Arthurian Literature XXV [25] 1843841711, 9781843841715

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ARTHURIAN LITERATURE XXV

ARTHURIAN LITERATURE Incorporating Arthurian Yearbook ISSN  0261–9946 Editors Elizabeth Archibald, University of Bristol David F. Johnson, Florida State University, Tallahassee Editorial Board James Carley, York University Julia Crick, University of Exeter Tony Hunt, University of Oxford Marianne Kalinke, Illinois University Norris Lacy, Pennsylvania State University Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan, National Library of Wales Felicity Riddy, University of York Alison Stones, University of Pittsburgh Toshiyuki Takamiya, University of Keio Raymond H. Thompson, Acadia University Michael Twomey, Ithaca College Arthurian Literature is an interdisciplinary publication devoted to the scholarly and critical study of all aspects of Arthurian legend in Europe in the medieval and early modern periods. Articles on writings from later periods are included if they relate very directly to medieval and early modern sources, although the editors welcome bibliographical studies of all periods. Articles may be up to 20,000 words in length; short items, of under 5,000 words, are published as Notes. Updates on earlier articles are also welcomed. Material for consideration should be sent to Boydell & Brewer: contributors should follow the style sheet printed at the end of XII of the series. The contents of previous volumes are listed at the back of this book.

Arthurian Literature XXV Edited by ELIZABETH ARCHIBALD DAVID F. JOHNSON

D. S. BREWER

©  Contributors 2008 All rights reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner First published 2008 D. S. Brewer, Cambridge ISBN  978–1–84384–171–5

D. S. Brewer is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc, 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This publication is printed on acid-free paper Printed in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire

CONTENTS List of Illustrations

vii

General Editors’ Foreword

ix

List of Contributors

xi

Abbreviations

xiii

I

Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Merlin Legend Nikolai Tolstoy

II

The Enchantress, the Knight and the Cleric: Authorial Surrogates in Arthurian Romance Carolyne Larrington

43

III ‘Morgan le Fay, Empress of the Wilderness’: A Newly Recovered Arthurian Text in London, BL Royal 12.C.ix Michael Twomey

67

IV Malory’s Lancelot and the Key to Salvation Raluca L. Radulescu

93

V

Chrétien in Ivory Martine Meuwese

VI ‘An Empire of Itself’: Arthur as Icon of an English Empire, 1509–1547 Stewart Mottram

1

119 153

ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval meets 120 Arthur’s knights in the forest Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval leaves his 120 mother and kisses the lady in the tent Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval arrives at 122 Arthur’s court Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval kills the Red 122 Knight and puts on his armour Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, lid with four saints 123 Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, Chrétien de Troyes, Perceval, fol. 1r 125 Cracow, Cathedral Treasury, composite casket, the siege of the 127 Castle of Love Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum, composite casket, 127 Aristotle and Phyllis and Fountain of Youth London, British Museum, composite casket, trysting scene 129 and capture of the unicorn London, British Museum, composite casket, Galahad receives 130 the key of the Castle of Maidens London, BL, Royal 14 E III, fol. 97r, Queste del Saint Graal, 131 Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens London, British Museum, plaque from a casket, a knight kills 132 a wild man and Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens 133 Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum, composite casket, Gawain fighting the lion, Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed London, Victoria & Albert Museum, Gawain fighting the lion, 133 Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed London, BL, Add. 10293, prose Lancelot, fol. 196r, Lancelot 134 crossing the Sword Bridge Paris, BnF, fr.12577, fol. 45r, Chrétien de Troyes, Perceval, 135 Gawain on the Perilous Bed London, BL, upper bookcover of Add. 36615, Gawain fighting 135 the lion, Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed vii

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

Niort, Musée d’Agesci, inv. no. 914.1.143, writing tablet with 136 Gawain on the Perilous Bed Bologna, Museo Civico, mirror case with Gawain on the 138 Perilous Bed Washington, private collection, Yvain at the miraculous 138 fountain Paris, BnF, fr. 1433, fol. 65r, Chrétien de Troyes, Yvain, 140 Calogrenant pours water on the stone and fights Esclados Whereabouts unknown, composite casket, Gawain fighting the 143 lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge Cleveland, Cleveland Museum of Art, inv. no. 1978.39.c, 144 plaques from a casket. Galahad entering the Castle of Maidens, Gawain fighting the lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge; Fountain of Youth and lover shooting flower at ladies on an elephant; the siege of the Castle of Love.

viii

FOREWORD Volume XXV of Arthurian Literature is the first under the co-editorship of Elizabeth Archibald and David F. Johnson. The editors would like to acknowledge the contributions and accomplishments of our predecessors, in particular Keith Busby, who was at the helm as General Editor from Volume XVII to Volume XXIV. We sincerely hope that the volumes we produce will continue the tradition of high quality established by those that have already appeared in this series. In the past general volumes have been alternated with ‘themed’ volumes. We will continue to encourage the submission of papers on specific themes, but we will be happy to publish papers dealing with other topics in the same volume. For instance, at the 42nd International Congress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, we organized a session on ‘Arthur and Rome’, and the following year we sponsored a session on ‘The Political Arthur’ at the 43rd International Congress at Kalamazoo. Papers on either topic would be particularly welcome for Volume XXVI of Arthurian Literature. We urge those submitting essays for consideration to consult the stylesheet now posted on Boydell & Brewer’s main website. The articles appearing in this volume represent a wide range of Arthurian subjects, reaching as far back as the sixth century, and as far forward as the nineteenth. Nikolai Tolstoy takes a very close look at what Geoffrey of Monmouth knew about the Merlin legend, and where this knowledge came from, arguing convincingly for the priority of the native Welsh tradition. Carolyne Larrington investigates the identification of authorial surrogates in French and English Arthurian romance, analysing both female and clerical magician-author figures and demonstrating in a compelling way ‘the close alignment between values gendered female and clerical values within the courtly context’. It goes without saying that discoveries of previously unknown Arthurian texts are a rare thing, yet Michael Twomey presents just such a discovery in his discussion here: a letter in Anglo-Norman French purportedly written by Morgan le Fay, the only one in the entire known Arthurian corpus claiming to have been composed by Morgan herself. This fascinating text is here for the first time transcribed, translated and provided with a full commentary. Raluca Radulescu examines the role of Malory’s Lancelot in the Grail Quest and ‘The Healing of Sir Urry’ episode in the context of that author’s ‘perceived tendency to favour chivalric adventures over spiritual perfection in the rest of his Morte Darthur’. Radulescu sees Lancelot’s spiritual state as developing between the Quest and the ‘Healing’, rather than declining, and his success in the latter episode as demonstrative of the ix

need to obey both an earthly lord and God in order to guarantee knightly worship. Martine Meuwese offers a fascinating discussion of depictions of scenes from the romances of Chrétien de Troyes in ivory caskets from the Middle Ages and beyond, including forgeries from the nineteenth century. Finally, Stuart Mottram probes England’s self-image as an imperial power during the reign of Henry VIII, showing how literature of the period deployed King Arthur as an icon of an independent England. Elizabeth Archibald Bristol, UK David F. Johnson Tallahassee, Florida



CONTRIBUTORS CAROLYNE LARRINGTON is a Supernumerary Fellow and Tutor in medieval English at St John’s College, Oxford. Her research interests include Old Norse literature, women and writing, mythology, and psychology in medieval culture. Her book on enchantresses, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, in the Arthurian tradition appeared in 2006; she is currently working on Arthurian material in Old Norse. MARTINE MEUWESE is an art historian. She is currently part of the Utrecht University research project Arthurian Fiction: A Pan-European Approach, and is also working on the interdisciplinary Lancelot-Graal Project, directed by Professor Alison Stones. She has published a series of articles on Arthurian iconography and vernacular manuscript illustration, and in 2005 organized the exhibition King Arthur in the Netherlands, a survey of Arthurian manuscripts and fragments in Dutch collections. STEWART MOTTRAM is Research Lecturer in English at the Institute for Medieval and Early Modern Studies, Aberystwyth University. He is the author of Empire and Nation in Early English Renaissance Literature (forthcoming), and has also published articles on empire and the English Bible. He is currently working on a study of pastoral and the Protestant writing of England and Wales, from Barnabe Googe to William Browne. RALUCA L. RADULESCU is Lecturer in Medieval Literature in the School of English and Director of the Centre for Medieval Studies at Bangor University. She has published a monograph on Malory and edited four collections of essays. Her research interests include Arthurian literature, gentry culture, the Brut chronicles, genealogy, and popular romance. She is currently co-editing (with Cory Rushton) a Companion to Medieval Popular Romance. NIKOLAI TOLSTOY has written books on Russian and other historical topics, and in 1986 published The Quest for Merlin, a study of the origins of the Merlin legend. His last publication was the first part of a twovolume biography of his late stepfather, the novelist Patrick O’Brian. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature MICHAEL TWOMEY is Charles A. Dana Professor of Humanities in the Dept of English at Ithaca College. His research interests are Arthurian literature and medieval encyclopedias. Recent publications include ‘The Voice of Aurality in the Morte Darthur’, Arthuriana 13.4 (2003), for which he was awarded the James Randall Leader Prize by the North American branch of the International Arthurian Society. xi

ABBREVIATIONS BBIAS BL BnF EETS OS MLR PMLA

Bibliographical Bulletin of the International Arthurian Society London, British Library Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France Early English Text Society, Old Series Modern Language Review Publications of the Modern Language Association

xiii

I

GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND Nikolai Tolstoy In a recent study Oliver Padel subjected the origins of the Merlin/Myrddin legend to a careful re-examination. A. O. H. Jarman contended that the name and prophetic character of Myrddin arose from nothing more than ætiological speculation on the placename Caerfyrddin (Carmarthen), which in reality derives from British *Moridūnon (‘sea-town’). This shadowy figure subsequently acquired features of the legend of a North British wild man named Lailoken. Geoffrey of Monmouth absorbed this composite legend into his Historia Regum Britannie, to which he adapted Nennius’s account of the fatherless child Ambrosius. He further placed a lengthy prophecy in the mouth of his Merlin, loosely based on Welsh prophecies ascribed to Myrddin. This Merlin’s floruit Geoffrey located in the reign of Vortigern, which his chronology makes plain lay in the middle of the fifth century AD. A decade or so later Geoffrey composed his lengthy poem Vita Merlini, which contained much new material about its hero. While Merlin remains a prophet (vatis), in virtually every other respect his story is radically altered. He is described as ‘king and prophet of the men of Dyfed’ (‘Rex erat et vates Demetarumque’), which does not correspond to anything in the Historia. While the Historia represents Merlin as born in Dyfed and uttering his prophecy in Gwynedd, all events in the Vita Merlini take place in North Britain. A terrible battle is fought between Peredurus king of Gwynedd and Guennolous king of Scotia. Merlin accompanies Peredurus, who is allied with Rodarcus king of the Cumbrians. Driven mad with horror by the bloody conflict, Merlin takes refuge in the forest of Calidon. King Rodarcus, who is married to Merlin’s sister Ganieda,  

O. J. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Development of the Merlin Legend’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 51 (2006), 37–65. The name of Nennius is used throughout this article, as I am persuaded by Field’s validation of his authorship: see P. J. C. Field, ‘Nennius and his History’, Studia Celtica 30 (1996), 159–65, and also M. Coumert, Origines des peuples: Les récits du haut moyen âge occidental (550–850) (Paris, 2007), pp. 448–50. However this does not affect my use of the Historia Brittonum as a source.





NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

presses the seer to come and live in comfort at his court, but the wild man finds himself unable to endure the constraints of civilization and flees back to the forest. After various adventures he settles there, where he is joined by another seer named Telgesinus and his sister Ganieda. They engage in learned discussions, ranging from encyclopædic lore familiar to scholars of Geoffrey’s era to vaticinations alluding to events contemporary with his composition. The battle is implicitly identified in a Scottish source with Arderydd, a site near Carlisle, which according to the Annales Cambriæ was fought in AD 573. Peredur and Gwenddolau are associated with the conflict in early Welsh tradition, and early medieval Welsh poems (notably the Afallenau and Oianau in the Black Book of Carmarthen) link Arderydd, Rhydderch Hael (Rodarcus), and the wood of Celyddon in circumstances which broadly correspond to those recounted in the Vita Merlini. Two other early poems, Ymddiddan Myrddin a Thaliesin and Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd, comprise prophetic dialogues respectively between Myrddin and Taliesin (Geoffrey’s Telgesinus), and Myrddin and his sister Gwenddydd (Geoffrey’s Ganieda). Clearly these poems and the Vita Merlini treat of the same characters and events, and must be closely related. In the Vita Merlini the seer alludes to the prophecy he uttered before Vortigern, but Geoffrey does not explain how he came to be contemporary with events occurring well over a century after Vortigern’s day. His Merlin describes the part he played in assisting the wounded Arthur after the battle of Camlan (assigned in the Historia to the year 542), and summarizes British history from Vortigern’s reign up to the time of the poem’s setting, which makes the implicit chronology clear. Given the contrast between Geoffrey’s sparse use of authentic Welsh material in the Historia Regum Britannie and the relatively close correspondence between the Vita Merlini and what could be inferred of Myrddin’s life from Welsh literary tradition, Jarman and others concluded that the author possessed the barest acquaintance with the Welsh Myrddin tradition when composing his Historia. During ensuing years he somehow gained access to authentic Welsh material which he adapted for his Latin poem. Padel rejects the argument that Geoffrey profited from Welsh literary tradition. He contends that his presumed ignorance when writing the Historia version of Merlin’s career is ‘unconvincing’, and that ‘the idea of the author of the History ever having been motivated by a desire to set the record straight is not persuasive’. Instead he suggests that ‘We can   



Life of Merlin; Geoffrey of Monmouth: Vita Merlini, ed. B. Clarke (Cardiff, 1973), p. 88. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 104–12. The decade 1140–50 is silent on Geoffrey’s life, and ‘must contain the explanation of the extra dimension of awareness of native British (primarily Welsh or Welsh-carried) tradition which is evidenced in VM when compared with HRB’ (Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 29). Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 40. It does not appear that anyone has suggested that Geoffrey aimed ‘to set the record straight’, but rather that he utilized a rich source of fresh information.





GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

envisage that Geoffrey, writing his History in the 1130s, was acquainted with Myrddin’s legend in whatever form it then had in south-west Wales’, and that he subsequently annexed Northern Wild Man material to his Merlin story. Padel rhetorically enquires whether it be not more likely that ‘the northern wild-man was merged with the South Welsh prophet, not within Welsh tradition before the twelfth century, but by Geoffrey himself in his Vita Merlini’? A possible motive for this move was to ingratiate himself with the dedicatee of the poem, Bishop Robert de Chesney of Lincoln. As for the focus on Merlin, Padel argues: It would have been natural for him to return to the theme of Merlin, both because by 1148 he would already have known that it was one of the most successful and popular parts of his History, and also because it was appropriate, in a work for Bishop Robert, to develop the theme of the Prophecies of Merlin, which had been dedicated to Robert’s predecessor, Alexander.

The tale of the Northern Wild Man appeared apt to this purpose, since he like the South Welsh Myrddin was famed as a prophet. Thus Padel’s argument largely reverses that of Jarman. Perceptively observing that the poems commonly attributed to Myrddin, in particular the Afallenau and Oianau, are not ascribed to him in early manuscripts, he noted further that Welsh poetry held by an earlier generation of scholars to predate Geoffrey’s work is by no means so securely fixed chronologically as had been supposed. In short, Padel holds that much of the Welsh vaticinatory poetry subsequently ascribed to Myrddin in the Black Book of Carmarthen and Red Book of Hergest was written under the influence of Geoffrey’s imaginative work. Despite the cogency of his argument, I believe that the priority of native Welsh tradition remains the more likely hypothesis.

Composition of the Prophetiæ Merlini Geoffrey composed and circulated his Prophetiæ prior to completion of the Historia, not long before the death of Henry I on 1 December 1135. Clear allusion to that event is found in some manuscripts but not others,

 



Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, pp. 1–43. This is not to suggest that there has been unanimity among scholars on the subject. Padel’s case, although much better informed and fully argued, is essentially the same as those advanced by Bruce and Chambers in the early decades of the last century: J. D. Bruce, The Evolution of Arthurian Romance From the Beginnings Down to the Year 1300, 2 vols. (Göttingen, 1928), I, 129–32, 143; E. K. Chambers, Arthur of Britain (London, 1927), pp. 95–98. The Historia Regum Britannie of Geoffrey of Monmouth I: Bern, Burgerbibliothek, MS. 568, ed. N. Wright (Cambridge, 1984), xi. All subsequent references are to this edition, abbreviated as HRB.





NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

indicating that the passage was inserted ex postfacto by the author.10 In a brief introduction Geoffrey explained the circumstances: However I had not yet come to this part of the history, when a rumour about Merlin being spread abroad my acquaintances from every side compelled me to publish the prophecies of that man: but above all Alexander Bishop of Lincoln … As I chose to satisfy him, I translated the prophecies and directed them to the same man …11

This is followed in the text by a copy of Geoffrey’s accompanying letter to the Bishop: Alexander Bishop of Lincoln, love of your nobility has induced me to translate the prophecies of Merlin from British into Latin before I had finished the history concerning the deeds of the British kings which I had begun. For I had proposed to complete that before and subsequently to expound this work …12

There are significant differences between Geoffrey’s declared plan for his book and its execution. Precisely how far the Historia had progressed when he interrupted its progress is unclear. At the least he had yet to reach the account of Vortigern and the Fatherless Boy which introduces the Prophetiæ, since he explains that he had not attained this part of his history: ‘Nondum autem ad hunc locum historie perueneram’. Next he informed Bishop Alexander that he had hitherto intended to finish the History ‘and afterwards to complete this work’: i.e. the Prophetiæ. Succumbing to pressure arising from the rumor de Merlino, he interrupted his project to provide the translation.13 However this does not explain why he located the latter in the middle of his work when he came to complete the Historia some three years later. As the book stands, the Prophecy of Merlin appears precisely where it might be expected. Vortigern asks the lad to expound the mystery of the fighting dragons, which he does. What could have been achieved by postponing the prophecy to the end of the work, by when its initial prog-

10

11

12

13

H. L. D. Ward and J. A. Herbert, Catalogue of Romances in the Department of Manuscripts in the British Museum, 3 vols. (London, 1883–1910), I, 207–9; The Historia Regum Britanniæ of Geoffrey of Monmouth, ed. A. Griscom (London, 1929), p. 46; Wright, HRB, xi. ‘Nondum autem ad hunc locum historie perueneram, cum de Merlino diuulgato rumore compellebant undique contemporanei mei prophetias ipsius edere: maxime autem Alexander Linconiensis episcopus, uir summe religionis et prudentie … Cui cum satisfacere preeligessem, prophetias transtuli et eidem cum huiusmodi litteris direxi’ (Wright, HRB, p. 73). ‘Coegit me, Alexander Lincolinensis presul, nobilitatis tue dilectio prophetias Merlini de Britannico in Latinum transferre antequam historiam parassem quam de gestis regum Britannicorum inceperam. Proposueram enim prius perficere istudque opus subsequenter’ (Wright, HRB, pp. 73–74). Discrepancies between the prophecies and the events foretold confirm that ‘les ­prophéties ont été écrites avant que Geoffroy n’ait terminé l’Historia’: C. Daniel, Les prophéties de Merlin et la culture politique (XIIe–XVIe siècle) (Turnhout, 2006), p. 27.





GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

nostications would have been fulfilled within the narrative? His claim that it would have been distracting to undertake the tasks together seems disingenuous. Why should he have felt obliged to work on them simultaneously? The general picture seems clear. By the summer of 1135 Geoffrey was making progress with his Historia, when he came under unexpected pressure to provide a translation of Merlin’s prophecies. Now that he had publicly endorsed Merlin as the pre-eminent prophet of the Britons, he substituted his name and the lengthy prophecy he had ‘translated’ for the Ambrosius of his source. This evasive change is made all but explicit with Geoffrey’s baldly unexplained parenthesis ‘Merlinus (qui et Ambrosius dicebatur)’.14 This completed, he returned to his major work, which at this stage follows with reasonable faithfulness the Historia Brittonum of Nennius. This suggests what induced Geoffrey to effect such a radical change in the boy prophet’s name and home. Faral’s argument that ætiological speculation based on the name Caerfyrddin led him to substitute Merlin for Ambrosius is circular. His further assumption that Geoffrey’s acceptance of Ambrosius as a British king obliged him to create a distinct figure for his prophet ignores the fact that Nennius himself duplicated the nomenclature without envisaging any confusion.15 As Tatlock pointed out, ‘The change was in nowise required to distinguish him from the king Ambrosius; just as the latter is called (as in Gildas, not Nennius) Aurelius Ambrosius, what was to prevent the sage from being Ambrosius Vates or the like?’16 It appears that Geoffrey originally intended to append to the Historia a ringing prophecy of future events. Towards its conclusion he alludes to a dramatic climax of British history ‘quod Merlinus Arturo prophetauerat’.17 Geoffrey had anticipated his hugely inflated figure of Arthur in the Prophetiæ, where the great king is envisaged as conqueror of the islands of the sea, Gaul, and Rome. However in the Historia proper Merlin disappears from the story immediately after Arthur’s conception, and delivers no prophecy to him. Evidently Geoffrey originally intended to include two prophecies in his Historia: the first the brief one described by Nennius uttered by Ambrosius before Vortigern, and the second by Merlin (reflecting his fame as a prophet in Wales) to Arthur. This conjecture 14

15 16 17

‘It looks as if Geoffrey were making the identification precisely in order to appropriate the tower episode to his Merlin’, according to R. H. Fletcher, The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles especially those of Great Britain and France (Boston, 1906), p. 92. E. Faral, La Légende arthurienne – Études et documents, 3 vols. (Paris, 1929), II, 41–42, 243. J. S. P. Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain: Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae and its Early Vernacular Versions (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1950), p. 176. Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain, p. 146. It is surprising how little attention has been paid to this significant allusion. Zumthor expressed bewilderment: ‘Le mot Arturo (qu’on ne trouve pas dans tous les manuscrits) est assez surprenent. Est-ce une erreur due chez un copiste à l’influence des romans français … et faut-il ne pas le lire, ou le remplacer par Wortegirno? Ou supposer que Merlin a répété sa prophétie à Arthur?’ See P. Zumthor, Merlin le Prophète: Un thème de la littérature polémique de l’historiographie et des romans (Lausanne, 1943), p. 35.





NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

is supported by the fact that the Prophetiæ pass directly from exegesis of the two dragons to the victories of Arthur (Aper Cornubie), omitting the dramatic account of Vortigern’s end and the ensuing turbulent reigns of Aurelius and Uther which occupy Book VIII of the Historia. This lacuna is awkwardly filled by a post-scriptum inserted at the beginning of the Book, when Vortigern presses Merlin to provide an account of forthcoming events. Merlin obliges with a brief summary of the narrative covered by Book VIII.18 This Book finds no counterpart in the Historia Brittonum, and was manifestly concocted by Geoffrey from other sources, including a liberal dose of his own imagination.19 Evidently he had yet to plan Book VIII when he composed the Prophetiæ, whose vaticinations are implicitly (in their content) and explicitly (in the subsequent allusion) linked to Arthur rather than Vortigern.20 While his motive can only be guessed at, it is not difficult to envisage so gifted a writer’s deciding that a single great prophet would be more effective than two, and realizing that stylistically the prophecy could feature effectively as centre-piece of his history rather than its conclusion.21

de Merlino diuulgato rumore Geoffrey explains that he issued Merlin’s Prophetiæ in reponse to a widespread ‘rumour about Merlin’, which implicitly began circulating all of a sudden. His contemporaries, principal among whom was his powerful patron Bishop Alexander of Lincoln, reacted by persuading him to undertake a translation of the Prophecies.22 How much Geoffrey knew about

18

19

20

21

22

‘Cette addition a pour but d’établir la transition entre les Prophéties et les chapitres suivants de l’HRB’: Zumthor, Merlin le Prophète, p. 21. But why had Geoffrey omitted to include ‘cette addition’ at the appropriate juncture in Merlin’s prophecy? The prophecy in §VIII.1. is entirely different in character from the Prophetiæ proper. Instead of wild symbolism and sobriquets substituted for personal names, it comprises a brief matter-of-fact summary of coming events. Even though this afforded him the opportunity to anticipate every ominous contingency, Vortigern inexplicably makes not the slightest effort to profit from the revelation. Wright points out that ‘the contents of the initial prophecies [1–7] indicate that he had already drawn up at least a general outline of the second half of the Historia’ (Wright, HRB, xii). This is true to the extent that Geoffrey intended to utilize the Historia Brittonum and Bede as the framework of his ‘history’, but the Prophetiæ makes it clear that he had yet to plan Book VIII at the time of the Prophecy’s composition. Roberts comments: ‘It is placed exactly in the centre of the book, immediately after that most significant event, the arrival of the Saxons who are the instruments of God’s vengeance. History stands still for a moment while we seek its significance’: B. F. Roberts, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth, Historia Regum Britanniae and Brut y Brenhinedd’, in R. Bromwich, A. O. H. Jarman, and B. F. Roberts, eds., The Arthur of the Welsh: The Arthurian Legend in Medieval Welsh Literature (Cardiff, 1991), p. 103. Cf. B. F. Roberts, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Welsh Historical Tradition’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 20 (1976), 29–40 (p. 39). Faral takes contemporanei mei ‘au sens de «compagnons». Cf. à la fin de l’ouvrage, le chapitre 208’ (La Légende arthurienne, II, 39). However in both instances the normal meaning ‘contempo-





GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

Merlin at the time is unclear, but it was natural that those who knew of him and his work should have regarded him as the authority on early British history. That he was working on a History of the Kings of Britain must long have been familiar to his contemporanei, among whom he was known as ‘Geoffrey Arthur’ from his notorious obsession with the British king.23 But what was it that so dramatically brought the name and fame of Merlin to public attention in the summer of 1135? And why was the Bishop of Lincoln so concerned to obtain a translation of the seer’s prophecies? Well before the death of Henry I it was evident that the royal succession would be disputed by rival adherents of his daughter Matilda and his nephew Stephen of Blois. One of the most powerful supporters of Stephen was Bishop Roger of Salisbury, who placed the crown on his head on his arrival in England from Normandy.24 Appointed Justiciar of England by Henry I, he was as potent a statesman as he was eminent a cleric.25 Bishop Alexander of Lincoln was Roger’s nephew, to whom he (Alexander) owed much of his own considerable influence in the councils of the realm. Both uncle and nephew possessed numerous great castles whose fortifications they had recently strengthened.26 Although Henry’s death was sudden and unexpected, that a deadly struggle would ensue between the rival heirs to the throne had long been regarded as inevitable.27 So intelligent and well-connected a man as Geoffrey of Monmouth must have been well apprized of the ramifications, and the complex relationship between successive dedications of his Historia indicates his sensitivity to shifts in the balance of power.28 Few events in the British Isles in the twelfth century aroused more perplexed and agitated foreboding than the death of Henry I. The firm rule of gloriosus cesar Henricus provided unprecedented justice and order, acclaimed even by the English chronicler.29 The heavens themselves seemed to presage some terrible event, when two years earlier a simultaneous eclipse and

23 24 25 26

27 28 29

raries’ is more likely; cf. D. R. Howlett, The English Origins of Old French Literature (Blackrock, 1996), p. 47. O. J. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Cornwall’, Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 8 (1984), 1–4. Cf. Bromwich et al., The Arthur of the Welsh, p. 106; Wright, HRB, x. Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum, ed. D. Greenway (Oxford, 1996), p. 700. William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum: The History of the English Kings, ed. R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson, and M. Winterbottom, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1998), I, 736–38. C. Coulson, ‘The Castles of the Anarchy’, in The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, ed. E. King (Oxford, 1994), pp. 80–81, 91; Gesta Stephani: The Deeds of Stephen, ed. K. R. Potter (London, 1955), p. 52. D. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, 1135–1154 (Harlow, 2000), p. 32. Cf. Griscom, The Historia Regum Britanniæ, p. 94; cf. pp. 87–96; Wright, HRB, xiv–xvi; Howlett, The English Origins of Old French Literature, pp. 36–43, 58–59. Leges Henrici Primi, ed. L. J. Downer (Oxford, 1972), p. 80; The Peterborough Chronicle 1074– 1154, ed. C. Clark (Oxford, 1958), p. 54.





NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

earthquake astonished and frightened the population.30 On the eve of the King’s death a dreadful storm raged in Normandy.31 Meanwhile beyond Offa’s Dyke Welsh kings, who had learned to regard resistance to the great king as being futile as opposition to the will of God,32 lost no time in making martial preparations against the day when he should be no more: ‘his system was already breaking down even before his death. As Henry lay dying in Normandy, the Welsh magnates in the Tawe and Tywi valleys had combined against his Marcher lords.’33 On New Year’s Day 1136, exactly a month after Henry’s death, Hywel ap Maredudd of Brycheiniog inflicted a crushing defeat on the Normans and English in Gower. In April Richard Fitz Gilbert of Ceredigion, ‘the mightiest of the magnates of Western Wales’, was ambushed by Iorwerth ab Owain of Gwent while advancing through woods on the borders of Gwent and Brycheiniog. Yet more dramatic reverses were inflicted on the alien occupiers as the year advanced. On learning of the death of Fitz Gilbert, Owain and Cadwaladr, sons of the ageing King Gruffudd ap Cynan of Gwynedd, swept into Ceredigion where they seized castles and plunder so extensive they were compelled to return home to digest the latter. However if the Anglo-Norman barons supposed this the nadir of their fortunes they were swiftly disillusioned. About Michaelmas Owain and Cadwaladr reappeared with their armies in Ceredigion and routed their foes in the bloody battle of Crug Mawr on the Teifi. Faced with further Welsh victories in the following year, the embattled King Stephen was compelled to leave the Welsh effectively to their own devices for the remainder of his reign.34 Throughout the Middle Ages prophecy played a central function in understanding the world and determining courses of action. Rarely if ever was its validity called in doubt: after all, several books of the Bible testified to its authority. Past, present, and future events were judged in its light, whose vision transcended all three.35 Wales was the land of prophecy par excellence, and no occasion provoked its proliferation more than the

30

31 32 33 34 35

These celestial phenomena occurred in 1133, misplaced under 1135 in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle; Clark, The Peterborough Chronicle 1074–1154, p. 92. That 1136 was a leap year was further regarded as unpropitious; see Two Anglo-Saxon Chronicles Parallel, ed. C. Plummer and J. Earle, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1892), II, 308. The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis, and Robert of Torigni, ed. E. M. C. van Houts, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1992–95), II, 276. Brut y Tywysogion: Peniarth MS 20, ed. T. Jones (Cardiff, 1941), p. 68. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, p. 55. J. E. Lloyd, A History of Wales from the Earliest Times to the Edwardian Conquest (London, 1911), pp. 469–75; King, The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, pp. 255–65. An extensive literature has been devoted to the topic: e.g. R. Taylor, The Political Prophecy in England (New York, 1911), pp. 83–107; The Prophetia Merlini of Geoffrey of Monmouth: A Fifteenth-Century English Commentary, ed. C. D. Eckhardt (Cambridge, Mass., 1982), pp. 1–15; R. E. Lerner, The Powers of Prophecy: The Cedar of Lebanon Vision from the Mongol Onslaught to the Dawn of the Enlightenment (Berkeley, 1983), pp. 1–8.





GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

prospect of war. The Welsh laws provided for the household bard to sing Unbeiniaeth Prydain, ‘The Monarchy of Prydein’, on the eve of a military expedition.36 It has been conjectured that this was the tenth-century Armes Prydein, which contained an appeal to the authority of Myrddin for its prognosticated victory of the Brittonic peoples over the hated English.37 The death of Henry I provided the Welsh kingdoms with unprecedented opportunity to anticipate restoration of the ancient Unbeiniaeth Prydain: ‘They apparently saw as imminent the restoration of Wales – and perhaps all Britain – to its natural rulers.’38 Wonderful portents of great changes appeared yet more striking in Wales than England. A year and a half before the event many Flemings in Pembrokeshire learned from the scapulomancy for which they were famed of the devastation of their colony which would follow the King’s death, and sensibly departed the country. Shortly before the uprising of Hywel ap Maredydd in January 1136 the lake from which the Llynfi flows into the Wye turned bright green.39As might be expected, prophecies proliferated throughout this troubled period.40 Particular emphasis was laid on the dazzling achievements of the brothers Owain and Cadwaladr of Gwynedd.41 Reference to holl brydein and partial coincidence of nomenclature probably recalled the figures of Cynan and Cadwaladr, legendary saviours of Britain foretold in Armes Prydein.42 There are indications that Owain and Cadwaladr were themselves regarded as saviour heroes foretold in prophecy. Meilyr Brydydd’s elegy to Gruffudd ap Cynan in 1137 includes an allusion to the heroic prowess of his princely sons.43 The poet has been credibly identified with the ‘Meilerius, futurorum pariter et occultorum scientiam habens’, whom Giraldus describes as dwelling near Caerleon.44 Cryptic references to coming victories by Cadwaladr in the Myrddin corpus of prophetic verse may guardedly be taken as applicable to the son of Gruffudd ap Cynan, in view of their allusions

36 37 38

39 40 41 42 43 44

Llyfr Iorwerth: A Critical Text of the Venedotian Code of Medieval Welsh Law Mainly from BM Cotton MS Titus Dii, ed. A. R. Wiliam (Cardiff, 1960), p. 10. The Law of Hywel Dda: Law Texts from Medieval Wales Translated and Edited, ed. and trans. D. Jenkins (Llandysul, 1986), p. 228. King, The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, p. 268. A prophecy of Owain’s coming triumph at London may belong to this period: ‘Deuot y6 dyuot owein. a goresgyn hyt lundein. a rodi y gymry goeluein.’ See The Poetry in the Red Book of Hergest, ed. J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Llanbedrog, 1911), col. 581, 5–6. Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, ed. J. S. Brewer, J. F. Dimock, and G. F. Warner, 8 vols. (London, 1861–1891), VI, 21, 88. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, V, 401–2. Jones, Brut y Tywysogion: Peniarth MS, p. 86; The Text of the Bruts from the Red Book of Hergest, ed. J. Rhŷs and J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Oxford, 1890), p. 309. Armes Prydein: The Prophecy of Britain from the Book of Taliesin, ed. and trans. I. Williams and R. Bromwich (Dublin, 1972), p. 13. Llawysgrif Hendregadredd, ed. J. Morris-Jones and T. H. Parry-Williams (Cardiff, 1933), p. 6. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 57–58. See N. A. Jones, ‘The Mynydd Carn “Prophecy”: A Reassessment’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 38 (1999), 73–92 (p. 83).





NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

to bridge-building (not recorded in Wales before the twelfth century),45 and a time of troubles in England after Henry was succeeded by ‘a king who is no king’ (‘breenhin na breenhin’): i.e. Stephen, who proved unable to impose his will on Wales.46 Cadwaladr’s brother Owain is referred to in Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd ei chwaer: ‘Dywedwyf nyt odrycker/ ormes prydein pryderer./ gwedy gruffud g6yn gwarther’. The phraseology is opaque, but appears to imply that the career of Owain Gwynedd will decide the fate of Britain.47 Unequivocal evidence of Merlin’s prophecies being employed in support of the royal house of Gwynedd at this time is found in the Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan. Its author cites a distych exalting the achievement of Gruffudd, taken from a poem Merlini Britannicorum facile principis oraculum. Its wording closely resembles a passage in a vaticinatory poem found in the Book of Taliesin, whose first four lines are borrowed from the opening of the tenth-century Armes Prydein – which had invoked the authority of Myrddin.48 It is further noteworthy that the biography of Gruffudd ap Cynan cites Merlin as chief prophet of all Britain in the context of an allusion corresponding to nothing found in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Prophetiæ Merlini.49 Although the precise application of some of these verses remains obscure, overall they suggest that the great prophet of the British race was widely invoked in Wales at this momentous time, suggesting a plausible context for the ‘rumour’ of Merlin which Geoffrey describes as arising in 1135.50 Stephen’s arrival in England and coronation in the following spring received strong support from Bishop Alexander of Lincoln. However, King Henry’s designated successor Matilda and her husband Geoffrey had secured a foothold in Normandy, and the extent of support they might expect to receive should they land in England was 45 46

47

48

49

50

R. R. Davies, Conquest, Coexistence, and Change: Wales 1063–1415 (Oxford, 1987), p. 144. See The Black Book of Carmarthen, ed. J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Pwllheli, 1906), p. xxiii; M. E. Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh with English Parallels (Cardiff, 1937), p. 86; J. Bollard, ‘Gwyn eu byd: Some Comments on the Myrddin Poetry’, in Proceedings of the Harvard Celtic Colloquium 10, ed. William Mahon (Cambridge, Mass., 1993), pp. 69–87 (pp. 79–81). Gwenogvryn Evans, The Poetry in the Red Book of Hergest, col. 580,4–6. Gwynn Gwarther was a bardic name for Owain Gwynedd; see J. Lloyd-Jones, Geirfa Barddoniaeth Gynnar Gymraeg (Cardiff, 1931–63), p. 625. Vita Griffini Filii Conani: The Medieval Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan, ed. P. Russell (Cardiff, 2005), p. 58. Cf. Williams and Bromwich, Armes Prydein, pp. xl–xlv; Russell, Vita Griffini Filii Conani, pp. 134–35. The Vita Griffini terms the prophet Merlin, which is hard to explain since it was composed for a Welsh readership. However it suggests that there is no overriding reason to suppose that Geoffrey concocted the form. Faral comments: ‘De Merlino divulgato rumore, «le bruit qui se faisait autour du nom de Merlin»: on se demande quel était ce bruit. S’agissait-il de contes qui circulaient et dans l’invention desquels Geoffroy n’avait été pour rien? S’agissait-il, au contraire, du dessein que Geoffroy aurait annoncé de publier certaines prophéties de Merlin et dont la nouvelle aurait commencé à courir? La première hypothèse semble, à première vue, la meilleure, si l’on se réfère à certaines déclarations de Geoffroy, qui a écrit, à plusieurs reprises, que son livret n’était qu’une traduction.’ See La Légende arthurienne, II, 39.

10



GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

impossible to assess. The penalty for backing the wrong claimant in a struggle for the throne was perilous in the extreme, and it is likely that Alexander’s sudden request for a translation of Merlin’s prophecy arose from political concern at a time of acute national danger rather than antiquarian curiosity:51 ‘what afflicted England on Henry’s death was insecurity and nervousness, causing castle and town gates to be closed and knights to be called to the banners of their lords, but not widespread violence’.52 Few had more reason to feel insecurity and nervousness than Alexander, Bishop of Lincoln. Within four years he was to be arrested and deprived of his magnificent castles.53 Although Geoffrey claimed in his preface to the Prophetiæ Merlini to be familiar with Merlin, and to have intended all along to include his prophecies in his Historia, in view of the foregoing evidence it may be doubted whether he knew much more of him before 1135 than his reputation as a prophet and a Welsh vaticinatory text ascribed to him. A generation later Giraldus Cambrensis attested that ‘Merlin Silvester of Celidon [i.e. the Northern Myrddin, who possessed a ‘biography’] was known only by repute’ in England.54 Geoffrey’s introduction to his Prophetiæ Merlini makes explicit what the silence of other contemporary sources suggests. Few in England had heard of Merlin before the summer of 1135. The prospect of an imminent lifting of the iron hand which had held Wales in its grasp for the past generation generated unprecedented stirring in Wales, accompanied by intensive propagation of prophecies attributed to Myrddin. Englishmen had reason enough of their own to regard the future with apprehension, and a rumour that coming events had been prognosticated by a Welsh seer must inevitably have excited liveliest curiosity. Geoffrey’s patron had more reason than most to seek to penetrate the veil masking pending events, and as a famed authority on ancient British history he himself appeared ideally placed to provide the required information. Never one to disappoint, he swiftly delivered the goods.

51

52 53

54

‘La vive demande d’Alexandre de Lincoln et des contemporains de Geoffroy est surtout motivée par leur désir de connaître le proche avenir de leur royaume’; Daniel, Les Prophéties de Merlin, p. 20; cf. pp. 20–22. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, p. 53. Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II, and Richard I, ed. R. Howlett, 4 vols. (London, 1884–1889), I, 35. The arrest represented a betrayal characteristic of Stephen’s policy; see R. H. C. Davis, ‘What Happened in Stephen’s Reign’, History: The Journal of the Historical Association 49 (1964), 1–12 (pp. 3–4). Expugnatio Hibernica: The Conquest of Ireland by Giraldus Cambrensis, ed. A. B. Scott and F. X. Martin (Dublin, 1978), p. 254.

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Origins of the Prophetiæ It is certain that Geoffrey did not wholly invent the Prophetiæ. Although the greater part reflects his florid imagination, in format and on occasion detail they derive from authentic Welsh vaticinatory verse.55 Geoffrey’s explanation of the circumstances which led him to edit them is revealing: ‘… a rumour about Merlin being widely disseminated, my contemporaries on all sides compelled me to publish the Prophecies of that man: above all Alexander Bishop of Lincoln …’.56 That is to say widespread public interest in Merlin suddenly arose, which incited eager contemporanei, aware that Geoffrey possessed a copy of his prophecies written in Welsh, to urge him to translate and publish it. If, as seems likely, his knowledge of the Welsh language originated in his upbringing in the bilingual milieu of Monmouth, he may be expected to have acquired some familiarity with the spoken language without having much occasion to read it.57 Numerous errors in his works indicate that he misread rather than misheard names – which incidentally confirms his claim to be ‘translating’ original texts.58 A possible source of the book was Robert of Gloucester, illegitimate son of Henry I and possessor of vast lands and wealth in England, Wales, and Normandy. A nobleman acclaimed for his love of literature and generous patronage of the arts, he was one of the magnates to whom Geoffrey dedicated his Historia.59 On another occasion the Earl obligingly loaned an acquaintance a book which he arranged to have translated from Welsh.60 For three years after the death of Henry I he ‘maintained 55

56 57 58

59 60

Taylor, The Political Prophecy in England, pp. 45–46; Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, pp. 59–83, 146, 152, 154; Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain, pp. 414–16; Roberts, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Welsh Historical Tradition’, pp. 38–40; Trioedd Ynys Prydein: The Welsh Triads, ed. R. Bromwich (Cardiff, 1978), p. xcvii; D. Edel, ‘Geoffrey’s So-called Animal Symbolism and Insular Celtic Tradition’, Studia Celtica 18–19 (1983/1984), 96–109. ‘de Merlino diuulgato rumore compellebant undique contemporanei mei prophetias ipsius edere: maxime autem Alexander Linconiensis episcopus’ (Wright, HRB, p. 73). ‘His knowledge of Welsh cannot be assumed to have been extensive’, according to Roberts in The Arthur of the Welsh, p. 109 (and cf. p. 116). Thus in the Vita Merlini the masculine name Guendoleu is transformed into the feminine Guendoloena (Lloyd, A History of Wales, p. 527). Guanhumara is a misreading of Gwenhwyfar, ‘dont la graphie ancienne Guenhuiuar a été lue avec m au lieu de iu’; see J. Vendryes, ‘Les Eléments celtiques de la légende du Graal’, Études Celtiques 5 (1949), p. 34, and also R. Bromwich, ‘Celtic Elements in Arthurian Romance: A General Survey’, in The Legend of Arthur in the Middle Ages: Studies presented to A. H. Diverres by colleagues, pupils and friends, ed. P. B. Grout, R. A. Lodge, C. E. Pickford, and E. K. C. Varty (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 41–55 (p. 42). ‘Consul Claudiocestrie uocabulo Eldol’ (Wright, HRB, p. 71) must be a misreading of Eidoel of kaer Gliui: see Culhwch and Olwen: An Edition and Study of the Oldest Arthurian Tale, ed. R. Bromwich and D. S. Evans (Cardiff, 1992), p. 31 and also pp. 141–2, since Claudiocestria and Caer Gliui correspond to Gloucester. This was apparent to Welsh translators of the HRB: see Brut Dingestow, ed. H. Lewis (Cardiff, 1942), p. 99. William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, ed. Mynors et al., I, 10–12, 798; Wright, HRB, xiii. L’Estoire des Engleis by Geffrei Gaimar, ed. A. Bell (Oxford, 1960), p. 204.

