier de la Charrette_.

[95] Tennyson, _Merlin and Vivien_.

[96] See note _D_ on p. 138.

[97] So much has been clearly proved in the case of _Peredur_, for
instance, in a French essay on the composition of that romance recently
published from Paris by Dr Mary Williams, formerly Fellow of the
University of Wales.

[98] This, of course, is an obvious variant of the story told in the
_Life of Gildas_, already mentioned, of Guinevere’s abduction by Melwas.

[99] _Nonne Prestes Tale_, l. 392.

[100] See note _E_ on p. 139.

[101] Matthew Arnold, _Tristram and Iseult_.

[102] Swinburne, _Tristram of Lyonesse_.

[103] M. Bédier, in his edition of Thomas’s _Tristan_, maintains that
the original of all the various versions of the story was a single poem
composed in England. This is a disputed point among scholars, but it is
generally agreed that the story is of British origin.

[104] See Tennyson, _The Passing of Arthur_.

[105] A. Nutt, _The Legends of the Holy Grail_ (Popular Studies in
Mythology and Folklore), p. 72.

[106] For a learned and suggestive study of the various versions of
the Grail legend, see Miss J. L. Weston’s _The Legend of Sir Perceval_
(2 vols.) in the Grimm Library (Nutt). Miss Weston there distinguishes
three stages in the growth of the legend as “the Folklore, the
Literary and the Mystical.” In the Mystical, an element which she
holds to be “entirely foreign to the original tale,” viz., the Grail
quest, “modified and finally transformed it.” The folk-tale “assumed
an ecclesiastical and mystical character. The hero became a champion
of Christianity and Holy Church, and as such displayed the qualities
most approved by the religious views of the time: he became not merely
chaste, but an ascetic celibate, and any connection with women was
dropped altogether” (Vol. I. p. 117).

[107] This, of course, raises a vexed question,--two schools of
critics, one German, and the other English, French and American,
being at feud upon it. In connection with the alleged Welsh origin of
some of these traditions, it may be mentioned that the suggestion has
been recently made that the first collection of them for “romantic”
purposes was due to a Welshman variously known as Bledri, Bleheris, or
Bledhericus, who lived probably in the eleventh century, and is spoken
of by Giraldus Cambrensis as a ‘_famosus fabulator, qui tempora nostra
paulo prævenit_.’ See Weston, _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. I. Ch. 12.

[108] He is made the actual achiever of the quest in the German poem
_Diu Krône_, by Heinrich von dem Türlin.

[109] See _The Legend of Sir Gawain_, by Miss J. L. Weston (Grimm
Library).

[110] See the _Sir Gawayne_ romances edited by Sir F. Madden for the
Bannatyne Club (London, 1839).

[111] Strachey, Introduction to Globe Edition of _Le Morte Darthur_.

[112] _Morte Darthur_, Book XVIII. Chap. 25.

[113] Book XXI. Chap. 5.

[114] See note _F_ on p. 139.

[115] _Faerie Queene_, Bk. III. Canto iii.

[116] _Polyolbion_, Song X.

[117] _Polyolbion_, I.

[118] Scott, _Marmion_, Introduction to Canto I.

[119] _Paradise Lost_, Book IX.

[120] _Discourse on Satire._

[121] Scott’s edition of Dryden, Introduction to the play.

[122] Dryden so designates him in his _Preface to the Fables_.

[123] _King Arthur_, Book I.

[124] Introductory Letter to the _Faerie Queene_.

[125] The Sir Ector of Malory.

[126] _Faerie Queene_, Book I. ix.

[127] _Faerie Queene_, II. viii. 21.

[128] _Faerie Queene_, I. vii. 35.

[129] See note _G_ on p. 139.

[130] Dedication to his tragedy, “Locrine.”

[131] Lord Morley, _Studies in Literature_ (“On ‘The Ring and the
Book’”).

[132] _Lord Tennyson, A Memoir_, by his Son, Vol. II. v. 127.

[133] Andrew Lang, _Tennyson_ (Blackwood’s “Modern English Writers”),
p. 103.

[134] How closely it does follow the Welsh tale has well been pointed
out by Mr A. Lang in the work just quoted, from pp. 119 _sqq._

[135] M. W. Maccallum, _Tennyson’s Idylls and Arthurian Story_.

[136] Stopford Brooke, _Tennyson_, Chap. 10.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


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  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.