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GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

a cautious neutrality’ between the rival claimants to the throne,61 and like the Bishop of Lincoln had every reason to seek out what the future portended. The earl’s estates in South Wales encompassed totam provinciam de Guladmorgan, which was administered from his castle at Cardiff. His Welsh feudatories regarded their overlord with loyalty and respect, and he brought large numbers of Walenses into the field when warring in England for the Empress Matilda.62 Given his popularity among his Welsh following, whom he led on several occasions into the heart of England, it is not surprising that he was included among those public figures identified with the dreic darogan destined to restore Britain to her native inhabitants.63

The Creation of Geoffrey’s Merlin In Geoffrey’s Historia Merlin arranges the transfer of the megaliths of Stonehenge from Ireland, assists Uther to gain victories over the Saxons, and finally employs his magical arts to transform the King into the semblance of Duke Gorlois in order that he may lie with the latter’s unsuspecting wife Ingerna. The first and last of these episodes bear a ring of authentic tradition, and probably Geoffrey’s success in popularizing Merlin as a great prophet led to his according him the additional powers of a wizard (not a trace of which exists in Welsh tradition).64 Padel objects that the ‘assumption of Geoffrey’s earlier ignorance [of Merlin at the time of writing the HRB] … is perilous since it is difficult to envisage how Geoffrey might have known of the [Welsh] legend without knowing of its (by then) most prominent aspect’: i.e. its setting in Northern Britain over a century after the time of Vortigern.65 But Geoffrey’s own account indicates that in 1135 his knowledge did not extend beyond Merlin’s fame as a prophet and his possession of a book of prophecies lacking historical context. His easy transfer of Merlin’s prophecy from Arthur to Vortigern and replacement of the child-prophet Ambrosius by Merlin serve to confirm this. If Geoffrey was familiar with the dramatic legend of the Northern prophet at the time he wrote the Historia, why did he make no use of it?66 61 62

63 64 65 66

W. L. Warren, Henry II (London, 1973), p. 23. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 63; The Text of the Book of Llan Dâv Reproduced from the Gwysaney Manuscript, ed. J. Gwenogvryn Evans and J. Rhŷs (Oxford, 1893), pp. 27–29; Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum, ed. Greenway, p. 726; Gesta Stephani, ed. Potter, pp. 73, 114. Cf. Lloyd, A History of Wales, pp. 439–42. Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, pp. 133–34. ‘Merlin était donc devenu, en tant même que prophète, un des acteurs de cette histoire que le public lirait un jour dans l’HRB achevée’, according to Zumthor, Merlin le Prophète, p. 30. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 40. The Peredurus who succeeds his brother Elidurus as one of the prehistoric kings of Britain in HRB, duplicated as Peredur Maheridur in the catalogue of nobles at Arthur’s court, clearly

13



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Merlin and Carmarthen While it has been widely assumed that the Welsh name for Carmarthen, Caerfyrddin, attracted speculative association in early times with the figure of Myrddin, such evidence as survives suggests that medieval Welshmen were largely ignorant of the connexion. Evidence for any association of Myrddin with Carmarthen before Geoffrey wrote his Historia is indeed non-existent. Jarman’s reconstruction inadvertently exposes its weakness: ‘One thing … he [Geoffrey] did seem to know, and that was that some association existed in the popular mind between the seer whom he had called Merlinus and the place in south-west Wales called Caer-fyrddin. Accordingly he caused the discovery of the fatherless boy or wonder-child to take place at Carmarthen.’ Citing examples from Geoffrey’s work of the incidence of imaginary eponymous figures created from placenames, he continued: ‘In this way Myrddin was created by popular imagination out of a mere place-name … Thus the Myrddin of south-west Wales was at first a shadowy figure having no specific legendary associations but it was natural enough for the popular mind at an early stage to endow him with the gift of prophecy.’67 This represents unsubstantiated assertion rather than argument from evidence. The unwarranted assumption that ‘it was natural enough for the popular mind at an early stage to endow him with the gift of prophecy’ betrays the subjective nature of the hypothesis. While Armes Prydein attests that Myrddin was regarded as a prophet long before Geoffrey’s time, not only is there no evidence for a traditional association of Myrddin with Caerfyrddin, but the indications are that the connexion was unknown in Wales before the circulation of Welsh translations of Geoffrey’s Historia began in the thirteenth century. While local oral lore may

67

corresponds to the peretur son of eleuther of early Welsh genealogies consulted by Geoffrey (Wright, HRB, 32–33, 110; E. Phillimore, ‘The Annales Cambriæ and Old-Welsh Genealogies from Harleian MS 3859’, Y Cymmrodor 9 (1888), 141–183 (p. 175). Clearly at this stage he was no more to Geoffrey than a name, whereas in VM he plays a significant rôle as Merlin’s patron (Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 52–56). A. O. H. Jarman, The Legend of Merlin (Cardiff, 1960), pp. 23, 26–27. Jarman later expanded this reconstruction: ‘the linkage between the fort of Carmarthen and a certain Merddin/Myrddin, celebrated locally as a sage or vaticinator, had probably existed since early times’; see ‘The Merlin Legend and the Welsh Tradition of Prophecy’, in Bromwich et al., The Arthur of the Welsh, pp. 131–32. Jarman continues: ‘Geoffrey’s acquaintance with the legend was clearly slight and merely amounted to a belief at Carmarthen in an eponymous founder-figure named Merddin/ Myrddin who was credited with being the author of prophecies relating to the future of the Brythonic and Welsh peoples … It would probably be safe to surmise that Myrddin’s local fame at Carmarthen as a vaticinator fired his imagination …’ (p. 135); ‘It is … reasonable to conclude that by the end of the sixth century, but possibly later, popular speculation at Carmarthen had created an eponym who, however, would at first have been an obscure figure with no legend attached to his name. In that age such a person would inevitably have been credited with prophetic powers …’ (p. 138). Thus the entire hypothesis remains speculative.

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GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

originate centuries earlier than the time of its first committal to writing, given the astounding popularity of the figure of Merlin it is surely suggestive that no tradition linking him to Carmarthen independent of Geoffrey’s work appears to have been recorded before 1698, when the Rev. Mr Meyrick of Carmarthen informed Edward Lhuyd that ‘We have a Tradition that Merlin was born in Priory-Street, the house of his nativity is yet shown there.’68 When the inveterately curious Giraldus visited the town in 1188 he reported: ‘Sonat autem Kairmerdin urbs Merlini; eo quod, juxta Britannicam historiam, ibi ex incubo genitus inventus fuerat Merlinus.’69 That he drew for this description explicitly from the Historia Regum Britannie suggests that no one locally had anything to say about Myrddin’s alleged link with the town. Giraldus rarely lost opportunity of seeking information about Merlin during his tour. Not only this, but early accounts provide a distinct derivation for the placename. In Breuddwyd Maxen the eponymous hero camps at Cadeir Vaxen, ‘O achaus enteu gwneithur caer eno o vyrd o wyr e gelwir hitheu Caer Verdin’: ‘And because he built the castle with a myriad (myrdd) of men, he called it Caerfyrddin’.70 Precisely when the romance was composed is unclear. It plainly drew on ancient traditional lore, skilfully adapted by a cyfarwydd into a fine story. It contains nothing reflecting knowledge of Geoffrey’s work.71 There can be little doubt that this story reflects local knowledge. Although Cadeir Vaxen is unrecorded elsewhere, the author had no reason to invent the name and clearly the Emperor’s visit to Carmarthen, the nearest town (appropriately, a Roman fortress), was devised by the author to bring him into contact with Cadeir Vaxen. Brynley Roberts’s criticism of the extent of the writer’s knowledge seems a little unfair: ‘the author has little idea of distance in Dyfed. He sends Maxen hunting from Caerfyrddin to “pen y Vreni Vawr” (about 16 miles as the crow flies) seemingly under the impression that the town is near Cadeir Faxen.’72 But sixteen miles is not an impossible distance for a day’s ride, and in any case we are not to suppose that the hunt occurred in reality. The author’s purpose was to account for the name Cadeir Faxen, and he or his source (one or other of whom was plainly familiar with the locality) was clearly unaware of the supposed derivation of Caerfyrddin from Myrddin. The same etymology features in versions of the Brutiau, which recount how Vortigern’s envoys discovered the Fatherless Boy at kaer verdyn, and explain that the town 68

69 70 71 72

Parochialia: Being a Summary of Answers to “Parochial Queries in Order to a Geographical Dictionary, etc., of Wales” Issued by Edward Lhwyd, ed. R. H. Morris, 3 vols. (London, 1909–11), III, 26. Cf. A. B. Randall, ‘Carmarthen and Merlin the Magician’, The Carmarthenshire Historian 17 (Carmarthen, 1980), 5–24 (pp. 11–13). Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 80. Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, ed. B. F. Roberts (Dublin, 2005), p. 8. Roberts, Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, pp. lxxxi–lxxxvi. Roberts, Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, p. lxxvii.

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was founded by a myriad (myrdd) of men from whom its name derived: ‘Sef achaws y gelwyt ydref honno yn gaer vyrdyn; Am y sseliaw yn gyntaf a Myrd owyr. ac or achos hwnnw y gelwyt yn gaer vyrdyn o hynny allan.’ Far from the town being named after the prophet, it was the prophet who took his name from the town: ‘Ac o hynny allan y dodet arnaw Merdyn. o achos y gaffael ynkaer vyrdyn.’73 The historical contexts in Breuddwyd Maxen and the Brutiau differ markedly, their sole common factor being the derivation of Caerfyrddin from myrdd, ‘a myriad’.74 This can hardly reflect coincidence, and indicates that no later than the end of the twelfth century ætiological speculation had led to widespread understanding that this was the origin of the name.75 Carmarthen was a well-known town in medieval Wales whose prominent Roman remains were, like those of Caerleon and Caernarvon, prone to inspire legendary associations.76 In Geoffrey’s day its castle was one of the most important royal strongholds in South Wales.77 It would be strange were its alleged popular ascription to an imaginary seer to have become known to Geoffrey in distant Oxford, while native authors and transcribers remained ignorant of the fact. Tatlock’s speculative surmise that ‘This etymology [from myrdd], even if earlier [than the derivation from Myrddin], by no means disproves that an alternative and more popular one existed, from the name of an eponymous hero’78 illustrates just how tenuous (in Tatlock’s case, forced) is the attempt to link Caerfyrddin and Myrddin in Welsh tradition. It is doubtful that Geoffrey himself believed that Caerfyrddin was named after Merlin. After recounting how Vortigern at the instigation of his magi despatched legati to search far and near for the Fatherless Boy required as a sacrificial victim, Geoffrey continues: ‘At

73

74 75

76

77

78

Brut y Brenhinedd: Cotton Cleopatra Version, ed. J. J. Parry (Cambridge, Mass., 1937), pp. 120– 21, 124. This account appears also in Jesus MS LXI; see Griscom, The Historia Regum Britanniæ, pp. 380, 383. Roberts suggests that ‘this explanation may have been current orally or may have been proposed by the author’ (Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, p. 238). Roberts raises the possibility that the association in early thirteenth-century Welsh poetry of myrdd, myrddioedd, with Caerfyrddin may reflect ‘the onomastic explanation given in Breudwyt Maxen Wledic’ (Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, p. lxxxiv). Whether or not this be the case, it illustrates the facility with which the association was made, and further suggests that poets and cyfarwyddiaid of the twelfth century were ignorant of the town’s connexion with Myrddin. It would have been natural to associate the city’s construction with a Roman host, myrdd: cf. Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru: A Dictionary of the Welsh Language (Cardiff, 1950–2002), p. 2542. This would also negate any need to invent an eponymous founder. Cair Merdin was included in the list of 33 civitates of Britain appended to the Historia Brittonum: see Chronica Minora saec. IV. V. VI. VII, ed. T. Mommsen, Monumenta Germaniae Historica AA, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1892–1898), III, 210). Its substantial Roman brick walls were remarked by Giraldus: see Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 80. Brenhinedd y Saesson or The Kings of the Saxons: BM Cotton MS Cleopatra B v and the Black Book of Basingwerk NLW MS 7006, ed. T. Jones (Cardiff, 1971), pp. 128, 134. Cf. D. Crouch, ‘The March and the Welsh Kings’, in King, The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, pp. 255–290 (pp. 260, 262, 272). Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain, p. 175.

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GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND THE MERLIN LEGEND

postea, cum in urbem que Kaermerdin uocata fuit venisset, conspexerunt iuuenes’, among whom is one called Merlinus.79 Anyone familiar with Geoffrey’s work will recall how confidently he derived the names of imaginary founders of cities and regions from their toponyms: Ebraucus founds Kaerebrauc, Leir Kaerlud, Locrinus Loegria, Corineus Cornubia, etc. There is no beating about the bush: ‘Kaerlud, id est ciuitas Lud’. Yet when he comes to the home of one of the two most prominent figures in his book, he becomes cautious to the point of obscurantism. One thing he does not state – indeed, appears careful not to – is that Kaermerdin was named after Merlin. It is true that Giraldus interpreted Geoffrey’s words to this end, while some of the Brutiau mention diffidently that the town acquired the name subsequent to the discovery of Merlin, though without assigning that as its explanation.80 However, this is far from indicating that Geoffrey himself drew on prior tradition. The source on which he relied for this part of his narrative was of course the Historia Brittonum, in which Vortigern’s messengers search Britain until they come ‘ad campum Elleti, qui est in regione, quae vocatur Gleguissing’. There they find the requisite child, who in response to Vortigern’s questioning declares his name to be Emrys (Embreis).81 What induced Geoffrey to shift the location so arbitrarily? That it was he who amalgamated the child-prophet Ambrosius and Merlin makes it all but certain that it was also he who transferred the seer’s birthplace from the unidentified campus Elleti to Carmarthen. His wording suggests that he perceived a resemblance between Merlin and the suffix of Caermerdin. However the forms are far from being so close as to make the identification particularly persuasive: hence, presumably, his cautious avoidance of any categorical assertion. It would indeed have appeared hard to envisage a plausible reason why a town should take its name from an illegitimate child who left it in early boyhood, to which there was no reason to suppose he ever returned. A distinct consideration may explain why Geoffrey fastened on Carmarthen as the prophet’s birthplace. In his source the Historia Brittonum the child Ambrosius tells Vortigern’s emissaries that he has no idea how he came to be conceived, since his mother was a virgin. ­Geoffrey elaborates the story considerably. According to his version the boy’s mother was daughter to the King of Dyfed, and ‘lived in St Peter’s Church among the nuns of that city’ (Kaermerdin). Brought with her son before Vortigern, she explains that she had never cohabited with a man, but was visited at night by what appeared to be a beautiful youth, who 79

80 81

Wright, HRB, p. 71. Faral significantly misinterprets the pertinent passage as ‘le lieu où les messagers de Vortigern découvrirent le jeune Ambrosius Merlinus s’appela, par la suite, Kaermerdin’: La Légende arthurienne, II, 41–42. Lewis, Brut Dingestow, p. 101; Rhŷs and Gwenogvryn Evans, Text of the Bruts from the Red Book of Hergest, p. 141. Mommsen, Chronica Minora, III, 182.

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NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

subjected her to passionate embraces leading swiftly to the ultimate intimacy. One Maugantius (evidently one of the King’s druids) explained that the visitor was almost certainly an incubus.82 The visitation is described with humour, conveying the impression of affording the author as much titillating pleasure as we may presume it did his readers.83 What is unusual if not unique about this episode in Geoffrey’s Historia is its very specific setting in an obscure location he went out of his way to identify. It is hard not to believe that his intent was mischievous when he located Merlin’s mother’s erotic encounter in the church of Carmarthen. St Peter’s Church was relatively new, as anyone with local knowledge would know. These incongruous details suggest that Geoffrey was aware of some contemporary scandal, which he mischievously included in his book.84 That Geoffrey possessed a keen sense of humour is evinced at numerous points in his book. One thinks of his description of the eagle whose prophecy uttered at the building of the town wall of Shaftesbury he declined to publish, on the grounds that it was not true like the rest of his History!85 The church at Carmarthen was closely associated at this very time with a figure whose jocose wit continued to be relished long after his day. As Davies notes: Bledri ap Cydifor, descendant of the ancient kings of Dyfed, was a figure of substance and influence in the early decades of the twelfth century. Successfully accomodating himself to Norman rule, he took charge of the new castle at Laugharne for its Norman lord, Robert Courtemain; stood firmly by his new masters during the Welsh insurrection of 1116; served as their agent and interpreter among the Welsh of eastern Dyfed; and demonstrated his affiliations clearly by donating land to the new Norman priory of Carmarthen.86

In 1129–30 Bledri bestowed four carucates of land on Carmarthen Priory. His cognomen latimarius suggests that he acted as interpreter for King Henry or his nobles, a rôle which would have required regular attend82 83

84

85

86

Wright, HRB, p. 72. Were Geoffrey aware that the correct form was Merdin, could the arch-humourist have avoided the temptation of introducing an obscene resonance into such a context? A still more apt context arises when the boy is insulted by his fellow. Tatlock comments that ‘Geoffrey shows clear personal knowledge in placing the nun-mother “in ecclesia sancti Petri inter monachas” … So why not nuns at St Peter’s seven centuries earlier? But there is more than this – the detail is recent’ (The Legendary History of Britain, pp. 67–68). Wright, HRB, p. 18. ‘We may well imagine the writer chuckling to himself as he continued’: W. Lewis Jones, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion: Session 1898–1900 (London, 1900), pp. 52–95, p. 87. Despite Geoffrey’s caveat, Alan of Armorica later consults the prophecy apparently with profit: see Lewis Jones, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 146. Geoffrey probably appropriated the eagle from Pliny, who located it at Sestos in the Hellespont rather than Shaston (Shaftesbury); see Chambers, Arthur of Britain, p. 97. For other examples of Geoffrey’s teasing humour, cf. Fletcher, The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles, pp. 56, 60. R. R. Davies, Conquest, Coexistence, and Change: Wales 1063–1415 (Oxford, 1987), p. 101.

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ance at Robert of Gloucester’s fortress at Cardiff and the royal castle of Carmarthen. He was a celebrated repository of the ancient lore of the land, being credibly identified with the Breri or Bleheris who visited the court of Count William VII of Poitou, to whom he recounted the story of Perceval and other Arthurian legends.87 Half a century after his death Giraldus recounted with relish a jest told by ‘famosus ille fabulator Bledhericus, qui tempora nostra paulo prævenit’.88 Geoffrey of Monmouth was clearly familiar with his contemporary’s reputation. One Bledgabred features among a list of prehistoric kings of Britain in his Historia, to whom the author added the parenthesis Hic omnes cantores quos retro etas habuerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis instrumentis superabat ita ut deus ioculatorum diceretur. Faral noted the unique characterization of this figure among an otherwise featureless list of dynasts,89 and it is difficult not to believe that Geoffrey had an identifiable person in mind. The name Bledgabred is unrecorded in Welsh,90 and presumably represents Geoffrey’s best effort at rendering Bledri in pseudo-archaic guise. Geoffrey undoubtedly invented his ‘historical’ Bledgabred, and that he ascribed to him all the qualities borne by his contemporary Bledri, a prince famed for his humour and storytelling, can scarcely be coincidental.91 Geoffrey’s account of Merlin’s conception reads like a shared private joke. That the genial historian from Monmouth celebrated for his pending British history and the South Welsh prince, a much-travelled bilingual littérateur similarly famed for his humour and knowledge of Welsh traditional lore, should have been acquainted is very likely.92 Given Bledri’s close association with the church at Carmarthen (it belonged to the priory of which he was the benefactor), it seems not unlikely that the lascivious 87 88

89 90

91

92

C. Bullock-Davies, Professional Interpreters and the Matter of Britain (Cardiff, 1966), pp. 10–12, 28; J. Carey, Ireland and the Grail (Aberystwyth, 2007), pp. 288–91, 293. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 202. The expression tempora nostra paulo praevenit ‘Signifie … que Bledhericus était déjà mort en 1147’, when Giraldus was born, according to W. Kellerman, ‘Le problème de Breri’, in Les Romans du Graal aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, ed. J. Fourquet, P. Imbs, and A. Micha (Paris, 1956), p. 138. I do not see that this is necessarily the case. Faral, La Légende arthurienne, II, 142. Cf. J. Loth, Contributions à l’étude des romans de la Table Ronde (Paris, 1912), pp. 36–37. The Brutiau and derivative genealogies assimilated the unfamiliar name to Blegywryd: see Lewis, ed., Brut Dingestow, pp. 43–44; Rhŷs and Gwenogvryn Evans, Text of the Bruts from the Red Book of Hergest, p. 82; Parry, Brut y Brenhinedd: Cotton Cleopatra Version, p. 63; J. Gwenogvryn Evans, ‘Pedigrees from Jesus College MS 20’, Y Cymmrodor 8 (London, 1887), 83–92 (p. 90). Sir John Lloyd pointed out that ‘In the Latin versions of the Welsh laws “cerddorion” is regularly translated “ioculatores”, the foreigner having no proper sense of the dignified position of the bardic order, and “ioculator regis” probably stands for “bardd teulu” ’; see ‘Wales and the Coming of the Normans’, in Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion: Session 1899–1900 (London, 1901), pp. 122–179 (p. 145). However Bledri ap Cydifor was noted as a wit, and the Latin sense may retain some of its application in this case. Bledri’s patrimony of Dyfed adjoined Robert of Gloucester’s fiefdom of Morgannwg, and given the former’s function as latimarius it is all but inconceivable that he was not intimate with Geoffrey’s powerful patron.

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NIKOLAI TOLSTOY

tale of the virgin violated by a demon in the town church was intended for his delectation. This surely provides a much more likely explanation for Geoffrey’s selection of Carmarthen as the birthplace of his seer than late and equivocal speculation on the name Caerfyrddin.93 In his narrative Geoffrey explained that the boy’s mother was daughter of the King of Dyfed, whose ruler at the time he wrote was Bledri, son of Cedifor ‘the man who had been lord over all Dyfed’. Cedifor also had a daughter Ellylw, by whom Cadwgan ap Bleddyn (a notorious Don Juan of the day) had fathered an illegitimate son.94 All this so closely parallels Geoffrey’s manifestly tongue-in-cheek account of the birth of a bastard son to the daughter of a king of Dyfed as to provide a plausible explanation of his setting the account of Merlin’s conception in Bledri’s favoured town of Carmarthen.

Myrddin in Early Welsh Verse Padel acknowledges that his argument encounters difficulty with the prophetic dialogue Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd ei chwaer. Since ‘This text unequivocally places Myrddin, by name, in the Northern legend’ it is essential to his hypothesis that it be dated later than c. 1150, when Geoffrey composed the Vita Merlini. Padel confronts the problem with commendable frankness: Another reason which has been suggested in support of an early date for the poem is that it provides a historical list of rulers of Gwynedd, which seems to come to an end with Anarawd ap Rhodri (d. 916) and his nephew Hywel Dda of Dyfed (d. 950), after whom the historical information becomes vague until twelfth-century material makes an appearance later in the poem. One possible inference is that the first part of the poem was composed at about the time of Anarawd or Hywel Dda, and that the list was not updated when twelfth-century material was added later. Other explanations for the omissions might be considered, but if the omission of kings after Hywel were considered a cogent reason for dating part of the

93

94

In a recent article Dr Graham Isaac suggests that the name Myrddin derives from *moro-donyos, ‘Man-Demon, Spectre’, i.e. a man of supernatural character; see G. R. Isaac, ‘Myrddin, Proffwyd Diwedd y Byd: Ystyriaethau Newydd ar Ddatblygiad ei Chwedl’, Llên Cymru XXIV (2001), 13–23. This consideration applies equally were one to accept Rhŷs’s not implausible (to me at at least) derivation from ‘Moridûnjos, which might mean “him of Moridûnon or the sea-fort” ’; see J. Rhŷs, Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by Celtic Heathendom (London, 1888), pp. 160–61, and also J. Morris Jones, A Welsh Grammar: Historical and Comparative (Oxford, 1913), p. 189. A necessary corollary of this argument is that the name Myrddin did not originate in speculation on that of Caerfyrddin, and indicates that he featured independently as a figure in early Welsh legend. ‘oellyll o verch gediuor apgollwyn. Y gwr a vv bēndeuic ar holl dyued’ (Jones, Brut y Tywysogion: Peniarth MS 20, p. 75).

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poem to the tenth century, then the poem’s northern Myrddin would stand as an argument against the scheme suggested here.95

The obstacle is indeed formidable. The indications are strong that a version of the poem including the initial section locating Myrddin in the Northern milieu existed long before Geoffrey of Monmouth was born. In verses 1 to 13 of the Red Book of Hergest version Myrddin features as the wild seer of Northern Britain found in the Oianau and Afellanau. He laments the death of Gwenddolau at Arderydd, declares that he has been driven mad among wild men of the mountain, and confers with his sister Gwenddydd on future events, to whom he foretells the ygnadaeth y gogled (‘sovereignty of the North’) held successively by Rhydderch Hael, Morgant Fawr, and Urien Rheged. In verses 14 to 40 Myrddin identifies kings who will reign after Urien; their names are those of historical rulers of Gwynedd from Maelgwn Hir to Hywel ab Anarawd, who died in 950. Verses 41 to 53 comprise a scattering of largely legendary or fictitious names floating among a protracted mass of inchoate vaticination. Verses 54 to 58 revert briefly to identifiable historical figures, singling out Gruffudd ap Cynan and his son Owain Gwynedd. The remaining verses 59 to 131 revert to unintelligible ramblings, among which may perhaps be distinguished allusions to Gruffudd’s and Owain’s contemporary, Earl Robert of Gloucester, under the sobriquets keneu henri and mab henri.96 It is hard to disagree with Jenny Rowland’s conclusion: The obvious inference is that the first section is derived from a work composed about the time of Anarawd which was not brought up to date when the Norman material was added. A usual practice in prophecy is to give solid information down to the writer’s own day presented as the prediction of a much earlier age, in order to give credence for the actual predictions made.97

Internal evidence suggests the evolutionary process which led to extant versions of the poem. A court poet of the late ninth or early tenth century sought to legitimate and exalt the royal house of Gwynedd by showing that for the past three or four centuries its successive dynasts had been foretold by Myrddin, great seer of the British race. To make this convincing he began with a prefatory section locating the prophet in an historical and geographical context familiar from poetry and legend. The dynasty claimed a North Britain origin, which made the poem’s opening setting 95 96 97

Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, pp. 47–49. Gwenogvryn Evans, The Poetry in the Red Book of Hergest, cols. 577, pp. 8–583, p. 38. Early Welsh Saga Poetry: A Study and Edition of the Englynion, ed. J. Rowland (Cambridge, 1990), p. 292. Cf. J. J. Parry, ‘Celtic Tradition and the Vita Merlini’, Philological Quarterly 4 (1925), 193–207 (pp. 203–204); H. M. Chadwick and N. K. Chadwick, The Growth of Literature, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1932–40), I, 106–7, 463; Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, pp. 71–72, 97–101.

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in Y Gogledd appropriate.98 Next the poet added a list of the kings of Gwynedd from the celebrated sixth-century Maelgwn down to his current royal patron at the court of Aberffraw.99 The list corresponds with minor variations to those preserved in the Harleian and Jesus manuscript genealogies.100 Rowland points out that ‘the first part of the poem seems to be based on a king list, a type of document which does not otherwise occur in Welsh historical materials’.101 It might be contended that the author converted a genealogy into a prophecy by reversing its order, but the omission of Essyllt, the princess of Gwynedd through whom Rhodri Mawr traced his descent from Cunedda, serves to confirm this suggestion. The versified list of kings of Gwynedd concludes with Myrddin’s response to Gwenddydd that Anarawd will be succeeded by Hywel, after which the poem plunges into barely intelligible prognostications whose vagueness was presumably designed to protect them from error as the real future unfurled. Hence the plausible conclusion that the reign of Anarawd or Hywel reflects the historical juncture at which the original version of the poem was composed. A hiatus in the text of the Red Book of Hergest suggests an initial halt with the verse foretelling the rule of Anarawd in an earlier manuscript, which was resumed in the next line with a reference to that of Hywel. It is suggestive that the scribe’s fresh start occurs at this juncture, given the indications that the original composition concluded here. The author of the succeeding section could have included the allusion to Hywel as Anarawd’s successor in order to embed his prophecy within the setting of the Gwynedd royal genealogy. Verses 41–53 leave the king-list for opaque prophetic matter, whose obscure phraseology was doubtless designed to afford matter for speculation without incurring any dangerous specificity. After that verses 54–58 revert briefly to authentic history with allusions to the coming triumphant careers of Gruffudd ap Cynan and his son Owain Gwynedd, before passing on to another 72 verses of exotic vaticination open to whatever meaning the reader might choose to accord it, and concludes with obscure allusions to Myrddin’s reactions to the slaughter

98

99

100 101

The tenth-century collection of royal genealogies compiled for Owain ap Hyel Dda juxtaposes the King’s paternal and maternal pedigrees and those of three closely associated families with the ancestry of Rhydderch, Urien, Morgan, and other rulers of the Gwyr y Gogledd (Phillimore, ‘The Annales Cambriæ’, pp. 169–74). The parallel with the genealogical structure of the Cyfoesi is striking: were their compositions connected in some way? Although early pedigrees carry the line back several generation before Maelgwn, he was singled out from an early period as founder of the dynasty, which was designated maelgyni(n)g: see The Poems of Taliesin, ed. I. Williams and J. E. Caerwyn Williams (Dublin, 1968), p. 13. Presumably this reflected the territorial annexations and consequent hegemony of Maelgwn in Britain described by Gildas (Mommsen, Chronica Minora, III, 44–45). Phillimore, ‘The Annales Cambriæ’, pp. 169–70; Gwenogvryn Evans, ‘Pedigrees from Jesus College MS 20’, p. 87. Rowland, Early Welsh Saga Poetry, p. 291.

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of Arderydd presumably designed to confirm the poem as a genuine effusion of the prophet. The most plausible inference is that a poet about the fourth or fifth decade of the twelfth century composed a fresh prophecy designed to inspire the Welsh to accept the leadership of Gruffudd and his sons, which he added to the tenth-century original in order to accord it an authoritative provenance.102 The History of Gruffydd ap Cynan attests that prophecies by Myrddin were invoked during his time to prove that Gruffydd was the llemenig, or ‘leaping one’ destined to cross the sea and liberate Britain from her oppressors. Overall the most likely interpretation of the evolution of the extant texts of Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd appears to be as follows. The first attested version was compiled in the first half of the tenth century to exalt the dynasty of Gwynedd in the reign of Anarawd or his nephew Hywel Dda. Two centuries later the meteoric career of Gruffudd ap Cynan led to a revival of interest in the authority of the prophecies of Myrddin, and during or shortly after his reign a court bard updated the Cyfoesi to acclaim Gruffudd as the preordained deliverer of his people.103 If it be accepted that there is no good reason to detach the prefatory material from the earlier version,104 the legend of the Northern Myrddin must have been known in Wales no later than the middle of the tenth century.105 That stories of the Old North became widely known in Wales generally and Gwynedd (whose dynasty claimed descent from the Gwyr y Gogledd) in particular from the seventh and eighth centuries makes this reconstruction intrinsically likely.106 A text of the Gododdin is believed to have been transferred to Wales in the ninth century, an earlier 102

103

104

105 106

The Irish prophetic poem Baile in Scáil comprises a ninth-century stratum updated for comparable political purpose in the early eleventh century: Baile in Scáil: ‘The Phantom’s Frenzy’, ed. K. Murray (Dublin, 2004), pp. 4–7. The poem presents striking parallels with Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd; see Chadwick and Chadwick, The Growth of Literature, p. 463. Skene’s discussion of the poem remains of value: The Four Ancient Books of Wales: Containing The Cymric Poems attributed to the Bards of The Sixth Century, ed. W. F. Skene (Edinburgh, 1868), 1, 235–40. The indications are that the account of Conn’s visit to Lug which introduces comparable prophetic matter in Baile in Scáil was attached to the original version; Murray, Baile in Scáil, pp. 8–9. I hope to publish shortly a paper demonstrating that the poem Armes Prydein, which singles out Myrddin as a prophet, was composed in Gwynedd about the same time. Cf. R. Bromwich, ‘The Character of the Early Welsh Tradition’, in Studies in Early British History, ed. N. K. Chadwick (Cambridge, 1954), pp. 83–136 (pp. 121–24); N. K. Chadwick, ‘Early Culture and Learning in North Wales’, in Studies in the Early British Church, ed. N. K. Chadwick (Cambridge, 1958), pp. 29–120 (pp. 92–93); K. Jackson, ‘Angles and Britons in Northumbria and Cumbria’, in Angles and Britons, ed. H. Lewis (Cardiff, 1963), pp. 60–84 (pp. 62–63); N. Chadwick, The British Heroic Age: The Welsh and the Men of the North (Cardiff, 1966), pp. 110–25; A. O. H. Jarman, ‘Early Stages in the Development of the Myrddin Legend’, in Astudiaethau ar yr Hengerdd, ed. R. Bromwich and R. Brinley Jones (Cardiff, 1978), pp. 326–349 (pp. 345–46). Thomas Jones dated the composition of the englynion y beddau to the eighth or ninth century: ‘The Black Book of Carmarthen “Stanzas of the Graves” ’, The Proceedings of the British Academy 53 (London, 1967), pp. 97–137 (p. 100); their inclusion of Northern heroes further attests to the early migration of lore from Y Gogledd to Wales (p. 108).

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version having probably arrived in the seventh.107 It is further noteworthy that the prefatory section of Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd refers to four kings who held sway over Y Gogledd: Gwenddolau, Morgan Mawr mab Sadyrnin, Rhydderch and Urien. Of these only Gwenddolau and Rhydderch were known to Geoffrey, but Urien was certainly an authentic king in the North and Morgan mab Sadyrnin very likely so.108 In view of this it would surely be perverse to suggest that the Welsh poem derived its material from the Latin rather than vice versa. The difficulty of assigning precise dates to early Welsh poetry presents a problem in assigning priority between Geoffrey and the indigenous tradition in the evolution of the legend of Merlin. Padel has performed a signal service by underlining the importance of this problem, which had long been considered resolved on linguistic grounds in favour of the priority of the Welsh poetry.109Nevertheless virtually every consideration points to Geoffrey’s work being secondary and derivative. Geoffrey himself appears to provide evidence of the prior existence of Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd ei chwaer. His Historia concludes with Cadualadrus, the last British king of Britain, seeking refuge with Alanus, king of Armorica. This brings about the melancholy end of the Britons in Britain, now sadly degenerated since the glorious days of Arthur. In a last bid for recovery Cadualadrus persuades Alanus to assemble a fleet and army to assist him in reconquering his realm, but the latter is deterred by the voice of an angel warning him that the restoration of the British race cannot occur before the time foretold by Merlin. Initially sceptical, Alanus consults various prophetic books which regrettably confirm the angel’s gloomy prognostication. These include one de carminibus Sibille ac Merlini.110 107

108

109

110

The Gododdin: The Oldest Scottish Poem, trans. K. H. Jackson (Edinburgh, 1969), pp. 65–66; A. O. H. Jarman, ‘The Arthurian Allusions in the Book of Aneirin’, Studia Celtica 24–25 (1989– 1990), 15–25 (p. 16). Cf. Rowland, Early Welsh Saga Poetry, pp. 108–9. Sadyrnin is derived from Latin Saturnīnus (H. Lewis, Yr Elfen Ladin yn yr Iaith Gymraeg (Cardiff, 1943), p. 46), a borrowing characteristic (although not exclusively so) of the post-Roman period in Britain; see E. W. B. Nicholson, ‘The Dynasty of Cunedag and the “Harleian Genealogies” ’, Y Cymmrodor 21 (1908), 63–104 (pp. 69–72), and H. M. Chadwick, ‘The End of Roman Britain’, in Chadwick, Studies in Early British History, pp. 9–20 (p. 20). An early sixth-century inscription on Anglesey commemorates a Christian SATVRNINVS: see V. E. Nash-Williams, The Early Christian Monuments of Wales (Cardiff, 1950), pp. 61–63; but thereafter the name appears to be unrecorded. Cf. K. Jackson, ‘The Motive of the Threefold Death in the Story of Suibhne Geilt’, in Féilsgríbinn Eóin Mhic Néill, ed. J. Ryan (Dublin, 1940), pp. 535–555 (p. 545); K. Jackson, ‘Les Sources celtiques du roman du Graal’, in Fourquet, Imbs, and Micha, Les Romans du Graal aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, pp. 213–227 (pp. 218–19). Wright, HRB, 146. Could the propheciis aquile quae Sestonie prophetauit have been a version of the poem Ymddiddan Arthur a’r Eryr, which has been tentatively dated to the middle of the twelfth century? Cf. I. Williams, ‘Ymddidan Arthur a’r Eryr’, The Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 2 (1925), 269–86 (p. 286); Rowland, Early Welsh Saga Poetry, p. 389; B. F. Roberts, ‘Culhwch ac Olwen, the Triads, Saints’ Lives’, in Bromwich et al., The Arthur of the Welsh, p. 95; O. J. Padel, Arthur in Medieval Welsh Tradition (Cardiff, 2000), p. 64. Rachel Bromwich pointed out that Eliwlat in the poem belongs to ‘the pre-Geoffrey Arthurian tradition’ (Trioedd Ynys Prydein, p. 345). As Patrick Sims-Williams remarks, ‘One may recall, too, Geoffrey of

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Verses which comprise a mantic exchange between Merlin and a prophetess approach close to the title and matter of Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd. Since the internal evidence of the latter suggests that the poem was updated to exalt Gruffudd ap Cynan about the very time that the Historia Regum Britannie was completed, Geoffrey may well have learned from contemporaries of the existence of the Welsh poem. Could this gratuitous reference at the very end of his book have been designed to pre-empt any challenge by Caradog of Llancarvan or others contemporaries versed in Welsh lore?

The Vita Merlini and the Northern Myrddin To substantiate his hypothesis that the conjunction of the Northern Wild Man legend with that of Myrddin originated with Geoffrey of Monmouth, Padel accepts the necessity for demonstrating that Welsh poems attesting to the conjunction were influenced by Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini.111 Jarman argued the reverse: the concept originated in Wales, and was adopted by Geoffrey some time after completion of the Historia and his becoming familiar with Welsh literary sources in the interval.112 There are several reasons for preferring Jarman’s hypothesis, some so strong that they may here suffice. As is well known, Giraldus distinguished between two Merlins. Describing his journey near Dinas Emrys in Snowdonia, the setting for Merlin’s prophecy to Vortigern, he explained that ‘Erant enim Merlini duo’. The first Merlin, who prophesied to Vortigern by the pool, was also known as Ambrosius: ‘iste qui et Ambrosius dictus est, quia binomius fuerat, et sub rege Vortigerno prophetizavit, ab incubo genitus’. The second Merlin ‘Celidonius dictus est, a Celidonia silva in qua prophetizavit, et Silvester’, who went mad in battle.113 Even this brief outline reveals major differences between contemporary Welsh traditions of Merlin Celidonius or Silvester known to him and the Merlin of Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini.

111

112

113

Monmouth’s tantalizing allusions to a book of the prophecies uttered by an eagle while Shaftesbury was being built’: ‘The Early Welsh Arthurian Poems’, in Bromwich et al., The Arthur of the Welsh, p. 58. In addition Rowland notes similarities of technique between Ymddiddan Arthur a’r Eryr and Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd: ‘Genres’, in Early Welsh Poetry: Studies in the Book of Aneirin, ed. B. F. Roberts (Aberystwyth, 1988), pp. 198–99. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, pp. 51–52: ‘For the present hypothesis to be sustained, we must suppose either that Cynddelw himself knew Vita Merlini, or that by 1170 the contents of Geoffrey’s work had entered Welsh literary currency sufficiently for the identification between Myrddin and the wild-man of Arfderydd (as seen also in the Cyfoesi) to become normal, or at least acceptable, and for Myrddin thus to have acquired a new role as a warrior in that battle.’ Jarman’s argument was anticipated by the Chadwicks in The Growth of Literature, I, 131: ‘It must have been plain to Geoffrey, when he got all this new information, that he had made a bad shot in identifying Myrddin with the boy Ambrosius. But, not being willing to go back upon this, he made his hero live on into a new age, i.e. into the age which tradition assigned him.’ Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 133.

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1. Giraldus states that the second Merlin was a native of Scotland (‘de Albania oriundus’). In Vita Merlini he is king and prophet of the proud men of Dyfed: ‘Rex erat et vates Demetarumque superbis’.114 2. Giraldus explains that Merlin’s madness was caused by his seeing a monstrum horribile in the air. In the Vita Merlini the seer is more rationally said to have been driven insane through the loss of so many of his comrades in the battle.115 3. Giraldus declares that Merlin Silvester ‘went mad … and fled to the forest where he continued as a wild man of the woods to the end of his days’ (‘dementire cœpit, et ad silvam transfugiendo silvestrem usque ad obitum vitam perduxit’). This is the setting intimated by the Welsh poems, which portray Myrddin as uttering his prophecies while skulking deranged in the Coed Celyddon. However, in Vita Merlini he soon recovers his senses and spends his retirement as a dignified sage dwelling in a house and accompanying magnificent building with seventy doors and seventy glittering windows, whence he deduces the future from observation of the heavenly bodies.116 4. Giraldus calls his Merlin Celidonius, a form reflecting the Coed Celyddon of the Welsh poetry whence his knowledge of Merlin derived. Geoffrey consistently uses the forms Caledonia and Calidonius familiar from classical sources. 5. Giraldus explains that ‘Hic autem Merlinus tempore Arthuri fuit’, to whom he uttered more prophecies than his counterpart before Vortigern. In Vita Merlini the patron before whom the seer prophesies is ‘rex … Cumbrorum Rodarcus’: i.e. the historical Rhydderch Hael, king of Strathclyde. Giraldus’s allusion indicates that he knew nothing of this, and instead fastened on Geoffrey’s allusion at the conclusion of his Historia to a prophecy delivered by Merlin to Arthur.117 Padel enquires: ‘Assuming that Gerald knew Welsh poems about Myrddin and also Geoffrey’s two works, why should he have claimed that there were two separate Merlins, when Geoffrey had asserted the identity of his two creations?’118 Geoffrey indeed goes out of his way to emphasize that the Merlin who expounded to Vortigern the mystery of the fighting dragons by the drained pool in the Historia Regum Britannie was one and 114 115 116

117 118

Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 52. Geoffrey never uses Albania for Scotland in his poem, but always Scocia or Scotia (Clarke, Life of Merlin, 215). Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 56. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 80, 132. Glass windows were a luxurious rarity in twelfth-century England: cf. J. J. Bagley, Life in Medieval England (London, 1960), pp. 137–41; The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. Walter W. Skeat (Oxford, 1894–94), I, 471. They were all but unknown in contemporary Wales, so could Merlin’s multi-windowed dwelling represent Geoffrey’s rationalization of the Ty Gwydr into which Myrddin withdraws in early Welsh tradition? See Gwenogvryn Evans, Report on Manuscripts in the Welsh Language, I, 911. Wright, HRB, p. 146. Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 61.

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the same as the seer who went mad and prophesied in the Vita Merlini.119 However Giraldus himself provides the answer to this question. In Geoffrey’s Historia Merlin is represented as born in Dyfed, whence he is taken ‘ad montem Erir’ (Snowdon) to prophesy before Vortigern, and disappears from the narrative after arranging Uther’s seduction of Ingerna at Tintagel.120 That is to say, he lived about the middle of the fifth century, when his activities were restricted to Wales and southern England. In contrast, Giraldus’s second Merlin lived and declaimed his prophecies in North Britain (Albania, Celidonia silva), and unlike the selfpossessed, masterful, and ingenious Merlin of Geoffrey’s Historia uttered them in a state of frenzy.121 Furthermore, Giraldus realized that the span of human life was insufficient to cover the career of a single Merlin with the associations accorded him in the disparate available sources. Had he read the Vita Merlini he would at once have seen that although Geoffrey firmly asserted the identity of the two, he associated the Merlin of the Vita with Gwenddolau, Peredur, and Rhydderch Hael: figures familiar from early Welsh history and legend as rulers in North Britain during the latter part of the sixth century. In any case the distinction he draws between the two Merlins confirms that Giraldus had not read the Vita Merlini. He accepted without cavil the authenticity of the Historia Regum Britannie, and overcame the problem by taking the Merlin who addressed Arthur to be a distinct figure from the prophet who features so large in the central section of the Historia. This may appear a rather naïve approach, but given Giraldus’s acceptance (in common with almost all his contemporaries) of the Historia as a work of unchallengable authority, what could he do but explain away the discrepancy as best he might?122 While Geoffrey was not very specific with his chronology, its general intimations were unmistakable. While Arthur succeeded to the throne at the youthful age of fifteen, his reign was long and eventful and it would be naturally assumed that he was a man of mature middle age at his death. Moreover his reign was preceded by those of his father Uther and uncle Aurelius, both of which were replete with incident and unlikely to have been short. Aurelius succeeded Vortigern, and a very long-lived Merlin might just have lived through all four reigns. However Giraldus’s prime concern was to account for the disparate character and circumstances of that other Merlin of whom he learned from Welsh informants, and his 119

120 121

122

Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 88. The Northern war which provides the setting for the poem is designedly set in Merlin’s old age: ‘Ergo peragratis sub multis regibus annis’ (Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 52, 104–12). Wright, HRB, 90, 98. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 199. This aspect features in the Afallenau, whose putative author laments: ‘I have been wandering with madness and madmen’ (‘it vif in ymteith gan willeith a gwillon’; Jarman, Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin, p. 27). William of Newburgh, Geoffrey’s most trenchant medieval critic, nonetheless accepted that he adapted Welsh prophecies of Merlin to his own purpose; see Fletcher, The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles, p. 92.

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distinction between the Merlin who prophesied before Vortigern and he who advised Arthur possessed the requisite virtue of being reconcilable with Geoffrey’s Historia (though not with the Vita Merlini). Not only did Giraldus firmly believe in the authenticity of Geoffrey’s historical narrative, but he accepted the validity of the Prophetiæ. It was on their authority that he assured his readers that the Britons were named after the Trojan Brutus, Dubricius was Archbishop of Caerleon in the time of Arthur, Cornwall named ‘a ducis Corinei’, the Severn called ‘Britannice Haveren, a nomine puellæ, filiæ scilicet Locrini’, Rome captured by ‘Belinus et Brennius’, and he cited the Historia Regum Britannie as authority for the British peopling of Ireland under Gurguintius and Arthur.123 In his Speculum Ecclesiæ he repeated with approval Geoffrey’s story of the taking of the mortally wounded Arthur ‘in insulam Avaloniam, quæ nunc Glastonia dicitur, a nobili matrona quadam ejusque cognata et Morgani vocata’. That he encountered no difficulty in accepting Geoffrey’s account of Merlin’s wondrous transportation of the stones of Stonehenge from Ireland to Britain indicates the extent of his conviction.124 Giraldus similarly referred with approval to Merlin’s prophecy (in which he had a personal interest) that Archbishop Dyfrig would hand over his supreme function to David of Menevia, and accepted that ‘the two Merlins’ had foretold the coming of the Saxons and the Normans.125 In De Invectionibus he roundly affirmed that the claim of the see of St David’s to independence was based ‘non res ficta vel frivola, non Arturi fabula’, as alleged by his adversaries, but on sound authority: i.e. the description endorsed by Merlin’s prophecy in the Historia Regum Britannie.126 Here Giraldus draws a significant distinction between Arthurian fabulæ (i.e. folklore traditions likely to be scorned by educated folk) and what he regarded as the solid historical testimony of the Historia Regum Britannie. There is certainly no justification for taking Arturi fabula as a description of Geoffrey’s book. It is in the context of these unqualified endorsements that claims of scepticism in Giraldus’s attitude must be considered. In his Descriptio Kambriæ he describes the vaunts of contemporary Welshmen that their increasing success in war meant that juxta Merlini sui vaticinia the expulsion of foreigners and restoration of Britain was imminent: an allusion which paraphrases a passage in the Historia Regum Britannie. Giraldus objects that this is entirely false.127 However he does not challenge the politically dangerous prophecy’s validity per se, but explains 123

124 125 126 127

Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 56, 77, 101, 165, 171, 207; Expugnatio Hibernica, ed. Scott and Martin, p. 148; John J. O’Meara, ‘Giraldus Cambrensis in Topographia Hibernie: Text of the First Recension’, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 52 (Dublin, 1949), 161. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, IV, 48; viii, p. 128; O’Meara, ‘Giraldus Cambrensis’, p. 143. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 56, 196. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, III, 78. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 216. Cf. Wright, HRB, 77.

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that the prevailing immorality of the Welsh indicated that the time for its fulfilment remained long distant. There remain two other possible instances of Giraldus’s rejecting ­Geoffrey’s work. In Descriptio Kambriæ he devotes a chapter to explaining the origin of the names Kambria (Wales) and Kambrenses (Welsh). He begins with a detailed summary of Geoffrey’s account of the division of Britain among the sons of Brutus, Locrinus, Camber, and Albanactus, from whom the three principal regions derived their names. He then mentions the purported derivation of Kembraec (Welsh) from Kam Graecus (‘crooked Greek’), adding that in his view this etymology was possible but unlikely. There follows this apparently savage rejection of Geoffrey’s work: ‘Wallia does not derive from a leader Walo, or queen Gwendoloena, as the fabulous history of Geoffrey Arthur misrepresents’, but rather from the English word wealh, ‘foreign’.128 Giraldus was right in his etymology, but any assumption that he was expressing outright dismissal of Geoffrey’s book as ‘fabulous’ is unwarranted. Not only did he consistently treat the Historia Regum Britannie as a work of authentic history, but the very chapter in which he voiced this criticism uncritically accepts its British foundation legend in toto. Furthermore his criticism of Geoffrey’s etymological speculation appears excessive. The penultimate chapter of the Historia mentions that after the final establishment of Saxon hegemony in Britain the Welsh ‘non uocabantur Britones sed Gualenses, uocabulum siue a Gualone duce eorum siue a Galaes regina siue a barbarie trahentes’.129 Thus it can be seen that Geoffrey was far from affirming that one of these explanations was correct, but expressly hazarded a couple of guesses. Giraldus cannot have read the passage very carefully, or he would not wrongly have accused Geoffrey of claiming that Wales was named after Gwendoloena. His ire was provoked by the fact that Gualo and Gwendoloena (a name which appears elsewhere in Geoffrey’s book) were names wholly unknown to the Welsh: ‘quia revera neutrum eorum apud Kambros invenies’. Since it would be irrational to suppose that Giraldus rejected wholesale a work which on all other occasions he accepted as authoritative, it is reasonable to assume that, prone as he was to intemperate outbursts, he expressed derision (together with pride in displaying his superior knowledge) on detecting an error perpetrated by Geoffrey – though not his source.130

128 129 130

Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 178–79: ‘Wallia vero non a Walone duce, vel Wendoloena regina, sicut fabulosa Galfridi Arthuri mentitur historia.’ Wright, HRB, 147. A Galaes is listed among the daughters of Ebrauc, though without any suggestion that the Welsh language was named after her (Wright, HRB, 18). Thomas Kendrick sagely dismissed the criticism as a ‘quibble about the derivation of the name Wales’: see British Antiquity (London, 1950), p. 12.

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Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh Bards At this point it might be questioned why I have omitted that anecdote which is regularly cited as demonstrating Giraldus’s sceptical view of Geoffrey’s Historia. This is the celebrated story of Meilerius, futurorum pariter et occultorum scientiam habens, who dwelt near Caerleon. The seer claimed to be constantly tormented by demons, whose assaults could only be effectively averted by placing a copy of the Gospel of St John on his lap. In face of this daunting defence the impish crew flew off numerous as a flock of birds. However, if as an experiment (experiendi causa) the Gospel were to be replaced by the Historia Britonum a Galfrido Arthuro tractata, the demons at once reappeared, swarming over Meilyr’s body and lingering with especial tenacity or pleasure on the mendacious book.131 The story is a good one, and its intent to ridicule the pretensions of Geoffrey’s work unmistakable. However it is remarkable to what extent it has been misunderstood. That so careful a scholar as Thomas Jones could express himself as follows illustrates the degree of misapprehension: He [Giraldus] uses the tale of the prophet Meilyr of Caerleon to give us no uncertain hint as to what he thought privately of the authenticity of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain … Gerald, it is obvious, like William of Newburgh, was more than sceptical of the authenticity of Geoffrey’s romantic History.132

Numerous scholars have similarly assumed that the scoffing tale reflects Giraldus’s own view of Geoffrey’s work.133 However nothing in his account justifies the assumption. Earlier in the same chapter Giraldus unabashedly borrowed from the Historia to describe the mighty ruins of Roman Caerleon, not as he actually saw them, but as Geoffrey imaginatively described them, and went on to cite approvingly the prophecy by Geoffrey’s Merlin of the transfer of the see of that city to Menevia.134 It would have been perverse indeed were he to have relied consistently on the Historia as his prime historical authority, only to declare the work a pack of lies from 131 132 133

134

Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 58–59. T. Jones, ‘Gerald the Welshman’s “Itinerary Through Wales” and “Description of Wales” ’, National Library of Wales Journal 6 (Aberystwyth, 1949–50), 117–148, 197–222 (p. 133). Fletcher, The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles, p. 180; W. Lewis Jones, King Arthur in History and Legend (Cambridge, 1914), pp. 87–88; Chambers, Arthur of Britain, pp. 107–108; Kendrick, British Antiquity, pp. 12–13; J. J. Parry and R. A. Caldwell, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, in Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages, ed. R. S. Loomis (Oxford, 1959), pp. 72–93 (pp. 87–88); H. R. Loyn, The ‘Matter of Britain’: A Historian’s Perspective (London, 1988), p. 5; C. Lloyd-Morgan, ‘The Celtic Tradition’, in The Arthur of the English: The Arthurian Legend in Medieval English Life and Literature, ed. W. R. J. Barron (Cardiff, 1999), pp. 1–10 (p. 270, n. 3); O. J. Padel, Arthur in Medieval Welsh Tradition (Cardiff, 2000), p. 88; Daniel, Les Prophéties de Merlin, p. 121. ‘Meneuia pallio Urbis Legionum indueter’ (Wright, HRB, p. 76).

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beginning to end in this solitary instance. It is particularly unlikely too that he did not intend his readers to accept the validity of the prophecy regarding the archbishopric of Menevia, which he repeatedly advanced as formal justification of his hard-fought struggle to achieve papal recognition of the archiepiscopal authority of St Davids.135 The natural explanation is that Giraldus appreciated the anecdote about Meilyr (who had died long before Giraldus’s visit to Caerleon) in the spirit with which it was intended. It was Meilyr, not Giraldus, who dismissed Geoffrey’s work as a pack of lies. It is hard to imagine that Giraldus or his readers supposed that the seer really invited the devils’ assault in the manner described. It was an amusing sarcasm which still provokes a smile, and even on the dubious assumption that Giraldus intended it to be taken seriously he could merely have been exercising his well-attested facility in presenting conflicting views of a contentious issue.136 It seems that modern historians have allowed themselves to be overly influenced by their awareness of the largely spurious nature of Geoffrey’s Historia. In consequence they have overlooked the really interesting factor in the anecdote, which is the light it throws on Meilyr himself. Giraldus describes him as illiterate, but possessed of great natural intelligence. Profoundly versed in matters occult, conversant with demons, incubi, and other denizens of the Otherworld, he time and again proved a reliable prophet in all save the unfortunate instance of his own end. He was a welcome visitor at churches and monasteries, and familiar with abbots and other great folk of the region. Hywel ab Iorwerth, ruler of Caerleon, consulted him, and Meilyr was eventually killed alongside his master at the capture of Usk castle by Richard de Clare in 1175. It has been suggested that Giraldus’s Meilerius was the celebrated poet Meilyr Brydydd.137 The identification is not implausible, and in any case it appears that he was a bard or cyfarwydd of distinction. So far from detracting from his talent, Giraldus’s mention of his illiteracy reflects the primacy of orality in the bardic tradition.138 Meilyr’s contemptuous rejec135 136

137 138

Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, III, 46, 171. Cf. M. Richter, Giraldus Cambrensis: The Growth of the Welsh Nation (Aberystwyth, 1976), pp. 94–127. Cf. his balanced presentations of pro- and anti-Welsh beliefs and policies, noted by Richter, Giraldus Cambrensis, pp. 72–78. As Thomas Jones pointed out, ‘one easily sees here the influence of medieval rhetorical training, wherein pupils were often set to declaim for and against the same given subject’: Jones, ‘Gerald the Welshman’s “Itinerary through Wales” and “Description of Wales” ’, p. 207. Gruffudd ap Cynan: A Collaborative Biography, ed. K. L. Maund (Woodbridge, 1996), p. 168; Jones, ‘The Mynydd Carn “Prophecy” ’, p. 83. Cf. B. L. Jones, ‘The Welsh Bardic Tradition’, in Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Celtic Studies, ed. D. E. Evans, J. G. Griffith, and E. M. Jope (Oxford, 1986), pp. 133–140 (pp. 134–35); J. E. C. Williams, ‘The Celtic Bard’, in A Celtic Florilegium: Studies in Memory of Brendan O Hehir, ed. K. A. Klar, E. E. Sweetser, and C. Thomas (Andover, Mass., 1996), pp. 216–226 (p. 218). The tradition probably reflects druidic practice, cf. C-J. Guyonvarc’h and F. Le Roux, Les Druides (Rennes, 1986), pp. 263–69; F. Bader, La Langue des dieux, ou l’hermétisme des poètes indo-européens (Pisa, 1989), pp. 16–17; P. Jouët, ‘La Parole

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tion of Geoffrey’s Historia, knowledge of which he probably gained in a monastic library, doubtless expressed the resentment of the bardic order for an alien version of that British history which they considered their exclusive prerogative to preserve and expound. In her discussion of Preiddeu Annwfn, whose concluding verse mocks monkish ignorance, Marged Haycock comments: ‘The monks were always fair game because they set themselves up as the purveyors of true learning; their social stereotyping, in Wales as in Ireland, must have made them an easy butt for the kind of casual banter which besets men in uniform.’139 The pseudo-Taliesin poetry indulges in repeated sneers at ‘monks and others who read books and yet know nothing’, and derides books as inadequate guides to understanding.140 That Meilyr espoused this contemptuous view is suggested by his claim to identify beds in monastic dormitories occupied by hypocrites. Similarly the bards cannot have been best pleased to find their ystyr and chwedlau (fragments of which survive in the Triads, extracts from sagas of Germanus and Vortigern in the Historia Brittonum, and the ‘historical’ framework of the Mabinogi) unexpectedly confronted by an impressive work which proclaimed itself the sole authentic history of the British people.141 Giraldus himself provides an illuminating glimpse of the proprietory defensiveness of the Britones (presumably members of their learned classes), when he mentions their explanation why the great Arthur did not feature as large in history books as was fitting. Their response was that he slew the brother of the contemporary historian Gildas, who took such umbrage as to fling books he had written favourable to the Britons and their great king into the sea.142 If we may judge by the example of Meilyr of Caerleon, native custodians of British historical lore resorted to contempt and ridicule rather than direct refutation in dealing with Geoffrey’s Historia. Eventually they were brought to accept that these apparently disparate versions of their national history could be advantageously reconciled. It was not after all the content of the Historia which they resented, lauding as it did the British race and its hero King Arthur to the

139 140 141 142

dans la civilisation celtique: mythes et figures’, in Les Celtes et l’écriture, ed. V. Kruta (Paris, 1997), pp. 73–92. This is not to say that illiteracy was a requisite, since Giraldus himself states that the bards of his day preserved royal pedigrees and the prophecies of Merlin in a book: see Brewer, Dimock, and Warner, Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 167–68, and Scott and Martin, Expugnatio Hibernica, p. 254. M. Haycock, ‘Preiddeu Annwn and the Figure of Taliesin’, Studia Celtica 18–19 (1983/84), 52–78 (p. 63). M. Haycock, ‘Taliesin’s Questions’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 33 (1997), 19–79 (pp. 26, 40, 70). Cf. I. Williams, ‘Hen Chwedlau’, The Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion: Sessions 1946–1947 (1948), pp. 28–55. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 209. Presumably this explanation antedated the HRB, which from the point of view of the most ardent Welsh patriot provided a highly laudatory and authentic account of Arthur.

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skies, but the manner in which it appeared to supplant their own esoteric body of learning. This impression is confirmed by evidence of protracted resistance to acceptance of the Historia among learned Welsh laymen. Two or three generations passed before they could be persuaded to accept the upstart rival history. As Rachel Bromwich explained, Although twelfth-century Welsh churchmen such as Giraldus Cambrensis and Walter Map were conversant with the contents of the Historia Regum, yet the bards make no use of material emanating from this source before a date which can be shown to correspond approximately with the turn of the thirteenth century. This is precisely the period when the earliest versions of Brut y Brenhinedd have been traced back. We are consequently drawn to the conclusion that the bards made no use of Geoffrey’s narrative until after this had become available to them in a Welsh dress. [Thereafter] ‘every attempt was made to reconcile the scheme of Geoffrey’s narrative with the pre-existing, but in comparison certainly much less organised, native traditions.143

Whether the bards repudiated Geoffrey’s version of history, lacked interest in a literary form alien to their exceedingly conservative tradition, or were deterred by its latinity, it seems that the Historia made little or no impact on the Welsh during the twelfth century. Although it may have been read in monasteries, Meilyr of Caerleon could not read the book which so irritated him.144 Giraldus came of joint Welsh and Anglo-Norman stock, appears to have possessed at least passable acquaintance with the Welsh language, travelled the length and breadth of the country, and was deeply curious about its customs and history.145 He was particularly interested in the figure of Merlin, and intended to compile a translation of his prophecies. All this illustrates the extreme implausibility of any notion that the same bards who ridiculed and rejected the Historia accepted the previously unknown content of the Vita Merlini so eagerly and credulously as to 143

144 145

Bromwich, Trioedd Ynys Prydein, pp. lxxx–lxxxi. Simon Rodway concludes that ‘We have no evidence, then, that the Historia was translated into the vernacular until almost a century after its composition’, in ‘The Date and Authorship of Culhwch ac Olwen: A Reassessment’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 49 (2005), 21–44 (pp. 40–41). Andrew Breeze provides evidence suggesting that a copy of the HRB was held at the library of St Davids in the twelfth century: Medieval Welsh Literature (Dublin, 1997), p. 46. As Thomas Jones noted, ‘Taken together, the quotations he gives from Welsh poetry, his references to Welsh oral traditions, and his descriptions of Welsh customs probably show that he had a closer acquaintance with the language than that with which he has been generally credited’ (‘Gerald the Welshman’s “Itinerary through Wales” ’, p. 212). Richter’s contrary argument is unpersuasive (Giraldus Cambrensis, p. 69). That Giraldus normally spoke in French or Latin tells us nothing about his understanding of Welsh, and his reproof of his nephew indicates no more than the view that an educated Welshman should be versed in Latin and French as well as his native Welsh; see Geraldus Cambrensis: Speculum Duorum or A Mirror of Two Men; Preserved in the Vatican Library in Rome Cod. Reg. Lat. 470, ed. Y. Lefèvre and R. B. C. Hughes (Cardiff, 1974), p. 32.

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restructure their own literary tradition in order to make it accord with the version provided by the derided Geoffrey.

Wales and the Vita Merlini Next it may reasonably be enquired how the Vita Merlini might have become known to the bards of Wales. In marked contrast to more than two hundred surviving manuscript copies of Geoffrey’s Historia, only two independent texts of the Vita Merlini remain extant. In addition there are a couple of extracts, and four versions inserted into copies of the sprawling fourteenth-century Polichronicon of Ranulph Higden.146 Although the Vita Merlini was originally intended for a small private circle of readers, given the extraordinary renown of Merlin from the twelfth century onwards throughout Europe it is astonishing how scant was the notice it attracted. After all, throughout the Middle Ages and later the Prophetiæ in Geoffrey’s Historia were eagerly scrutinized for the light they threw on contemporary and future events. Evidence for knowledge of the Vita Merlini is in striking contrast sparse to non-existent. It has been suggested that common use of the theme of the Threefold Death and Merlin’s laughter at a man whom he had seen painstakingly repairing his shoes who had since died indicates borrowing at a remove by the Burgundian poet Robert de Boron for his romance Merlin.147 However, the Threefold Death motif is too widely diffused to be assigned with certainty to any specific source,148 while difference in detail in the versions of the anecdote about the doomed shoe repairer suggests oral borrowing.149 All in all it seems likely that these isolated parallels represent floating anecdotes rather than acquaintance with Geoffrey’s poem.

146

147 148 149

Ward and Herbert, Catalogue of Romances, I, 278–79, 288–89, 290, 310, 312. Cf. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 43–45, 136; J. C. Crick, The Historia Regum Britannie of Geoffrey of Monmouth III: A Summary Catalogue of the Manuscripts (Cambridge, 1989), p. 333. The Le Bec catalogue records that in the 1150s the library held a copy of the HRB, ‘in quorum [libro] septimo continentur prophetię Mellini, non Siluestris, sed alterius, id est Mellini Ambrosii’: see D. N. Dumville, ‘An early text of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britannie and the circulation of some Latin histories in twelfth-century Normandy’, Arthurian Literature 4, ed. R. Barber (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 1–36 (pp. 3–4). The reference to Merlin Silvester suggests awareness of Geoffrey’s second work, but the library did not possess a copy. Bruce, The Evolution of Arthurian Romance, I, 144; E. G. Gardner, The Arthurian Legend in Italian Literature (London, 1930), pp. 193–94. Faral, La Légende arthurienne, II, 365–67; A. Micha, Étude sur le “Merlin” de Robert de Boron: Roman du XIIIe siècle (Geneva, 1980), pp. 51, 52. In the Vita Merlini the seer laughs at the paradox of a man’s buying shoes and patches for their repair, and explains that he was drowned in the sea before he could wear them (Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 78). In Robert de Boron’s version the purchaser is discovered dead on the highway by Merlin’s interlocutors: see Merlin: Roman en prose du XIIIe siècle, ed. G. Paris and J. Ulrich, 2 vols. (Paris, 1886), I, 48–49.

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Yet it is this neglected work which Padel suggests exercized so remarkable an influence on Welsh bards as to bring about its adaptation as a popular tale which was promptly disseminated so widely as to provide the theme for a body of influential poetry.150 Furthermore, in order to achieve this it must have been translated into Welsh, accepted as reflecting authentic native provenance, and employed as the basis of Welsh verse within an improbably short space of time. Padel draws attention to the elegy by Cynddelw composed in memory of the death of Owain Gwynedd in 1170. As he points out, its association of Myrddin with the bloody battle of Arderydd implies of necessity that the legend of the Northern Myrddin was by then familiar in Wales.151 Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini had been composed some twenty years earlier, but for Padel’s hypothesis to be correct so short a space of time is surely inadequate for the poem’s migration and acceptance in Wales. Still more telling is another allusion. In 1163 Henry II was advancing towards Carmarthen when he arrived at Nant Pencarn, near Newport. As he approached the river local people watched his approach with apprehension. When Giraldus visited the spot twenty-five years later he learned that they were familiar with a prophecy of Merlinus Silvestris, who prophesied that when a strong man with a freckled face came to cross the ford of Pencarn to attack South Wales, the Welsh would be defeated. The description fitted the King, and when he rode through the water their hearts were heavy.152 Sir John Lloyd commented on the prophecy: ‘Attributed to Merlin, but not in any known collection of prophecies bearing his name’.153 However, half a century earlier Skene had pointed out that Giraldus’s words are a translation of a verse in the poem Gwasgargerdd Fyrddin yn i fedd: ‘Pan dyuo y brych kadarn hyt yn ryt bengarn’.154 Giraldus specified that it was the older generation who were agitated by the fulfilment of the prophecy: ‘antiqui partium illarum Britones’. The poem is cast in the form of a prophetic dialogue between Myrddin and his sister Gwenddydd, the Ganieda of Geoffrey’s poem. Jarman and Padel suggest that it was composed towards the end of the twelfth century, presumably on the conjectural assumption that the distych cited by Giraldus derived from an earlier version of the extant poem.155 Effectively, however, the 150 151

152 153 154

155

Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’. See J. M. Morris-Jones and T. H. Parry-Williams, Llawysgrif Hendregadredd (Cardiff, 1938), p. 91, and Poetry by Medieval Welsh Bards, ed. J. Gwenogvryn Evans (Llanbedrog, 1926), p. 210: ‘Mal gweith aredryt gwyth ar dyruein cad./ yn argrad yn aergrein./ uch myrt wyr uch myrtin oet kein.’ Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 62. Lloyd, A History of Wales, p. 512. E. G. B. Phillimore, ‘A Fragment from Hengwrt MS No. 202’, Y Cymmrodor 7 (1887), 89–154 (p. 151); Gwenogvryn Evans, The Poetry in the Red Book of Hergest, cols. 584,17–18. Cf. Skene, Four Ancient Books of Wales, II, p. 429; Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, p. 217; Jones, ‘Gerald the Welshman’s “Itinerary through Wales” ’, p. 141. Bromwich et al., The Arthur of the Welsh, p. 120; Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 49.

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only satisfactory method for establishing the chronology of prophetic texts lies in contextual allusions which can be convincingly linked to historical events.156 Were nothing known about Geoffrey of Monmouth, the internal evidence of his Prophetiæ Merlini and Vita Merlini would make it possible to establish their dates of composition almost to the year. The sole unambiguously datable historical reference in the Gwasgargerdd relates to events occurring in 1114: ‘When Henry comes to claim Mur Castell on the frontier of Eryri, disturbance summons across the sea.’157 In that year Henry I took a great army to Mur Castell on the borders of Snowdonia and compelled Gruffudd ap Cynan to sue for terms, after which he crossed to Normandy and forced the magnates to swear allegiance to his son William.158 Unless the validity of prophecy be accepted, the contemporary identification of Henry II with ‘the strong freckled one’ who came to the ford of Pencarn presumably represents fortuitous coincidence. ‘Several other places or events are mentioned in this poem, but they cannot easily be fixed’, as Phillimore observed.159 The allusion to the events of 1114–15 and the absence of clear reference to any subsequent occurrence suggest that the poem was coeval with a period when they remained topical and subsequent events of comparable significance had yet to occur.160 It is consequently tempting to conjecture that the poem was composed in the interest of Gruffudd ap Cynan (i.e. before his death in 1137), whose resurgence is foretold in a poem ascribed to Myrddin cited in the Vita Griffini Filii Conani.161 Reverting to the alarm which the arrival of the freckled Henry II at the ford of Pencarn occasioned the old people of the vicinity, it would clearly be impossible for copies of the Vita Merlini to circulate in Wales (but seemingly not England), be translated into Welsh, and then percolate orally among the general populace over a period of time sufficient to become part of the collective memory of the elderly – all within the space of a dozen years! Fortunately we are not dependent on probability alone for establishment of the priority of Welsh traditions of the Northern Myrddin over Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini. The latter ascribes to Merlin a wife Guendoloena, who plays a strangely anomolous rôle in the story. No mention is made of her as his consort at the outset. After the murderous battle whose slaughter drives

156

157 158 159 160 161

Jarman’s suggestion that the Gwasgargerdd might have been a sequel to the Cyfoesi because one text follows the other in the Red Book of Hergest appears unpersuasive. K. Meyer and A. Nutt, The Voyage of Bran Son of Febal to the Land of the Living (London, 1895), I, 189; G. Murphy, ‘On the Dates of Two Sources Used in Thurneysen’s Heldensage’, Ériu 16 (1952), 149–50; J. Carey, Ireland and the Grail (Aberystwyth, 2007), p. 22. Phillimore, ‘A Fragment from Hengwrt MS No. 202’, p. 152. Jones, Brut y Tywysogion: Peniarth MS 20, pp. 59–60; Clark, The Peterborough Chronicle, pp. 36, 37. Phillimore, ‘A Fragment from Hengwrt MS No. 202’, pp. 117–21. Cf. Skene, Four Ancient Books of Wales, I, 223–24. Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, p. 102.

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him insane, Merlin flees to the wild forest of Calidon. On discovering the location of his refuge his sister Ganieda, who is married to Rodarcus king of Cumbria, sends a messenger to persuade her brother to come to her. The envoy, who finds Merlin complaining of the bitterness of winter, chants a plaintive song lamenting the sufferings of a failing Guendoloena. All happiness and beauty have abandoned her, and together with Ganieda she ceaselessly weeps, the one mourning her husband and the other her brother. Only in this elliptical manner do we unexpectedly discover who Guendoloena is and what she has to do with the story. The messenger’s song temporarily restores Merlin’s sanity, and he agrees to return to the court of King Rodarcus. Unfortunately his madness swiftly revives, and he retreats again to the forest. Later he discovers that, with his grudging consent, Guendoloena is to remarry. He arrives at the wedding in wild guise, kills the bridegroom, and tries to escape to the wilderness. Rodarcus’s followers capture him and hand him over to the care of his sister. No allusion is made to Guendoloena’s reaction to her husband’s irregular conduct, and she vanishes from the tale as suddenly and unexpectedly as she entered it.162 There can be no doubt that Geoffrey invented the character of Guendoloena.163 As Giraldus pointed out in another context, no such name existed in Wales. A Guendoloena features briefly in Geoffrey’s Historia as wife of Locrinus,164 which almost certainly represents its first appearance. The modern Welsh name Gwendolen owes its origin to Geoffrey of Monmouth, just as the supposedly Saxon name Cedric features for the first time in the pages of Scott’s Ivanhoe. Describing the death in 1136 of the heroic Gwenllian, wife of Gruffudd ap Rhys, Giraldus latinized her name as Guendoloena.165 Presumably it was the nearest equivalent he could find.166 Whence then did Geoffrey derive the name of Merlin’s wife? Patently it is a misreading of Gwenddolau, the Northern prince slain at Arderydd whom Myrddin mourns as his patron in the Afallennau and Oianau.167 The lament for Guendoloena which Geoffrey placed in the mouth of Rodarcus’s messenger reads like a paraphrase of Myrddin’s pæan to Gwenddolau in the Afallennau: For after Gwenddolau no lord honours me, Mirth gives no delight, no woman visits me; And in the battle of Arderydd my torque was of gold, 162 163 164 165 166 167

Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 60–62, 70–72, 74–76. See Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 186: ‘Guendoloena, Merlin’s wife, is a new character without direct antecedents.’ Wright, HRB, 16. Brewer et al., Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, VI, 79. The lady’s correct style was gwenlliant merch gruffud. M. Kynan; see Phillimore, ‘A Fragment from Hengwrt MS No. 202’, p. 88. Guenlian and Guenlodoe (sic) are listed together among the twenty daughters of Ebraucus (Wright, HRB, 18). Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, p. 77.

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Though today I am not treasured by one of the aspect of swans … Now I sleep not, I tremble for my prince, My lord Gwenddolau, and my fellow-countrymen.168

The episode is preceded by Merlin’s bitter expressions of regret that winter denies him the protection and sustenance formerly provided him by an orchard of apple-trees (afallenau) upon which he had providentially happened in the midst of the forest.169 Geoffrey’s modification of the name is readily explicable in light of regular confusion between the letters n and u in early Welsh manuscripts.170 His mistaking the unfamiliar Gwenddolau for a woman’s name conceivably arose from its similarity to Gwenddydd, Myrddin’s sister, who features in the same poem and who in the Vita Merlini seems all but identified with Guendoloena. Geoffrey’s problem with the name is further illustrated by his renaming the defeated adversary at Arderydd Guennolous.171 Having taken Guenddolau as feminine, he may have felt impelled to substitute a more masculine name for a male warrior.172 Merlin’s lament for his apple-trees and the messenger’s threnody for Guendoloena can only have come from a version of the Afallenau not very different from those found in extant manuscripts.173 The misreading of Guenðolau as Guenðoloena confirms that Geoffrey relied on a written source. His awkward attempts to establish the names and relationships of the protagonists evoke the image of a scholar possessing inadequate command of Welsh, but nonetheless doing his best according to his own lights to make sense of his source. He further consulted a version of Cyfoesi Myrddin a Gwenddydd ei chwaer, which depicts Myrddin as brother and interlocutor of Gwenddydd and associates him with the battle of Arderydd. Above all, Geoffrey’s palpable difficulty interpreting a source he only partially understood indicates the priority of that source. There appears nothing to justify any assumption that Geoffrey did not find the name of Myrddin in his source, just as he did those of Gwenddolau, Rhydderch, Peredur, Gwenddydd, and Taliesin. 168

169 170

171 172 173

Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin gyda Rhagymadrodd Nodiadau Testunol a Geirfa, ed. A. O. H. Jarman (Cardiff, 1982), pp. 27, 28; translation by Jarman in N. Tolstoy, The Quest for Merlin (London, 1985), p. 252. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 56, 60. Anaraut appears as Anarant in the tenth-century Harleian genealogies: see Phillimore, ‘The Annales Cambriæ’, p. 172, and also The Elucidarium and Other Tracts in Welsh from Llyvyr Agkyr Llandewivrevi, A.D. 1346 (Jesus College MS 119), ed. J. Morris Jones and J. Rhŷs (Oxford, 1894), p. xviii. Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 52. For conjectures as to the source of Geoffrey’s Guennolous, cf. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 188– 89. See Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, p. 76: ‘the “Afalleneu,” even in the form in which it appears in the Black Book, does not seem to refer to any events which can be stated to be after the time of the composition of the Vita in 1148’.

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Contemporary Awareness of the Vita Merlini The fact that only two complete manuscripts of Geoffrey’s poem have survived is remarkable in view of insatiable contemporary public fascination with Merlin. The most likely explanation is that Bishop Robert de Chesney decided in dangerous times to keep it to himself and a handful of select intimates, afterwards suppressing it altogether when the civil war which had racked England for two decades was resolved by the agreement between Stephen and the young Duke Henry at Winchester on 6 November 1153, which provided for the King to continue reigning for the duration of his life, after which he would be succeeded by Henry. The prophecy of Ganieda which concludes the Vita Merlini includes unmistakable allusions to contemporary events which could not but be regarded as highly dangerous. Two at least propagate a view uncompromizingly hostile to the cause of Matilda and her son Henry. Overcome by gloomy premonitions, Ganieda sees Lincoln besieged by a fierce army with two men shut within. One of them escapes, returning with a wild people (‘cum gente fera’) and their chief to defeat the besiegers and capture their commander.174 The allusion is to the siege of Bishop Robert’s city of Lincoln in 1141. King Stephen blockaded the stronghold, which was held for Matilda by William de Roumare and his half-brother Randolf of Chester. The latter managed to slip through enemy lines and make his way to Robert of Gloucester, Matilda’s half-brother and most potent ally. Robert attacked Stephen with a large levy, including a substantial body of Welshmen, and took the King prisoner.175 After her indignant description of Robert’s action, the poet places in the mouth of Ganieda this fierce condemnation of Matilda’s supporters: ‘Oh, how wicked it is for stars to capture the sun …’. Elsewhere Geoffrey ascribes to Merlin an emphatic denunciation of the Welsh: an odd sentiment, it may be thought, for a king of Dyfed.176 The citizens of Lincoln nurtured particular affection for Stephen, and it was they who had invited him to occupy the city in the first place. Five years later, when the wheel of fortune turned yet again, Stephen held a court of unprecedented magnificence in the city. The citizens’ loyalty was rewarded in 1149 when the Earl of Chester with a large army invaded the county and threatened the city. Stephen promptly abandoned other pressing concerns and waged a hard-fought campaign against the earl, concluding in the relief of Lincoln.177 174 175 176 177

Griffiths, Early Vaticination in Welsh, p. 132. Howlett, Chronicles, I, 39–40. Cf. Davis, King Stephen, pp. 51–55; Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, pp. 137–43. ‘Kambria gaudebit suffuso sanguine semper./ Gens inimica deo, quid gaudes sanguine fuso?’ (Clarke, Life of Merlin, p. 84). Greenway, Historia Anglorum, p. 748; Potter, Gesta Stephani, pp. 145–46; Howlett, Chronicles, I, 57.

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Ganieda’s brief prophecy ends with a grim portrayal of famine and pestilence gripping England after years of internecine warfare, concluding passionately: ‘Normans away! Cease bringing your armies through our native kingdom! Nothing remains to fill your gullet. For you have devoured everything that creative nature has hitherto bestowed of her fertile bounty. Christ, help your people! Curb the lions, put an end to war, give the kingdom tranquility and an end to strife!’ The allusion can only be to Norman support for Matilda, and the wording suggests a time when Normans had recently wrought havoc in England and continued a potent threat. At an early stage in the struggle for the succession most of the duchy fell to the Empress and her husband Geoffrey of Anjou, who after the fall of Rouen in 1144 formally assumed the title of Duke of Normandy.178 The most likely period for Stephen and his supporters to fear Norman aggression would have been the three years after January 1150, when the young Henry Plantagenet returned to his duchy and England remained pacified under the King. ‘Famine and economic exhaustion had stilled conflict in 1150’,179 and for a time war with France diverted Henry’s attentions from England. However there remained an ever-present fear among supporters of King Stephen that he would return with his army of Normanni, bringing a reversion to the lawlessness, butchery, and famine lamented by contemporaries.180 Other considerations suggest the first year of this period (1150–51) as the likely time for composition of the Vita Merlini.181 As Ward pointed out: ‘Ganieda … is herself seized with inspiration; and the rhapsody put into her mouth is so utterly unconnected with the rest of the poem, and the style of it is so markedly political, that one can hardly doubt the poet’s intending here to refer to events of his own time’.182 Her allusions are sufficiently explicit to be identifiable today, and must have been still more obvious at the time. In addition, the prophetess’s passionate outburst is concerned solely with events of the recent troubled past and precarious present. It provides the climax of the poem, and its significance is underscored by the closing quatrain in which Merlin declares his sister inheritrix of his mantic inspiration. Overall it appears less as prophecy than jeremiad over recent events and excoriation of the Normanni who threaten the new-found peace. Thus it represents a fervent declaration of support for King Stephen, who after long years of destructive warfare had succeeded in imposing welcome 178 179 180 181 182

M. Chibnall, ‘Normandy’, in King, The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, pp. 93–104. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, pp. 247, 256, 251–53, 262. Cf. William of Newburgh’s grim assessment (Howlett, Chronicles, I, pp. 69–70). Potter, Gesta Stephani, pp. 127–28, 142, 145; Clark, The Peterborough Chronicle, p. 59. Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 40–42. Ward and Herbert, Catalogue of Romances, I, 282. Ward’s discussion remains the clearest and most plausible, being broadly endorsed by subsequent scholars (ibid., pp. 282–85; Faral, La Légende arthurienne, II, 34–36; Clarke, Life of Merlin, pp. 153–54). Taylor comments: ‘In it [Ganieda’s outburst] actual history is written as prophecy in accordance with conventions of the Galfridian type’ (The Political Prophecy in England, p. 16, and see also pp. 86, 90).

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peace throughout his realm,183 and denunciation of the machinations of his enemies across the Channel.184 This interpretation matches the circumstances of the poem’s dedicatee perfectly. Robert de Chesney had been installed as Bishop of Lincoln at the beginning of 1149.185 It is inconceivable that King Stephen would have permitted the appointment of anyone to the see of his favoured city other than a committed supporter. Robert’s brother William, one of the King’s most loyal and valued supporters throughout his reign, was appointed governor of Oxford in 1143, where he remained in office until the accession of Henry II.186 Writing as he did under the protection of one brother and patronage of another, Geoffrey’s advocacy of the royal cause placed in the mouth of Ganieda might have been expected to gain strong approval from those whose patronage and protection he needed. However, the political situation remained uneasy – more so, it seems, than Geoffrey appreciated. After 1148 the Bishop of Lincoln attended the court of the Angevin sympathizer Earl Roger of Hereford, possibly under the influence of Robert of Leicester, the Bishop’s powerful neighbour. By 1149 the ‘long-time royalist’ Leicester was ‘happily temporising with the Angevin party in expectation of an Angevin future’.187 In such circumstances Robert de Chesney must have received the Vita Merlini with mixed feelings. Geoffrey of Monmouth’s reputation was such that the poem if publicly known must gain wide readership. But what sensible statesman would wish to nail his colours to the mast in so uncompromizing a fashion, identifying himself with a poem which excoriated the supporters of the coming occupant of the throne? While Stephen reigned the Bishop had good reason to restrict readership of the poem to those few about him whom he could trust unreservedly, and from 1154 its possession would have been dangerous in the extreme. Its transmission to Wales at this time is not merely unproven, but wholly implausible. Would the temporizing Bishop have entrusted copies to be carried through wide territories controlled by the great marcher earls William of Gloucester and Roger of Hereford, each ranged among the most prominent supporters of the Angevin cause?188 If despite this it be maintained that copies reached Wales to be instantaneously translated into Welsh, how is it explained that a mere generation later Giraldus, after 183

184 185 186 187 188

See Potter, Gesta Stephani, p. 149: ‘Stephanus rex Angliæ uirtuose se per Angliam et uictoriose ubique continere, et nunc quidem in prospectu aduersariorum tutioribus in locis castella offirmare, nunc eorum municipia nullo resistente diruere; hic congressiones comminus et militares incursiones passim peragere, illic pacis et concordiæ fœdus, prout tempus exigebat, ab illis recipere, et iam ubique locorum superior omnia pro libitu in regno perficere.’ See Daniel, Les Prophéties de Merlin, p. 66: ‘En effet, les prophéties de Ganieda laissent croire que Geoffroy voyait d’un mauvais œil la lutte menée par l’impératrice Mathilde.’ Greenway, Historia Anglorum, pp. 752–54. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, pp. 205, 217, 222, 223, 269, 278, 326–27. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, pp. 239, 242. King, The Anarchy of King Stephen’s Reign, pp. 281–83.

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a painstaking search throughout Wales, was eventually able to discover one manuscript containing Merlin’s prophecies – a volume written in Welsh and clearly long antedating Geoffrey of Monmouth?189 As Giraldus explained, ‘Merlin Silvester of Celidon was hitherto known [in England] only by repute. But some recollection of his prophecies had been preserved by the British [Welsh] bards, whom they call poets, orally in most cases, but in the case of a very few, in writing.’ Despite his remarkable learning, fascination with Merlin, and extensive connexions in England and Wales, the Vita Merlini remained wholly unknown to Giraldus. Finally we may note the impressive ‘number of instances in Continental romance in which the portrayal of Merlin seems to reflect the tradition of Merlinus Celidonius or Silvester rather than that of the Merlinus Ambrosius of the Historia’ compiled by Jarman. He cautiously suggested that these emanated from oral sources originating in North Britain rather than the Vita Merlini, and drew attention to the reference to Merlin in the romance of Fergus, compiled in the region north of Carlisle associated with the Myrddin of Welsh poetry.190 Donatien Laurent further suggested that the name Lalocan and compounds in Merthin- found in ninth-century charters in the Breton Cartulary of Redon ‘attestent clairement la popularité en Bretagne des cycles poétiques insulaires’.191

189 190

191

See Padel, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’, p. 63: ‘since it was already ancient when Gerald obtained it, it was presumably a good half-century old, therefore older than Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini’. A. O. H. Jarman, ‘A Note on the Possible Welsh Derivation of Viviane’, in Gallica: Essays presented to J. Heywood Thomas by colleagues, pupils and friends, ed. R. H. Spencer (Cardiff, 1969), pp. 1–13 (pp. 9–10). Also significant in this context is the survival of manifestly archaic traditions of Merlin as captured Wild Man (i.e. silvestris) in Brittany: cf. Mary-Ann Constantine, ‘Neither Flesh nor Fowl: Merlin as Bird-Man in Breton Folk Tradition’, in Arthurian Literature XXI, ed. Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 95–114. It is hard to envisage this material arising either from the little-known Latin Vita Merlini or from the late and cursory ascription of Wild Man poetry to Myrddin envisaged by Padel. ‘La gwerz de Skolan et la légende de Merlin’, Ethnologie française 1 (1971), 19–54 (p. 46).

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II

THE ENCHANTRESS, THE KNIGHT AND THE CLERIC: AUTHORIAL SURROGATES IN ARTHURIAN ROMANCE Carolyne Larrington Introduction The clerics who composed historical works and vernacular romances in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries frequently figured themselves as authors and as clerks within their texts. Their self-depictions could vary widely, from the jongleurs (one eponymously named Juglet) in the work of Jean Renart and Gerbert de Montreuil, to the hermit, chosen by Christ, or the confessor-priest in the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, to the enchantress or magician, epitomized by Merlin himself. Insular historians, as David Rollo has argued in Glamorous Sorcery, point up for their varying audiences – the literate and the not-so-literate – the possibility that their texts include both fact and fiction, truth and artifice, that fabula, often concealing a deeper kind of truth, may be at work in such texts as William of Malmes­bury’s Gesta regum Anglorum or Gerald of Wales’s Topographia and Expugnatio Hibernica. The clerical historian, Rollo suggests, calls attention to his artifice by consistently evoking [a] surrogate author projected as magician and the written medium he controls designated through a lexicon that collapses the verbal arts with glamorous sorcery (gramaire/grimoire), performative conjuring (praestigia), intoned spells (incantationes), and drugs capable of seducing, bewitching, transforming, or curing those to whom they are administered (medicamenta/medicamina).

In his consideration of Benoît de Sainte-Maure’s self-presentation in the Roman de Troie, and more so in his concluding remarks about Chrétien’s Cligés, Rollo expands the domain of the author-magician figure from  

J. W. Baldwin, Aristocratic Life in Medieval France: The Romances of Jean Renart and Gerbert de Montreuil, 1190–1250 (Baltimore, 2000), pp. 21–30. D. Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery: Magic and Literacy in the High Middle Ages (Minneapolis and London, 2000), p. xiii.

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chronicle into twelfth-century romance. Chrétien, he maintains, aims to enact a generic separation between history and romance in Cligés by presenting ‘his own artifice as a form of creative necromancy’. Taking my departure from the arguments of Rollo and Michelle Freeman, and engaging with the work of Jane Burns and Miranda Griffin on authors and authority in the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, in this essay I explore the authormagician identification in Arthurian romance in both France and England. I will analyse magical figures, including Merlin and his enchantress pupils, who operate as authorial surrogates in using transformation, illusion and artifice within courtly fiction. They not only stage and direct local narratives in which they figure, but also gesture towards and comment on deeper truths about chevalerie, critically considered from the standpoint of clergie. Their clerical affinities vary from text to text; some versions of the magician are self-conscious wielders of the technology of literacy, others are closely aligned with an understanding of chivalry originating in the Church, others again are intent on fabulation and illusion in pursuit of moral inquiry.

The clerc as Shaper of Chivalry In her discussion of Cligés Michelle Freeman makes an important distinction between the matière that Chrétien works with, and his view of his own achievement in reworking the classical tropes provided by translatio studii. ‘It is my opinion’, Freeman asserts, ‘that clergie is poetically opposed to chevalerie in the context of what might be called Chrétien’s patriotism; clergie is what takes place here and quite seriously in France. Chevalerie, on the other hand, may be ridiculed or criticised in what follows’. The authors of twelfth- and early thirteenth-century Arthurian texts, whether named or unnamed, belonged to a newly emergent literate class within courtly society. Even before the Gregorian reforms were fully put into effect, Stephen Jaeger argues that the ethical ideals which would bring about the Prozess der Zivilisation (in Elias’s terms) for the military elite were in fact ‘native to another social class: the educated members of 

 



R. Trachsler notes ‘a kind of symbiosis between romance and historiography’ in ‘A Question of Time: Romance and History’, in A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, ed. C. Dover (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 23–32 (p. 24). Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery, p. 169. Rollo’s observations draw on M. Freeman, The Poetics of ‘Translation Studii’ and ‘Conjointure’ (Lexington, KY, 1979), pp. 91–139. For a positive estimation of chivalry as evolving to protect Holy Church, see R. Barber, ‘Chivalry, Cistercianism and the Grail’, in Dover, A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, pp. 3–12 (pp. 5–8). I have argued that Arthurian enchantresses systematically interrogate the parameters and limitations of chivalry in my recent book, King Arthur’s Enchantresses (London, 2006). In this essay I expand the argument begun there about the relationship between clerical authors and the enchantress-figures they create. Freeman, The Poetics of ‘Translatio Studii’, p. 40.

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courts, the curiales who served kings, bishops, and secular princes, and the entire class of men who aspired to that position.’ These curiales were at first primarily of noble origin. In the twelfth century however, cathedral schools began to open their doors to talented youths from lower social classes, as well as the sons of nobility; now that the newly centralized governments, and even baronial households required literate officials, curiales performing a whole range of clerical functions, the schools could be a ladder to social preferment. A good number of the clergie however were younger sons from the nobility, competing directly with their secular brothers and cousins for preferment and influence, ‘occupying a space of potential ideological conflict’. Thus the basis of power for the clerical élite within a secular court did not lie in noble birth, wealth and military achievement, nor was it marked by a public and knowable genealogy and the holding of the right to bear arms. Rather it was rooted in mysterious and culturally invisible intellectual attainments, made visible in the practices of literacy or demonstrated in courtly discourse. The author(s) of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle was or were most likely clerics with aristocratic backgrounds and an intimate knowledge of the chivalric life in employment at secular courts; yet their education would have separated them from the world which they depict.10 Whether they sprang from an ambitious peasantry or from a high noble background, members of the clerical class were by virtue of their election of education as a career fundamentally not, or no longer, knightly. Hence the clerically composed romances did not merely mirror the values of the chivalric audience who consumed them, but, as Jaeger suggests, these texts work dynamically both to create and to critique those values, reconfiguring them with distinctively clerical emphases.11 Since the romances are by definition about knights and the quest for honour, clerics were excluded as actors in romance narrative. They could write themselves back into chivalric discourse only in limited ways: as hermits with recondite interpretative knowledge, as literate amanuenses, diligently recording the narratives of Arthur’s court or, in a move which brings into prominence and celebrates the prized clerical skills of literacy and verbal creativity, as Merlin and his enchantress-pupils. Adumbrating Jaeger to some degree, Ad Putter has argued very precisely that in the case of Chrétien’s poetry and the works of the Gawain-poet, 

  10 11

C. S. Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness – Civilizing Trends and the Formation of Courtly Ideals – 939–1210 (Philadelphia, 1985), p. 4; N. Elias, Über den Prozess der Zivilisation: Soziogenetische und psychogenetische Untersuchungen, 2nd edn repr. (Frankfurt, 1979). A. Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1986), p. 216. A. Putter, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and French Arthurian Romance (Oxford, 1995), pp. 197–8. See C. Dover, ‘The Book of Lancelot’, in Dover, A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, pp. 87–93 (p. 87). Jaeger, Origins, p. 209.

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the values promoted in these romances are not exclusively those of chevalerie.12 Both authors aim to inculcate clerical values of courtesy, selfcontrol, and enthusiasm for learning and for abstract thinking in a secular context: The translatio of the traditional bellator and his way of life into an ideal of the courtly knight who is pacified, well-mannered and diplomatic is perhaps best regarded as an effort … to adapt a chivalric ideology to the demands of a changing society, and to make these adaptations attractive.13

These civilizing concepts were not accepted into an understanding of what constitutes knightliness without a struggle. Jaeger documents clerical opposition to courtly values – Saxo Grammaticus’s denunciation of the effete manners at the court of Ingeld is a case in point.14 Indeed in a number of texts – the Lancelot and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in particular – courtly values tend to be promoted in a distinctively femalegendered domain, risking accusations of effeminacy.15 But the clear connection between women and courtesy translates into the requirement for the knight to cultivate civilized values in order to secure romantic love, and thus guarantee his ‘heteronormativity’.16 It is a powerful incentive to the acquisition and display of such talents, as embodied in Lancelot, Gauvain, and his English counterpart, Gawain; feminized and intellectual values provide a pay off for the knight in terms of sexual success and enhanced status within courtly society.

Historians Writing Arthurian Magic Geoffrey of Monmouth, as Rollo observes, is ‘the first author of the Insular tradition to embrace magic as the sign of his own power and to manifest no hesitation in promulgating potentially beguiling fictions … He precipitated the confusion between historia and fabula that was to preoccupy authors for the rest of the century’.17 In the Arthurian context, Geoffrey’s magic is ascribed most markedly to Merlin, whose powers are deployed on behalf of a succession of kings: Vortigern, Ambrosius and Uther. For Vortigern, Merlin performs clairvoyance, identifying the cause of the nightly collapse of Vortigern’s tower, and prophesying the coming vengeance of the sons of Constantine; for Aurelius Ambrosius, he trans12 13 14 15 16 17

Putter, Sir Gawain, pp. 188–229. Putter, Sir Gawain, p. 228. Jaeger, Origins, pp. 176–94; Saxo Grammaticus, History of the Danes, Books I–IX, ed. H. EllisDavidson, trans. P. Fisher (Cambridge, 1979–80), pp. 183–95. Jaeger, Origins, p. 191; see also Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 51–73. The phrase is Dorsey Armstrong’s; see D. Armstrong, Gender and the Chivalric Community in Malory’s Morte d’Arthur (Gainesville, 2003), pp. 17–18. Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery, p. 158.

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ports the stones of the Giants’ Dance to Salisbury Plain, while for Uther he brings about shape-changing through illusion, creating the fiction that it is Gorlois who lies with Ygerna on the night Arthur is conceived. Uther enthusiastically performs the fabula which Merlin constructs for him, both in his outward appearance and in his elaborately mendacious language: ‘Deceperat namque eam falsa specie quam assumpserat. Deceperat etiam ficticiis sermonibus, quos ornate componebat’ (He had deceived her by the disguise which he had taken. He had deceived her, too, by the lying things that he said to her, things which he planned with great skill).18 Magic thus creates and marks the origin of the Arthurian biography in insular tradition, though Merlin recedes from the narrative after Arthur’s conception and magic plays no part in Geoffrey’s account of Arthur’s polity. It is only at the end of the king’s life that magic reappears, and in a highly occluded form, in the reference to Arthur’s departure to Avalon to be healed of his wounds.19 In the generically very different Vita Merlini, Geoffrey elaborates both Arthur’s final place of rest and the magic that surrounds him there, a healing magic in the gift of Morgen (as she is called in this text), entirely distinct from the powers of Merlin. Both historians and romance-writers operate a dual order of fictionality when discussing the powers of such magical figures. The uneducated believe that magic – like the power of literacy – is supernatural in origin. William of Malmesbury observes of the illiterate: ‘quod soleat populus litteratorum famam laedere, dicens illum loqui cum daemone quem in aliquo viderint excellentem opere’ (that the common people tend to slight the fame of the lettered, saying that anyone they see to excel in a given field must converse with a demon).20 Gerald of Wales, a historian who deploys the tropes of magic and fabulation most freely in his work, sceptically notes that Morgan is believed by ‘fabulosi Britones et eorum cantores’ (fanciful Britons and their poets) to be ‘dea quaedam phantastica’ (some kind of goddess), deliberately distancing both himself and at least part of his Latin-literate audience from the truth of this asseveration. Gervase of Tilbury calls the enchantress ‘Morganda fatata’ (Morgan the fairy) in a context which notes that the British fancifully (‘fabulose’) believe that Arthur will return.21 The author of the Vulgate Lancelot is more robust when he calls attention to the doubled understanding of magic as both ‘real’ and figurative: ‘maintes gens – dont a cel tens avoit molt de foles 18

19 20 21

Geoffrey of Monmouth, The Historia Regum Britannie of Geoffrey of Monmouth, ed. N. Wright, vol. I: Bern, Burgerbibliothek, MS. 568 (Cambridge, 1984–88), p. 98; History of the Kings of Britain, trans. L. Thorpe (Harmondsworth, 1966), p. 207. Historia Regum Brittanie, ed. Wright, p. 132; History of the Kings, trans. Thorpe, p. 261. William of Malmesbury, De Gestis regum Anglorum, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols. (London,1887–9), I, 2.167, p.193. Trans. in Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery, p. xii; see also p. 174. Gerald of Wales, Speculum Ecclesiae in Opera Giraldi Cambrensis, ed. J. S. Brewer, J. F. Dimock and G. F. Warner, 8 vols. (London, 1861–91), IV, ed. J. S. Brewer, pp. 48–9; Gervase of Tilbury, Otia Imperialia, ed. and trans. S. E. Banks and J. W. Binns (Oxford, 2002), pp. 428–9.

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par tot le païs – … l’apeloient Morgue la dieuesse’ (many people – there was no dearth of fools at that time through the countryside – … called her Morgan the goddess).22 Such beliefs are fit now only for the rustici, the uneducated who are the butt of clerical contempt.23 Yet Rollo’s observation that ‘[t]he use of sorcery as a figure for writing attests a recognised cultural phenomenon, perfectly comprehensible not only to the bilingual, but also, and more importantly, to the less proficient who supposedly made this association in the first place’, permeates the act of writing itself whether in chronicle or romance.24 Insular historians, the first narrators of Arthurian biography, are the first to deploy the author-magician trope. The trope appears also in romance and in French tradition; Benoït’s Roman de Troie contains a number of magician figures, including Medea, the archetype of the learned enchantress in subsequent romance and an influence on the development of Morgain la fée.25 Michelle Freeman demonstrates how, in his most self-conscious work Cligés, Chrétien places the enchantress Thessala at the mid-point of his romance. Thessala boasts that she herself surpasses Medea in magical learning before she begins to create the magic potions which enable the heroine Fenice’s designs. Thessala’s concoction, Freeman argues, operates as a metaphor for Chrétien’s own creative process: just as Thessala blends, compounds, thickens and tempers her ingredients, so Chrétien compounds together motifs, themes and tropes from earlier literature (most notably the Roman de Troie, the Roman d’Eneas, and above all Béroul’s Tristan) in a smoothly integrated (conjoint), poetic artifice. Chrétien and Thessala, suggests Freeman, ‘are the male and female counterparts of one another, mutually supportive as they reinforce one another’s endeavors in a poetically constructed conjointure, thanks to which translatio studii is served and celebrated’.26 The named author-poet – even if we know as little about him as we do about Chrétien – thus writes himself into his text, exulting in the creativity and artifice of the enchanter and, in the case of Thessala, the enchantress. In these romances, the magician creates something, a medicamen in the case of Thessala (echoing Geoffrey’s Merlin), or a building: the elaborate alabaster chamber in which Hector is healed by Broz the Apulian in the Roman de Troie, noted by Rollo, or the tomb of Camilla in the Roman d’Eneas, adduced by Freeman.27 Whether architectural 22

23 24 25

26 27

Lancelot: roman en prose du XIIIe siècle, ed. A. Micha, 8 vols. (Geneva, 1978–82), I, 275; Lancelot-Grail: The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation, trans. N. J. Lacy et al., 5 vols. (New York, 1993–6), II, 305, my punctuation, hereafter cited as L-G. Murray, Reason and Society, pp. 237–44. Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery, p. 81. See N. McDonald, Divers folk diversely they seyde: A Study of the Figure of Medea in Medieval Literature (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, Oxford, 1994), pp. 62–89; Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, p. 9. Freeman, Poetics of ‘Translatio Studii’, p. 139. Rollo, Glamorous Sorcery, pp. 87–93; Freeman, Poetics of ‘Translatio Studii’, p. 141.

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or pharmaceutical, these creations allude to the art of fiction within the romance text: a highly wrought, efficacious and aesthetically pleasing object is brought into existence, symbolizing the text itself and coding its maker as kin to the author.

Merlin, his Authors and his Scribes The Arthurian prose romances are less highly wrought and self-consciously fictive than Chrétien’s poetry; the use of prose in romance, as Richard Trachsler argues, like the prose of the historiographer signals an orientation towards the truth as historia.28 Since we know nothing of the actual authors of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, the identification of author and mage in these texts is, at first sight, less certain; or at least the mage performs some other function beyond calling attention to the sens, to the artistry of the text. There is however a plethora of pseudo-authors enacting what Jane Burns calls the ‘fictions of authority’, foremost among whom is Merlin, ‘the master artificer and fictional paradigm of authorship’.29 Indeed he can be viewed in the Vulgate Merlin and the Post-Vulgate Suite as a new type of courtly hero-as-intellectual.30 This Merlin is not the hybrid chevalierclerc of the Prophesies de Merlin who will be discussed below, but rather a representative of the rising clerical élite.31 Jane Burns and Miranda Griffin have laid bare the differing authorial and narrative personae in the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, beginning with Christ as the Ur-Author of the livret delivered to the author of the Estoire del Saint Graal.32 Robert de Boron is also credited with a role in the authorship of the Estoire; he is said to have rendered the livret into French. It is he ‘qui ceste estoire tranlata de latin en romanz après celui saint hermite a cui Nostre Sires la livra premierement’ (who translated it from Latin into French after Our Lord first gave it to that holy hermit).33 In the Cycle’s second book Merlin emerges as a remarkable freshly re-imagined figure: ‘[with] his many faces, Merlin gives the romance its momentum and even seems to manage the formation of history into

28 29 30 31 32 33

See Trachsler, ‘A Question of Time’, pp. 28–9; M. Griffin, The Object and the Cause in the Vulgate Cycle (Oxford, 2005), pp. 84–8. E. J. Burns, Arthurian Fictions: Rereading the Vulgate Cycle (Columbus, 1985), p. 24. B. Lundt, Melusine und Merlin im Mittelalter: Entwürfe und Modelle weiblicher Existenz im Beziehungs-Diskurs der Geschlechter (Munich, 1991), pp. 190–97. See Murray, Reason and Society, pp. 217–18. Burns, Arthurian Fictions, pp. 16–18; L’Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. J-P. Ponceau, 2 vols. (Paris, 1997), II, 391, 478, 519, 546. Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. Ponceau, II, 391; L-G, I, 112. See Burns, Arthurian Fictions, pp. 35–40; Griffin, The Object, pp. 95–6; and, for a full account of Robert de Boron, F. Bogdanow, ‘Robert de Boron’s Vision of Arthurian History’, in Arthurian Literature XIV, ed. J. Carley and F. Riddy (1996), pp. 19–52.

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romance’.34 Indeed Merlin takes over the composition of the Merlin proper from its original narrator; as soon as he is weaned he seizes narrative responsibility for time past, explaining the circumstances of his own conception and that of the judge who is trying Merlin’s mother on a charge of fornication.35 Later in the text he is shown dictating the plot of the Estoire and his own prehistory to his confessor and scriptor Master Blaise, becoming responsible within the time-frame of the text for the recording of events in both the distant and the recent past. Moreover, in his prophecies, Merlin narrates the events of time future.36 The Queste purports to be narrated by Bors, eyewitness to the story’s climaxes at Corbenic and Sarras, but it is also said to be written down by assorted scribes and preserved in the library at Salisbury. Finally, so the text tells us, the story is re-written (meaning, perhaps, translated) by Walter Map. The text’s suggestion that Map is its author originates in the Queste, but, in a linking and unifying manoeuvre, Map as ostensible Queste-author is invoked in the last lines of the Lancelot and and the first lines of the Mort Artu.37 Though the Queste plays freely with multiple authorities, translators and narrators, its real composer is reluctant to relinquish the fantasy of power as deriving from books. He inscribes interpretative authority in the various hermit figures who appear from time to time to criticize the practice of worldly chivalry and to decode the allegorical significance of the adventures the knights experience.38 Magical figures cannot act as authorial surrogates in the Queste; what appears as magic there is ascribed to the miraculous, originating in the power of God, or to the diabolical, but not to the marvellous with its rational, if hidden, explanation, the domain in which the enchanter operates. Merlin then is the most substantial author-figure within the LancelotGrail Cycle, his narrative dutifully transcribed by Blaise. When he is finally imprisoned and silenced, as Griffin notes, his last utterance, his despairing cry from the tomb itself gives rise to a problematic and illusory text, the Conte du Brait, or Story of the Cry. This text haunts both the Lancelot-Grail and Post-Vulgate Cycles as part of the immanent Arthurian narrative (‘li contes del commun’ as it is called early in the Lancelot), the intertextual universe containing those narratives which have not been 34 35 36

37

38

A. Combes, ‘The Merlin and its Suite’, in Dover, A Companion to the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, pp. 75–85 (p. 78). The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, ed. H. O. Sommer, 7 vols. (Washington DC, 1908–16), II, 12–18; L-G, I, 173–5. Vulgate Version, ed. Sommer, II, 73–4; Griffin, The Object, pp. 31–3; Combes, ‘The Merlin’, pp. 80–3. See also A. Berthelot, Figures et fonction de l’ecrivain au XIIIe siècle (Montreal and Paris, 1991). Lancelot, ed. Micha, VI, 244; L-G, III, 338; La Queste del saint graal, ed. A. Pauphilet (Paris, 1921), p. 280; L-G, IV, 87; La Mort Artu, ed. J. Frappier, 3rd edn (Geneva, 1964), p. 1; L-G, IV, 91. Further on Walter Map, see E. J. Burns, ‘Introduction’, in L-G, I, xxi–xxii. For discussion of the hermit as a new kind of cleric, introduced into vernacular literature by Chrétien, see Baldwin, Aristocratic Life, pp. 213–34.

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preserved in surviving texts.39 The Brait probably never existed – it was generated most likely by a scribal error for Brut: ‘a fictitious fiction [that] acts as a memorial to the possibility of completeness in the Arthurian canon’ as Griffin comments; yet this tradition signals the status of Merlin as Ur-author in the universe of Arthurian intertext.40 Once Merlin is silenced, his role as master-artificer, arch-clerc and shaper of Arthurian story is dissipated within the Cycle. Blaise too fades from the scene after Merlin bids him a final farewell, and the narration of the quest to find Merlin is left to the actors themselves, the knights who take part in the fruitless search for him and recount their adventures when they return to Camelot.41 Thus the Lancelot is largely narrated by li contes, the story itself, reiterated in such phrases as ‘che dist li contes’ (according to the story) or ‘Chi endroit dist li contes’ (At this point the story recounts), as Burns and Griffin observe.42 No authorial figure is introjected; Blaise’s role as scriptor is distributed among numerous nameless clercs and no one, not even the Dame du Lac, exactly succeeds to Merlin’s intellectual status. The Lancelot was most likely the first of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle texts to be composed, and consequently the question of how it figures its author is not closely attended to. In the other works of the Cycle, which must adapt themselves to the Lancelot if coherence across the Cycle is to be achieved, authors and transmission processes are given greater emphasis. Thus the Merlin, probably the final text to be incorporated into the Cycle, is, as Griffin notes, ‘a text with a lot of explaining to do’.43 It is the Merlin, as we have seen, which pulls together the fictive authors within and external to the text, accounting for the acts of composition, their writing down and even the texts’ supposed translation into the vernacular. In the Prophesies de Merlin the sage’s entombment by the Dame du Lac neither silences Merlin’s prophetic voice nor ends the author’s narrative. Before his imprisonment Merlin employed a series of amanuenses whose task was to collect and transcribe his prophecies: Master Blaise, his mother’s confessor, and a certain Master Tholomer, succeeded by Master Antoine. Once Merlin is incarcerated, the Dame du Lac’s lover, Méliadus, in a fascinating textual move, assumes the role of go-between, mediating Merlin’s words to the amanuenses, abandoning, it seems, the life of cheva39

40 41 42 43

Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 243; L-G, II, 57 and n. 4. The late medieval Spanish El Baladro del Sabio Merlin (The Shriek of Merlin the Sage) makes reference to the Brait-tradition in its title, but it is actually based on an earlier Hispanic translation of the Merlin material in the Post-Vulgate Roman du Graal. See Baladro del Sabio Merlin, in The New Arthurian Encyclopedia, ed. N. J. Lacy (New York and London, 1991), p. 31. Griffin, The Object, pp. 91–3 gives a clear account of the Conte de Brait. Vulgate Version, ed. Sommer, II, 458; L-G, I, 420. Burns, Arthurian Fictions, pp. 13, 41–2; Griffin, The Object, p. 104; Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 12, L-G, II, 5; Lancelot, ed. Micha VII, 44, L-G, I, 13. M. Griffin, ‘Writing out the Sin: Arthur, Charlemagne and the Spectre of Incest’, Neophilologus 88 (2004), 499–519 (p. 513); see also Griffin, The Object, p. 48.

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lerie for that of clergie and becoming a hybrid ‘chevalier-clerc’.44 Ordinary knights are not permitted to approach Merlin’s tomb; a party who try to force Méliadus to lead them to the summit of the Quaking Mountain (‘le montagne qui debatoit’), where Merlin rests, are swallowed up by the earth.45 Nor can the learned, however clever they may be, displace Méliadus from his role; an expedition undertaken by Morgain and her three enchantress friends to find Merlin fails, and Master Antoine accepts his place as lowly scribe in the hierarchical transmission of knowledge.46 The text’s final amanuensis, the Sage Clerc de Gales, importunes Méliadus to lead him to Merlin so that he may confer directly with the author of the prophecies he so diligently transcribes.47 However, direct access is forbidden to him; the closest that the Sage Clerc can come to usurping the intimate relationship between the Dame’s past and present lovers is a distant aerial view of Merlin’s tomb. The Sage Clerc is enabled, through a prophecy from Merlin delivered by Méliadus who is not unsympathetic to the Clerc’s longings, to locate the stone in which Merlin’s demon father is imprisoned and, through his knowledge of ‘yngremance’ (necromancy), he compels the demonic rock to fly with him across the world.48 The sequence marvellously embodies clerical fantasies of unmediated knowledge and power. Preserved from mortal harm by the prayers of Perceval, the Sage Clerc loses all his hair to the burning ether, but he views all the heavens and the earth before finally he hovers over Merlin’s mountain-top, unable to approach closer. The stone returns him unharmed to Camelot where the Clerc now accepts his role as amanuensis with good grace.49 The contest between knight and cleric for the monopoly of knowledge and the mediation of authority and authorship is at stake in this section of the Prophesies; it is highly suggestive that it is a hybrid figure who succeeds in retaining privileged access to prophetic secrets, and that the Clerc, however ingenious and sage he may be, is firmly relegated to the amanuensis role. The chevalier successfully assimilates himself to the world of knowledge inhabited by Merlin, the Dame and the Clerc. Yet 44

45

46 47 48 49

See Prophécies de Merlin, ed. L. A. Paton, 2 vols. (New York and London, 1926), I, 183–5; Prophesies de Merlin (Codex Bodmer 116), ed. A. Berthelot (Cologny-Genève, 1992), pp. 107– 11. For discussion of Méliadus’s singular role see N. Koble, ‘Le chevalier au tombeau: pèlerinages à la tombe prophétique dans le Prophesies de Merlin de Richart d’Irlande’, in Le Monde et l’Autre Monde: Actes du colloque arthurien de Rennes (8–9 mars 2001), ed. D. Hüe and C. FerlampinAcher (Orléans, 2002), pp. 223–37. Prophécies, ed. Paton, I, 218; Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, pp. 129–30. Translations my own. On the dual meaning of ‘debatoit’ see Koble, ‘Le chevalier au tombeau’, p. 228: the Quaking Mountain is also shaken by ‘la résonance de la voix prophétique qui émane du tombeau’ (the resonance of the prophetic voice emanating from the tomb). Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, pp. 376–7. Prophécies, ed. Paton, I, 208; Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, p. 123. Prophécies, ed. Paton, I, 231–40; see Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, pp. 134–6 for the Sage Clerc’s adventures on the flying stone; cf. Koble, ‘Le chevalier au tombeau’, pp. 227–9. For discussion of the scribes of Merlin, see Prophécies, ed. Paton, II, 301–27; for the role of the Sage Clerc in particular, Prophécies, ed. Paton, II, 316–20.

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the competition between knight and clerk is resolved in mutual affection and co-operation: ‘lors li [the Sage Clerc] vint a recontre Melyadus et l’embracha mout, dont il fissent mout grant joie et grant leece li uns a l’autre’ (then he came to meet Méliadus and embraced him warmly, for they gained great joy and delight from each other).50 The cleric, however brave and adventurous he may be, cannot in this later thirteenth-century work exclude the knight from the process of authorship and transmission, but he can demand that he fulfil his appointed function: ‘Melyadus … s’en ala a la roce Mierlin pour obeir al Sage Clerc’ (Méliadus … went away to Merlin’s rock to obey the Sage Clerc).51 The Prophesies thus splits and complicates the authorial role; prophet, knight and amanuensis work together to bring into being a text imagined as ‘oscillant entre ces trois figures de clergie’ (oscillating between these three figures of clergie), reinscribing a chivalric identity into the process of creating a text.52

From Enchanter to Enchantress Could the courtly-clerical authors of Arthurian romance perform the gender leap from male to female, making enchantresses equal with male magicians as authorial surrogates? Roberta Krueger asserts, ‘[if] professional differences distance the clerk from the chivalric ideals of male nobles, his gender separates him more acutely from the feminine culture of noblewomen’; but I suggest that the enchantress-figures of later Arthurian romance both could and did offer a potential site of identification for their authors, providing a position from which, under cover of the feminine, some of the excesses and contradictions of knightliness can be interrogated.53 Benoît deploys the university-educated Medea as a dynamic figure in the Roman de Troie; Thessala, as Freeman argues, has already emerged in Cligés as an authorial substitute in her magical creativity. Once Merlin disappears early in the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, it is his pupils the enchantresses who come to embody the creative use of literacy, the powers of artifice and, very often, of making things happen. Just as Chaucer’s Pandarus doubles the fictive narrator of Troilus in taking the action forward and ultimately propelling the lovers into one another’s arms, so Morgain la fée, in particular, sets up not one, but two major works of enchantment: the Val sans Retour and the plot(s) of Sir Gawain

50 51 52 53

Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, p. 138. Prophesies, ed. Berthelot, p. 138. Koble, ‘Le Chevalier au tombeau’, p. 237. R. L. Krueger, ‘Desire, Meaning and the Female Reader: The Problem in Chrétien’s Charrete’, in The Passing of Arthur: New Essays in Arthurian Tradition, ed. C. Baswell and W. Sharpe (New York, 1988), pp. 31–51, reprinted in Lancelot and Guinevere: A Casebook, ed. L. J. Walters (New York and London, 2002), pp. 229–245 (p. 232).

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and the Green Knight.54 These are intended to interrogate the fit between the chivalric pressure for aventure and virtù and the civilized values of courtesy, elegant conversation, emotional intimacy (affabilitas, amicitia) and probity, ME trawþe, the capacity to be truthful. So too the Dame du Lac creates the ideal knight in her life’s work, Lancelot, training him in an idealized version of knighthood which, as her celebrated lecture on chivalry makes clear, has a marked clerical inflection.55 Viviane, in her various forms, most notably perhaps in Malory’s Nynyve, also works to inculcate a feminized and courtly set of values into Arthur’s homosocial and hypermasculine court.56 Just as sorcery operates as a figure for literacy in twelfth-century texts, so, conversely in the Arthurian universe, literacy becomes an index and a necessary precondition of sorcery. In the Merlin Morgain acquires literacy when her husband sends her to a convent after her marriage. For her knowledge (‘clergie’), understanding of medicine (‘fisique’), and her ‘sens’ (intelligence), she gains the by-name la fée.57 Thus she is already a ‘boine clergesse’ (a good female clerk), when she meets Merlin and begins to learn the techniques of magic, ‘maintes merueilles … dastrenomie & dingremance’ (many wonders in astrology and necromancy).58 In the Post-Vulgate Suite de Merlin she is already acquainted with the ‘set ars’ (seven arts) of the medieval university curriculum when she meet Merlin at Lot’s funeral. Merlin initiates Morgain into ‘la scienche d’ingromanchie et l’art’ (the science and art of necromancy), but her fear of Merlin’s fol amor causes her to break off her study.59 Bookishness is endemic in enchantresses. In the Prophesies de Merlin, Morgain is depicted as consulting her compendium of spells in a magic contest against another of Merlin’s pupils, the Dame d’Avalon.60 Books underpin the power of Gamille, the enchantress of the Saxon Rock, ‘car par ses livres feroit elle corre une aigue contre-mont’ (for with her books she could make water flow uphill). When Kay burns the books contained in her chests Gamille flings herself from the Rock and is seriously, perhaps fatally injured, for ‘elle amast miels a avoir perdu tels iiii castiaus que sez livres’ (she would rather have lost any four castles than her books).61 54 55 56

57 58 59 60 61

See Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 51–73 for detailed discussion of these adventures. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 247–58; L-G, II, 58–61. Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 97–121; G. Heng, ‘Enchanted Ground: The Feminine Subtext in Malory’, in Arthurian Women, ed. T. S. Fenster (New York, 1996), pp. 97–113 and now A. Kaufman, ‘The Law of the Lake: Malory’s Sovereign Lady’, Arthuriana 17.3 (2007), 56–73. Merlin: roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. A. Micha (Geneva, 1979), p. 72; L-G, I, 208. Vulgate Version, ed. Sommer, II, 254; L-G, I, 307. La Suite du Roman de Merlin, ed. G. Roussineau, 2 vols. (Geneva, 1996), I, 119–20. Prophesies de Merlin, ed. Berthelot, p. 341. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VIII, 481–2; L-G, II, 236; see also E. Kennedy, Lancelot and the Grail (Oxford, 1986), p. 140.

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Viviane in the Merlin is already literate at the age of twelve when she first encounters the enchanter; she diligently records in writing the first spell Merlin imparts to her. In the Lancelot Ninianne writes down everything Merlin teaches her and uses script as a talisman, inscribing two magic words, ‘ii nons de conjuremens’, on her loins so that Merlin cannot have sex with her.62 Beyond exercising their literacy skills (they frequently write letters in the Prophesies de Merlin) the enchantresses fictionalize, creating artifice and illusion. They stage and direct complex inscenations, often inscribed in the romance landscape.63 The Dame du Lac maintains an elaborate disguise for her realm, a body of water which conceals her estate and its manors. In some texts (e.g. the Post-Vulgate Suite de Merlin) the illusion of the lake is established by Merlin; the Lancelot does not elaborate on its origin, but it is clear here that the Lake’s magic is controlled, if not originally generated, by the Dame and her agents.64 Beneath the lake she arranges for Lancelot’s education and that of his cousins, taking care that he is equipped for a knightly career (in contradistinction to the defective education provided to Lancelot’s literary relative, Lanzelet, who cannot learn to ride in his sea-fairy abode).65 The sentimental maternal feelings with which the Dame is credited, primarily for Lancelot, but also for his cousins Lionel and Bors, are balanced in the enfances-narrative with a striking emphasis on the younger boys’ affection for their tutors, Lambegue and Pharian. The warmth of this relationship contrasts with the cruelty and inflexibility of Lancelot’s tutor, who has no intuitive understanding of courtliness. Lambegue and Pharian are knights, yet they too function as hybrid clerc-nobles, operating in the domain of the clerical author. Thus, although the romance’s audience does not witness any actual learning taking place, the author seizes the opportunity to delineate the tutorpupil relationship as an intimate and highly valued one, emphasizing the importance of the clerical role in the formation of young chevaliers. So when the first of the tutors arrives at the Dame’s manor, Lancelot emerges from his room to find a delighted little Bors announcing gleefully, and to Lionel’s chagrin, that his tutor has come for him:

62

63

64 65

Vulgate Version, ed. Sommer, II, 211–12; L-G, I, 282–3; Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 42; Vulgate Version, ed. Sommer, III, 22; my translation. On Viviane’s learning, see further Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 14–17; 100–110. Among these inscenations should be included the settings chosen by Vivien / Viviane / the damoiselle cacheresse for the entombment of Merlin; see Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 97–121. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 44; L-G, II, 12. The MHG Lanzelet, composed by Ulrich von Zatzikhoven, dates from around 1200–04. See N. McLelland, Ulrich von Zatzikhoven’s Lanzelet: Narrative Style and Entertainment, Arthurian Studies 46 (Cambridge, 2000), p. 27. On Lanzelet’s enfances see M. Meyer, ‘Das defizitäre Wunder – Die Feenjugend des Helden’, in Das Wunderbare in der arthurischen Literatur: Probleme und Perspektiven, ed. F. Wolfzettel (Tübingen, 2003), pp. 95–112.

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Mais li premerains de tous cheus qui l’aperchut, che fu Bohors qui el giron son maistre gisoit, si cort maintenant a li et dist ‘Sire veés chi mon maistre qui venus est!’ (But the first person in the crowd to notice him was Bors, who was sitting in his tutor’s lap. Bors ran up to him and said, ‘My lord, look! My tutor has come!’)66

The Dame devises the artifice and splendour of Lancelot’s entry into Camelot. He is superbly equipped and clothed from head to foot in eyecatching, symbolic silver-white, with a horse to match. En route for Camelot she busies herself with further instruction in courtly mores: ‘li aprent et enseigne comment il se contendra a la court le roi Artu et as autres u il vendra’ (teaching him to behave at the court of Arthur and at the others he would come to).67 The Dame’s foreknowledge is concealed from the audience, but, as is made clear in subsequent plot developments, it determines the timing of Lancelot’s arrival at the court. He is to be knighted on the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist, not only because that is an auspicious day, but because a speedy knighting will position him to undertake the adventure of the Dame de Nohaut, which in turn leads to the complex series of events at Dolorous Garde. For however much she may fabulate, the enchantress has access to historia, the knowledge of what has happened in the past or is happening elsewhere in li contes. Like the clerc-author and indeed like Merlin, she strictly rations the dissemination of this information, declaring what she knows only when it suits her, and often delivering it in small increments, teaching and testing those who question her. Thus the Dame du Lac conceals the truth of Lancelot’s origins from him, consistently lying to him about his ancestry. From the calculated timing of Lancelot’s knighthood, noted above, and the mise-en-scène of the Dolorous Garde it is clear that the Dame knows in advance the plot of Lancelot’s initial adventure. Indeed the climax of Lancelot’s ordeal is largely directed by her agent Saraïde, who controls the flow of information to Lancelot, marking the successive movements of the narrative by the provision of a series of shields with an escalating magical effect. Although her interventions make Lancelot uncomfortable – ‘Ha, damoisele, houni m’avés, qui les me ferés vaincre sans point de ma proeche’ (Ha, my lady, you shame me if you make me win without using my prowess at all) – he cannot refuse them.68 Once Lancelot has lifted the metal slab with its prophetic inscription, ‘qu’il seit bien lire, car maint jor avoit apris’ (which he knew well how to read, for he had studied many a day), the text approvingly notes, 66 67 68

Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 189; L-G, II, 45. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 265; L-G, II, 63. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 329; my translation. For reservations about the use of magical objects, see E. H. Cooper, ‘Magic that does not work’, Medievalia et Humanistica 7 (1976), 131–46.

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he discovers his name and ancestry on the tomb he is destined to occupy.69 The damsel, who has prophesied the revelation from information given her by the Dame, confirms it with her own reading. The agents of the Lake then withdraw for the time being, leaving Lancelot to a less-coherent and less-stage-managed set of adventures before the castle’s former lord is vanquished and the final enchantments lifted. The Dame has not necessarily devised the adventures which Lancelot must undergo; she does not author them in that sense, but ‘bien savoit par son sort, que maintes fois avoit jetee’ (she knows from her frequent casting of lots) how li contes is destined to unfold and she works to facilitate its development.70 The Dame aligns herself most clearly with clergie and its perspectives when she offers her interpretation of the nature of knighthood to the aspirant Lancelot.71 Hers is a religiously orthodox and clerically inflected position, placing relatively little emphasis on the physical demands of knighthood, ‘de grignor force de cors et de menbres’ (stronger bodies and better limbs), which Lancelot identifies as essential. Rather, she suggests, chivalry demands spiritual qualities, ‘les vertus del cuer qui a chent double sont plus legieres a avoir que cheles del cors ne sont’ (the powers of the heart, which are a hundred times easier to have than the powers of the body).72 Physical strength is genetically transmitted, says the Dame, but ‘les vertus del cuer’ (the powers of the heart) can be acquired by anyone. She obfuscates the question of rank in listing the essential attributes of the knight: to be courteous, gracious, compassionate, generous and helpful. ‘Chevaliers fu establis outreement por Sainte Eglize garandir, car ele ne se doit revanchier par armes’ (above all, knighthood was established to defend the Holy Church, for the Church cannot take up arms to avenge herself), she states.73 Next, in a typical clerical move, the Dame performs an elaborate allegorical reading of the knight’s appurtenances as having dual secular and religious symbolic functions. This assimilation of chivalry to Christianity, as Putter notes of Abelard and Alain of Lille, exemplifies ‘the semiotization of chivalry’, in Vance’s phrase, strengthening the case for regarding the Dame as an authorial surrogate.74 Her address to Lancelot culminates in a list of great soldiers of God largely drawn from I Maccabees, and of post-Incarnation knights, headed by Joseph of Arimathea and culminating in the unheroic-sounding Helain the Fat.75 In the course of her entirely clerical account of knighthood the Dame also performs authorial and compositorial work, integrating virtuous Old 69 70 71 72 73 74 75

Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 332; my translation. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 244; L-G, II, 58. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 247–58; L-G, II, 58–61. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 247–8; L-G, II, 58–9. Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 250; L-G, II, 59. Putter, Sir Gawain, pp. 223–4; E. Vance, ‘Chrétien’s Yvain and the Ideologies of Change and Exchange’, Yale French Studies 70 (1986), 42–62 (p. 47). (Cited from Putter.) Lancelot, ed. Micha, VII, 255; L-G, II, 60.

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Testament military figures with the heroes of the Estoire and binding the Lancelot more closely to the preceding works in the Cycle. Demonstrating the affinities between the Dame du Lac and her clerical creator is made less problematic by the unqualified support that the Dame shows for chevalerie, albeit a version which is heavily inflected in its initial exposition by clerical interests. Arguing that Morgain also operates as an authorial surrogate is more risky perhaps, yet, later in the Lancelot, and in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Morgain fabulates freely, setting up complex plots which challenge the very basis of chivalry, plots whose illusions and fabulations bring into relief some deeper truths.76 In the episode of the Val sans Retour she creates a locus amoenus, a semi-paradisal landscape of lush grass, clear springs, temperate weather, wellappointed pavilions and even a chapel, placed on the Valley’s boundaries to service the inhabitants’ spiritual needs. Here il avoient de boivre et de mengier quanques il lor estoit mestiers a lor devise et si avoient deduit de pres et de tables et d’eschés et dances et karoles tote jor et deduis de vieles et de harpes et d’autres estrumens. (there was no lack of food and drink, and there were outdoor sports and backgammon and chess; there were dances and carols all day long and the delights of fiddles and harps and other instruments.)

And, the narrator adds, ‘assés i avoit de tiels chevaliers qui molt estoient a aise et de tiels i avoit qui trop avoient anui’ (there were many knights who were very much at ease there, and there were also those who suffered greatly).77 The Valley is, as I have suggested elsewhere, a place where women’s values rule, and where women’s needs are attended to; the activities available to the captive knights do not absolutely promulgate clerical priorities in religious terms, but they contribute to the civilizing process, enhancing the knights’ skills in conversation, wit, affability and recreational activities.78 From the perspective of the majority of the Valley’s captives and for many of the text’s audience, the paradisal aspects of the Val are a dangerous delusion; while the knights are constrained by the rule of women, their honour and reputation in the public arena of chivalry come under threat. Lancelot’s triumph at the Val is brought about by the exercise of pure chevalerie, fuelled by his fidelity to Guinevere and his undaunted courage, the disposition which in the Conte de la Charrete is pertinently contrasted with Gauvain’s dedication to Reason rather than Love. While Lancelot is exceptional in his courage and immoderate in his passion, Gauvain acts rationally throughout the romance. Putter argues cogently that, not just in 76 77 78

See Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 60–8, where I argue that Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is dependent on the Val sans Retour episode in the Lancelot. Lancelot, ed. Micha, I, 278–9; L-G, II, 305–06. Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 51–8.

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Chrétien’s poetry, but also in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Gauvain approaches the clerical ideal of knightliness, calm, courteous, intelligent and thoughtful.79 The interrogation of the Val sans Retour is ostensibly into the fit between women’s desires and male socialization which values competitiveness, not directly into the fit between clergie and chevalerie. But Morgain’s enchantment-making lays bare a crucial chivalric failing: the captive knights’ lack of fidelity to their ladies. This is a deficit in the essential courtly value of probitas, of integrity and promise-keeping. Personal truthfulness is an essential quality, as the emphasis on trawþe in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight indicates; it has ramifications both in religious life and in the secular. Morgain shares her fellow-clerc Chrétien’s interest in translatio studii, seen most markedly during the third captivity of Lancelot when he creates the Salle aux Images.80 Morgain has commissioned a man to paint a mural of ‘l’estoire d’Eneas, coment il s’anfoui de Troie’ (the story of Aeneas and how he had fled from Troy); the enchantress seeks to recreate in her private space the Ur-narrative of romance history, and the transfer of civilization from Troy to the Latin state. Whether the mural follows the programme of the Temple of Glass in Chaucer’s House of Fame, thus continuing with the encounter of Aeneas and Dido, and his imperial adventures as in Vergil and Ovid, or whether the Aeneas episode is intended to introduce a history of Britain, via Geoffrey and Wace, is a matter for speculation. Learned it undoubtedly is, though the rendition of the tale in images rather than as retold text suggests a simplification, even a vernacularization, of the Latin historiae of Vergil or of Geoffrey. Lancelot’s reading of the historia of Aeneas from the barred window of his chamber inspires him to compose a visual vernacular romance with himself as hero; just as Chrétien self-consciously appropriates classical tropes in a fictionalized and vernacular form, so clergie challenges chevalerie to reproduce and recontextualize itself in new forms.81 Lancelot begins to compose a kind of autobiography; like the poems of Chrétien it is also the narrative of a single knight’s chivalric formation, showing conment sa dame del Lac l’anvoia a cort por estre chevalier nouvel et conment il vint a Kamaalot et conment il fu esbahiz de la grant biauté sa dame, quant il la vit premierement et conment il ala fere secors a la damoisele de Noant.

79 80 81

Putter, Sir Gawain, pp. 202–09. Lancelot, ed. Micha, V, 52–4; L-G, III, 218–19. Lancelot may have provided his pictures with captions. When Arthur is shown the paintings by Morgain in the Mort Artu, the illustrator of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale MS français 112 (3), fol. 193v clearly shows the paintings with text beneath. See Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, p. 44; La Mort le roi Artu: roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. J. Frappier, 3rd edn (Geneva, 1964), pp. 55–66; L-G, IV, 105–8.

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(how his Lady of the Lake sent him to court to become a knight, and how he came to Camelot and was overwhelmed by the great beauty of his lady, when first he saw her, and how he went to rescue the lady of Nohaut.)82

As Lancelot’s understanding of his own history, and perhaps of romance narrative in general develops, the story-line of the murals abandons the Chrétien model for a technique more like the entrelacement of the Lancelot itself: ‘Aprés portraist de jor en jor toute l’estoire ne mie de lui seulement, mes des autres, si com li contes a devisé’ (Next he painted his story day by day, not only his own, but that of the others as well, as the tale has related).83 Critics have noted the extraordinary mise-en-abyme effect of Lancelot’s renarration of his life to date. Donald Maddox shows how such ‘specular encounters’ are both analeptic, here looking back over Lancelot’s and the Lancelot’s narrative, and proleptic, ‘anticipating the fiction’s futurity’, in this case the final revelation of the paintings to Arthur in the Mort Artu.84 Lancelot is facilitated by Morgain’s distant patronage (she encourages Lancelot’s creativity by keeping him prisoner and supplies him with painting materials). Importantly, she registers the conversion of knight into intellectual, a conversion which she attributes to Lancelot’s act of narration as stimulated by the power of love: ‘Par foi, merveilles poez veoir de cest chevalier qui tant est soltis et an chevalerie et an toutes choses. Voirement feroit Amors del plus dur home soutif et angingneux.’ (‘Upon my word you are witness to a miracle in this knight, who is so skilled in chivalry and all things. Truly love can make the dullest of knights artful and clever.’)85

Morgain and her damsel stimulate a kind of clergie (‘soutif et angingneux’) in the chevalier here, causing him to enact the history of the French vernacular romance, in its move from Trojan history through knightly autobiography to interlace romance. Elsewhere her talents for devising scenarios are put to opportunist use in the Accolon Episode, recounted in the Post-Vulgate Suite de Merlin and in Malory. Resolving to do away with her husband and brother, and set her lover and herself on the throne, Morgain composes a kind of romance inflected by Breton lai and its fairy-mistress motif. She arranges for a hart to draw husband, brother and lover away from their companions while hunting, attracts the men to a sumptuous barge where they are wined and dined by beautiful 82 83 84

85

Lancelot, ed. Micha, V, 52; L-G, III, 218. Lancelot, ed. Micha, V, 54; L-G, III, 219. See D. Maddox, ‘Generic Intertextuality in Arthurian Literature: the Specular Encounter’, in Text and Intertext in Medieval Arthurian Literature, ed. N. J. Lacy (New York and London, 1996), pp. 3–24 (p. 15), and K. Halász, ‘The Representation of Time and its Models in the Prose Romance’, in Lacy, Text and Intertext, pp. 175–86 (pp. 175–76). Lancelot, ed. Micha, V, 53; L-G, III, 218.

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women, and then spirits her lover away, so that he awakens in a meadow by a fountain in the heart of the forest. Accolon recognizes immediately the genre of tale that he is involved in, even if he fails to spot the authorship of his beloved, complaining that he and his companions have been ‘trahis et enchantés’ (betrayed and enchanted) and, after a substantial and disturbing misogynist diatribe, he concludes that the beautiful women were ‘fantosmes ou dyables’ (an illusion or a devil).86 Morgain’s setup is promising, but the story comes to a different conclusion from that which she had anticipated, with the intervention of another literate lady, the Damoisele del Lac, a rather different figure in the Post-Vulgate Suite from the Dame in the Lancelot, but one who has direct information from Merlin about Morgain’s plot, and who is determined to thwart it. Once Accolon is dead, the plot discovered and Morgain’s plans frustrated, she reverts to the behaviour of another literary archetype: like Medea she makes a poisoned garment and sends it to Arthur. Once again the Damoisele del Lac reads the situation acutely and saves Arthur from being consumed by the fatal cloak.87 Morgain is thus an ambiguous and troubling figure in thirteenth-century romance. Her learning is deployed in the Val sans Retour to interrogate the ways in which the power of the oath, the primary bond between nobles in a still largely oral culture, can be compromised when sworn between men and women, and to plead for a space for the exercise of courtoisie. In Lancelot’s third captivity her clerkly affinities are demonstrated in her ability to facilitate, read and correctly interpret the narrative of her prisoner. She reiterates her reading for Arthur when he views the picturecycle in the Mort Artu, supplementing the wall-narrative with glossing of her own, emphasizing the key role of Galeholt: ‘einsi comme la portreture que vos veez ici le devise … il proia tant la reïne qu’ele s’otroia del tout a Lancelot et si le sesi de s’amor par un besier.’ (‘as you see by the painting before you … he implored the queen until she yielded to Lancelot and granted her love to him with a kiss.’)88

Elsewhere in the episode her powers are those of patroness-commissioner of the Aeneas-mural, rather than those of an author, a more orthodox gender role for a great lady. In the Post-Vulgate Suite her affinity with the romance’s author as fabulator is destroyed when her plot against Arthur fails. Her failure is underscored by her retreat to the castle of Tugan deep in the forest where she neither reads nor writes the future of the Arthurian realm, but merely preserves, within a series of enclosures – ivory box and tomb – Merlin’s prophecy of Arthur’s death and the identity of his 86 87 88

La Suite, ed. Roussineau, I, 316–17; L-G, IV, 256. La Suite, ed. Roussineau, I, 389; L-G, IV, 276. Mort Artu, ed. Frappier, p. 63; L-G, IV, 107.

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killer, and the circumstances of Gauvain’s death also. By the dead hand of Merlin (whose textual and interpretative activity is very marked in the Post-Vulgate Suite), Morgain is deliberately excluded from the roles of both reader and author, and her efficacy is consequently impaired in her later appearances in the Post-Vulgate Cycle.89 In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a poem which, as both Marjorie Rigby and I have suggested, counts the Val sans Retour episode as one of its most important intertexts, Morgan is revealed near the end of the poem as its plot-maker, its ‘only begetter’ as Kittredge designates her.90 Morgan is responsible for the bewitchment of the Green Knight, the Beheading Game, and, since the outcome of the Beheading Game depends crucially on Gawain’s performance in the Exchange of Winnings and the Temptation Game – despite Bertilak’s apparently spontaneous suggestion of the exchange of the day’s gains – Morgan must also have authored this.91 Many have seen the motivations which Bertilak adduces for Morgan as inadequate, but in the context of her appearances in the Lancelot, her inquiry into the nature of chivalry and her animosity towards Guenevere are sufficiently well-motivated to satisfy an audience familiar with the Lancelot-Grail tradition.92 Not only does Morgan design the complex interlocking games of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, she is specified as responsible for the creation of the Green Knight himself: ‘[h]o wayned me vpon þis wyse’ (she changed me into this form).93 More ambitious in her fabrication than Thessala and her drugs or Benoît and his architecture, she brings into being that strange hybrid figure, half-man, half-giant, bearing tokens of aggression and of Christmas merrymaking; an unreadable figure who is ‘oueral enker-grene’ (completely bright green) (line 150). The court do not know how to read or interpret him, as their embarrassingly long silence at his challenge shows; their astonishment when he picks up his head and continues to talk betrays an unfamiliarity with the motifs of romance, that genre which seems to be the customary reading at Hautdesert.94 The Green Knight remains an enigma, departing from the text ‘whiderwardeso-euer he wolde’ (line 2478), leaving behind him a sense that he has not 89 90

91 92

93 94

La Suite, ed. Roussineau, II, 365–6; L-G, IV, 269; Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, p. 38. G. L. Kittredge, A Study of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Cambridge, MA, 1916), p. 133; M. Rigby, ‘ “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” and the Vulgate “Lancelot” ’, MLR 78 (1983), 257–66; Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, pp. 62–8. See A. C. Spearing, The Gawain-Poet: A Critical Study (Cambridge, 1970), pp. 180–91. For bibliographies of critical comment on Morgan’s role in the poem and on connections between Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and the Lancelot, see Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses, p. 210. All quotations from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, ed. J. R. R. Tolkien and E. V. Gordon, 2nd edn rev. N. Davis (Oxford, 1967), here line 2456. Further references within text. See J. Finlayson, ‘The Expectations of Romance in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Genre 12 (1979), 1–24 (p. 17); M. V. Guerin, The Fall of Kings and Princes: Structure and Destruction in Arthurian Tragedy (Stanford, 1995), pp. 207–8.

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been fully accounted for; his mysterious advent and transformed shape seem to signal an occulted significance in excess of his function within the plot, particularly if compared with his more straightforward counterparts in the poem’s analogues.95 Morgan is the poem’s only literate and educated figure; her biography as summarized by Bertilak notes her ‘koyntyse of clergye, bi craftes wel lerned’ (her cleverness in learning, well educated in magic crafts) and the ‘maystrés’ (abilities, authority) she acquired from Merlin, ‘þat conable klerk’ (that excellent cleric) (lines 2447–8). Her knowledge endows her with extraordinary power: she has ‘myʒt’ over the Green Knight, her nickname is ‘Morgne þe goddes’, and she can tame the arrogance of any, including, temporarily, the ‘surquidré’ of the Round Table (lines 2446–57), who are stunned into an ineffectual silence by the appearance of her bright-green emissary. Intellectual attainments are translated into ingenious plotting with the aim, not simply of embarrassing the court of Camelot (despite the hoped-for side effect of frightening Guenevere to death), but of interrogating how one of chivalry’s foremost practitioners will react when faced with the twin challenges of sex and death, and discovering whether the feminine, flexible qualities of the girdle can unsettle the chivalric fixities manifested in the Pentangle.96 As many critics have noted, Morgan’s agent Bertilak seems in his final scene with Gawain to arrogate clerical authority to himself, absolving Gawain of the sin of withholding the girdle, an act construed by Gawain as coveityse and apparently insufficiently dealt with in his confession of the previous day.97 Now Gawain, says Bertilak, ‘hatz þe penaunce apert, of þe poynt of myn egge’ (has had his penance openly from the tip of my blade) (line 2392) and is now, as he was not previously, ‘asoyled … surely and sette … so clene/ As domezday schulde haf ben diʒt on þe morn’ (surely … absolved and put in … as clean a state as if judgement day had been appointed for the next day) (lines 1883–4). Gawain’s pentangle device is already heavily inflected by clerical values: pité, clannes, and an understanding of cortaysye which comprehends the civilized behaviours discussed by Jaeger and Putter. Although Gawain fails to put his trust in 95

96

97

See M. Twomey, ‘Morgan le Fay at Hautdesert’, in On Arthurian Women: Essays in Memory of Maureen Fries, ed. B. Wheeler and F. Tolhurst (Dallas, 2001), pp. 103–119. For the analogues, see E. Brewer, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: Sources and Analogues, 2nd edn (Woodbridge, 1992). See G. Heng, ‘Feminine Knots and the Other Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, PMLA 106 (1991), 500–14; S. Fisher, ‘Taken Men and Token Women in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, in Seeking the Woman in Late Medieval and Renaissance Writings: Essays in Feminist Contextual Criticism, ed. S. Fisher and J. E. Halley (Knoxville, TN, 1989), pp. 71–105. J. Wasserman and L. Purdon, ‘Sir Guido and the Green Light: Confession in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Inferno XXVII’, Neophilologus 84 (2000), 647–66 give a full bibliography of the debate about Gawain’s confession (pp. 662–3). See also D. Aers, ‘Christianity for Courtly Subjects: Reflections on the Gawain-poet’, in A Companion to the Gawain-Poet, ed. D. Brewer and J. Gibson (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 91–101.

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its rigidity, preferring the flexible equivocation of the girdle, the pentangle values are acquitted in Gawain’s trial.98 The tensions between cortaysye and clannes – the nexus which Morgan and her avatar, the Lady, assume to be the point where Gawain should be particularly vulnerable, given his reputation in thirteenth-century French romance – are safely negotiated. In the final scene with Bertilak Gawain is vindicated, by the account of Morgan’s agent, as being an almost perfect example of a clericalized chevalier. He has been confronted by a feminized, perhaps an over-feminized, challenge in the domain of cortaysye, a challenge which seeks to establish the parameters of the new kind of knightliness, and which, like the Adventure of the Val sans Retour, has called into question the relationship between probitas, trawþe and the treatment of women in chivalry, and he has achieved a qualified victory.99

Conclusion Magical, learned and literate figures, from Geoffrey’s Merlin, via Benoît’s Medea, Thessala, and the versions of Merlin who move through the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, to the figures of the Dame du Lac and Morgain la fée, operate as authorial surrogates in medieval historiography and romance. Like the clerical authors of these works, they deploy a substantial power not only to create illusion, often in pursuit of a hidden and deeper truth, but also to make things happen: to bring about the conception of Arthur, to complete the education and training of Lancelot and to demonstrate the need for the integration of feminine values into the hyper-masculine world of chivalry. Modern assumptions about clerical misogyny have blinded us to the close alignment between values gendered female and clerical values within the courtly context. Similarly, anxieties about the diabolic provenance of certain types of magic (debated at length in the Prophesies de Merlin) have dissuaded readers and scholars from including the two most influential enchantresses of the Arthurian world within the ranks of authorial representatives. The Dame du Lac’s support for chivalry is unproblematic. She presents it to Lancelot in exclusively clerical terms whilst modestly disclaiming real expertise in the area; her attention to the importance of courtliness in her tutorials en route for Camelot, and her knowledge of substantial parts of Lancelot’s history in advance, make her an uncontentious candidate for inclusion among the authorial surrogates. In the chronology of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle in its final form, she takes over from Merlin, imprisoned by Vivien, as the author of Lancelot’s enfances-narrative, and although her gender 98 99

On the slippery symbolic value of the girdle see R. Hanna III, ‘Unlocking What’s Locked: Gawain’s Green Girdle’, Viator 14 (2000), 289–302. Cf. Jaeger, Origins, pp. 250–53 for the importance of triuwe in Wolfram von Eschenbach.

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prevents her from assuming the authorizing role which Merlin occupies or from dictating the history of the Arthurian polity and of the Grail to Master Blaise, the Prophesies de Merlin partially remedy that deficiency by producing the hybrid chevalier-clerc Méliadus to mediate Merlin’s prophetic voice. Morgain studies long and hard with Merlin to achieve her status as ‘boine clergesse’ (a good female clerk). In the Lancelot in particular she shows herself to be a skilled artificer, whose supreme magical feat, the Val sans Retour, interrogates chivalry and courtesy, truthfulness and fidelity. The enquiry continues for seventeen years, until Lancelot, the creation of her fellow-enchantress, brings it to an end. Later Morgain appropriates the supreme clerical activity of translatio studii, inscribing it in her female and privatized domain, enacting – or re-enacting – ­ Chrétien’s triumphant recasting of classical story in vernacular form. In so doing, Morgain enables Lancelot to reinvent the romance genre within which he finds himself, becoming, if only temporarily, a clerc-storyteller whose subject is all Arthurian chivalry in its glory and its shame. In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Morgan’s clerical status is highlighted and her power emphasized at the very moment at which her agent concedes the qualified victory achieved by Gawain over sexual desire and the fear of death. Cortaysye, deployed with intelligence and wit, has proved itself worthy of its place in the Pentangle’s system of values. The Arthurian world loses Merlin, its Ur-author who already knows its historia, and who employs creativity, illusion, and, in the tradition of prophetic inscription and dictation to Master Blaise, textuality to further his ends. But Merlin’s disappearance is his pupils’ opportunity; seizing the advantages offered by intellectual attainment and magical knowledge in the chivalric world they demonstrate the insufficency of the quest for personal honour and glory if it is unmediated by the clerically endorsed values of probity, gentleness and courtesy.

65

III

‘MORGAN LE FAY, EMPRESS OF THE WILDERNESS’: A NEWLY RECOVERED ARTHURIAN TEXT IN LONDON, BL ROYAL 12.C.IX Michael Twomey London, British Library MS Royal 12.C.ix is a collection of astronomical treatises and tables copied in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The provenance of the manuscript before it belonged to John, Lord Lumley (1534?–1603), whose ex libris is on folio 1, is unknown. Like many medieval books, Royal 12.C.ix contains notes by various hands written both in ink and in plummet (lead) on the flyleaves, spare folios, and blank spaces of the manuscript. Except for one note to be discussed momentarily, the notes are in Latin. At least one writer in this manuscript is responsible for astronomical and astrological notes on several folios. The hands of the notes and the dates mentioned in them fall within the first half of the fourteenth century. The presence of several hands in the 





Lumley’s manuscripts came from several sources: (1) Lumley Castle, Durham, the ancestral home of the Lumleys; (2) the Earl of Arundel’s Palace of Nonesuch, Surrey, built under Edward III and acquired by John, Lord Lumley (c. 1533–1609), by virtue of his marriage to Jane Fitzalan, daughter of the twelfth Earl of Arundel; (3) acquisitions made for the Lumleys by Humphrey Lloyd of Denby, who married Lumley’s sister Barbara; (4) additional acquisitions resulting from the Dissolution, via Archbishop Cranmer. As payment of debts inherited from Arundel, Lumley ceded Nonesuch Castle and its manuscripts to Elizabeth I, whence the books ultimately passed into the Royal Library. Given Lloyd’s practice of co-signing the books he acquired for Lumley, we can probably assume that Royal 12.C.ix, unsigned by Lloyd, was not acquired by Lloyd for John Lumley. See K. Barron, ‘Lumley, John, first Baron Lumley (c. 1533–1609), Collector and Conspirator’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, ed. H. C. G. Matthew and B. Harrison (Oxford, 2004), 34, pp. 750–53 (henceforth ODNB); and S. Kelly and J. O’Rourke, ‘Culturally Mapping the English Brut – A Preliminary Report from the “Imagining History” Project’, Journal of the Early Book Society 6 (2003), 41–60 (pp. 50–52). Fols. 18v, 19v, 22r–22v, 34v, 38r, 40v–41r, 91v, 155v–157r, and 177v; a set of golden letters and rules for prognosticating with names on fols. 161r–162v are continued on 179v. Other notes are a list of moveable feasts and a note on the day and hour Edward II departed from York, 21 July 1322, to do battle with the Scots, both in Latin (fol. 18r); and proverbs and sententiae (fols. 178v–179r). The manuscript has at least two parts, both numbered in post-medieval hands: fols. 1–61v and fols. 62r–197r. Present page-numbering begins on fol. 1, such that present fol. 62r also bears its earlier number as fol. 1. Dates referred to in the notes range from 1322 (fol. 18r) to 1340 and

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notes suggests that the manuscript passed through several owners in the fourteenth century, although it is also possible that variations among the annotators’ hands are due to changes in the handwriting of only one or two annotators. A few of these notes will be discussed as they become relevant later in this essay. One note stands out as the only note in the manuscript that is written in a vernacular language: a letter in Anglo-Norman French purportedly by Morgan le Fay, written in ink, that straddles the bottom of folios 165v and 166r below a set of lunar tables. It is one of the few medieval Arthurian texts in which Morgan speaks in her own voice, and it is the only example in medieval Arthurian literature of a text presented as being composed by Morgan. As the Morgan letter is noted neither in the standard Arthurian bibliographies nor in the handlist of Anglo-Norman French texts by Dean and Boulton, there is good reason to assume that it is unknown to Arthurian scholars. The two insertions on folio 166r suggest that the scribe copied from an exemplar and corrected himself. The beginning of the letter on folio 165v follows five lines of other notes in plummet that were either rubbed out or were written very faintly to begin with, as only a few traces of them are now visible. It was perhaps to avoid these notes in plummet that the writer of the Morgan letter was constrained to use two folios for a text that could easily have fit in the space at the bottom of either folio; the question of why the writer chose these particular folios must be deferred for the moment. The letter is addressed to ‘Pomelyn’, a bachelor in Morgan’s court, for whom Morgan draws a lesson about the power of Fortune based on the example of a knight called ‘Piers the Fierce’. In this essay I will present a transcription and translation of the letter followed by some preliminary suggestions about its significance as an Arthurian text, together with a hypothesis about the author and his motive, to wit, that the author was likely a secretary familiar with the protocols of royal correspondence who





1341 (fol. 155b). The presence of astrological and astronomical notes by the same hand in both parts implies that the parts were assembled by about the mid-fourteenth century. The manuscript is described in F. S. Pedersen, The Toledan Tables: A Review of the Manuscripts and the Textual Versions with an Edition, Historisk-filosofiske Skrifter 24.1–4, Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, 4 vols. (Copenhagen, 2002), I, 128–29; and by G. F. Warner and J. P. Gilson, Catalogue of Western Manuscripts in the Old Royal and King’s Collections, 4 vols. (London, 1921), II, 25–6. R. J. Dean, in collaboration with M. B. M. Boulton, eds., Anglo-Norman Literature: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts, Anglo-Norman Text Society, Occasional Publications Series 3 (London, 1999). My title deliberately avoids calling the Morgan letter a ‘newly discovered’ text because it is mentioned in the Royal catalogue, although there it is incorrectly identified (p. 26) as verse. The letter is ignored in Pedersen, Toledan Tables. I am grateful to Nicole Clifton (Northern Illinois University) for calling my attention to the manuscript, and to the British Library for allowing me to see the manuscript on several occasions, as well as for supplying microfilm and slides of the manuscript. Visible are several sequences of numbers similar to the astronomical calculations on fols. 155v– 157r.

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‘mORGAN LE FAY, EMPRESS OF THE WILDERNESS’

lived during the reign of Edward II, and his motive was to draw a moral from the downfall of Piers Gaveston, special friend of Edward, in 1312.

Transcription [folio 165v] Morgayne par la grace deu emperisse de desert Reine de puceles dame des      illes Long tens guuernere des undes grandmer. A nostre Real bacheler Pomelyn gardeyn de poynt perilos. Salutz quant perys le fers fust per a pers Lores oblia peris tus ses pers ore est peris saun per e pers. Par ly hom peut aprendre kar celi ceo pert a pers que son temps ne volt atendre. Sode 5 nement ceo comense a voler e mult ceo peyne a despleicer quant la Lune vodra prendre pur ceo que il fist ses vols a voler sanz a valer ore vus [folio 166r] valt atendre reyson Rendre mult melz ^ fortune ^ que hastiuement ramper e so deynement dessendre. Done a nostre chastel de dyamant en la Roche door sur la rue de Rubie en coste la preirie de 10 Saphir

Translation [Salutation: ] Morgan, by the grace of God empress of the wilderness, queen of the damsels, lady of the isles, long time governor [or ‘helmsman’]of the waves (of the) great sea; to our royal bachelor Pomelyn, guardian [or ‘warden’] of the Perilous Point: Greeting. [Text: ] When Piers the Fierce was peer to peers, then Piers forgot all his peers. Now is Piers without peer and peers. By the man one is able to learn, for he loses this plainly who does not want to wait his time. Suddenly he begins to fly and greatly he pains [himself] to change his place [i.e., his station in life?] when he wants to take the moon, because he makes his flights at will without avail [with pun on ‘to fly without coming down’]. Now to explain [lit. ‘give the reason’] to you: It is much better to wait for Fortune than hastily to ascend and suddenly to descend.



Expanded abbreviations are indicated by italics. Line breaks, punctuation and capitalization are as in the MS. Insertions are in the original hand and are indicated by the symbol ^. Here I wish to thank Ian Short (University of London), Alice Colby-Hall (Cornell University), Kirsten Fudeman (University of Pittsburgh), and Kristen Figg (Kent State University) for their assistance with the Anglo-Norman French of the text. This and all subsequent translations into Modern English are my own unless otherwise noted.

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[Closing: ] Issued [lit. ‘given’] at our Castle of Diamond, on the Rock of Gold, above the Ruby Road, alongside the Plain of Sapphire.

Notes to the text 2 Pomelyn ‘little apple’ or perhaps ‘little pommel’. 3 perys le fers] ‘Piers the Fierce’; var. pers 4. 3 per a pers] Lit. ‘peer to peers’ hence ‘equal to equals’ or possibly ‘man to men’ (as also in 4 per e pers). Usually per a per (sg.) or pers a pers (pl.) elsewhere in Old French and Anglo-Norman French. 4 saun] = sanz, which often effaces final sibilant before consonant; an > aun in later Anglo-Norman French. 4 Par ly hom] ‘By the man’; i.e., from the example of Piers the Fierce. 5 celi] Modern French celui; refers to Piers the Fierce as subject of relative pronoun que 5. 5 ceo] Anglo-Norman French variant of ce; object of pert 5. 5 a pers] apers ‘openly, plainly’; -s is adverbial; divided syllabically perhaps to emphasize pun; cf. a valer. 5 que] In Anglo-Norman French, que is generally used in place of qui after the thirteenth century. 6 despleicer] Cf. Modern French déplacer ‘move about, change place’. 7 a voler] ‘at will’, with pun on ‘to fly’. 7 a valer] ‘to avail’, with pun on a valer ‘to come / go down’. 7 vus] MS v9 = vus has been made into the connector to the next page.

Arthurian Themes and Motifs The author (and, one assumes, the writer) shows his familiarity with Morgan’s literary ontogeny in a number of ways. He spells her name ‘Morgayne’, an orthographic variant of a common French form ‘Morgaine’.10 Morgan’s titles – empress of the wilderness, queen of the damsels, lady of the isles, and governor of the waves of the great sea – emphasize her common association with the wilderness, women, and water in Arthurian literature. Thus, the author epitomizes one of the main attributes of Morgan le Fay: that as queen of the wilderness she presides over a territory that exists at the remotest edges within and beyond    10

M. K. Pope, From Latin to Modern French with Especial Consideration of Anglo-Norman (Manchester, 1934, repr. 1966), §1203. See Pope, From Latin to Modern French, §§1248, 1254. See Pope, From Latin to Modern French, §1262. The final -e indicates that stress had not yet moved to the first syllable. A survey of the spelling and pronunciation of Morgan’s name may be found in my essay ‘Is Morgne la faye in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight – Or Anywhere in Middle English?’, Anglia 117 (1999), 542–57 (pp. 545–51).

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Arthur’s kingdom of Logres.11 Morgan’s identity as ruler of the wilderness is first and foremost an element of the Avalon motif, which goes back at least as far as Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, in which Telgesinus (Taliesin) describes an ‘island of apples’ called Fortunata, to which Telgesinus took Arthur after his death at Camlann in order to be healed by Morgan and her nine sisters.12 In a number of romances, Morgan is associated with landlocked wildernesses, as well.13 The Morgan letter shows familiarity with Arthurian onomastic conventions for wilderness place-names. Pomelyn the royal bachelor is identified as ‘gardeyn de poynt perilos’ or Warden of the Perilous Point, a name that recalls Arthurian place-names in the form ‘X Perilous’, such as the 11

12 13

Medieval narratives involving Morgan are surveyed in C. Larrington, King Arthur’s Enchantresses: Morgan and her Sisters in Arthurian Tradition (London and New York, 2006); M. W. Twomey, ‘Morgan le Fay’, in Verführer, Schurken, Magier, ed. U. Müller and W. Wunderlich, Mittel­ altermythen III (St Gall, 2000), pp. 693–706; E. W. Funcke, ‘Morgain und ihre Schwestern: Zur Herkunft und Verwendung der Feenmotivik in der mittelhochdeutschen Epik’, Acta Germanica: Jahrbuch des Germanistenverbandes im südlichen Afrika 18 (1985), 1–64; L. A. Paton, Studies in the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance, 2nd edn (1903; repr. New York, 1960); L. HarfLancner, Les Fées au moyen âge. Morgane et Mélusine: La naissance des fees (Paris, 1984); W. Fauth, ‘Fata Morgana’, in Beiträge zum romanischen Mittelalter, ed. K. Baldinger, Zeitschrift für Romanische Philologie, Sonderband zum 100-Jährigen Bestehen (Tübingen, 1977), pp. 417–54; J. Wathelet-Willem, ‘La fée Morgain dans la chanson de geste’, Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale 13 (1970), 209–19; F. Bogdanow, ‘Morgain’s Role in the Thirteenth-Century French Prose Romances of the Arthurian Cycle’, Medium Ævum 38 (1969), 123–33; R. S. Loomis, ‘The Legend of Arthur’s Survival’, in Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages: A Collaborative History, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1961), pp. 64–71; Loomis, ‘A Survey of Scholarship on the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance since 1903’, in Paton, Studies in the Fairy Mythology, pp. 280–307; Loomis, ‘Morgain la fée in Oral Tradition’, Romania 80 (1959), 337–67; Loomis, ‘Morgain la Fee and the Celtic Goddesses’, Speculum 20 (1945), 183–203, repr. in Wales and the Arthurian Legend (Cardiff, 1956), pp. 105–30. Geoffrey of Monmouth, Life of Merlin: Vita Merlini, ed. and trans. B. Clarke (Cardiff, 1973), lines 929–40, 954–7. Chrétien’s Erec and Enide, perhaps the earliest reference to Morgan in an Arthurian romance, has Morgan living in the Val Perilleus (line 2358, Guiot MS only); see Chrétien de Troyes, Erec et Enide, ed. M. Roques in Les Romans de Chrétien de Troyes, I, Classiques Français du Moyen Age 80 (Paris, 1970). Examples of Morgan as ruler of the wilderness, excluding the Avalon motif, are: La Bataille Loquifer, c. 1170 (Harf-Lancner, Les Fées, pp. 275–77); Wolfram’s Parzival (Fauth, ‘Fata Morgana’, p. 437); Floriant et Florete, c. 1250 (Loomis, ‘The Legend’, pp. 67–68); Tavola Ritonda, 1325–50 (Fauth, ‘Fata Morgana’, p. 435); Le Bastard de Bouillon, c. 1350 (Loomis, ‘The Legend’, p. 68); Ogier le Danois, fourteenth century (Harf-Lancner, Les Fées, pp. 279–88); Jean d’Outremeuse, Myreur des Histors, fourteenth century (Loomis, ‘The Legend’, p. 68); Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (lines 670–784); Pulzella Gaia, fifteenth century (Fauth, ‘Fata Morgana’, p. 436). Lope García de Salazar’s summary of the Post-Vulgate Roman du Graal relocates Morgan’s Avalon on the ‘Island of Brasil’, west of Ireland, adapting stories told by sailors from Bristol: see The Legendary History of Britain in Lope García de Salazar’s ‘Libro de las bienandanzas e fortunas’, ed. H. L. Sharrer (Philadelphia, 1979), pp. 72–73, and also Sharrer, ‘The Acclimatization of the Lancelot-Grail Cycle in Spain and Portugal’, in The Lancelot-Grail Cycle: Texts and Transformations, ed. W. W. Kibler (Austin, TX, 1994), pp. 175–90 (p. 184), and the sources mentioned therein. In a fifteenth-century Fastnacht play Morgan is the Queen of Cyprus (Fauth, ‘Fata Morgana’, p. 434). Morgan imprisons Lancelot in a wilderness stronghold in: Lancelot: roman en prose du XIIIe siècle, ed. A. Micha, Textes Littéraires Français, 9 vols. (Geneva, 1978–83), I, xxv–xxxi, and V, lxxxvi–lxxxviii; Le roman de Tristan en prose, ed. P. Ménard et al., Textes Littéraires Français, 9 vols. (Geneva, 1987–97), III, sections 167–82 and VI, sections 35, 67–68; Malory’s ‘Tale of Sir Launcelot du Lake’.

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Val Perilous (Perilous Valley) in the prose Lancelot du Lac and the Pont Perellous (Perilous Bridge) in the Second Continuation of Perceval.14 In the Vulgate Cycle and Prose Tristan, Morgan imprisons knights such as Lancelot and Tristan in her wilderness castles. One of these castles has a name that is possibly recalled by ‘la Roche door’ in the Morgan letter: Chastel de la Roche Dure, where Morgan imprisoned Tristan and where, according to the Prose Tristan, Morgan imprisoned Lancelot when he painted the walls with frescoes about his affair with Guenevere.15 In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Morgan lives in a wilderness castle whose very name means ‘High Wilderness’ (Hautdesert); and Gawain must pass through the wilderness of North Wales (line 697) in order to find it.16 As ‘queen of the damsels, lady of the isles (and) long time governor of the waves (of the) great sea’, Morgan is implicitly the ruler of Avalon, which is conventionally a female realm. In Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, mentioned earlier, Morgen is the fairest of nine sisters living on the insula pomorum (isle of apples). In Claris et Laris (c. 1270) Morgan lives in a wilderness palace with twelve ladies.17 In Malory’s Morte Darthur, Morgan brings the Queen of North Wales, the Queen of the Waste Lands, and Nynyve with her when she fetches the dying Arthur to Avalon. Finally, an additional Avalonian motif occurring in the Morgan letter is that of Avalon as a jewelled paradise. For example, in Ly Mysteur des Histors by Jean d’Outremeuse of Liège (d. 1400), where Ogier the Dane, one of Charlemagne’s paladins, is shipwrecked on Avalon, Morgan’s castle is made of gems and surrounded by jewels and perfumed trees.18 It is not a great leap of the imagination from there to the Castle of Diamond in the Morgan letter.

Rhetorical Features The Morgan letter makes its point via two statements that have a proverbial ring: ‘celi ceo pert a pers que son temps ne volt atendre’ (line 5), and ‘mult melz valt fortune atendre que hastiuement ramper e sodeynement dessendre’ (line 8). The use of proverbs was recommended in the ars dictaminis (art of letter-writing), and there are manuscript collections of 14

15 16 17 18

See G. D. West, An Index of Proper Names in French Arthurian Verse Romances (Toronto, 1969), p. 134, and An Index of Proper Names in French Arthurian Prose Romances (Toronto, 1978), p. 249. Roman de Tristan en prose, ed. Ménard, III, section 167. The two versions of the Prose Tristan are distinguished by E. Vinaver in Etudes sur le Tristan en prose (Paris, 1925), pp. 23–33. Also in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Morgan’s purview is testing the Arthurian court for pride, the moral focus of the Morgan letter’s criticism of Piers the Fierce. Li Romans de Claris et Laris, ed. J. Alton, Bibliothek des Literarischen Vereins in Stuttgart 169 (Tübingen, 1884), lines 3555–4139 and 10992–11245. Ly Mysteur des Histors, ed. S. Bormans, 7 vols. (Brussels, 1864–87), IV, 47–58; cited in Loomis, ‘Morgain la fée in Oral Tradition’, pp. 360–61.

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proverbs for the purpose of writing letters.19 Although these precise statements are not in modern collections of medieval proverbs, similar sententiae exist. Examples are in Appendix II, two of which, Morawski 1248 and Walther 23768, seem particularly close in content and form to those in the Morgan letter. The point of these proverbial-sounding sentences in the Morgan letter is essentially that one must wait for the proper time before acting – that is, the age-old idea of taking everything in its season, an ancient bit of practical and also biblical (e.g. Ecclesiastes 3) wisdom. This sentiment makes perfect sense in a letter written at the bottom of astrological tables, since one purpose of astrology is to consult the stars in order to determine a propitious time to act. No doubt because they are part of oral culture, proverbs employ wordplay to reinforce their mnemonic quality. There is rhyme, for example, in some of the proverbs in Appendix II (Walther 23768, 4798, and 7874). There is rhyme in a proverb at the end of the manuscript, folio 178v (also Appendix II), written by a hand strongly resembling the hand of the Morgan letter: ‘Gloria mundana non est nisi visio vana;/ Ut rosa verna cadit sic mundi gloria vadit’ (Earthly glory is but a vain imagining;/ As the spring rose falls, thus the glory of the world passes), where the rhymes are mundana–vana, cadit–vadit. We can observe parallel syntactical structure in Walther 4798 and 14107 (also Appendix II), as well as in the proverb on folio 178v, where the author used chiasmus (reverse syntactical order) in the first line and regular parallelism in the second. But the writer of the proverb on folio 178v also used alliteration in his proverb: visio vana, verna–vadit. The Morgan letter’s use of proverbs is one aspect of a stunning display of rhetoric that features puns, alliteration, assonance, balanced coordinated constructions, and syntactical parallelism (Appendix IV). So skilful is the author of the Morgan letter that his syntactic parallelism has a semantic dimension as well, such that ideas, and not only grammatical units, are thrown into relief: Morgan’s titles; Piers the Fierce’s behavior; the proverbial importance of waiting one’s time and not trying to control Fortune. In the opening formula, the author arranges Morgan’s titles in order of descending hierarchical significance: from empress to queen to lady to governor. At the same time, he moves from land to sea. Like the opening formula, the closing formula also has geographical movement. In the closing formula, the author arranges Morgan’s ‘address’ in order of increasing geographical space: from castle to rock to road to plain.

19

J. J. Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages: A History of Rhetorical Theory from St Augustine to the Renaissance (Berkeley, 1974), pp. 194–268 (pp. 233–35). See also G. Constable, Letters and Letter-Collections, Typologie des Sources du Moyen Âge Occidental 17 (Turnhout, 1976). I am grateful to John B. Friedman (emeritus) and Martin J. Camargo, both of the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, for sharing their knowledge of medieval ars dictaminis with me.

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If the author of the Morgan letter was familiar with the rhetorical ploys of epistolary art, he was also familiar with the medieval genre of the fictional letter.20 Famous examples include the letter of Prester John and the letter of Alexander to Aristotle.21 An Arthurian example occurs in the Latin Draco Normannicus, a chronicle written by Etienne de Rouen in Latin verse between 1167 and 1169, which contains a fictional letter that purports to be from King Arthur to the English King Henry II. The letter regards Henry’s campaign in 1167 to enforce his claim to Brittany. In it, Arthur accuses Henry of attacking Brittany without declaring war. He claims that he has been healed of his wounds (from his battle with Mordred) by his sister Morgan, ‘the deathless nymph’, on the sacred island of Avalon, and has been made immortal. Now lord of the Antipodes, Arthur commands half the world, and he can return to rule again in Britain when he chooses – and will do so immediately if Henry does not abandon his claim to Brittany.22 Taken in its larger context as royal propaganda for Henry II, the purpose of the fictional letter from Arthur in the Draco Normannicus is to discredit the myth of Arthur’s return.23 But as the example of the Draco Normannicus suggests, fictional letters could have local, political, and even satirical significance. Thus, perhaps the most significant parallel to the Morgan letter is a fictional letter (Appendix III) addressed to Philip the Good of Burgundy purportedly from a Muslim king named Belshazzar, supposedly descended from the Assyrian king in Daniel 5 who receives

20

21

22 23

Constable, Letters, p. 13, uses the term ‘fictional letter’ to describe ‘model letters and treatises in epistolary form, which were not intended to be sent but which were considered letters by contemporaries’. Further, ‘Many fictional letters circulated under the names of divine, mythological, or deceased persons, and of real people to whom they were fictitiously attributed, like the famous crusading letters from the Emperor Alexius to Count Robert of Flanders. Others were written as model-letters or in order to lend verisimilitude to historical and other works … These letters were certainly not forgeries in the usual sense of the term and might indeed have been accepted by contemporaries as authentic, but they had no connection with their ostensible writers’ (pp. 49–50). On Prester John see B. Wagner, Die ‘Epistola presbiteri Johannis’ lateinisch und deutsch: Überlieferung, Textgeschichte, Rezeption und Übertragungen im Mittelalter, Münchener Texte und Untersuchungen zur deutschen Literatur des Mittelalters 115 (Tübingen, 2000); M. Gosman, La lettre du Prêtre Jean: Les versions en ancien français et en ancien Occitan: Textes et commentaires (Groningen, 1982); V. Slessarev, Prester John: The Letter and the Legend (Minneapolis, 1959). On Alexander’s letter to Aristotle see L. L. Gunderson, ed., Alexander’s Letter to Aristotle about India (Meisenheim am Glan, 1980), and W. W. Boer, ed., Epistola Alexandri ad Aristotelem (Meisenheim am Glan, 1973). A Middle English version exists in Worcester Cathedral Library MS F.172, fols. 138r–146v, written by one scribe in the third quarter of the fifteenth century; edition: see V. DiMarco and L. Perelman, eds., The Middle English Letter of Alexander to Aristotle (Amsterdam, 1978). Etienne de Rouen, Draco Normannicus, ed. R. Howlett, in Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II, and Richard I, Rolls Series 82 (London, 1884–1889), II. See the discussion in S. Echard, Arthurian Narrative in the Latin Tradition (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 85–93. Here I wish to thank Judith Weiss (Cambridge) and Siân Echard (British Columbia) for suggesting a parallel to the Draco Normannicus.

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the prophecy of the Handwriting on the Wall. Since Philip died on 15 June 1467, the letter is probably from before the middle of 1467.24 Both of the manuscripts in which the letter occurs resemble Royal 12.C.ix as miscellanies. Brogyntyn II.1 is a Middle English miscellany containing texts of the romances Sir Gawain and the Carl of Carlisle and the prose Siege of Jerusalem, plus lyrics such as ‘Erthe upon erthe’, political prophecies such as ‘The Cock in the North’, prognostications, tables of planetary hours and influences, tables of eclipses, and medical recipes. Additional 46846, a multilingual assemblage of texts in English, Welsh, Latin, and French, contains satirical verses, a formulary for deeds, royal letters, agreements pertaining to the war of Owen Glendower, various legal documents, a meditation on the Lord’s Prayer, and notes on the care of hawks. The Belshazzar letter uses epistolary formulas that resemble the ones used in the Morgan letter, and like the Morgan letter it bears witness to a satirical, current-events sub-genre of the fictional letter. In editing the Belshazzar letter, Robert Raymo argued that the context of the Belshazzar letter was the period following the Turkish conquest of Constantinople in 1453, after which Pope Pius II wrote the ‘Epistola ad Turcorum imperatorem Mahumetam’ (Letter to Mohammed, Emperor of the Turks), in which the pope urged Mohammed II to give up Islam and convert to Christianity, just as the Roman emperor Constantine had converted from paganism to Christianity in the fourth century. Pius’s letter generated at least one spurious reply and several parodies, of which the Belshazzar letter apparently is one. The Belshazzar letter is addressed to Philip the Good because between 1453 and 1460 Philip led the initial attempts to raise an expedition against the Turks; eventually Pope Pius II himself took charge of the effort. Problems in the Middle English of the letter suggest that the copy in Brogyntyn II.1 may be defective, hence, like the Morgan letter, a copy of an earlier, lost original.

24

There are two known manuscripts of the letter. (1) Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales MS Brogyntyn II.1 (formerly Porkington 10), compiled West Midlands c. 1470, fols. 193v–194v. The manuscript is described in D. Huws, ‘Porkington 10 and its Scribes’, in Romance Reading in the Book: Essays on Medieval Narrative Presented to Maldwyn Mills, ed. J. Fellows et al. (Cardiff, 1969), pp. 188–207, and in W. Marx, Index of Middle English Prose 14: Manuscripts in the National Library of Wales (Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru), Aberystwyth (Cambridge and Rochester, NY, 1999), pp. 19–27. An edition of the Belshazzar letter based on Brogyntyn II.1 is in Appendix III, below. (2) London, BL Additional 46846, a miscellany compiled by John Edwards, Receiver of Chirk of Northeast Wales and dated 1498. The Additional MS is described in the BL catalogue of Additional MSS, available online at http://www.bl.uk/catalogues/manuscripts/. I am grateful to Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan (National Library of Wales) for sending me a copy of the NLW catalogue description and for alerting me to the existence of the Belshazzar letter in BL Additional 46846, as it is not noted in the BL catalogue description of the manuscript.

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Manuscript Context As a dictated text, the Morgan letter does not in itself indicate that Morgan le Fay is to be regarded as literate, since the act of royal writing was performed by a secretary. Nevertheless, in the Vulgate Cycle’s Prose Merlin, Morgan is not only literate, hence capable of drafting a letter, but she is schooled in astronomy. This is disclosed at the wedding of Uther and Ygraine, which is accompanied by the marriage of Ygraine’s unnamed elder daughter (from her previous husband, the Duke of Tintagel) to King Lot. Morgan is married to King Neutres de Garlot, whereupon On the advice of all his friends together, the king [Neutres] put her to study letters at a religious house, where she learned so much and so well that she learned the [seven liberal] arts, and she became wonderfully adept at an art called astronomy. And she worked hard all the time and knew a great deal about the healing arts, and because of her mastery of learning she was called Morgan the Fay.25

Morgan’s astronomical expertise could have given the writer of the Morgan letter the idea to use the blank space on a page of tables for his epistolary exercise. However, with so much white space available on other folios in the manuscript containing tables, one wants to assume that the writer chose to put his letter from Morgan le Fay on folios 165v–166r specifically because they contain lunar tables. One possibility is that the writer associated the moon with the Morgan letter’s theme of Fortune. In Ptolemaic astronomy, the moon divides the heavens into two regions. Above the moon, the universe is stable and orderly, reflecting the perfect order of God. Below the moon, the territory governed by Fortune, the universe is by nature fickle, transitory, and mutable, reflecting the fallen nature of man. Fortune’s association with the moon is found in numerous classical and medieval proverbs, often in distichs that employ the kinds of rhetorical devices found in the Morgan letter. Some examples are in Appendix II, and more could be added from Middle English and French.26 Fortune’s dwelling-place, when it is described or depicted, is often in a wilderness, by the water, or even on a

25

26

‘Et par le consoil de touz les amis ensemble la fist li rois aprendre letres en une maison de religion et celle aprist tant et si bien qu’elle aprist des arz, et si sot merveille d’un art que l’en apele astronomie et molt en ouvra toz jorz et sot molt de fisique, et par celle mastrie de clergie qu’ele avoit fu apelee Morgain le faee’; Robert de Boron, Merlin: Roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. A. Micha, Textes Littéraires Français (Geneva, 1979), p. 245. For examples see B. J. Whiting, Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases from English Writings mainly before 1500 (Cambridge, MA, 1968), C114, E105. Examples in French are in the collections of Morawski and Hassell (Appendix I). Also see the Middle English Dictionary, sv mōn(e), senses 4, 5, 6. I am grateful to Alice Colby-Hall and T. D. Hill (both of Cornell University) for their suggestions regarding Old French proverbs.

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cliff. Such is the landscape of Arthur’s dream about Fortune’s wheel on the eve of his battle with Mordred, found in canonical versions of Arthurian legend such as the Vulgate Mort Artu, the Alliterative Morte Arthure, and Malory’s Morte Darthur.27 Alain de Lille’s prototypical depiction of the house of Fortune in Book VIII of the Anticlaudianus establishes the location as a cliff on an island beaten by the waves. Neither the land nor the dwelling of Fortune ever keeps the same shape, but always changes. One moment Fortune’s house is a jewelled palace, the next a hovel.28 Fortune’s island, like Morgan’s Avalon, is an instance of the ancient commonplace of the island paradise that goes by names such as the Hesperides, Isles of Blessed, Isle of Ladies, and the Fortunate Isles. Again, in her earliest appearance in literature, Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Vita Merlini, Morgan presides over just such a place, called both ‘insula pomorum’ [isle of apples] and ‘Fortunata’.29 In the Morgan letter, Morgan’s association with Fortune is therefore suggested by the wealth of her dwelling and her surroundings: a crystal castle, a rock of gold, a ruby road, and a plain of sapphire. It is also possible that the writer of the Morgan letter intended to connect Morgan le Fay, Piers the Fierce, and the theme of Fortune to the tables on folios 165v and 166r themselves. The tables on these folios are ‘Toledan’ tables, originally compiled in Toledo in the late eleventh century from Arabic sources.30 Toledan tables were out of date by the early fourteenth century, having been superseded by the ‘Alfonsine’ tables, compiled in about 1272 by a group of astronomers convened by Alfonso X ‘el Sabio’ (the wise). Nevertheless, the Toledan tables, particularly the tables used with the canon known from its incipit as ‘Quoniam cuiusque actionis quantitatem’ (Because the quantity of every action), were at the height of their popularity in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, the date of the astronomical/astrological canons and tables in Royal 12.C.ix. The canon ‘Quoniam cuiusque actionis quantitatem’, written in Paris

27

28 29 30

Vulgate Cycle Mort Artu: La mort le roi Artu, roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. J. Frappier, 3rd edn (Geneva, 1964), pp. 226–27; Alliterative Morte Arthure, lines 3223–3455, in Morte Arthure: A Critical Edition, ed. M. Hamel (New York, 1984); Malory, The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, ed. E. Vinaver, 3rd edn, rev. P. J. C. Field, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1990), III, 1233 (Caxton XXI.3, Winchester MS fol. 478r). Patrologia Latina 210:557–60; translated in H. R. Patch, The Goddess Fortuna in Mediaeval Literature (Cambridge, MA, 1927), pp. 126–27. Life of Merlin, ed. and trans. Clarke, lines 929–40, 954–7. The tables in Royal 12.C.ix are described in Pedersen, Toledan Tables, I, 128–9. I am grateful to John Friedman and to John North (Oxford University) for sharing their knowledge of medieval astronomy with me. North has suggested to me that the hand of the tables on fols. 165v–166r might be Oxfordian, which would put these pages, and possibly the Morgan letter, in the context of Merton College, as Merton was the centre of astronomical study at Oxford. North’s Chaucer’s Universe (Oxford, 1988), pp. 7–259, contains a highly accessible and reliable introduction to the principles of calculation.

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in the 1270s or 1280s, is in effect the ‘vulgate’ version of the Toledan Tables.31 The canons and tables in Royal 12.C.ix, folios 164r–179r, are an eclipse tract, together with its accompanying tables, that was mostly excerpted from ‘Quoniam cuiusque actionis quantitatem’ and known by its incipit as ‘Ut autem annos Arabum’ (In order [to determine] Arabic years). According to Pedersen, it was probably composed in Paris (which it mentions) in 1277 or a few years earlier.32 ‘Ut annos Arabum’ and its tables were used specifically for determining oppositions and conjunctions of the sun and moon—hence, chiefly for determining eclipses. In Royal 12.C.ix, the text of the canon is on folios 172v–179r, which Pedersen dates to the early fourteenth century. In Royal 12.C.ix, the canon lacks a heading, which is usually something like ‘Canones eclipsium cum tabulis …’ (Canons of eclipses with tables), but it has one of the standard explicits: ‘Explicit quod sufficit de utroque eclipsi, scilicet tam solis quam lune’. The tables for ‘Ut annos Arabum’ occupy folios 164r–172r in Royal 12.C. ix.33 The tables on folios 166v and 166r were used for related purposes. Folio 165v contains a table of mean conjunctions and oppositions (also called syzygies) of the sun and moon used for determining eclipses and for converting dates from Islamic to Christian. It bears the heading, ‘Tabula medie conjunctionis et oppositionis solis et lune ad menses lunares’.34 In the first row of subheadings are months (mensium), numbered one through twelve; these are followed by the time of mean conjunction and opposition (tempus medie conjunctionis et oppositionis) expressed in days, hours, and minutes (dies, hore, minuta); then by mean motion of the sun and moon (medius cursus solis et lune) expressed in signs, degrees, minutes, and seconds (signa, gradus, minuta, secunda); then by the argument of the moon (argumentum lune) and the argument of the moon’s latitude (argumentum latitudinis lune) both also expressed in signs, degrees, minutes, and seconds. Folio 166r contains a two-column table of equations of the sun and moon that were used for finding their ecliptical longitude at any desired time, or for converting ecliptical and equatorial coordinates, as well as for computing the times of astrological houses. It bears the heading, ‘Tabula equacionis solis et lune tempore coniunctionis et oppositionis’.35 In the first row of subheadings are ‘lines of numbers’ (linee numeri), expressed in two columns of signs and degrees; this is followed by the equation of the sun (equacio solis), expressed in degrees, minutes,

31 32 33 34 35

Pedersen, Toledan Tables, I, 12–13; and North, Chaucer’s Universe, pp. 147–9. Pedersen, Toledan Tables, II, 552. See Pedersen, Toledan Tables, II, 553–4, and for variants 566–8. Table GA14 in Pedersen, Toledan Tables, IV, 1340, with a variant heading. Table EB11.Ear in Pedersen, Toledan Tables, IV, 1306–07.

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and seconds, and by the equation of the argument of the moon (equacio argumenti lune), also expressed in degrees, minutes, and seconds. Perhaps the writer of the Morgan letter associated Morgan with the moon because the moon is essentially feminine, with a domicile in Cancer, a feminine sign. When a planet is in its domicile, it is said to be in its similitude, or greatest strength.36 Thus, the tables on folios 165v and 166r would reinforce the message of the Morgan letter with the implied astrological power of the moon, linking Morgan as ‘queen of the damsels, lady of the isles (and) long time governor of the waves (of the) great sea’ with the feminine, watery moon as well as with Fortune, ruler of the sublunary world, as a power not to be ignored. However, we must also consider the more mundane possibility that as the Toledan tables were beginning to be out of date, the manuscript’s use as an astrological handbook had given way to its owner’s need for scrap on which to write. Thus, if the writer did indeed deliberately put his Morgan letter on folios 165v–166r because these pages contained lunar tables, perhaps the tables functioned only as a mnemonic device, to help him remember where in the manuscript he had written the letter.

Authorship of the Letter and Identity of ‘Piers the Fierce’ We have already seen that the Morgan letter uses proverbs recommended in the ars dictaminis. It also reflects the parts for a letter prescribed by epistolary handbooks: salutation, exordium, narration, petition, and conclusion.37 The salutation greets the reader; the exordium secures his goodwill; the narration provides an account of the letter’s main purpose; the petition calls for something by supplicating, exhorting, threatening, urging, warning, reproving, teaching, etc.; and the conclusion gives the location and date of the letter’s composition. The Morgan letter begins with a formal salutation that identifies the sender and the recipient, up to the word ‘Salutz’. It skips the exordium, probably because as a letter addressed to someone lower in the social hierarchy, the Morgan letter does not need to secure the goodwill of the addressee in order to get his attention. The letter proceeds directly to the narration about Piers the Fierce, and from there it goes on to a petition that draw a lesson about Fortune, after which it closes by identifying the place from which Morgan writes. Since rulers did not physically write their own correspondence, but rather

36

37

L. Means, Medieval Lunar Astrology: A Collection of Representative Medieval Texts (Lewiston, 1993), pp. 64–65. The general theory of essential powers, properties, and natures of the planets, including the moon, is explained in North, Chaucer’s Universe, pp. 194–213, esp. 202–03 and 208. Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages, pp. 216–25, and passim in Chapter V, ‘Ars Dictaminis: The Art of Letter-Writing’. See also Constable, Letters and Letter-Collections, pp. 16–20, 31–38.

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dictated to secretaries, even though the voice of the letter is Morgan’s, the writer of the letter, who is not necessarily its author, is present in his fictional capacity as court scribe recording the words of his ruler, which are primarily in the narration and the petition of the letter, rather than in the formulaic salutation and conclusion. More tellingly, the author of the Morgan letter was familiar with the opening and closing formulas of British royal correspondence. The opening and closing formulas of the following privy-seal writ by Edward II to his butler Stephen of Abingdon (6 September 1322, in which Edward instructs Stephen about the distribution of wine), are strikingly similar to those of the Morgan letter: Edward par la grace dieu Roi Dengleterre Seignur Dirlande et Ducs Daquitaine; A nostre cher sergeant Estephne Dabyndon’ nostre Botiller salutz … Don’ souz nostre priue seal a Fenham le . vj . iour de Septembre Lan de nostre regne . xvjme.38 (Edward, by the grace of God King of England, Lord of Ireland, and Duke of Aquitaine; to our dear royal servant Stephen of Abingdon, our butler, greeting. … Issued under our privy seal at Fenham, the 6th day of September, in the 16th year of our reign.)

Like the Morgan letter, Edward’s is from a royal to a member of the royal household. The salutation begins with the royal sender stating his name and his title, which he holds by the grace of God. From there he identifies the addressee with a formula beginning ‘to our so-and-so’ in which he identifies the addressee in terms of relationship, name, and titles, if any. The closing formula begins with the word ‘Done’ (issued), immediately identifying the royal residence and the date of the document’s issue. The Morgan letter uses the same opening and closing formulas as this letter from Edward II, albeit with a fictional place and with no reference to a date – perhaps because Morgan writes as of the Other World, which does not reckon time in human terms. The opening and closing formulas used in the Morgan letter were used in documents issued by English kings in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries under both the great and privy seals, such as writs and letterspatent, as well as in royal correspondence (Appendix I).39 The use of formulas found in chancery documents strongly suggests that the author was either a chancery clerk whose job was to produce documents for the 38 39

P. Chaplais, ed., English Royal Documents, King John-Henry VI, 1199–1461 (Oxford, 1971), p. 64, no. 11a. Further examples are in H. Hall, ed., A Formula Book of English Official Historical Documents, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1908), I, no. 23 (p. 33, Henry III); no. 26 (p. 35, Edward I); no. 22 (p. 32, Edward II); and Pierre Chaplais, English Medieval Diplomatic Practice, 2 vols. + facsimiles (pages numbered consecutively) (London, 1975–82), no. 324 (p. 704, Edward III). The basic Latin form is ‘ rex Anglie (or ‘rex Anglie et Francie’), dominus Hibernie, et dux Aquitannie’, discussed by Chaplais, pp. 154–55.

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king, or a secretary working for a bishop or magnate who exchanged correspondence with the crown. The anglicana hand used in the Morgan letter is common in documents written in the later Plantagenet period.40 Whoever he was – his identification must await further investigation – this professional scribe or secretary was versed in Latin and French, the ars dictaminis, proverbs, and very likely astrology. The author would perhaps be someone like the scribe of a similar manuscript, London, BL MS Royal 12.C.xii, who kept a commonplace book that reveals an interest in letters, proverbs, prognostication, and astrology. The notes in Royal 12.C.xii reflect the topics in the notes written in Royal 12.C.ix. Coincidentally, in the sixteenth century both Royal 12.C.ix and Royal 12.C.xii were in the possession of the same person, John Lord Lumley, and they may have been together even earlier if they were part of the Earl of Arundel’s estate, which Lumley inherited by his marriage to Arundel’s daughter Jane.41 Another possible link is to the scribe or scribes of Harley 2253, the manuscript of so-called Harley Lyrics in Middle English. Carter Revard argues that Harley 2253 and Royal 12.C.xii were by the same scribe who was active in the first half of the fourteenth century.42 It is much too soon to say whether the notes in Royal 12.C.ix are by the same person as either of these two manuscripts, although the hands are generally similar – as is to be expected if the writers were all chancery scribes. What does seem likely so far is that the hand that wrote the Morgan letter also wrote the proverbs at the end of the manuscript. If the hand that wrote the Morgan letter also wrote at least some of the astrological notes and proverbs in Royal 12.C.ix, then he was a person very much like the Harley scribe in terms of interests; but more investigation is needed before it will be possible to say what else in Royal 12.c.ix is by the writer of the Morgan letter. The identity of ‘Piers the Fierce’ is a much less difficult problem. Although the author characterized Morgan le Fay with familiar Arthurian motifs, neither the name of Morgan’s bachelor, ‘Pomelyn’ (perhaps meaning ‘little pommel’) nor the name of her subject, ‘Piers the Fierce’, is found elsewhere in Arthurian romance. As a fictional Arthurian name, ‘Perys le fers’ anticipates ‘Perys de Forest Savage’ in Malory’s Tale of Lancelot du Lake. However, if the name is meant to refer to an historical personage, ‘Piers the Fierce’ might well be Piers Gaveston, the social 40 41 42

Examples may be found in Chaplais, English Royal Documents and in the facsimiles volume accompanying English Medieval Diplomatic Practice. See Barron, ‘Lumley, John, First Baron Lumley (c. 1533–1609)’, ODNB, 34, pp. 750–53; and S. Hodgson-Wright, ‘Lumley, Jane, Lady Lumley (1537–1578)’, ODNB, 34, p. 749. C. Revard, ‘Scribe and Provenance’, in Studies in the Harley Manuscript: The Scribes, Contents, and Social Contexts of British Library MS Harley 2253, ed. S. Fein (Kalamazoo, 2000), pp. 21–110. I am grateful to Keith Busby (University of Wisconsin, Madison) for calling my attention to the possible similarity with the hand of Harley 2253 and for suggestions about reading the hand of the Morgan letter.

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climber extraordinaire who was putatively the homosexual lover of Edward II.43 Gaveston, a native of Gascony in France, was a member of Edward II’s household after about 1300, when Edward was still Prince of Wales. The Vita Edwardi II, which introduces Gaveston together with young King Edward II at its very outset, calls Gaveston ‘the most familiar and beloved’ of Edward’s chamberlains (‘camerarius familiarissimus et valde dilectus’) during this period.44 Edward himself was said to refer to Gaveston as ‘brother’, and he gave Gaveston his niece Margaret de Clare in marriage on 1 November 1307.45 Edward elevated Gaveston to Earl of Cornwall at his accession in 1307, then in January 1308 Edward appointed Gaveston regent (custos regni) for a brief period while he was in France for his wedding to Isabelle. Contemporary sources allege that Gaveston rose to power suddenly and undeservedly, and they refer to him as arrogant and contentious. The Vita Edwardi Secundi, which like the Morgan letter relates the story of Gaveston as a moral lesson, even reinforcing its message with a proverb, puts it this way: A verse: ‘For he who hunts two hares together,/ Will lose now one, and then the other’. But if anyone asks how Piers had come to deserve such great baronial displeasure, what was the cause of the hatred, what was the seedbed of the anger and jealousy, perhaps he will be very surprised, since it happens in almost all noble households today that some one of the lord’s household enjoys a prerogative of affection. So, then, that the condemnation of one may instruct others, and the downfall of the one condemned become a lesson to others, I shall endeavor to explain the causes of this hatred and envy as best I can … Piers, no earl of Cornwall, was unwilling to remember that once he had been Piers the humble esquire. For Piers reckoned no one his fellow, no one his equal (Lat. parem ‘peer’), except the king alone.46 43

44 45

46

Andrew Galloway (Cornell University) deserves credit for musing aloud in my presence whether ‘Piers the Fierce’ might refer to Piers Gaveston. The following discussion of Gaveston’s life and his relationship with Edward is based on R. M. Haines, King Edward II (Montreal, 2003); J. S. Hamilton, ‘Gaveston, Piers, Earl of Cornwall (d. 1312)’, ODNB, 21:654–56; P. Chaplais, Piers Gaveston: Edward II’s Adoptive Brother (Oxford, 1994); J. S. Hamilton, Piers Gaveston: Earl of Cornwall 1307–1312: Politics and Patronage in the Reign of Edward II (London, 1988). Vita Edwardi Secundi: The Life of Edward the Second, ed. and trans. W. R. Childs (Oxford, 2005), p. 4. On Gaveston as Edward’s ‘brother’, see the Vita Edwardi Secundi, for example, Edward’s response to the Ordainers’ demand that Gaveston be banished: ‘Verum a persecucione fratris mei Petri desistatis’ (But you shall stop persecuting my brother Piers); Vita, ed. and trans. Childs, pp. 32–33. The Lanercost Chronicle reports that Edward referred to Gaveston as his brother even before his coronation: ‘Meanwhile [in 1307] there came in great pomp to the king a certain knight of Gascony, Piers de Gaveston by name, whom my lord, the elder Edward, had exiled from the realm of England, and in accordance with the unanimous advice of parliament had caused solemnly to swear that he would never re-enter England; this because of the improper familiarity which my lord Edward the younger entertained with him, speaking of him openly as his brother’; The Chronicle of Lanercost, trans. H. Maxwell (Glasgow, 1913), p. 184; original text in Chronicon de Lanercost, ed. J. Stephenson, Bannatyne Club Publications 65 (Edinburgh, 1839), p. 210. ‘Versus: “Nam qui binas lepores una sectabitur hora,/ Vno quandoque, quandoque carebit

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The Morgan letter’s statement that ‘When Piers the Fierce was peer to peers, then Piers forgot all his peers’, could easily refer to Gaveston’s relationship as ‘brother’ to the king, his sudden rise to the position of custos regni, and his arrogance once in power. Despite or perhaps because of his long and intimate association with the new king, Gaveston was deeply resented. Although some chronicles praise his military prowess – for example, in the Scottish campaign of 1300, he was said by Swynebroke to be ‘graceful and agile in body, sharp witted, refined in manners, … [and] well-versed in military matters’47 – Gaveston’s swaggering at tournaments and his superior airs everywhere else were the subject of gossip. The very name ‘Piers the Fierce’ may allude to Gaveston’s fondness for assigning scurrilous names to prominent lords, such as the alliterating epithet ‘Burst-Belly’ he devised for Sir Henry de Lacy.48 The Morgan letter proceeds directly from Piers the Fierce’s arrogance to his sudden rise and downfall – ‘Now is Piers without peer and peers’ – concluding with the lesson that ‘It is much better to wait for Fortune than hastily to ascend and suddenly to descend.’ In fact, Gaveston suffered not one but three political downfalls. The first was in 1307, at the hand of Edward I, when Gaveston deserted Edward I’s ongoing Scottish campaign in order to participate in tournaments at home in France. At first Edward forgave Gaveston, but then he banished him, most likely because of Gaveston’s influence on the crown prince. Young Edward II revoked the sentence as soon as he became king later in the same year. By this time, Edward II and Gaveston were so close that scholars cannot be sure whether they were homosexual lovers or adoptive brothers – a term for a formal compact of sentimental friendship between two males that (only presumably) stopped short of sexual contact.49 Gaveston’s second

47 48

49

utroque”. Queret autem aliquis unde tantam indignacionem baronum meruerat Petrus; que causa adii, quid seminarium ire et inuidie extiterit, uehementer forsan admirabitur, cum in omnium fere magnatum domibus optentum sit hodie ut unus aliquis de familia dominice dileccionis gaudeat prerogatiua. Sane ut reprobacio unius alios instruat, et ruina reprobati ad aliorem cedat documentum, causas odii et inuidie pro posse meo curabo exprimere. … Set Petrus iam comes Cornubie olim se fuisse Petrum et humilem armigerum nouit intelligere. Nullum suum comitem, nullum suum parem reputabat Petrus, nisi solum regem’: Vita, ed. and trans. Childs, pp. 26/27. Childs identifies the proverb as Walther no. 23863. Geoffrey le Baker de Swynebroke, Galfridi le Baker de Swinbroke Chronicon Angliae temporibus Edwardi II et Edwardi III, ed. J. A. Giles, Caxton Society 7 (London, 1847), p. 4. ‘He despisede þe grettest lordes of þis lande, and callede Sir Robert Clare of Gloucestre, “Horessone”, and þe Erl of Lyncoln, Sir Henry þe [i.e. de] Lacy, “Broste bely”, and Sir Guy Erl of Warrwyk, “blanke [Blake, MS O] hounde of Arderne”. And also he callede þe noble Erl and gentil, Thomas of Lancastre, “Cherl”, and meny othere shames and scorn ham saide & by meny oþere grete lordes of Engeland, wherefore þai were towards him ful angri and sore annoiede’; The Brut, or The Chronicles of England, ed. F. W. D. Brie, EETS OS 131, 136, 2 vols. (London, 1906–08), I, 206–7. Other sources are cited in Haines, King Edward II, p. 395 n. 151. Hamilton, ‘Gaveston, Piers’, p. 2; Chaplais, Piers Gaveston, pp. 109ff. The Vita Edwardi Secundi notes that the earls who killed Gaveston ‘Occiderunt enim magnum comitem quem rex adopatuerat in fratrem, quem rex dilexit ut filium, quem rex habuit in socium et amicum’ (They put to death a great earl, whom the king had adopted as a brother, whom the king cherished as a son, whom the king regarded as a companion and friend); Vita, ed. and trans. Childs, pp. 50–51.

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downfall came in 1308 after the ‘Boulogne declaration’ (January, 1308) expressing baronial dissatisfaction with Edward’s and Gaveston’s outrageous conduct. At his coronation, for example, Edward had allowed Gaveston to walk before him and wear the crown of the Anglo-Saxon king Edward the Confessor. Parliament called for Gaveston’s exile in April, 1308; in June, Gaveston left England under penalty of excommunication should he return. Edward was able to have Gaveston recalled from exile in 1309.50 The final and most dramatic downfall of Gaveston was in 1311, at the hands of the ‘Ordainers’, who were so-called because of their role in passing the Ordinances of 1311, which accused Gaveston of stealing the crown jewels. If the Morgan letter is about Piers Gaveston, then his alleged theft of the jewels, condemnation by the Ordainers, capture, and execution would be summed up by the clause, ‘Now is Piers without peer and peers’. According to contemporary chronicles, Gaveston stole Edward I’s treasure of jewels – the original crown jewels – and stashed them at one of his properties in France. Somehow, when Gaveston was arrested in 1312, he was said to have the jewels in his possession at his property in Newcastle. Gaveston maintained that he was merely keeping the jewels safe, and that he had them with Edward’s permission. Lancaster made an inventory of the jewels upon Gaveston’s capture. It is very tempting to think of the jewels mentioned at the end of the Morgan letter – diamond, gold, ruby, and sapphire – as an allusion to the jewels that Piers was accused of stealing. For example, the inventory mentions ‘A gold brooch with two emeralds, two rubies, four pearls, and a sapphire in the centre; valued at 160 livres tournois’.51 In contemporary Latin documents, Gaveston’s first name is ‘Petrus’, which raises the further possibility that the precious stones at the end of the Morgan letter are also a punning reference to Gaveston’s Christian name. Two Arthurian associations with the theft of the jewels and with Gaveston’s death may be reflected in the Morgan letter. Some accounts have it that the jewels taken by Gaveston included gold tables and trestles once belonging to King Arthur.52 His decapitation, possibly at the instruction of Guy Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, or Lancaster himself, took place on 19 June 1312 while Gaveston was in Lancaster’s custody. The Morgan letter’s observation ‘Now is Piers without peer and peers’ finds an interesting echo in an anonymous chronicle that noted with disapproval that 50 51 52

Hamilton, ‘Gaveston, Piers’, pp. 3–4. Quoted from Chaplais, Piers Gaveston, p. 91. ‘And þis Piers of Gauaston made so grete maistries, þat he went into þe Kyngus tresorie in þe Abbay of Westminster, and toke þe table of golde, wiþ þe tresteles of þe same, and meny oþere riche gewelles þat some tyme wer þe noble Kyng Arthures’: The Brut, ed. Brie, I, 206. Haines, King Edward II, p. 385 n. 16 also cites Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 174, fol. 123r. The belief that these items were King Arthur’s was repeated in post-medieval histories, e.g. the anonymous History of the Life and Reign of Edward II (London, 1713), p. 7.

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Gaveston was put to death without the benefit of a defence by his peers: ‘The aforementioned earls of Lancaster and Warwick assumed the power of the king to themselves, thus slaying the aforementioned Piers without the justice of law or of peers of the kingdom as previously mentioned.’53 Lancaster afterwards styled himself ‘King Arthur’, for which he was mocked by the crowd at his own ignominious and poetically just execution by decapitation on 22 March 1322, when Edward finally got his revenge.54 One possible explanation for the author’s inspiration of using Morgan le Fay as the voice for his political criticism of Piers Gaveston is therefore that the author was adopting a stance parallel to Lancaster’s, albeit in the persona of Morgan le Fay rather than Arthur himself. After his death, Gaveston’s body could not be buried in hallowed ground because he had died excommunicate. Not until 1314/15 did Edward secure the body and transfer it to his manor at Langley for burial in the royal chapel on 2 January.55 The Vita Edwardi Secundi draws a moral from the fate of Gaveston’s earthly remains that echoes the Morgan letter’s comment about hastily ascending and suddenly descending: The Dominican Friars, however, gathered up Piers, and, sewing the head to the body, they carried it to Oxford; but because he was excommunicate they dared not bury the body in church. Such Piers’s end, who, climbing up too high, ‘Crashed into nothingness from whence he came’.56

There is even an astrological event associated with the final downfall of Piers Gaveston that may help to explain why the Morgan letter was written at the bottom of lunar tables used for calculating eclipses. According to the Lanercost Chronicle, shortly after Gaveston’s execution there occurred a solar eclipse: Having surrendered [to Thomas, earl of Lancaster], he was committed to the custody of Sir Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, who had ever before been his chief enemy, and about the feast of the nativity of John the Baptist [24 June], in the absence of Aymer de Valence, he was beheaded on the high road near the town of Warwick by command of the Earl of Lancaster and the Earl of Warwick.   On the third of the nones of July [5 July], on the vigil of the octave of the Apostles Peter and Paul was a new moon [luna tricesima], and an eclipse of

53

54 55 56

‘predicti comites de Lancaster. et Warr. in se regiam potestatem assumebant prefatum Petrum sine legis iudicio aut parum regni sic ut premittitur perimendo’: Haines, King Edward II, p. 396 n. 155, from Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Dugdale 12, p. 53, a transcript of ‘folio 50v of a Stoneleigh Abbey register not known to be extant’. Haines, King Edward II, pp. 141, 269, and 427 n. 363. See Haines, King Edward II, pp. 86, 94. ‘Fratres autem Iacobini collegerunt Petrum, et caput corpori consuentes detulerunt illud Oxoniam; set quia innidatus erat sentencia, non sunt ausi sepelire corpus in ecllesia. Exitus hic Petri qui, dum conscendit in altum, “labitur in nichilum qui fuit ante nichil” ’: Vita, ed. and trans. Childs, pp. 48–9. Childs finds no source for the proverb.

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the sun about the first hour of the day [6 a.m.], and the sun appeared like a horned moon, which was small at first and then larger, until about the third hour it recovered its proper and usual size; though sometimes it seemed green, but sometimes of the colour which it usually has.57

If all of this very suggestive and circumstantial evidence adds up, then the Morgan letter is the moralistic and satirical product of a professional scribe who knew, quite possibly at first-hand, the ruinous career of Piers Gaveston. Like the Draco Normannicus, the Morgan letter uses the legend of King Arthur to comment on contemporary events. If it indeed refers to Piers Gaveston, the Morgan letter would have been composed at some point after Gaveston’s death and copied onto folios 165v–166r of Royal 12.C.ix in the middle of the fourteenth century, going by the approximate date of the hand. Indeed, most commentary about Gaveston was written after his demise. All such commentary emphasized his sudden rise, his arrogance, and his deserved fall. A fifteenth-century poem about him from Cambridge, Trinity College O.9.38 that parodies the Latin hymn ‘Pange lingua’ begins ‘Celebrate, my tongue, the death of Piers who disturbed England,/ Whom the king in his love placed over all Cornwall./ Hence in his pride he would be called “earl”, not “Piers” ’. Later it criticizes Gaveston’s arrogant belief that he was peerless, a notion found also in the Morgan letter: ‘He who was unwilling to have an equal (Lat. nulli volens comparari), clothed in the extreme of pride against his will bends his neck to the executioner’.58 An ex eventu Merlin prophecy known as The Six Last Kings, existing in eight versions, the first of which was composed shortly after Gaveston’s downfall and the second of which was incorporated into the Anglo-Norman and English Brut chronicles, predicts, ‘And in the time of the aforesaid Goat [i.e., Edward] an eagle will rise up in Cornwall and will have feathers of gold [a reference to Gaveston’s coat of arms], and will come to its end in “Saverne” [i.e. Gaversiche, the name reported in other chronicles].’59 Into the eighteenth century, literary and historical writing about the reign of Edward II continued to see an 57

58

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‘Redditus autem traditus est in custodia domini Eymeri de Valence, comitis de Penebroke, qui semper antea inimicus suus fuerat capitalis, et circa festum nativitatis sancti Johannis baptistae decollatus est ex praecepto comitis Loncastriae et comitis Warwici, in absentia Eymeri de Valence, in alta via juxta villam Warwici. Tertio autem nonas Julii, scilicet, in vigiliis octavarum apostolorum Petri et Pauli, fuit luna tricesima et eclipsis solis circa primam horam diei, et apparuit sol quasi luna cornuta, quae primo fuit parva, postea major, donec circa tertiam horam diei perveniret ad debitam et solitam quantitatem; apparuit autem aliquando viridis aliquando vero caloris quem solebat habere’: Chronicon de Lanercost, ed. Stevenson, pp. 218–19. English translation from Maxwell, Chronicle of Lanercost, p. 198. ‘Pange lingua necem Petri qui turbavit Angliam,/ Quem rex amans super omnem praetulit Cornubiam;/ Vult hinc comes, et non Petrus, dici per superbiam’ (lines 1–3); ‘Nulli volens comparari, summon fastu praeditus, Se nolente subdit collum passion deditus’: The Political Songs of England, ed. and trans. Thomas Wright, with a new introduction by P. Coss (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 259–61 (pp. 259–60). Hymns titled ‘Pange lingua’ were written in the same metre by Venantius Fortunatus and by Thomas Aquinas. See T. M. Smallwood, ‘The Prophecy of the Six Kings’, Speculum 60 (1985), 571–92 (p. 575).

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exemplum of arrogance in Gaveston.60 By sounding a warning about pride going before a fall, the Morgan letter, written perhaps by a chancery clerk or by a secretary to one of the Ordainers, draws Piers Gaveston as ‘Piers the Fierce’ out of his immediate historical circumstances into the timeless world of proverbial truth, a truth pronounced by Morgan le Fay, empress of the wilderness, from her jewelled stronghold, in Avalon.61 APPENDIX I Opening and Closing Formulas in Fourteenth-Century British Royal Documents Great seal writ of ‘certiorari’ of Edward II, Westminster, 6 May 1309: Edwardus dei gracia Rex Anglie Dominus Hibernie et Dux Aquitannie dilecto et fideli suo Hugoni de Neyuile salutem … apud Westm’ .vjº. die Maij . anno . regni . nostri . secundo. (Edward by the grace of God King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Aquitaine, to his beloved and faithful Hugh Neville … At Westminster, the 6th of May, in our second regnal year.) Source Chaplais, Pierre, ed., English Royal Documents, King John – Henry VI, 1199– 1461 (Oxford, 1971).

60

61

The ‘English Couplet Version’ of the prophecy (c. 1370–80) identifies the eagle as Gaveston (Smallwood, pp. 578–79). For example: Michael Drayton, Peirs Gaueston Earle of Cornvval: His Life, Death, and Fortune (London, 1594; reissued 1595, 1596); Sir Hubert Francis, The Deplorable Life and Death of Edward the Second, King of England: Together with the Downefall of the Two Vnfortunate Fauorits, Gauestone and Spencer. Storied in an Excellent Poem (London, 1628; reissued 1631, 1721); Lady Elizabeth Cary, The History of the Life, Reign, and Death of Edward II, King of England, and Lord of Ireland: With the Rise and Fall of his Great Favourites, Gaveston and the Spencers (London 1680; reissued 1689, 1808); J. Adamson, The Reigns of King Edward II and so far of King Edward III as Relates to the Lives and Actions of Piers Gaveston, Hugh de Spencer, and Roger, Lord Mortimer (London, 1732); The Life and Death of Pierce Gaveston, Earl of Cornwal; Grand Favorite, and Prime Minister to that Unfortunate Prince, Edward II, King of England. With Political Remarks, by way of Caution to All Crowned Heads and Evil Ministers. By a true patriot (London, 1740). The existence of the Morgan letter is announced in my essay ‘Morgan le Fay at Hautdesert’, in On Arthurian Women: Essays in Memory of Maureen Fries, ed. B. Wheeler and F. Tolhurst (Dallas, 2001), pp. 103–19. In addition, I have presented earlier versions of the present argument at the 20th International Congress of the International Arthurian Society (Bangor, Wales, July 2002); Cornell University (March 2004); the Medieval Symposium of the International Association of University Professors of English (Vancouver, August 2004); the University of Leeds (March 2005); and Ithaca College (March 2006). Besides those acknowledged in notes above, I wish to thank Catherine Batt (University of Leeds and Fordham University), Andrew Wawn (University of Leeds), Linda Gowans (independent scholar), and the Ithaca College Medieval and Renaissance Colloquium, especially Wendy Hyman, Daniel Breen, and Stephen Clancy, for their suggestions.

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APPENDIX II Sententiae in MS Royal 12.C.ix 1. Morgan letter line 5, ‘celi ceo pert a pers que son temps ne volt atendre’: Morawski 1248 / Singer warten 2.1.7 / Singer eile 3.14.141 Meauz vaut bons atendre que folement enchaucier/ Mieux vault bien attendre que folement eschanger/ Meulz valt un (sic) bon atente que malveis à (=malveise) haste. (It is better to await a good (or goods) than to chase after it (or them) foolishly/ It is better to wait well than to foolishly exchange/ It is better to have a good that has been awaited than an evil that has been obtained hastily.) Content: cf. text 5: celi ceo pert a pers que son temps ne volt atendre. Structure: cf. text 8: mult melz valt fortune atendre que hastiuement ramper e sodeynement dessendre. (Morawski 1248 is from Paris, BnF lat. 18184 (s. xiiiex.–xivin.), fol. 143v; Walther 23768 is from Vienna 4201 (s. xv), fol. 8vb .) 2. Morgan letter line 8, ‘mult melz valt fortune atendre que hastiuement ramper e sodeynement dessendre’: Walther 23768 Quem rota fortuna violenter tollit in altum Temporibus lune grandem dat ad infima saltum. (The person whom the wheel of fortune violently raises on high Makes a big leap down on account of the phases (lit. ‘times’) of the moon.) Hassell F 123 Fortune fait monter ceuls d’em bas en haut et ceulz d’en haut fait desmonter. (Fortune makes those from below to climb on high and makes those on high to fall down.) Walther 4798 Cursus fortune variatur in ordine lune. (The course of fortune varies according to the moon.)

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Walther 7874 Est rota fortuna rota mobilis ut rota lune: Crescit, decrescit, in eodem sistere nescit. (The wheel of fortune is as changeable as the wheel (i.e, phases) of the moon: It waxes, it wanes, it is unable to remain the same.] (cf. Walther 14070 Ludus fortune variatur imagine lune/ Crescit, etc.; Walther 15320a Motus fortune variatur imagine lune; Walther 27769 Se rotat in medio fortune luna/ Recrescit, etc.; Walther 34264 Vultus fortune variatur imagine lune/ Crescit, etc.) 3. Royal 12.C.ix, fol. 178v: Gloria mundana non est nisi visio vana; Ut rosa verna cadit sic mundi gloria vadit. (Earthly glory is but a vain imagining; As the spring rose falls, thus the glory of the world passes.) (Line 1: Walther 10326, many similar; line 2: cf. Walther 32450 Ut rosa pallescit cum solem sentit adesse/ Sic homo vanescit; nunc est, nunc desinit esse.) Sources Hassell, James Woodrow, Jr., Middle French Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases (Toronto, 1982). Morawski, Joseph, ed., Proverbes français antérieurs au XVe siècle (Paris, 1925). Singer, Samuel, and Kuratorium Singer der Schweizerischen Akademie der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaften, Thesaurus Proverbiorum Medii Aevi/ Lexikon der Sprichwörter des romanisch-germanischen Mittelalters,14 vols. (Berlin and New York, 1995–2002). Walter, Hans, ed., Proverbia Sententiaeque Latinitatis Medii Aevi / Lateinische Sprichwörter und Sentenzen des Mittelalters in alphabetischer Ordnung, Carmina Medii Aevi Posterioris Latina II/1–6 (Göttingen, 1963–69). Vols. 7–9 ed. Paul Gerhard Schmidt from Walther’s Nachlass as … ac Recentiores Aevi / … und der frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen, 1983–86).

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APPENDIX III Belshazzar’s Letter (National Library of Wales, Brogyntyn II.1 [c. 1460–70], fols. 193v–4v) Balteser, be the grace of Mahounde, son of þe kynge of Sarsyn of Clefery [‘Caliphate’; cf. OED caliphate], dyssendynge of þe of þe kynge profet, Ihesu of Nazarethe, provoste of Iereco and of paradys terrestre, neve of þe gret Gode, Kynge of kyngys, Prynce of prynsys, soudan of Babylon, governor of porrey [‘country’] of Calde, rex of Ierusalem and of all Barbar, gret cane of Surrey, pryncypall of Turkys and … norence [beginning of word blotted with ink], lorde of all þe londe of Iuis, conqueror of all roalmes, also conqueror conquerynge al þe large ryʒt Cryst to conquer all of Lattayn tounge callyng þem Crystyndom, lorde of Italy and of Venysyann, master of Antyporttys, warden of Romeyn and of þe ilys of þe see, master abbas and commander of Tempull, lers [probably fers] breker of helmes and of harmes and of lanncces, cleyn dystryer of castellis, cetteis and tourris and of tounnis to hem beynge conterarr, lorde of armis, erle of largnus [perh. ‘largeness’], sleyer of Crystyn men, of Sarysons champyon, and protecter all þo þat beleve on Cryst mahe [‘maw’?], lorde of all þe worde [‘world’?], to þe Duke of Borgeyn sendy[þ] wryttynge, þus sayinge: we woll understonde þat we have verry knowlage for trewþe þat þou art agaynst us; wherfor we wolle and warne þe þat þou sese thy mallys purpo[s?] agaynste us hade, or ellys we sertyfy þe þat we woll our oune person witt all our oþer remmys and porvyaunce com to thy sayde londe and do smyt of þi hed witt in þi best cetty or toun beynge under þi obeysaunce befor all þe lordes and barronns of þi sayde londe or þat hit be þe first day of May next coImmynge or son uppon. Wryttyn in our cetty last conquest callyde Costantyn þe nobull in precens of xlvj kyngys under our obeysyence. Source Raymo, Robert R., ‘A New Satirical Proclamation’, Modern Language Notes 71 (1956), 243–44.

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APPENDIX IV Rhetorical Analysis Puns • guuernere ‘helmsman’ / ‘governor’ 2. • Pomelyn ‘little apple’ / ‘little pommel’ 2. • per-/ per / pers ‘perilous’ / ‘Piers’ / ‘peer’; ‘blue’ (i.e., “perse”) hence ‘bruised’? / ‘stone’?: perilos 3, perys le fers 3, per a pers 3, peris 4, tus ses pers 4, per e pers 4, pert a pers 5. • volt ‘will’ / vols ‘flights’ / voler ‘fly, will’: volt 5, a voler 6, vols 7, a voler 7; cf. vodra 7. Alliterative groups • per a pers 3, per e pers 4, pert a pers 5, vols a voler sanz a valer 7, rue de Rubie 10. • guuernere … grandmer … gardeyn 2–3. • Pomelyn … poynt perlios 2–3. Assonating groups • perys … fers 3, Lores … ore 3–4, peut … pert 4–5, aprendre … atendre … prendre … Rendre … atendre … dessendre 5–7–8–9. Balanced coordinated constructions • quant ‘when’ … lores ‘then’ … ore ‘now’ … ore ‘now’: quant perys … Lores oblia pers … ore est pers … ore la reyson Rendre 3, 3–4, 7–8. Syntactical parallelism • [From] name + title … a + name + title: Morgayne, etc. … A nostre Real bacheler Pomelyn, etc. 1,3. • title + de + location: emperisse de desert 1, Reine de puceles 1, dame des illes 1, guuernere des undes 2, gardeyn de point perilos 3. • volt / valt + atendre: ne volt atendre … valt fortune atendre 5, 8; cf. vodra prendre 7. • pronoun ceo ‘he’ + auxiliary + -er infinitive expressing motion: ceo comense a voler … ceo peyne a despleicer 6. • adverb expressing kind of motion + verb expressing up/down motion: hastiuement ramper e sodeynement dessendre 8–9. • preposition + place + de + precious stone/metal: a nostre chastel de dyamant 9, en la Roche door 9–10, sur la rue de Rubie 10, en coste la preirie de Saphir 10–11.

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IV

MALORY’S LANCELOT AND THE KEY TO SALVATION Raluca L. Radulescu Critics have examined Malory’s Grail quest and the ‘The Healing of Sir Urry’ in light of his perceived tendency to favour chivalric adventures over spiritual perfection in the rest of his Morte Darthur. In particular, Lancelot’s miracle in healing Urry may be seen as a fracture rather than an element of continuity in the post-Grail adventures. Two questions are raised in this episode: how can Lancelot be the vehicle of a divine miracle unless he has truly repented in his heart, and if he has truly repented, how can he return to his sin with Guenevere? As I have shown elsewhere, there are signs that in the ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’ Malory wishes to present Lancelot as some sort of model for repentant knights. In the present article I suggest that the ‘Healing’ is Malory’s version of the Grail quest, one in which all theological explanation has been stripped off, and where Lancelot’s success (in contrast to his failure in the quest) shows that only fellowship and obedience to both an earthly lord and God, rather than solitary accomplishment and obedience to the heavenly lord, can guarantee the preservation of knightly worship. Thus in the ‘Healing’ Lancelot’s reputation is maintained and Arthur’s court is celebrated; despite the knights’ failures in the quest, the fellowship can experience a collective religious moment. The main thesis of this article will be explored in several sections with the following aims: firstly, to suggest that Lancelot’s spiritual state is developing, not declining, as others have stated, between the Quest and the ‘Healing’, and thus there is more overlap between his religious 



Sections of this article have been presented at the 40th International Congress on Medieval Studies (Kalamazoo 2006), the 25th British Branch meeting of the International Arthurian Society (Newcastle 2006), and the 10th International Medieval Translator conference (Lausanne 2007). Suggestions made by audiences there, as well as by Peter Field, E. D. Kennedy, Karen Cherewatuk, Linda Gowans, and the anonymous reader at Arthurian Literature have greatly helped to improve my argument. Any remaining errors are my own. See my essays ‘Malory and the Quest for the Holy Grail’, in A Blackwell Companion to Arthurian Literature, ed. H. Fulton (forthcoming 2008), and ‘ “now I take uppon me the adventures to seke of holy thynges”: Lancelot and the Crisis of Arthurian Knighthood’, in Arthurian Studies in Honour of P. J. C. Field, ed. B. Wheeler (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 285–95.

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and chivalric values than conflict; secondly, to show that Malory intends the episode of the ‘Healing’ as an open miracle, for the whole fellowship, offered as a contrast to the privacy of the Grail experiences, which were granted to a select few; thirdly, to argue that it is Malory’s intention to give Lancelot the mission of showing what the famous phrase ‘best knight’ should mean in the ‘Healing’. The first two sections will focus on Lancelot’s progression in humility during the Grail quest, his acknowledgement of pride, his chief sin, and of choosing to obey God rather than Arthur. These sections will reveal that a new interpretation for the phrase ‘best knight of the world’ may be gleaned from the Grail quest. The third section will focus on Malory’s ‘Healing’, in order to show that Lancelot is granted a miracle when he obeys both Arthur and God. The fourth section will explain the meaning of the ‘Healing’ in terms of a context for the phrase ‘best knight of the world’.

Lancelot’s Progression in Humility Numerous moments in the ‘Tale of the Sankgreal’ attest to Malory’s changes in Lancelot’s portrait from that encountered in the Queste del Saint Graal, though critics disagree about the extent to which these changes are positive or negative. In the French text Lancelot must be shamed during his chivalric adventures in order to understand he is sinful and has to undertake penance. By contrast, Malory’s Lancelot humbly accepts the misfortunes visited upon him during the quest, and his transformation into a penitent makes him more appealing to a medieval reader than his French counterpart is. He remains a sinful knight, albeit one who is painfully aware of his shortcomings in tackling penance, but unable to achieve the perfection required of him in the quest. A close reading of the ‘Sankgreal’ shows that Lancelot’s testing in the quest marks the beginning of his apprenticeship in humility, a long process which will continue in the episode of the ‘Healing’ and once again when he enters his life as a hermit. During the quest Lancelot gives precedence to his obedience to God, his heavenly lord, rather than his







All references to Malory’s work are from The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, ed. E. Vinaver, 3rd edn rev. P. J. C. Field, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1990), cited parenthetically in the text. All references to La Queste del Saint Graal are from A. Pauphilet’s edition (Paris, 1967), with translations from The Quest of the Holy Grail, trans. P. Matarasso (London, 1969), cited parenthetically in the text. See L. D. Benson’s Malory’s Morte Darthur (Cambridge, MA, and London, 1976), for the view that Malory plays down Lancelot’s faults/sins as he found them in the French Queste; and S. C. B. Atkinson’s ‘Malory’s Lancelot and the Quest of the Grail’, for the opposite view, that Malory amplifies Lancelot’s sins, in order to draw the reader’s sympathy (the article is found in Studies in Malory, ed. J. W. Spisak (Kalamazoo, MI, 1985), pp. 129–53). See references at n. 2.

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earthly lord and lady. At the beginning of the ‘Sankgreal’ Guenevere tells a damsel she would prefer Lancelot to stay at the court (853.26–27). Later Lancelot disobeys Arthur by refusing to pull a sword out of a stone. On both occasions Lancelot obeys God, and thus acts according to the rule Malory states in the May passage: ‘firste reserve the honoure to God, and secundely thy quarrel muste com of thy lady’ (1119.28–29). However, Lancelot’s decision to set off on the Grail quest is unusual, since he had already been granted some experience of the holy vessel and its properties, but did not go on a spiritual quest. Lancelot’s earlier experience of the Grail takes place in the ‘Tale of Sir Tristram de Lyones’; there Lancelot arrives at the Castle of Corbenic and sees the Grail, and King Pelles tells him that ‘whan thys thynge gothe abrode the Rounde Table shall be brokyn for a season’ (793.33–34). Lancelot is destined to beget Galahad on Elaine, King Pelles’s daughter; when he realizes he has made the mistake of sleeping with Elaine twice, Lancelot goes through a period of temporary madness. He is cured by the Holy Grail at Corbenic: ‘and so by myracle and by vertu of that holy vessell sir Launcelot was heled and recoverde’ (824.25–27). Yet he is not ready to pursue redemption because, as Beverly Kennedy put it, he ‘prefers Guinevere to God’. Thus Malory places emphasis on Lancelot’s conflict of choices between God and his earthly lady; similarly, Tristram also chooses not to follow the Grail because his love for Isode is greater (845.25). Of course it is no coincidence that Galahad is conceived at the castle where the Grail is kept and that Lancelot is healed of his madness in the same place. It is not surprising that at the beginning of the ‘Sankgreal’ Lancelot willingly joins the new quest, and shows he now chooses to ‘firste reserve the honoure to God’. Obeying God implies, among other things, a humble and grateful appreciation of God’s gifts and an acknowledgement of one’s unworthy state as earthly sinner. In order to understand how he should serve God and practise humility, Lancelot needs to face a number of obstacles on his Grail adventures, and learn some lessons. The first lesson is that a humble awareness of sin is a precondition of a good confession, as the various hermits remind him. According to one of the hermits, a ‘clene confession’ is both a requirement for the Grail quest, and a reminder of the confession a knight makes when he becomes a knight. At the beginning of the quest, the young knight Melyas fails to choose the correct path at a crossroads because his eyes are clouded by two deadly sins, pride and covetousness. The hermit explains to him that the devil saw the young knight’s ‘pryde and youre presumpcion for to take you to the queste of the Sankgreal’, and thus managed to overthrow him. Furthermore, Melyas is told that ‘the wrytyng on the crosse was a significac[y]on of hevynly dedys, and 

B. Kennedy, Knighthood in the Morte Darthur, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 1992), p. 247.

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of knyghtly dedys in Goddys workys, and no knyghtes dedys in worldly workis; and pryde ys hede of every synne’ (886.20–23). Pride is every knight’s chief sin, and any ensuing misadventures Arthurian knights face are a punishment for it. Like Melyas, both Perceval and Lancelot are concerned with increasing their fame by winning battles against unknown opponents rather than striving to find the Grail, for example when they challenge Galahad, albeit without recognizing him. The two are baffled by Galahad, who swiftly unhorses them and rides away. The episode takes place ‘tofore the ermytayge where a recluse dwelled’, and shortly after their failure Perceval and Lancelot hear the words of praise the recluse addresses to Galahad: ‘God be with the, beste knyght of the worlde!’ (893.7). Upon hearing these words, Perceval decides to stay behind and learn more; he is more open to the mysteries of the quest than Lancelot is. Meanwhile Lancelot is unperturbed by the recluse’s words (even if the title ‘best knight of the world’ is usually Lancelot’s) and rides away in pursuit of more adventures. By ignoring the opportunity to understand the meaning of his failure to unhorse the new ‘best knight of the world’, Lancelot shows that he is not yet ready to become one of the elect knights. Then Lancelot reaches a chapel where a sick knight is healed by the Grail. Lancelot is refused a vision of the sacred vessel, which he recognizes from his previous experience in the ‘Book of Sir Tristram’. Faced with the new failure, Lancelot thinks about his reputation, yet he also displays profound inner turmoil and a desire to find out more: And whan sir Launcelot herde thys he was passyng hevy and wyst nat what to do. And so departed sore wepynge and cursed the tyme that he was bore, for than he demed never to have worship more. For tho wordis wente to hys herte, tylle that he knew wherefore he was called so. (895.29–33; emphasis mine)

As I have shown elsewhere, this passage contains signs that Lancelot provides good material for a penitent and that he will learn humility, albeit the hard way: his heart is moved by the event, which should be the first sign of the change he is to undergo in his repentance. This is his first step on the path to humility, which will culminate in the ‘Healing’. Later we learn that Lancelot’s misadventure was brought about by his lack of confession (not just before the quest, but for many years beforehand). Thus the parallel between Lancelot and Melyas becomes evident: Lancelot’s departure after his encounter with Galahad denotes pride, the same sin that clouded Melyas’s judgement in his own adventure. However, Melyas’s failure was due to his inexperience (both in chivalric life, since he had just been made a knight, and in the quest), whereas Lancelot’s 

See references at n. 2.

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impetuous pursuit of chivalric adventures at the expense of spiritual development denotes a graver, older sin. When he understands that God is not on his side, Lancelot starts blaming himself for seeking ‘worldly adventures for worldely desyres’ (a link to Malory’s original Round Table oath, 120.23–4) and pledges ‘to seke of holy thynges, now I se and undirstonde that myne olde synne hyndryth me and shamyth me, that I had no power to stirre nother speke whan the holy bloode appered before me’ (896.2–9). In the French Queste Lancelot does not mention chivalric deeds or the equation between the Grail and the vessel containing Christ’s blood. By contrast, Malory suggests that Lancelot is aware of the nature of his sin (pursuing ‘worldly adventures’, not spiritual advancement) and also remembers his cure by the Grail in the Tristram tale. Immediately after this adventure Lancelot shows initiative by seeking a hermit in order to confess his sins (896.14–26). As Stephen B. Atkinson has pointed out, Malory ‘stresses the individual decision to repent’; ‘[he] omits from Nacien’s speech (869.1–4) the requirement that the knights confess before setting out, but retains the demand that each knight be “clene of hys synnes”. Thus, Malory leaves it to the knights themselves to seek out confession and penance.’10 By shifting the initiative concerning confession from the hermit to Lancelot, Malory changes focus from the image of Lancelot as a proud knight who deserves punishment to a humble penitent who is seeking confession and is prepared to put into practice the penance the hermit will give him. Lancelot’s advancement on the path of humility is also evident in that he knows when to ask for forgiveness; he admits that he put his love for his earthly lady before his duty to God, for he not only loved Guenevere ‘unmesurabely and oute of mesure longe’, but he also undertook battles for her sake, for ‘bettir to be beloved, and litill or nought I thanked never God of hit’ (897.15–22). Thus Malory’s Lancelot shows he is aware of the proper order of his duties (first to God, then to his lady). However, the hermit who listens to this confession does not discuss Lancelot’s sin of adultery first, but instead draws attention to the greater sin of neglecting one’s Christian duty, in particular not using God-given talents 

 10

There he talks about ‘mes pechiez et ma mauvese vie’ (my sins and the wickedness of my life), and mentions he had been ‘primes chevaliers ne fu il hore que je ne fusse coverz de teniebres de pechié mortel, car tout adés ai habité en luxure et en la vilté de cest monde plus que nus autres’ (Queste, 61.28–62.7) (‘since I was first a knight but the murk of mortal sin has lapped me close, for more than any other I have given myself to lust and to the depravity of this world’ ­[Matarasso, pp. 85–6]). The comparison between the two versions shows that the French author is more explicit concerning Lancelot’s sin, whereas Malory not only suggests that Lancelot may be aware of his sin, but it is a sin which he blames on his forgetfulness of the Round Table oath. Here Malory closely reproduces the text of the Queste (62.24–63.6), with the change in the direction of address from Lancelot to the hermit, and not the other way round. Atkinson, ‘Malory’s Lancelot’, pp. 138 and 151, n. 16. In the Queste the requirement is more general: ‘ne nus n’i entre qui ne soit confés ou qui n’aille a confesse’ (p. 19.15–19, esp. 16) (‘nor shall anyone set out unless he be shriven or seek confession’ [Matarasso, p. 47]).

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in a humble and adequately grateful way. In the hermit’s words, Lancelot ‘ought to thanke God more than ony knyght lyvynge, for He hath caused you to have more worldly worship than ony knyght that ys now lyvynge’ (896.29–31).11 When Lancelot has finished his sorrowful confession, the hermit merely requires him to ‘no more com in that quenys felyship as much as ye may forbere’ (897.26–27). In addition, the hermit promises Lancelot more earthly glory: ‘I shall ensure you ye shall have the more worship than ever ye had’ (897.30–31). The hermit’s words send a controversial message – he promises him earthly success when he should mention personal salvation and give Lancelot penance. The message is also at odds with the reader’s expectation that Lancelot be required to forsake the queen forever. The hermit’s lenience towards Lancelot’s grave sins is perhaps due to his justifiable concern not to drive the sinner to despair and away from God. The promise of future worship also fits in well with Malory’s manifest special treatment of Lancelot as the best of sinful knights. Here the repetition of the phrase ‘best knight among sinful men’ acts as a constant reminder of the link between chivalry and sinfulness. It highlights how Lancelot as both knight-lover and knight-traitor is associated with other worshipful knights, Tristram (who betrayed his lord King Mark by loving his wife, Isode) and Lamorak (who was regarded by the Orkney brothers as a traitor), as if being the best knight of the world requires some degree of sinfulness.12 Thus Lancelot’s challenge in the Grail quest seems to be to recognize and adhere to the correct order of his duties, first to God, then to his lady. During his Grail adventures his sin is identified as earthly pride, and the appropriate lesson to learn is humility; the best example of his pride is his search for more worship.13 Upon leaving the hermit, Lancelot comes to a field where two parties of knights are fighting; one side is dressed in white, the other in black. When he notices that one side is close to losing the battle, Lancelot rides in the middle of the fight ‘for to helpe the wayker party in incresyng of hys shevalry’ (931.24–25). Even before the reader is told which party Lancelot has chosen (his choice of the black knights is inherited from the Queste), the reason for his subsequent failure is stated: his purpose is to increase his reputation by siding with the weaker side. Only when he is taken prisoner does he understand the wrong choice he has made: ‘now I am shamed, and I am sure that I am more synfuller than ever I was’ (932.17–18). Lancelot correctly identifies 11

12 13

There are numerous other references to Lancelot’s status as best knight of the world, as attested by the hermit who tells him he is ‘more abeler than ony man lyvynge’ (927.15–16) or later, the one who says: ‘no doute he [Lancelot] hath no felow of none erthly synfull man lyvyng’ (948.20–9). It is not surprising that in the episode of the ‘Healing’ Lancelot arrives just after the knight-lovers Tristram and Lamorak are mentioned. See below, p. 111. For another analysis of sin and pride, see R. Kelly’s ‘Wounds, Healing, and Knighthood in ­Malory’s Tale of Lancelot and Guinevere’, in Studies in Malory, ed. Spisak, pp. 173–97.

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the sin of pride as the main reason for his failure, a fact confirmed in his subsequent dream vision and also by a recluse who explains to him the significance of the adventure. The black knights are those sinful men who did not go to confession before setting out on the quest, while the white ones are the pure and chaste ones, who are worthy of the Grail adventures, and are already cleansed of their sins: Than thou behelde the synners and the good men. And whan thou saw the synners overcom tho[u] enclyned to that party for bobbaunce and pryde of the worlde, and all that muste be leffte in that queste; for in thys queste thou shalt have many felowis and thy bettirs, for thou arte so feble of evyll truste and good beleve. (933.30–934.3)

Lancelot chose ‘bobbaunce and pryde of the worlde’, both of which should be left behind during the Grail quest. Thus he shows he has not understood the first lesson of humility he was given when he embarked on the quest, when his sins withheld from him the full vision of the Grail. Steeped in sin and inexperienced in penance Lancelot might be, but he is willing to make amends; as the recluse points out, he may be excused for his frailty if he is determined to persevere in his new life and leave aside knightly pride: Now have I warned the of thy vayne glory and of thy pryde, that thou haste many tyme arred ayenste thy Maker. Beware of everlastynge payne, for of all erthly knyghtes I have moste pité of the, for I know well thou haste nat thy pere of ony erthly synfull man. (934.19–23)

Given the repeated emphasis on pride alongside sexual purity in the Grail quest, the reader understands that both Lancelot’s love for Guenevere and his sin of pride will prevent him from receiving a full vision of the holy vessel. Even so his partial achievement at Corbenic is foretold by a damsel who tells him: ‘yet shall ye se hit [the Grail] more opynly than ever ye dud, and that shall ye undirstonde in shorte tyme’ (928.5–7). However, the imminence of the Grail event does not spur Lancelot on the path of penance. When he comes to a cross, he ‘made his prayers unto the crosse that he never falle in dedely synne agayne’ (928.16–17), but in his sleep he is rebuked for his pride by a divine voice. His night vision consists of seven kings and two knights in heaven, while the divine voice tells Lancelot that he is banished from their company because he had ‘ruled ayenste me [God] as a warryoure and used wronge warris with vayneglory for the pleasure of the worlde more than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded’ (928.35–929.1). Lancelot is reminded, once again, that the ‘wronge warris’ undertaken for pride, the chief sin of the Arthurian knights, are caused by his sin of not thinking of his heavenly lord first, but rather having followed his earthly impulses. If Lancelot wavers in his determination to learn humility and serve God, only failure will come his way. 99



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As the repentance process unravels, Lancelot does display more humility, and this quality provides the key to his partial vision, as well as his success in the ‘Healing’. He undertakes physical penance by wearing a hair shirt, a sign that the path to salvation is hard: ‘the heyre prycked faste sir Launcelots skynne and greved hym sore’. His response to the pain is appropriately humble: ‘but he toke hit mekely and suffirde the payne’ (931.8–10). The penance and Lancelot’s attitude to it echo the rules outlined in the Middle English penitential manual Jacob’s Well, in which penance includes ‘hardnes of clothyng on bak & in bed’, ‘mekenes, lownes & myldenes’, and ‘restitucyoun’.14 Similarly, in the popular Cursor Mundi the remedy for the sin of pride is meekness: ‘Ogaines þis sin es medcyn gude/ Forto be meke and milde of mode/ And knaw oure self in alkins thing.’15 Interestingly, in the same Cursor Mundi a late medieval reader is told that a priest can absolve most sins, but some serious sins, like adultery, false witness and manslaughter, require the sinner to seek the bishop in order to receive penance and absolution. From this perspective a late medieval reader would understand that the first hermit’s lenient penance for Lancelot’s sin of adulterous love indicates that he cannot absolve such a grave sin; Lancelot will have to seek further penance later on in his life. Indeed Lancelot, although visibly determined to persevere in his penance, is continuously tested and fails. He shows he is capable of displaying heart-felt humility, something Gawain is not; this openness to change is another key to understanding his position in the ‘Healing’, when he is singled out among the Round Table knights (see below, pp. 105–16). Overall Lancelot’s progress through the quest would appear as that of a man perhaps long-steeped in sin (much like in the French source), and a beginner in penance, hence ‘so feble of evyll truste and good beleve’ (934.3). The ‘Sankgreal’ preserves Malory’s desire to remind the reader (and Lancelot) that God will forgive even the best knight of the world the sin of inconstancy; the condition is that Lancelot should persevere in his new commitments and put aside his knightly pride. This idea is reflected in the hermit’s words: Now have I warned the of thy vayne glory and of thy pryde, that thou haste many tyme arred ayenste thy Maker. Beware of everlastynge payne, for of all erthly knyghtes I have moste pité of the, for I know well thou haste nat thy pere of ony erthly synfull man. (934.19–23)

Here Lancelot’s pre-eminence is stated again as one more reason for him to pursue repentance, going beyond the superficial performance of rituals. 14 15

Jacob’s Well, ed. A. Brandeis, EETS OS 115 (London, 1900; repr. 1973), pp. 194–5. Cursor Mundi, ed. R. Morris, EETS OS 68 part 5 (London, 1878; repr. 1966), lines 27650–52. I will return to this text later in this article, in relation to the ‘Healing’ episode. See below, pp. 106.

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His position in the chivalric world stands proof that he has won favour with God, and is called to thank Him for his gifts and repay His generosity in granting him so many earthly victories and such fame. Throughout the ‘Sankgreal’, however, Lancelot will remain a beginner in religious ways, which justifies his (inappropriate) weariness in the episode when he spends privileged time with his son Galahad.16 Malory’s Lancelot is willing to expiate his sins, so his downfall is not so much his love for Guenevere as his instability in God’s ways and forgetful neglect of thanksgiving, itself seen as a failure in chivalric conduct. As a(nother) hermit puts it: For I dare sey, as synfull as ever sir Laucelot hath byn, sith that he wente into the queste of the Sankgreal he slew never man nother nought shall, tylle that he com to Camelot agayne; for he hath takyn [upon] hym to forsake synne. And nere were that he ys nat stable, but by hys thought he ys lyckly to turne agayne, he sholde be nexte to encheve hit sauff sir Galahad, hys sonne; but God knowith hys thought and hys unstablenesse. And yett he shall dye ryght an holy man, and no doute he hath no felow of none erthly synfull man lyvyng. (948.20–9; emphasis mine)

Malory highlights two sides of Lancelot’s nature here: refraining from murder and forsaking sin. Lancelot is unstable; this is his flaw, his weakness, which draws him closer to the reader. The reader understands that outside the quest Lancelot has to face the social consequences of his faults (disloyalty to his lord, breaking the Round Table code), but when on the quest, however, he needs to turn his attention to God and spiritual values.

(Dis)Obeying One’s Earthly Lord In the ‘Sankgreal’ Lancelot’s apprenticeship in humility is also evident in his relationship with his earthly lord, King Arthur. At the beginning of the quest Arthur hears about a marvelous sword in a stone floating on the river, and he urges his knights to attempt to pull it out. Lancelot is the only one who refuses to follow Arthur’s command Sir, hit ys nat my swerde; also, I have no hardines to sette my honde thereto, for hit longith nat to hange by my syde. Also, who that assayth to take hit and faylith of that swerde, he shall resseyve a wounde by that swerde that he shall nat be longe hole afftir. And I woll that ye weyte that thys same

16

B. Kennedy states that ‘Lancelot’s weariness is Malory’s invention and suggests that he is a beginner in the spiritual life. By contrast, while Bors and Perceval wait on board of the ship for Galahad to join them, “ever they were in theyre prayers” (975.17), an observation which is likewise Malory’s invention … It would seem that Malory wished his readers to know that by comparison with the Grail knights, Lancelot has had very little experience of contemplative prayer’ (Knighthood, p. 265).

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day shall the adventure of the Sankgreall begynne, that ys called the holy vessel. (856.20–27)

A comparison with the Queste shows that, as Atkinson has noted, Malory’s Lancelot ‘speaks with authority on the subject of the Grail’ in a more direct way than he does in the French version.17 In the Queste Lancelot’s words show he is more concerned with his reputation (he fears he might fail) than the king’s command (5.28–6.6). Lancelot’s refusal is set in contrast with the responses given by the other knights who attempt drawing the sword, but fail. B. Kennedy has remarked: ‘only three knights respond verbally: Arthur, Gawain and Lancelot, the same three knights who will dominate Malory’s post-Grail narrative. The three Grail knights say nothing.’18 Both in the Queste and in the ‘Sankgreal’ the third knight Arthur commands to pull the sword is Perceval, but in neither version has he anything to say (857.1–858.5). I have explored elsewhere the nuances Malory inserts into the exchange between Arthur and Gawain, and how these shed light onto Gawain’s obedience to his earthly lord (and uncle).19 Lancelot is correct in refusing his earthly lord’s command and choosing to follow God’s demands in the quest instead. His attitude is appropriately humble when he mentions God’s punishment to those who might attempt pulling the sword. Thus Lancelot is a contrast to Gawain, who, as the traditional Arthurian knight, is guilty of a variety of sins, among which disregard for the religious constraints of the quest (confession, refraining from murder), and who also chooses to give precedence to earthly hierarchy (expressed both in blood and political ties). When all the knights have failed to pull the sword, Galahad arrives and claims it. His speech is original with Malory; it contains the sword’s history and includes the stories of Balin and Balan, the two knights involved in the unfortunate ‘dolerous stroke that Balyn gaff unto kynge Pelles, the whych ys nat yett hole, nor naught shall be tyll that I [Galahad] hele hym’ (862.29–863.9).20 Here Malory uses the sword-in-the-stone episode not only to remind the reader of Arthur’s destiny, but also to create links among Arthur, Galahad, Balin and Lancelot. There are few occasions in the Morte when Arthur commands his knights to perform a difficult deed: twice it is pulling a sword (the episodes of Balin and Galahad, respectively) and the third time it is healing a knight (Lancelot’s healing of Sir Urry). Lancelot is only present at two of these (Galahad’s episode, and the ‘Healing’), and both times he refuses to obey Arthur’s command. Both times the events take place at Pentecost, the feast during which Arthur

17 18 19 20

Atkinson, ‘Malory’s Lancelot’, p. 132. B. Kennedy, Knighthood, p. 252. See reference at n. 2. In the Queste Galahad does not say anything about the past history of the sword (12.12–23).

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pulled his own sword. The Round Table oath is also yearly renewed at Pentecost, when Arthur gathers his fellowship of knights (120.26–27).21 It appears, therefore, that Arthur’s and Galahad’s missions are divinely sanctioned, and so will be Lancelot’s when healing Sir Urry during Pentecost celebrations (see below, p. 107). Both in the episode of Balin and in the ‘Healing’ Arthur sets an example to his knights. In Tale I, he grabs the sword from a sheath a damsel was wearing, and fails to pull it out;22 in the ‘Healing’, he touches Sir Urry’s wounds, but is not able to heal him. Neither event is for Arthur, since Balin’s sword was predestined for Galahad, the Grail knight (91.21–25); Urry’s healing is Lancelot’s sword-in-the-stone moment.23 As will be shown later in this article, Lancelot’s unique status as healer of wounds inflicted by swords becomes more poignant when seen in the light of Arthur’s and Galahad’s political and religious leadership, respectively. When Galahad’s sword appears floating on the river, however, Arthur refrains from setting an example to his knights. It is not clear whether he understands that the Grail adventures present a different challenge than those commonly encountered in earthly quests. Malory may want to emphasize the conflicting impulses knights face during the Grail quest: either to obey God (Lancelot’s words hint that the sword is predestined for a special knight) or one’s earthly lord (here Arthur’s command to handle the sword). In refusing to obey Arthur’s command, Lancelot shows he has understood some of the constraints imposed by the Grail quest. In the following scene a damsel calls Lancelot both the ‘best knight of the world’ and a sinful man, and Malory’s Lancelot humbly admits he ‘was never none of the beste’ (863.20–31). This scene records Malory’s change to the original text of the Queste so as to show Lancelot’s awareness of his changed status, in opposition to the French damsel’s purposeful shaming of the best knight (12.30–13.8). Interestingly, also, when Lancelot refuses to pull the sword, he identifies the Grail as the holy vessel containing the blood of Christ, the object whose keeper was Lancelot’s ancestor, Joseph of Arimathea: ‘And I woll that ye weyte that thys same day shall the adventure of the Sankgreall begynne, that ys called the holy vessel’ (856.20–27). This is Malory’s original addition, which highlights Lancelot’s privileged status in the quest, not only as Galahad’s father, but as a descendant in the line of the Grail keepers. Galahad is known to the reader as ‘of kynges lynage and of the kynrede of Joseph of Aramathy’ 21

22

23

Balin’s feat does not take place at Pentecost – one more reason for his ‘unhappiness’ and a sign that Malory wants to dissociate Balin from the group made up of Arthur, Galahad and Lancelot. M. J. Evans explored the link between Balin’s and Galahad’s swords in his ‘Ordinatio and Narrative Links: The Impact of Malory’s Tales as a “hoole book” ’, in Studies in Malory, ed. Spisak, pp. 29–52 (p. 32). See A. E. Guy, ‘Knightly Perfection in Malory: Sir Urré as Lancelot’s Sword-in-the-Stone’, Medieval Perspectives 7 (1992), 78–90.

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(859.12–13), and Lancelot’s lineage has been rehearsed by the queen, in an original passage in Malory (865.7–12). This reminds the reader of the mythical line of Joseph of Arimathea, who was credited with bringing the Holy Grail to Britain, and whose son, Josephes, was supposedly one of the first Christian bishops. Thus Lancelot partakes in the glory of the Grail keepers’ tradition despite his own sinful state. Valerie Lagorio has amply researched the fifteenth century English prelates’ claim of precedence over Continental powers on the basis of Joseph’s story.24 Seen against the contemporary cultural appropriation of this myth, Lancelot’s noble ancestry both returns the Arthurian story to an ancient past (and a typology that only kings and sons of kings can claim) and foreshadows a new interpretation of the phrase ‘best knight of the world’ in the post-Grail adventures, when he performs miracles and later becomes a hermit. However, one cannot help asking the question: how can Lancelot the sinner go back to Guenevere once he has witnessed, even if imperfectly, the Grail? Long ago R. T. Davies pointed out that ‘Lancelot lived as noble as can a man who frankly accepts and does not renounce his disposition to sin’; we are reminded, also, that Malory favours Lancelot by calling him ‘the trewest lover of ony synfull man that ever loved woman’, and ‘the best knight … of ony synfull man of the worlde’ (1259, 863, 930, 941, 948).25 I am suggesting that, by refusing to obey his earthly lady and lord in the Grail quest (not abandoning the quest at Guenevere’s plea, and not following Arthur’s command to pull the sword), Lancelot is trying to obey his heavenly lord, and achieve spiritual perfection. In this way perhaps he attempts to give precedence to the spiritual call reserved to his bloodline. Nevertheless, outside the Grail quest, Lancelot is under the pressure of earthly hierarchies, and he obeys both his lady (by returning to her love), and his lord (when he attempts to heal Sir Urry). Lancelot is evidently unable to persist in his repentance as long as his earthly duties call him. As his (changing) choices show, he is unstable, hence more human in the reader’s eyes. A hermit famously says: ‘by hys thoughte he [Lancelot] ys lyckly to turne agayne … God knowith hys thought and hys unstablenesse’ (948.20–9); Galahad’s memorable words to Bors at the end of the Grail quest echo in the reader’s mind until the end of the Morte: ‘as sone as ye se hym [Lancelot] bydde hym remembir of this worlde unstable’ (1035.10–12). Malory’s emphasis on mutability reinforces a human, accepting attitude to sin, already hinted at in the hermit’s lenient penance to Lancelot. In light of Malory’s overall design in the ‘Sankgreal’, Lancelot’s worldliness brings him closer to the knights who fail in the quest, and his peerless nobility confirms that the title of 24 25

V. Lagorio, ‘The Evolving Legend of St Joseph of Glastonbury’, Speculum 46.2 (1971), 209– 31. R. T. Davies, ‘The Worshipful Way in Malory’, in Patterns of Love and Courtesy: Essays in Memory of C. S. Lewis, ed. J. Lawlor (London, 1966), pp. 157–77 (p. 170).

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‘best knight of the world’ is justifiably still his when the Grail adventures are over.

The ‘Healing’ as a Collective Religious Experience The ‘Healing’ provides Malory with an opportunity to discuss, once again, the conflict between choosing to obey one’s earthly lord or God. Here Lancelot’s claim to the status of best knight of the world is assessed, if only to reveal he can act as a channel of God’s grace in spite of his failings. Malory uses a healing motif to present a collective religious experience, a possible sign that there is an available route to salvation for the fellowship of the Round Table, if only they strive to heal their chief sin, excessive pride. Critical opinion on the ‘Healing of Sir Urry’ is divided; scholars agree that Malory added an original episode to his main sources for Tale VII, the French Mort Artu and the stanzaic Morte Arthur.26 Peter Field has drawn attention to the absence of the name Urry from any other Arthurian story,27 but Linda Gowans has recently shown that ‘Urry’ appears in a ‘startlingly resonant context’ in the medieval Cornish play Origo Mundi (part of the Ordinalia cycle), which is an adaptation of the biblical story of King David, Bathsheba and Uriah the Hittite.28 This new discovery sheds light on Malory’s shaping of the ‘Healing’ as a version of the Grail quest, albeit one stripped of any theological explanations. The Cornish play Imago Mundi contains a version of the legend of the Holy Rood; the latter had international appeal and widespread circulation in the late medieval period. According to the legend the three apple kernels given by an angel to Seth were placed under Adam’s tongue at 26

27

28

The motif of the wounded knight only to be healed by the best knight of the world is not new. It is found in the Agravain section of the Prose Lancelot with slight changes, the knight there being wounded by an arrow in punishment for his gazing at two damsels bathing (Vinaver, Commentary, p. 1611, reference to p. 1145). Kelly went to great lengths in discussing the change of focus from compassion to humility in the character of Lancelot in the ‘Healing’ and Lancelot’s previous successful healing in ‘The Noble Tale of Sir Launcelot’ (see Kelly, ‘Wounds, Healing’, pp. 173–97). Kelly’s article reviews previous work by R. M Lumiansky, B. Kennedy, and E. M. Bradstock. Field, Works, p. 263, reference to line 2505. The roots of this motif are related to Celtic legends about healing as a means of restoring fertility to a waste land; there are several instances in Arthurian romances where the reader encounters wounded kings or knights who can be healed either by the divine agency directly through the Holy Grail or by the best knight of the world, when their sterility or the sterility of the land is brought to an end. See L. Gowans, ‘Three Malory Notes’, BBIAS 58 (2006), 425–34. Gowans notes the unusual appearance of the name ‘Urry’ in medieval literature, but does not suggest that the Cornish text would be a source for Malory. I would like to thank Ms Gowans for discussing her work with me prior to publication. Work on the medieval Cornish play was first undertaken by B. Murdoch. See his ‘Rex David, Bersabe, and Syr Urry: A Comparative Approach to a Scene in the Cornish Origo Mundi’, Cornish Studies, 2nd series, 12 (2004), 288–304. My summary of the play and the legend of the Holy Rood are indebted to Murdoch and Gowans.

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his death, subsequently grew and were planted by Moses and looked after by King David, in whose possession (as in Moses’s) they worked healing miracles. The growth of the tree into which the three kernels had transformed (and which would be used as wood for the Cross) stops after thirty years; sitting under the tree, David acknowledges his sinful state and does penance. As Gowans has shown, not all versions of the legend describe David’s sins, but when they do, it is clear David’s adultery with Bathsheba and his order for the killing of her husband, Uriah the Hittite, are the most serious ones mentioned. In the Vernon manuscript (Oxford, Bod. Lib. MS Eng. poet a.1) the Middle English poem ‘Hou þe Holy Cros was y-founde’ tells that ‘þo seint Dauid i-sunged hedde þe sunne of lecherie,/ And Mon slauht þo for Bersabe he lette slen Vrie’ (Uriah is ‘Vrie’ here).29 This name variation is similar to the French ‘Vrie’ and the Cornish ‘Syr Vrry’ (in both French and Cornish versions Urry is called ‘a noble knight’).30 As Gowans has pointed out, the mention of lechery, manslaughter and forgiveness provides an even stronger link between Malory’s Lancelot and the penitent David. Lancelot is likely to feel unworthy to heal Urry because of his adultery with Guenevere, and his tears may at the same time show he regrets his sin and remembers the greatness of his son’s spiritual achievement in the quest. Indeed, Gowans has found that the father-son relationship between Lancelot and Galahad may be an(other) echo of the fifteenth-century Middle English prose version of the legend, which states that God prevented the penitent David from building the Temple because of the latter’s sins; instead the great deed is reserved to Solomon, David’s son.31 Gowans acknowledges that it is not possible to establish that the Cornish play was a source for Malory’s text. However, a version of the biblical story of David and Uriah is contained in Cursor Mundi, where the Middle English variant for the name Uriah is also ‘Urry’.32 John J. Thompson has shown that Cursor Mundi was widely read by the late medieval gentry,33 and the various ending prayers in the Morte suggest that Malory’s prison experiences turned his thoughts to spiritual matters. Whether he had access to a copy of the Cursor or merely remembered the popular stories from 29

30

31 32 33

‘History of the Holy Rood’, in Legends of the Holy Rood, ed. R. Morris, EETS OS 46 (London, 1881), p. 30; this is from the Vernon MS Bod. Lib. MS Eng. poet a.1, fol. 28b col. 2. Another version in Bodleian MS Ashmole 43 contains the same lines (see lines 137–8 in Morris). Other variants are cited in Gowans at p. 431, n. 30. J. Ph. Berjeau, History of the Cross (London, 1863), p. 10, and lines 2123, 2214 and 2217 in the online edition of the original text and translation of the Imago Mundi at www.ordinalia.com. Only the French and the Cornish versions refer to Urry as knight. All background is from Gowans’s article except the Cursor Mundi connection. The version of the legend is edited by B. Hill in ‘The Fifteenth-Century Prose Legend of the Cross Before Christ’, Medium Aevum 34 (1965), 203–22 (p. 219), cited in Gowans, p. 432 and n. 35. Cursor Mundi, part 2, pp. 454–61, lines 7869–7972. See, in particular, the lines where Urry is called ‘dohuti knight of fame’, ‘vrsi/vry’, and ‘vrry’ (7883, 7888, and 7897). See J. J. Thompson, The Cursor Mundi: Poem, Texts and Contexts, Medium Ævum Monographs 19 (Oxford, 1998).

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his youth, Malory clearly saw the relevance of making the connection between David’s story and Lancelot’s. Indeed Malory must have noticed he could create this link when he started translating the French Queste. In the French the legend only refers to the branches of the tree which are used as spindles; later Solomon’s wife has a ship made and Galahad inherits David’s sword, which Solomon places on the ship. In the light of these new elements, I suggest that Malory’s Lancelot is called to behave in an exemplary way in the ‘Healing’, not only to practise the humility he learned in the quest, but also to remember his Grail ancestry and its biblical connections. Therefore it is appropriate to find that Urry’s healing takes place at Pentecost (1145.32–34), the Christian feast reserved for the most important political and religious events at Arthur’s court: Arthur’s successful pulling of a sword out of a stone, which grants him the crown, his establishment of the Round Table oath, and Galahad’s own pulling of his sword. The privilege of healing, however, should be reserved to the king, as God’s anointed,34 and not to a sinner, albeit the best knight of the world. Thus the ‘Healing’ provides a unique opportunity for Lancelot to perform his own ‘sword-in-the-stone’ deed in the form of healing sword-wounds. Malory adds Lancelot to the pair of divinely sanctioned leaders (political and religious), Arthur and Galahad, though the nature of Lancelot’s leadership remains ambiguous until the end of the Morte, when he becomes a hermit. At the moment he performs the healing Lancelot symbolically replaces both Arthur (the king who should be able to heal) and Galahad (the miracle-working knight). Lancelot’s success has led critics to reconsider the meaning of the phrase ‘best knight of the world’, though there is little agreement as to what Malory might have intended it to signify. Kennedy has considered Malory’s intention to ‘re-establish Lancelot as the “beste knyght of the worlde”, not only “as for a worldly knight” but also “in holy dedis” ’, and has pointed out a possible analogy with healings performed by saints and Galahad.35 Kelly has explored this analogy further by comparing healing moments in the Grail quest with medieval interpretations of healing as the imitation of Christ, the Divine Physician.36 Lancelot does perform a miracle, but it is hard to see a similarity between his image and that of a saint, given Lancelot’s distinct status as ‘best sinful knight’ emerging from the Grail quest. I agree with Jill Mann that ‘Lancelot’s sinfulness is not eliminated from the scene’ and thus ‘Malory’s version leaves this sinfulness in starker contrast to the emphasis on Lancelot’s peer-

34 35 36

See M. Bloch, The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France, trans. J. E. Anderson (London, 1973). B. Kennedy, Knighthood, p. 304. Kelly, ‘Wounds, Healing’, p. 176.

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less nobility’.37 By not showing Lancelot’s inner debate over his earthly duties after the quest, Malory avoids discussing the issue of Lancelot’s eligibility as Urry’s likely healer. Although Lancelot confesses his sins to the hermit (894–8, 927–35, 1018), it is not clear he understands the importance of constancy. Thus the ‘Healing’ appears as a retelling of the ‘Sankgreal’, albeit stripped of theological explanations. An unexpected, original, parallel is established in this episode between prowess on the battlefield and testing by healing, though the test of prowess, this time in the field of grace, provides a striking contrast to the Grail quest. While in the quest a collective (failed) adventure ends with the purest knight’s achievement, the ‘Healing’ also starts as a collective (failed) experience for all the knights, but ends with a sinful knight performing the healing. In addition, there is a similarity between the two stories in that both list the failures of individual knights and both contain hints of the predestined outcome. Read against the background of the Grail quest, the Christian references in the ‘Healing’ provide an element of continuity between the two stories. In the religious atmosphere at Pentecost Arthur’s formality is appropriate; he says: ‘here shall youre son be healed and ever ony Crystyn man [may] heale hym’ (1146.22–24). The narratorial voice is equally formal, drawing attention to the exceptional events to come: ‘we must begynne at kynge Arthur, as is kyndely to begynne at hym that was at that tyme the moste man of worship crystynde’ (1147.2–4). On the one hand this comment is strikingly out of place, given that previous episodes in Tale VII focused on worldly adventures, as the fellowship had returned to earthly pursuits after the quest.38 On the other hand the reader sees a reference to Arthur as the appropriate (and expected) healer. Moreover Malory renews the reader’s interest in the meaning of the phrase ‘best knight of the world’, since it is clear that some evaluation of the Round Table knights is about to follow. At Urry’s arrival Arthur sets an example to the other knights, reenacting the situation at the beginning of Tale I, when he urged his barons to attempt removing the sword from a sheath worn by a damsel in the Balin episode (62.8–12). By contrast, at the beginning of the Grail quest, Arthur refrained from giving an example by pulling the sword in the stone, and instead commanded Gawain and Perceval to do so. The different standards involved in these events seem to call for different responses, so in the ‘Healing’ Arthur urges, once again, ‘all the kynges, dukis and erlis’ (1146.26) to follow his example. By mentioning the titles of those called 37 38

J. Mann, The Narrative of Distance. The Distance of Narrative in Malory’s Morte Darthur (London, 1991), p. 15. The passage Mann is referring to is ‘Sankgreal’, pp. 896–7. By contrast, Atkinson considers that ‘[f]or Arthur the situation belongs to his own courtly and chivalric world in which the knights’ fellowship under his authority is the essential consideration’ (‘Malory’s Healing’, p. 345).

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to attempt the healing, Malory returns to the worldly hierarchy. The old, pre-Grail quest social order is hinted at when the adventure starts with the king, and the ranking of those present is carefully stated, both in Arthur’s words and in the list of knights. The Grail quest brought new parameters to measure knightly performance by; in the ‘Healing’ Malory returns our attention to religious values, but does not put aside the idea that the Arthurian fellowship has returned to worldly behaviour after the quest. Thus the conflict between obeying one’s earthly lord or God is once again brought into focus here. Arthur repeats three times that he wants ‘to gyff all othir men off worshyp a currayge’, twice in his first speech and a third time just before he proceeds to attempt healing Urry. His words may serve as a veiled reminder of the failure in the ‘Sankgreal’ as well as introducing doubt about the knights’ awareness of personal sin. Atkinson considers that the ‘Round Table’s collective failures’ are recalled, and that emphasis falls on the ‘catalogue which follows [as] a list of those who minister to Urry in vain – a fact we must keep in mind as we trace the review of the fellowship’s history.’39 Atkinson is correct to point out past failures. Yet Malory seems to suggest Arthur acknowledges that the event calls for a change of attitude, which is supported by evident emphasis on the king’s gentle handling of the knight. If the ‘Healing’ is seen as Malory’s own version of the Grail story, the test must involve a moment of acceptance that all the knights are sinful before the act of healing takes place. By turning the adventure into a competitive event Arthur may hope to bring humility among his knights, which justifies his own humble attitude; he says he will touch Sir Urry’s wounds ‘nat presumyng uppon me that I am so worthy to heale youre son be my dedis’ (1146.27–28). Then he asks Urry ‘sofftely to suffir’ him to touch the wounds, and ‘softely haundeled’ them (1147.5–18). Arthur notices that Urry is a ‘full lykly man’, so the reader understands the wounded knight would make a good Round Table companion, should he be healed. Arthur’s gentleness shows his concern for others, though it also draws attention to his failure to heal as God’s anointed should.

A New Meaning for ‘best knight of the world’? A sense of ambiguity over Malory’s intentions in this episode results from the combination of religious and chivalric overtones, and critical opinion rests divided on the issue of which aspect takes precedence. On the one hand Lancelot’s status is once again hailed as the best knight, and one could agree with Atkinson that ‘Arthur sees the venture as a chivalric, not 39

Atkinson, ‘Malory’s Healing’, p. 345.

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a spiritual, test.’40 Lancelot’s tears at the end of the adventure may point to his relief at being saved from shame. On the other hand, the events do not appear as purely chivalric. No longer a private, personal miracle of the kind Galahad is given in the quest, Urry’s healing suggests the idea of a ‘religious tournament’ of sorts. The hierarchical description conveys an air of formality as well as a commemorative atmosphere. The order and hierarchy of the record resembles the careful arrangement encountered in war memorials. A worldly hierarchy emerges, which starts with the kings, followed by family groups, and then individual knights, in contrast with the exceptional hierarchy of the Grail quest. In the quest Arthur singled out Gawain, his nephew and closest adviser, and then Perceval, the pure knight. In the ‘Healing’ there are signs that he follows the hierarchy of his political alliances, starting with the kings who were once against him (names of former rivals are now listed next to one another), but who now belong to the fellowship and take their lead from Arthur, followed by family groups closest in blood ties (Gawain’s kin, 1147.30–1148.3) and political allegiance (Lancelot’s kin, 1148.4– 11) respectively.41 Here Gawain’s kin and Lancelot’s are united in their attempts to heal Urry although they fail. Elsewhere, especially in the last tale, they are disunited because of their adherence to different principles and their return to pride, whereas in the ‘Healing’ they act at Arthur’s request and, as one would infer from his example, in humility. In the list of knights who attempt healing Sir Urry some names function as reminders of Lancelot’s imminent arrival; for example, Sir Severause le Brewse is merely described as a strong knight who promised the Lady of the Lake never ‘to do batayle ayenste sir Launcelot’. However it is surprising to be told that ‘to thys entente the kynge ded hit, to wyte whych was the moste nobelyest knyght amonge them all’ (1149.1–3). Arthur might want confirmation that one among them all is pre-eminent, yet the phrase ‘moste nobelyest knyght’ remains ambiguous, given that the terms of this ‘religious tournament’ are different from those of the usual encounters knights face. The fact that the list continues with the names of those who have either died in battles, been killed by treason (Lamorak, Tristram) or died a saint’s death (Perceval, Galahad) reveals an unusual design. These are examples of knightly nobility, which range from the knights among whom Lancelot belongs, the sinful ones (for example, Lamorak, ‘the moste nobeleste knyght one of them that ever was in kynge Arthur’s dayes as for a worldly knyght’), to Perceval, ‘that

40 41

Atkinson, ‘Malory’s Healing’, p. 346. Malory’s narrative pattern mirrors his description of tournaments such as ‘The Tournament at Surluse’ in Tale V (of Tristram) and ‘The Great Tournament’, which precedes the episode of the ‘Healing’. It is interesting to note that also in ‘The Great Tournament’ episode Lancelot had encountered all the knights in Gawain’s family and won all his fights with them (1110.7–11).

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was pyerles, excepte sir Galahad, in holy dedis. But they dyed in the queste of the Sangreall’ (1149.4–11). The following series of knights contains names which send both backward and forward references to the days before the ‘Healing’ and the day of Arthur’s death. There is Sir Lucan who will later in ‘The Day of Destiny’ advise Arthur to spare Mordred and put an end to the strife, followed by ‘sir Bedyvere, hys brother’ who on the contrary wishes Arthur well in the same encounter and does not try to stop him from fighting Mordred. After the two brothers comes Sir Braundeles and a second mention of ‘sir Constantyne, sir Cadors son of Cornwayle that was kynge aftir Arthurs dayes’. The enumeration has a logic which may be understood if the reader bears in mind both previous and subsequent episodes in the Morte, the demise of the Round Table fellowship, and especially the fact that the list continues with acts of treason and murders committed in and around Arthur’s court: … sir Bellyngere le Bewse that was son to the good knyght sir Alysaundir le Orphelyn that was slayne by the treson of Kynge Marke. Also that traytoure kynge slew the noble knyght sir Trystram as he sate harpynge afore hys lady, La Beall Isode, with a trenchaunte glayve, for whos dethe was the moste waylynge of ony knyght that ever was in kynge Arthurs dayes, for there was never none so bewayled as was sir Trystram and sir Lamerok, for they were with treason slayne: sir Trystram by kynge Marke, and sir Lamorake by sir Gawayne and hys brethirn. (1149.12–35; emphasis mine)

Interestingly, the purpose of this list is to show that Lancelot belongs in all categories: he is a sinful knight, but also one of the elect (if only partially so), and he will be involved in the ending of the fellowship. The comment on those who ‘dyed in the queste of the Sangreall’ (1149.11) draws attention to the fact that Bors, the only knight who had a perfect vision apart from Galahad and Perceval, has returned to the court and should be present before Arthur and Urry. Malory’s omission of this detail suggests that the phrase ‘best knight of the world’ does not refer to religious perfection, but has returned to the field of chivalric prowess; thus it is once again Lancelot’s. The meaning of the phrase is further enriched by the additional contrast in the pairs worldly-holy, treasonous-faithful. The traitors are King Mark and Gawain’s kin, who are to blame for the deaths of Tristram and Lamorak, respectively, and thus the loss of worthy knights. The list moves from traitors to knight-lovers, and it is at the end of the latter that Lancelot arrives. As with the group of Grail knights, Lancelot also fits in the category of knights later accused of treason, because of his relationship with Guenevere. Like Tristram, he will play both the role of good political ally and champion, but also that of the element of instability in the realm, due to his undermining of the king’s position. On the one hand 111



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Malory denounces King Mark’s treasonous acts and then adds to the list Gawain’s brothers, and their murder of Lamorak. The result of the traitors’ actions is loss of valued knights and companions to the Round Table fellowship. On the other hand, both Tristram and Lamorak stood accused of adulterous relationships, and both had a negative role to play in the political and personal relationships they were involved in. The ambiguity in Malory’s wording increases as the list progresses and Lancelot’s position is anticipated to some extent; the reader becomes more aware of the relationship between knight-traitor and knight-lover as the narrative progresses in the last two tales. Lancelot’s positioning at the end of this list casts a veil of ambiguity over the hierarchies of King Arthur’s court, and shows that being the ‘best knight of the world’ involves a degree of sinfulness. Despite these negative connotations, some critics regard the list of knights as a celebration of Arthurian chivalry, though one which foreshadows future disaster. McCarthy, for example, considers that ‘the relentless naming of names is a final statement of fellowship. Here they are, wholly together, just before being wholly destroyed … this episode means that the joy is vulnerable’.42 A degree of sadness and even impending doom descends once the deaths of the Grail knights and Lamorak’s murder at the hands of the Gawain brothers are mentioned. The blameless knights are gone, as are the search for the Grail and the perfection required by the Christian ideal. In a post-Grail world where neither the pure knights nor the noble, though sinful, ones, like Tristram or Lamorak, can be competitors in the ultimate test of grace, Lancelot alone can be the best knight of the world. By contrast, the French condemnation of his behaviour in the Queste left no room for future worship. The penitent Lancelot of the quest re-emerges in the ‘Healing’ as he humbly refuses his earthly lord’s demand, and he rightly turns his prayers to God (whether his concern is merely for his reputation or his unworthiness). Lancelot’s usual readiness to surpass other knights in previous tales was motivated by his knightly honour. When Arthur commands him to touch Urry’s wounds, Lancelot says he does not want to distinguish himself: ‘Jesu defende me,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘whyle so many noble kyngis and knyghtes have fayled, that I shulde presume uppon me to enchyve that all ye, my lordis, myght nat enchyve.’ (1151.20–23)

Later he refuses again, appealing to Arthur’s mercy: ‘My moste renowmed lorde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I know well I dare nat, or I may nat, disobey you. But and I myght or durste, wyte you well I wolde

42

T. McCarthy, An Introduction to Malory (Cambridge, 1988), p. 93.

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nat take uppon me to towche that wounded knyght in that entent that I shulde passe all othir knyghtes. Jesu deffende me from that shame!’ (1151.26–30)

Lancelot only accepts Arthur’s third command and he humbly allows himself to be an instrument of divine intervention while obeying his earthly lord as well. This represents a contrast to Lancelot’s refusal to obey Arthur’s command in the quest. In the ‘Healing’ Lancelot puts into practice the hard learnt lesson of humility by leaving his pride aside; his language is appropriately pious: ‘A, my fayre lorde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘Jesu wolde that I myght helpe you! For I shame sore with myselff that I shulde be thus requyred, for never was I able in worthynes to do so hyghe a thynge.’ (1152.12–15)

Lancelot is clearly troubled that he may lose his good name and be exposed as a sinner in sight of the whole fellowship. However, he does not need an example of humility (he only arrives after Arthur’s attempt to heal Urry); Lancelot’s pious attitude and immediate reward indicate that he still has a claim to the title ‘best knight of the world’. His conflict of duties (obeying his earthly king or God) is here resolved in typical Malorian fashion: Lancelot obeys both lords by heeding Arthur’s command and accepting God’s intervention. Interestingly Malory chooses a religious moment as the unique example when earthly and divine demands coincide. He also shifts the reader’s attention from the individual (Lancelot, Urry, Arthur) to the collective, as the healing turns into a celebration of God’s grace manifest on earth in Lancelot, but also for the benefit of the whole Round Table fellowship, once more united, once more shown as elect. Arthur draws attention to both religious and chivalric consequences for the healing when he mentions the value of fellowship: ‘Sir, ye take hit wronge,’ seyde kynge Arthur, ‘for ye shall nat do hit for no presumpcion, but for to beare us felyship, insomuche as ye be a felow of the Rounde Table. And wyte you well,’ seyde kynge Arthur, ‘and ye prevayle nat and heale hym, I dare sey there ys no knyght in thys londe that may hele hym. And therefore I pray you do as we have done.’ (1151.31–1152.4; my emphasis)

Arthur’s words recall the otherworldly pursuits in the Grail quest, and the ‘Healing’ can thus be seen as a half-worldly, half-religious equivalent of Galahad’s moment of grace, but for Lancelot. The latter’s prayers reflect the tension between the public and the private aspects of the healing; the healer’s spiritual experience, like that of a priest saying mass, cannot be shared, but must remain personal. Indeed Lancelot’s gesture is priest-like (hands raised up, eyes to the east), foreshadowing his conversion in his later years, when he lives as a hermit and is ordained a priest: 113



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And than he hylde up hys hondys and loked unto the este, saiynge secretely unto hymselff, ‘Now, Blyssed Fadir and Son and Holy Goste, I beseche the of Thy mercy that my symple worshyp and honesté be saved, and Thou mayste yeff me power to hele thys syke knyght by the grete vertu and grace of the, but, Good Lorde, never of myselff.’ (1152.18–25; my emphasis)43

However, Lancelot is also concerned with his public image, for he mentions not only his unworthiness, but also his ‘symple worshyp and honesté’. The word ‘worshyp’ refers both to Lancelot’s past reputation and his future fame if he succeeds in healing Urry. The adjective ‘symple’ adds modesty to his prayer, which on the whole is set in contrast with the elaborate form of his three appeals to Arthur to release him from the command to heal. This simplicity functions as a humble recognition of God’s favour; Malory’s Lancelot may receive the healing as a form of completion of his partial view of the Grail. Here he seems to have the full revelation of God’s grace, and his tears, which other critics have taken to signify relief at not being shamed,44 correspond to traditional accounts of overwhelming emotion in the encounter with the divine: ‘And ever sir Launcelote wepte, as he had bene a chylde that had bene beatyn!’ (1152.35–36).45 It is hard not to see that God’s message to Lancelot is that only humility will guarantee the preservation of his honour and position at Arthur’s court. Lancelot’s humble acceptance of God’s intervention may be set in contrast with the scene in the ‘Sankgreal’ when he weeps for his sins but is easily comforted by the thought of great worship still in store for him (see above, pp. 97–8). In the ‘Sankgreal’ Lancelot showed pride even in his repentance, for, after the hermit explains to him the meaning of his incapacity to behold the Grail openly, Lancelot said he would try to be a better man, but at the same time he never forgot his worship and fame (898.36–899.3). In the quest Lancelot’s way of becoming a better 43

44

45

Lancelot’s prayer to the Trinity is explored by S. E. Holbrook in her forthcoming article ‘Endless Virtue and Trinitarian Prayer in Lancelot’s Healing of Urry’. I am grateful to Prof. Holbrook for sending me her unpublished article; however her work became available to me at too late a stage to be able to engage in a discussion of her ideas. See W. R. J. Barron, English Medieval Romance (London and New York, 1987), p. 151. Andrew Lynch, on the other hand, considers that this episode ‘offers an instance of a potential split in Malorian identity between a knight’s self-consciousness and the objective proof of his worship in the eyes of others. Urre’s healing “proves” that Lancelot is “the beste knight of the worlde” (1145/19–20); but Lancelot’s reluctance to act, his humble yet priest-like prayer “secretely unto hymselff ” (1152/19–20) and his weeping (1152/35–36) perhaps allow an equal importance to moral self-searching, even to feelings of guilt’. See Lynch, Malory’s Book of Arms: The Narrative of Combat in Le Morte Darthur (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 6–7. Lynch interprets Lancelot’s weeping as a sign ‘he is not arrogant and does now thank God in a heartfelt way’ (p. 8); I see Lancelot’s attitude to be one of perfect humility, something he never fully achieved in the quest. Many other critics have commented on the significance of the tears; see, for example references to work by Atkinson, at n. 5, and Kelly, at n. 14. For a review of such intense expressions of feeling as a result of an encounter with the divine, see A. Kleinberg, Prophets in Their Own Country: Living Saints and the Making of Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Chicago and London, 1992), and A. Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (New York, 1997).

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man was to become a better knight. But in the ‘Healing’ perhaps he tries a different way, by becoming less of a knight, refusing to surpass the others and stand out.46 The reader would expect Lancelot to make a vow not to forget his promise in the quest, to forsake the company of the queen; the absence of such a vow shows, once again, that Lancelot is fallible, and will have to do penance again in the future. However, the implications of his public healing go beyond a personal miracle. The knights act as witnesses to a successful performance of humility, one that is rewarded with God’s grace. As shown above, Lancelot fits all categories (sinner, traitor, elect knight, best knight of the world) and thus he alone can bear the fellowship’s hopes, fears, and sins, he alone can illustrate God’s grace to the group. Moreover, Malory shows that obeying both one’s earthly as well as divine lords provides a form of temporary salvation for the fellowship, despite the failures of the quest and a foreboding sense of doom in the future. Appropriately, the king and his court do not congratulate Lancelot on his success; there are no words addressed to him, but rather ‘kyng Arthure lat ravyshe prystes and clarkes in the moste devoutiste wyse to brynge in sir Urré into Carlyle with syngyng and lovyng to God’ (1153.1–3). After the healing Lancelot recedes into the background, and his name comes up again only in Malory’s final comments. His name punctuates the main moments in the episode, from the time he is not present but his arrival is anticipated, to the end, when his aura surrounds Urry, the newly appointed Round Table knight. He is the one entrusted with the mission of healing the fellowship. Lancelot’s healing adds another knight to the fellowship during Pentecost, the feast when the Round Table knights renew their oath. Thus Lancelot brings unity to the fellowship after its dispersal and set of individual failures in the Grail quest. Lancelot is the last knight to heal sword-wounds in the Morte, in public, and during Pentecost, unlike Galahad, who performed miracles of healing in private, to a select few. So it is Lancelot, not Galahad, who shows the fellowship how pride may be healed through humility, and that humility is a key to personal salvation when chivalry fails.47 Jill Mann and others have commented on the 46 47

For a similar view, see McCarthy, An Introduction, p. 94. The pair wound-whole has already been analysed by Riddy, Batt and Mann, to various ends. Both Mann and Riddy have commented on the importance of the phrase ‘hole togirdis’ in Arthur’s lamentation at the beginning of the quest, as well as the subsequent one in which he deplores the end of the fellowship through Mordred’s and Aggravayne’s ‘evill wyll’. See Riddy, Sir Thomas Malory, pp. 116–17; J. Mann, ‘Malory and the Grail Legend’, in A Companion to Malory, ed. E. Archibald and A. S. G. Edwards (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 203–20 (pp. 210–11). Catherine Batt also talks about social integration and wholeness in this episode, but turns her attention more to Lancelot, whom she sees as the one to become ‘hole’ through Urry, and discusses at length Urry’s seven wounds and their Christian interpretation: see C. Batt, Malory’s Morte Darthur: Remaking Arthurian Tradition (New York, 2002), pp. 154–5.

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complexity of wounds and healing in the Grail quest and the ‘Healing’, but without seeing a progression in Lancelot’s humility from one story to the other. Mann has noted that ‘the wound opened by Balin is closed, healed by Galahad’, who ends a narrative thread, and that Lancelot achieves wholeness by acknowledging opening (therefore later closing) the gap between his outward reputation and the fragmentation of his inner self and through his union with Galahad.48 However I suggest that wholeness is achieved in the narrative through the merging of Galahad’s two swords and the connection between his acts of healing and Lancelot’s. The healing Galahad performs during the quest may be the long-awaited, savior-type action required in the story, but it does not have long-lasting consequences for the Round Table fellowship. Lancelot’s achievement is more valuable to the fellowship than Galahad’s saintly deeds because the body of knights witness Urry’s healing together. When Lancelot’s touches Urry, the whole fellowship is symbolically healed of pride, if only temporarily, through humility. Thus Malory’s Lancelot conforms to medieval expectations of the active way of virtue; in Felicity Riddy’s words: … the chivalrous calling is identified with an active way of virtue; it is external, directed towards the performance of good works and service to one’s fellows, and the pursuit of it entails a willingness to repent and fall and repent again.49

Conclusion Lancelot’s instability in the quest and afterwards disqualifies him from a special position only temporarily, but the experience of the healing of Urry and later the demise of the Round Table seem to aid him to turn his thoughts away from the world in the last episodes of Tale VIII. The mission revealed for Lancelot lies somewhere between the worldly and the divine, hence is neither like Arthur’s political one, nor like Galahad’s purely saintly one. Lancelot’s healing is clearly a type of ‘pulling of the sword’ designed to elevate him to the special status only reserved for Arthur and Galahad. Arthur’s success had both a secular and a religious significance, because he was predestined to be the king and to become an administrator of justice in his lands. Galahad’s has a highly religious meaning, because he is predestined to achieve the Holy Grail and becomes an instrument of administering divine justice through his sword. Galahad, however, not only used swords, but was also able to heal sword-wounds, a privilege only shared by Lancelot. Galahad’s several miracles testify to his exceptional purity and holiness, yet they are, on the whole, part of 48 49

Mann, ‘Malory and the Grail Legend’, pp. 210, 212, 217. Riddy, p. 126.

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the demonstration of his unique status as well as of the private nature of the encounter with the divine. In other words, Galahad’s singular destiny cannot be emulated by any of the other knights; similarly, his miracles cannot help to convert anyone, least of all shape his own response to the divine. By contrast, Lancelot’s journey both during the quest and in the episode of the ‘Healing’ displays a range of features which reveal, only in Malory’s version, a mission quite unlike any other knight’s, to heal the wound/sin of pride. The ‘Healing’ indeed seems to mark a sense of progress in the religious understanding of the chivalric code and not only a possible test for Lancelot’s virtue. In this episode, though, there is no preparation for the event, no cleansing of sins, and the miracle is witnessed by all. This, I believe, is convincing evidence that Malory gives emphasis to the return to the community, the collective experience of the miracle and its implications. In other words it is possible that Malory suggests here that the religious message, that of purity, but also humility, can only be internalised if presented in a collective experience and in front of all. The fact that no conversions take place and the Round Table still collapses in spite of this moment of revelation does not mean the healing is less important. Lancelot’s future mission, and his unique status, are established in this episode, and later on, in his conversion and saintly death. The healing takes place at Pentecost, the feast during which Arthur established the Round Table oath, clearly a reminder of the close links between the founding moment of Christianity and the beginnings of Arthurian chivalry. The return to this ‘hyghe feast’ (a phrase Malory uses only in connection to Pentecost) in this episode seems to indicate, also, a return to the values advocated in the oath, and a reminder of the purity of the beginnings. Lancelot’s involvement here is all the more powerful and revealing of Malory’s design. While in the ‘Healing’ the knights are presented together in their attempts and failure, in the ‘Sankgreal’ the adventures are clearly individual and the knights are aware of personal responsibility. In the ‘Healing’ Malory may want to show the resistance of the community to yet another instance when the knights are asked to take on a risky adventure. From the point of view of individual fame and of their security the ‘Sankgreal’ has shown, by that time, that most knights have failed in their personal quests and have covered themselves with shame for their sins, and some of them have even lost their life in their Grail adventures. That is why Malory’s ‘Healing’ may be the outcome of his personal desire to show the return to community, to social life and its demands, a different if not more credible and successful sort of ‘Sankgreal’, given the lesson of the Grail quest the Arthurian knights have already experienced and failed in. Lancelot’s achievement in the ‘Healing’ will counterbalance on the one hand his lack of an experience like the drawing of a sword in the ‘Sankgreal’, on the other, his failure to behold the Holy Grail openly. In the ‘Healing’, Lancelot’s gesture of healing has the symbolical function 117



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of restoring wholeness (involving giving Arthur a new knight) by closing sword-wounds. This action may be set in contrast with Arthur’s administration of justice as king, by sword, with mortal effects more than once, or even with Galahad’s own justice-making acts, which result in severe wounds for the Round Table knights he encounters. Lancelot’s action of healing will be more significant because of these connotations. While Arthur’s kingship provided unity and the beginning of the fellowship, Galahad’s arrival brought dispersal through the quest. Lancelot’s subsequent success in healing a sword-wound will restore, even if only for a fleeting moment, the unity and harmony of the fellowship before the disastrous events recounted in Tale VIII. Finally the resulting image of Lancelot as a saint at the end of the last Tale calls to mind his inheritance, the link with Joseph of Arimathea and the line of guardians of the Grail. It is not surprising he becomes a priest. Such a development fits in with the fate of one destined for a great mission, though one which takes a lifetime to discover. Lancelot’s example is, truly, the only one any member of a chivalric order could follow. Indeed at the end of a life of service to the best of one’s ability, irrespective of disastrous consequences for one’s actions, penance and conversion are available as a path to salvation.

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V

CHRÉTIEN IN IVORY Martine Meuwese After Lancelot has lost all his hair due to a medical treatment, he desires that the hair should be put into an ivory box and sent to Guenevere. When the Queen receives the box, she is delighted and kisses it as if it were a sacred relic. Lancelot is no exception in giving his beloved lady an ivory box as a present. Luxury objects in ivory with secular images carved in low relief were often gifts from men to women as part of the rituals of courtship and marriage. In daily life, the small ivory boxes were probably used as receptacles for jewels or small objects of value. Gothic secular ivory carving flourished in Paris in the first decades of the fourteenth century. The subjects with which the ivories were carved often show courtly scenes and topics from a scope of romance literature, highlighting the glorification of true love. Adventures from Chrétien de Troyes’ Arthurian romances Perceval, Lancelot, and Yvain were carved on ivory boxes, a mirrorcase, and a writing tablet. Contemporary with the appearances on the ivory objects, these scenes were also painted in illustration cycles in Arthurian manuscripts. Were the scenes selected for the ivories obvious choices? Are they directly based on Chrétien’s text? I am grateful to Stephanie Cain Van D’Elden, Gary Braker-Johnston, James Pietrusz, Jessica Quinlan, Sophie Oosterwijk, Mireille Madou, Ludo Jongen, and Keith Busby for their invaluable help and encouragement.  The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, Vol. 5. Le livre de Lancelot del Lac, part III, ed. H. O. Sommer (Washington, 1912), pp. 76–7. A miniature depicting this prose Lancelot event can be found in MS London, BL, Add. 10293, fol. 276v; it shows Guenevere holding a little round object, which resembles an ointment jar rather than a box.  J. von Antoniewicz, ‘Ikonographisches zu Chrestien de Troyes’, Romanische Forschungen 5 (Festschrift für Konrad Hofmann) (1890), 241–68, at p. 247 cites the inventory of Clemence of Hungary, the wife of King Ludwig X (d. 1398), which mentions ‘un escrin d’ivoire a ymages’. Antoniewicz also gives a reference to the use of these objects: ‘pour les dames cofres ou escrint pour leur besongnes hebergier’. The famous marginal decoration of a lady at her toilet in the c. 1335 English Luttrell Psalter (London, BL, Add. 42130, fol. 63r) depicts a casket.  On the manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes, see The Manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes, ed. K. Busby, T. Nixon, A. Stones and L. Walters, 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1993); and K. Busby, ‘The Manuscripts of Chrétien’s Romances’, in A Companion to Chrétien de Troyes, ed. N. J. Lacy and J. T. Grimbert (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 64–75.

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Fig. 1.  Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval meets Arthur’s knights in the forest

Fig. 2.  Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval leaves his mother and kisses the lady in the tent

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Were the same scenes illustrated in the manuscripts, and if so, are there parallels or divergences in the iconography, and what does all this tell us about the reception of Chrétien’s Arthurian romances?

The Perceval Casket Ivory caskets illustrating a single literary theme are rare. A Parisian casket dated to 1310–1330, kept in the Louvre, is the only ivory showing episodes from the beginning of Chrétien’s Perceval. The story unfolds on the side panels. The cycle begins on the short left side with the encounter of Perceval with three Arthurian knights on horseback in the forest (Fig. 1). Perceval wears his ‘Welsh’ garb and a bow on his shoulder in order to symbolize the hunt. The knights, whom Perceval believes to be angels, bear flowers on their shields. This flower blazon does not feature in Arthurian heraldry, but it is typical for knights at the siege of the Castle of Love, a theme that was especially popular on the ‘composite caskets’ that will be discussed later in this article. Perceval kneels in awe in front of the knights and decides that he wants to be a knight himself. In the first compartment on the back (Fig. 2), Perceval listens to his mother’s advice before his departure to Arthur’s court. The subsequent scene shows the mother fainting over the parapet of the bridge. In the third scene, Perceval rides through the forest carrying two javelins, instead of the single one specified in Chrétien’s text. The last compartment on the back shows Perceval kissing the lady who is asleep in the tent. The story continues on the right short end of the casket, with Perceval riding on horseback into Arthur’s hall, where Arthur, Guenevere and the knights are having a meal, in order to ask the king to knight him (Fig. 3). Several authors assume that on the left of this panel, the lady of the tent is beaten by her male friend, but considering the common unity of space within a single frame, it is more likely that this scene is also situated at Arthur’s court, and that it represents Kay striking the prophetic damsel in the face after 



R. Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques français, 3 vols. (Paris, 1924), a.o. lists six caskets and three fragments depicting the story of the Châtelaine de Vergi, one box of the Swan Knight, and one casket devoted to the story of Tristan and Isolde. See the catalogue entries in Images in Ivory. Precious Objects of the Gothic Age, exhibition catalogue, Detroit Institute of Fine Arts, ed. P. Barnet (Princeton, 1997), no. 62 on pp. 240–1; and L’Art au temps des rois maudits. Philippe le Bel et ses fils 1285–1328, exhibition catalogue (Paris, 1998), no. 102 on pp. 166–7. D. Fouquet, ‘Das Elfenbeinkästchen der Sammlung Monheim, Aachen’, Aachener Kunstblätter 40 (1971), 237–44; and N. Ott, ‘Zur Ikonographie des ParzivalStoffs in Frankreich und Deutschland. Struktur und Gebrauchssituation von Handschriftenillustration und Bildzeugnis’, Wolfram Studien 12 (1992), 108–23 (p. 117) suggest that a Parisian ivory casket currently in Aachen also includes Perceval scenes. I disagree with this interpretation, since the scene that Fouquet takes for Perceval fighting the Red Knight actually shows a woman (with shield) instead of Perceval, and the cup in the hands of the knight has been proven to be a nineteenth-century addition (see Fouquet, p. 239). Fouquet did notice, though, that the so-called Tristan scenes on this Aachen casket were misinterpretations.

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Fig. 3.  Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval arrives at Arthur’s court

Fig. 4.  Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, Perceval kills the Red Knight and puts on his armour

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Fig. 5.  Paris, Louvre, Perceval casket, OA 122, lid with four saints

her prediction that Perceval will be the best knight in the world. This interpretation would also fit in better with the general theme of knighthood that is so prominent on this casket. On the front, the ivory carver depicted scenes of the combat with the Red Knight, who had stolen the cup from Queen Guenevere (Fig. 4). To the left of the lock, Perceval jousts with the Red Knight. The latter strikes Perceval with the butt of his spear, while the ignorant youth drives his javelin through the knight’s eye. Chrétien’s text specifies that the Red Knight placed the cup on a rock, as is shown on the ivory. The right half of the front panel shows Perceval endeavouring to remove the armour of the Red Knight, and the squire Yvonet lacing the knight’s mail hose on Perceval, who refuses to take off his Welsh outfit. The lid of the Perceval box shows four popular saints under architectural arches (Fig. 5). They are arranged in a balanced composition: St Christopher carrying the Christ child on his shoulder, St Martin dividing his cloak, St George killing the dragon, and St Eustace venerating the stag with the head of Christ between its antlers. Secular and religious scenes are thus paired on this casket, and both were carved by the same artist. It seems likely, therefore, 



The interpretation as the lady of the tent beaten by her friend occurs in Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques, p. 515; Images in Ivory, ed. Barnet, p. 241; L’Art au temps des rois maudits, p. 166. An identification as Kay striking the prophetic damsel was suggested by R. S. Loomis, ‘The Tristan and Perceval Caskets’, Romanic Review 8 (1917), 196–209 (p. 208); and by R. S. Loomis and L. H. Loomis, Arthurian Legends in Medieval Art (London, 1938), p. 74. Loomis and Loomis, Arthurian Legends, p. 74, and Randall in Images in Ivory, ed. Barnet, identify the saint as Eustace. An interpretation as Hubert can be found in L’Art au temps des rois maudits. The legends about these saints are similar: both Eustace and Hubert meet a stag with a crucifix between its antlers while hunting. In the case of the Louvre casket it must be Eustace, however, as the legend about Hubert was not extant before the fifteenth century; it was, in fact,

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that a link between the saints on the lid and the early exploits of Perceval on the sides was intended from the time of the casket’s conception. St Martin and St George were knights, and both are shown on horseback, committing noble and heroic deeds. Moreover, St George is the patron saint of knights, St Christopher is that of travellers, and St Eustace is the patron of hunters. Each of these elements (knighthood, travelling, hunting) is also found in the Perceval scenes rendered on the casket. There is, of course, an obvious correspondence between Perceval in the forest, kneeling before the knights he believes to be angels, and the hunting young Eustace, kneeling before the stag with Christ’s head. The divine apparition in the forest brought about Eustace’s conversion to a religious life, whereas the encounter with the Arthurian knights makes Perceval decide to devote his life to knighthood. Furthermore, the remarkable emphasis on clothing in the arming scenes on the front panel of the box could be thematically related to St Martin, who shared his mantle with a beggar. Perceval’s behaviour is far from knightly at this stage. He still has to learn that knighthood involves much more than wearing armour, but the prophecy of the damsel at Arthur’s court predicts that all will end well for Perceval. Both the Perceval scenes on the sides and the saints on the lid of the Louvre casket thus seem to emphasize the theme of knighthood. It is also noteworthy that this decoration programme does not show much interest in courtly love: the ladies appearing on this casket are either dying of grief (the mother), being dishonoured (Guenevere), overpowered (the lady in the tent), or beaten in the face (the prophetic damsel). The emphasis here, rather, is clearly on the theme of knighthood, and the carvings depict the hero at a stage in his development when he is still a naive young man of poor judgement, even though, ultimately, he will turn out to be the best knight of all. The remarkable absence of references to the theme of courtly love makes it seem likely that this casket might not, after all, have been a lover’s gift to a lady. The concern with the hero’s early development as a knight raises the question of whether this Perceval casket was perhaps intended for a young knight. The subjects on the Perceval casket, which, as we have seen, reveal quite a detailed knowledge of Chrétien’s text, overlap to a degree with those depicted in the manuscripts. Five illustrated codices of Chrétien’s Perceval survive, all dated to 1280–1340. The scenes showing Perceval kneeling before the knights, taking leave of his mother, arriving on horseback at Arthur’s court, and ending with his defeat of the Red Knight, are all depicted in a multi-compartment miniature in a late thirteenth-



inspired by the Eustace legend. See L. Réau, Iconographie de l’art chrétien. Iconographie des saints G-O, vol. 3.2 (Paris, 1958), p. 659. K. Busby, ‘The Illustrated Manuscripts of Chrétien’s Perceval’, in The Manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes, I, 351–63.

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Fig. 6.  Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, Chrétien de Troyes, Perceval, fol. 1r

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century Parisian manuscript of Chrétien’s Perceval (Fig. 6). Although there are obvious thematic correspondences between the ivory casket and the illuminated Chrétien manuscripts, these are mainly thematic and do not concern identical compositions or choices (see Appendix 1). Even if the scenes selected for illustration correspond, the details taken from Chrétien’s text are different. For instance, the multi-compartment Perceval miniature depicting the scene of Perceval entering Arthur’s court does not show the beating of the prophetic damsel. Instead, it shows Yvonet standing behind the table with a knife in his hand, pointing out the king to Perceval. In the combat scenes, the Chrétien miniatures show the cup (in the shape of a ciborium!) in the hand of the Red Knight, instead of a normal cup placed on the rock, as on the ivory carving. The event of Perceval piercing the Red Knight in the eye is also depicted in the miniature, but here Perceval kills the Red Knight from behind instead of in a tradional joust. As there is no reason to assume that the Red Knight is fleeing, this composition can be understood as a visualization of an attack contrary to the rules of knightly combat. The differences in iconography between the ivory and the manuscripts can all be explained without difficulty. However, these differences, along with the fact that the arming scenes on the front panel of the casket were not illustrated in any of the surviving manuscripts, clearly suggest that the ivory was not directly copied from an illuminated Chrétien manuscript, at least not one that has come down to us. The removing of the Red Knight’s armour is shown in the wallpaintings of the Haus zur Kunkel in Constance and in a recently discovered French cycle of Perceval mural paintings in the castle of Theys (Isère), both dating from the early fourteenth century.10 The Theys mural cycle, like the Louvre casket, only covers the beginning of the Perceval story, but, again, there are no direct links to the Chrétien manuscripts or to the ivory casket.

The Composite Caskets Visual manifestations of literary motifs can either narrate a story in different episodes, as on the Louvre Perceval casket, or they can represent a story by means of a single iconic image. Composite caskets with scenes taken from a variety of literary texts, containing, amongst others, Arthurian themes, were very popular in the early fourteenth century. Paula Mae Carns recently compared the arrangement of visual themes on the caskets to the popularity of compilation manuscripts; she sees the carved stories  10

L. Walters, ‘The Use of Multi-Compartment Opening Miniatures in the Illustrated Manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes’, in The Manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes, I, 331–50. P. Walter, ‘Perceval en Grésivaudan. La découverte de fresques arthuriennes inconnues au château de Theys (Isère)’, Le Moyen Age 11 (1997), 349–61.

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Fig. 7.  Cracow, Cathedral Treasury, composite casket, the siege of the Castle of Love

Fig. 8.  Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum, composite casket, Aristotle and Phyllis and Fountain of Youth

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as a survey of the subject of love.11 Eight complete caskets and fragments of several others survive (see Appendix 2). The subjects are very much the same on all caskets. It would seem, therefore, that there were traditional schemes which ivory carvers were expected to follow. Nevertheless, within this composite casket group, as homogeneous as it at first appears, no two boxes are quite alike. David Ross distinguished two main groups.12 To his type 1 belong the caskets in the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, and a box in Baltimore (Fig. 8). The covers of all three combine a tournament and the assault on the Castle of Love with knights besieging a fortress defended by women. The God of Love often also takes part in the defence. The missiles used consist entirely of flowers, probably roses, which are launched from catapults, fired from cross-bows, or tipped by the basketful from the castle walls. It appears that the siege of the Castle of Ladies is a metaphor for the winning of the heart of the beloved.13 The caskets of the second type, which are currently in New York, Cracow, and Florence, show a further development of this theme (Fig. 7). New scenes are introduced on the sides of the lid, such as the arming of a knight by his lady, lovers sitting in a boat, and a knight riding away with a lady on his horse. The left part of the front panel of all types shows the story of Aristotle. Aristotle is either alone in his study or teaching his pupil Alexander, and in the subsequent scene, Alexander watches from the palace as his old teacher, unable to resist the power of love, has himself saddled and bridled to give Phyllis a ride in the garden. The caskets of the first type continue the theme of youth versus old age on the right of the lock. They show a group of elderly and lame people approaching a fountain where youthful figures are bathing (Fig. 8). This is the legendary Fountain of Youth, where the old are made young again. In the caskets of the second type, the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe replaces the Fountain of Youth. There is no literary source for Thisbe hiding in a tree when she perceives the lion, nor do the two lovers die from the same sword stroke, but these iconographic choices are defensible divergences for the sake of composition and visual clarity.

11 12

13

P. M. Carns, ‘Compilatio in Ivory: The Composite Casket in the Metropolitan Museum’, Gesta 44.2 (2005), pp. 69–88. D. J. A. Ross, ‘Allegory and Romance on a Medieval French Marriage Casket’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 11 (1948), 112–42. For a variant type, see A. McLaren Young, ‘A French Medieval Ivory Casket at the Barber Institute of Fine Arts’, The Connoisseur 120 (1947), 16–21. O. Beigbeder, ‘Le Château d’Amour dans l’ivoirerie et son symbolisme’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts 38 (1951), 65–76; T. M. Greene, Besieging the Castle of Ladies, Occasional Papers 4, Center for Medieval & Early Renaissance Studies (New York, 1995).

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Fig. 9.  London, British Museum, composite casket, Trysting scene and capture of the unicorn

Tristan and Galahad Two Arthurian scenes, although not derived from Chrétien’s romances, are represented on the short sides of the composite caskets.14 Tristan and Isolde serve as examples of the power of love in many medieval texts and images, among others on ivory caskets, mirror-backs, and even an ivory hair parter. The famous Trysting scene in which King Mark, hidden in a tree, spies upon the lovers, is carved on one of the short sides of the composite caskets (Fig. 9). Sometimes the king parts the branches of the tree to peer down, while his reflection shows in the water of the fountain. Tristan, falcon on wrist, points out the reflection to Isolde, who strokes a lapdog. The adjoining story of the unicorn, from the bestiary, is one based on virginity. A maiden is brought to the forest and the unicorn surrenders to her, laying his head in her lap. Only then can the hunter come and kill the unicorn. The hunter is sometimes hiding in the tree, thus showing a visual parallel with King Mark. Furthermore, the lady holds a mirror, which establishes a link with the reflection of Mark’s head in the water. Roger Sherman Loomis identified the scene on the other short side as 14

Chrétien mentions in the prologue to his Cligès that he wrote a work about Isolde and King Mark (‘dou roi Marc et d’Iseut la Blonde’, line 5), but that text has not come down to us. The title does suggest that he focused on the wedded couple rather than on the lovers.

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Fig. 10.  London, British Museum, composite casket, Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens

an episode from another Arthurian romance, the prose Queste del Saint Graal (Fig. 10).15 Galahad, having vanquished the seven knights who held the Castle of Maidens in their power, is awarded the keys to the castle by an aged hermit and delivers its captive maidens from an evil enchantment. Carns drew attention to the fact that the two men clasp hands in this scene.16 This gesture usually symbolizes some kind of agreement. Could it visualize that Galahad receives the keys in return for abolishing the ‘evil custom’ by conquering the knights? This clasping of hands gesture is not present in the only miniature I know of this scene in a Queste manuscript (Fig. 11). This scene fills the side panel of the caskets of type 1. On the caskets of type 2, Galahad’s horse is omitted, and the scene is combined with that of a knight rescuing a damsel from a wild man (Fig. 12). According to Loomis, this is Enyas, an old knight who comes to the rescue of a lady and kills the monster, but it could also be a more general scene of a knight rescuing a lady from a wild man without specific references to Enyas.17 Loomis considered the scene chosen from the Queste del saint Graal for the ivory carvings odd and pointless. It is perhaps not an obvious choice 15 16 17

Loomis, ‘The Tristan and Perceval Caskets’, pp. 22–5. Carns, ‘Compilatio in Ivory’, pp. 80–1. R. S. Loomis, ‘A Phantom Tale of Female Ingratitude’, Modern Philology 14 (1916–17), 750– 55.

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Fig. 11.  London, BL, Royal 14 E III, fol. 97r, Queste del Saint Graal, Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens

from a literary point of view, as the event is not at all a textual highlight, but the connotations do fit extremely well into the decoration programme of the caskets. The wild man is the traditional symbol of brutal lust, as opposed to Galahad, the virgin knight, and in both adjoining scenes ladies are set free.18 Knightly valour, liberating ladies and virginity are main themes on the composite caskets, as is the motif of the rendering of a key. Ivory boxes had locks and keys themselves, and at the siege of the Castle of Love, where knights try to gain access to a castle of ladies, a knight who kneels before a lady is also rewarded with a key.

18

T. Husband, The Wild Man. Medieval Myth and Symbolism, exhibition catalogue, Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1980–1981).

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Fig. 12.  London, British Museum, plaque from a casket, a knight kills a wild man and Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens

Lancelot and Gawain Although the scenes of Tristan and Galahad cannot directly be connected to the works of Chrétien de Troyes, the scenes on the back panel represent adventures from Chrétien’s Lancelot and Perceval. Two heroic episodes are shown: Lancelot crossing the Sword Bridge in order to rescue Queen Guenevere from Meleagant, and Gawain’s adventures in the Chateau Merveil from the Perceval (Figs. 13, 14). Both episodes deal with extraordinary trials of the courageous knights. Lancelot was allotted only one scene on the casket, whereas three are devoted to the exploits of Gawain. The ivory carver shows his combat with the lion before and not after the Perilous Bed, and follows this up by showing the lion’s paw attached to Gawain’s shield as he lies on the bed. Sometimes the muzzle of the lion appears to the left of the bed. Beneath the bed, the wheels and bells are faithfully portrayed, and above are arrows and swords descending from a cloud. Oddly enough, spears are also falling on Lancelot crossing the Sword Bridge. This error occurs on all boxes and was apparently never corrected. The carver of the Victoria and Albert casket makes things even worse. In his opinion, the knight crossing the Sword Bridge is also Gawain, as he bears the severed lion’s paw on his shield (Fig. 14). The fourth panel shows the grateful maidens from the castle advancing towards Gawain. There are also signs of confu132



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Fig. 13.  Baltimore, Walters Art Gallery, composite casket, Gawain fighting the lion, Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed

Fig. 14.  London, Victoria & Albert Museum, Gawain fighting the lion, Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed

sion in this scene, as the carver sometimes introduced foliage in the interior setting. No miniature illustrating the Sword Bridge in a manuscript of Chrétien’s Lancelot has survived, but the Sword Bridge theme was very popular in manuscripts of the prose Lancelot, where the famous Chrétien episode was retold in prose (Fig. 15). The Perilous Bed episode is illustrated in two manuscripts of Chrétien’s Perceval. Only one of them (Fig. 16) is similar 133



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Fig. 15.  London, BL, Add. 10293, prose Lancelot, fol. 196r, Lancelot crossing the Sword Bridge

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Fig. 16.  Paris, BnF, fr.12577, fol. 45r, Chrétien de Troyes, Perceval, Gawain on the Perilous Bed

Fig. 17.  London, BL, upper bookcover of Add. 36615, Gawain fighting the lion, Lancelot on the Sword Bridge, Gawain on the Perilous Bed

to the scene on the ivories, although there are also important differences: the composition of the bed scene is in reverse, the bed on the miniature does not have wheels, and here the fight with the lion follows afterwards, as it should. The Perilous Bed scene is not only reproduced in books, but also on a book. The nineteenth-century book collector Barrois had incorporated an ivory casket panel showing the adventures of Lancelot and Gawain into the binding of his Godefroi de Bouillon manuscript, which is now in the British Library (Fig. 17). Interestingly enough, Barrois 135



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Fig. 18.  Niort, Musée d’Agesci, inv. no. 914.1.143, writing tablet with Gawain on the Perilous Bed

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possessed a Perceval manuscript as well, but unfortunately he did not combine the two as he incorporated a Byzantine ivory in the Chrétien binding.19 Sometimes the Perilous Bed motif filled a side panel of a composite casket. The former De Boze-casket is long since lost, except for one panel, but its iconography was engraved in 1753. Into one small panel, the carver crowded the bed scene with Gawain under attack by flying swords and spears, the lion with one paw missing and a queen standing with damsels on the battlements. No literary source has come down to us which might have inspired the artist to include the horse, the second lion or the falling birds, or to set the scene outdoors. Apart from the composite caskets, the episode of Gawain on the Perilous Bed occurs on two other types of ivories. A writing-tablet in Niort shows the knight, not protected by any shield against the shower of swords and arrows, with the three maidens behind the bed (Fig. 18). The fight with the lion is symbolized by a tame-looking creature seated on its haunches at the head of the bed. This scene was also carved on an ivory mirror case currently in Bologna, where five maidens instead of the usual three look down from a gallery upon Gawain’s heroic deeds, and a lion’s head peers over the foot of the bed (Fig. 19). A sculptured capital in the church of St Pierre in Caen has four scenes in common with the ivory caskets: the humiliation of Aristotle, the unicorn, the Sword Bridge and the Perilous Bed. In the sculpture of the Sword Bridge in Caen, a single lion guards the bridge and only Guenevere’s head appears above the tower. Since the scene does not exhibit the mistaken introduction of the arrows, it can be assumed that the carver of the capital did not use one of the slightly older ivory caskets as his model.

Yvain and the rest Only recently a casket plaque was discovered illustrating yet another Chrétien romance: the Yvain.20 The relevant side panel, dated to c. 1330– 1340 and now in a Washington private collection, shows Yvain at the magic fountain (Fig. 20).21 Yvain holds a bowl in his hands so that the water from the fountain flows into it. He will pour this water onto a magic stone, which will provoke an adventure. The Washington plaque 19

20

21

R. Middleton, ‘Additional Notes on the History of Selected Manuscripts’, in Les Manuscrits de Chrétien de Troyes, II, 236; Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts in the British Museum in the Years 1900–1905 (London, 1907), pp. 157–9. First presented as an Yvain ivory by R. Randall, The Golden Age of Ivory. Gothic Carvings in North American Collections (New York, 1993), no. 192. See also J. A. Rushing, ‘Adventure in the Service of Love: Yvain on a Fourteenth-Century Ivory Panel’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 61 (1998), 55–65. The word ‘fontainne’ in Chrétien’s text can mean both spring and fountain.

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Fig. 19.  Bologna, Museo Civico, mirror case with Gawain on the Perilous Bed

Fig. 20.  Washington, private collection, Yvain at the miraculous fountain 138



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shows a visual variant on the wild man motif of the other caskets, as next to the fountain a wild man holding a large club is seated before a tower. Yvain seems to greet him or to talk with him. This might be the wild herdsman who directed Yvain to the fountain. If this is true, the scene alludes to two separate moments in the Yvain story. The fountain, the scooping vessel and the wild man point unmistakably to Chrétien’s Yvain, but one would also expect to find the marble stone onto which Yvain will pour the water. Yvain at the fountain is also represented on the mural-cycles in Rodenegg in Südtirol and Schmalkalden in Thuringia, which date from the early thirteenth century, but it has never been illustrated in the Chrétien manuscripts.22 Only the (very similar) adventure of Calogrenant at the same fountain is shown in a miniature (Fig. 21).23 It is interesting that the fountain episode stands for the Yvain story on the Washington ivory, since on five English misericords, the Yvain story is represented by the spectacular cleaving of his horse under the portcullis of the castle of Esclados. The German early fourteenth-century Malterer embroidery does show the fountain episode in a cycle on the topic of the power of women. In the scene on the embroidery, Yvain has already poured water on the stone, as hail is falling and Yvain is fighting Esclados. The choice of this particular scene for Yvain on the ivory can probably be explained by its iconographic derivation of the wild man motif on the slightly older caskets.24 One of these plaques is very similar in composition to the Washington example as it also depicts a wild man holding a club, and, more importantly, even includes the fountain (Fig. 12). A scene such as this one may have established the iconographical transition from the traditional wild man motif to the slightly different Yvain scene. Furthermore, Rushing suggested that the lion that appears, rather inexplicably, in at least two of the wild man scenes may have played a role in prompting the carver to think of Yvain, since Yvain becomes known as ‘the knight with the lion’ later in Chrétien’s text.25 In the new narrative context, the tower of Galahad’s Castle of Ladies could now signify Escalon’s castle. The lion link as well as the motifs of the fountain, enchantment, the wild man and the heroic exploit all fit in well with the decoration programme of these caskets. By modifying the wild man theme of the older caskets, this artist created the only known representation of the Yvain story in ivory.

22 23 24 25

For a study of Yvain in the visual arts, see J. A. Rushing, Images of Adventure. Ywain in the Visual Arts (Philadelphia, 1995). It is striking that Calogrenant (and not Yvain) at the fountain is also depicted in the sixteenthcentury Pierre Sala version of Chrétien’s Yvain story (Paris, BnF, fr. 1638, fol. 13v.) It was still identified as Enyas and the wild man in the 1978 Sotheby’s catalogue. Randall, The Golden Age of Ivory, first published it as an Yvain scene in 1993. Rushing, ‘Adventure in the Service of Love’, p. 61.

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Fig. 21.  Paris, BnF, fr. 1433, fol. 65r, Chrétien de Troyes, Yvain, Calogrenant pours water on the stone and fights Esclados

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Two more Chrétien romances remain. Two illustrated manuscripts of Erec et Enide begin with an illustration showing Arthur and his company on the hunt for the white stag.26 The back of the De Boze casket shows a couple hawking and a stag hunt, and on one of the short ends, a man on horseback presents the head of the stag to a crowned lady above the gate of a castle. Koechlin connected these scenes with the custom of hunting the white stag, alluded to by Chrétien de Troyes at the beginning of his Erec and Enide, but Ross remarked that ‘such a literary origin seems hardly necessary to account for anything so obvious as a hunting scene’.27 There are no illustrations at all for manuscripts of Cligés, nor can any ivories be linked to this romance either.

Real or fake? With the Gothic Revival grew an interest in the Middle Ages, and more especially in knights, battles, and courtly love. Furthermore, in the nineteenth century, vast quantities of ivory were imported into Europe. Since there was a market for interested collectors and since the material was readily available, forged ivories started to turn up in vast quantities from the early nineteenth century onwards.28 Only by the end of the nineteenth century did collectors and museum curators become suspicious, sometimes overly suspicious, such as one Mr Montagu Peartree, who declared nearly all the medieval gothic ivories he examined to be forgeries.29 It is sometimes very difficult to decide what is real and what is fake, as authenticity is questioned on the basis of stylistic or iconographic criteria, which to a certain extent are themselves questionable, since they are subjective. Long collection histories of ivories which can be traced back to well before 1850 are therefore of great help in proving authenticity. Nowadays, scientific methods can determine the date of ivory within approximately sixty years, but this technology has not been used for most of the objects yet, and even if it is applied, it can still cause confusion.30 The composite caskets with scenes from courtly literature are a category that may have been interesting for forgers, as the themes must have 26 27

28

29 30

C. Carroll, ‘Text and Image: The Case of Erec et Enide’, in Word and Image in Arthurian Literature, ed. K. Busby (New York and London, 1996), pp. 58–78. Ross, ‘Allegory and Romance’, p. 138. It also brings to mind the Second Perceval Continuation, where Perceval has to hunt a white stag and bring its head to a lady in order to be granted her love. For a reproduction of the De Boze panels, see Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques, no. 1290–1. Fake? The Art of Deception, ed. M. Jones (London, 1990), p. 180 mentions that a group of 190 Neo-Gothic ivory fakes by the same forger belonged to the Cologne collector Baron von Hüpsch, who died in 1805. Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques, p. 36. See Images in Ivory, p. 280 for an example that was dated to the nineteenth century on stylistic grounds, whereas radiocarbon dating has shown that the tusk from which it was made is medieval. Is the ivory carving medieval after all, or did a forger make use of medieval ivory?

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appealed very much to nineteenth-century collectors. Only the Cracow casket has a long history of ownership: it belonged to Queen Jadwiga of Poland (1371–1399).31 Even if the history of the other ivories cannot be traced back that far, all the caskets in Ross’s two groups seem to be of unquestionable authenticity. They have not always been one hundred percent ‘fake-free’, though. The current front panel of the Metropolitan Museum casket is original, but it was only discovered and inserted in 1988.32 The front plaque of this casket was still missing when it entered the collection of Sir Francis Douce (1757–1824), but all of a sudden, the casket had a front panel again, showing the story of Aristotle and Phyllis and the Fountain of Youth. In 1926, Thomas Hoopes pointed out that this front panel was not simply an old one from a different casket that had been inserted to make the box complete again, but that it was an actual forgery.33 The ‘new’ front was probably added while it was in the collection of Spitzer in Paris, and it must have been copied after the casket from this group that is currently in Baltimore, and that at the time was also present in the Spitzer collection.34 It is a very good copy that looks medieval at first sight, but the carver betrayed himself in a detail: he shows Alexander throwing down a rose to Phyllis riding on Aristotle’s back.35 This motif, which no doubt was borrowed from the ladies guarding the Castle of Love, does not make any sense in this context. There are more examples of Gothic ‘Arthurian’ caskets that have been proven to be partly original and partly ‘modern’. In 1928, Otto von Falke revealed that the early fourteenth-century ivory casket in St Petersburg, showing scenes from the Tristan story, has a forged lid. Initially, it was suggested that the lid was original and that the sides were fake, but Von Falke pointed out that it was the other way round and that the casket according to old records had no lid, but suddenly turned up ‘complete’ at an exhibition.36 Koechlin also pointed out that Tristan and Isolde are ‘overacting’ their gestures in the forged Trysting scene on the lid.37 There is also something wrong with the drapery folds of Isolde’s dress in the other scene on the lid: the forger apparently copied these folds from a standing figure, but as Isolde is lying on the ground in this scene, such folds are out of place here.38 31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38

She was the former princess of Hungary, who married Wladyslaw Jagiello II in 1386. See Images in Ivory, p. 64. See C. Little, Recent Acquisitions: A Selection 1987–1988, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1988), p. 16; and W. D. Wixom, Mirror of the Medieval World, exhibition catalogue, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1999), no. 156. See T. T. Hoopes, ‘An Ivory Casket in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’, The Art Bulletin 8 (1926), 127–39. Hoopes, ‘An Ivory Casket’, pp. 138–9. Hoopes, ‘An Ivory Casket’, p. 139. O. von Falke, ‘Das Tristankästchen der Eremitage’, Pantheon 1 (1928), 75–80. Koechlin, Les Ivoires gothiques, p. 520. Von Falke, ‘Das Tristankästchen’, p. 79.

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Fig. 22.  Whereabouts unknown, composite casket, Gawain fighting the lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge

Another Arthurian ‘mixed casket’ came to light recently. It was sold at an auction at Sotheby’s in 1977. The front and back are believed to be original, whereas the lid and the ends depicting the Arthurian scenes of Gawain on the Perilous Bed, Gawain fighting the lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge have been dated to the nineteenth century (Fig. 22).39 It is not necessarily suspicious that Gawain on the Perilous Bed fills an end panel, as a medieval instance of that composition exists, but the other end juxtaposes the scenes of Gawain fighting the lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge in an amazing way.40 On top of both scenes is a fortified wall from which ladies look at the Arthurian heroes. Wixom pointed out that the hail of arrows now comes from that wall instead of from a cloud, and that the hilt of the Sword Bridge is unsupported.41 Such ‘errors’ help to expose forgeries. 39 40 41

Auction Catalogue, Sotheby Parke Bernet & Co, 15 December 1977, lot 27. This plaque is reproduced in W. D. Wixom, ‘Eleven Additions to the Medieval Collection. no.7’, Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 66 (1979), 110–26, fig. 77. Wixom, ‘Eleven Additions’, p. 146.

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Fig. 23.  Cleveland, Cleveland Museum of Art, inv. no. 1978.39.c, plaques from a casket; (c) Galahad entering the Castle of Maidens, Gawain fighting the lion and Lancelot on the Sword Bridge; (b) Fountain of Youth and lover shooting flower at ladies on an elephant; (a) the siege of the Castle of Love.

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It will be clear that nineteenth-century forgers were not unfamiliar with Arthurian ivory caskets. I cannot help but have serious doubts regarding three large ivory plaques from a casket (the lid, the front and the back) that are currently kept in Cleveland (Fig. 23a). These panels were acquired in 1978 by the Cleveland Museum of Art from the Robert von Hirsch collection.42 The lid again shows the Siege of the Castle of Love. The front panel displays the Fountain of Youth and the capture of the unicorn on the left of the former lock, whereas on the right a man shoots a flower at two women in a castle carried by an elephant. All Arthurian scenes are gathered at the back panel: a knight enters the gate of a castle with a portcullis, while an old man with a key looks on from the wall. In the next segment, Gawain cuts off the Lion’s paw. The right half of this plaque is also devoted to a single scene: Lancelot crossing the Sword Bridge. The iconography of these ivories is remarkable. I will begin with the Arthurian scenes, as these are the primary focus of this article (Fig. 23c). The first segment must be a variation on Galahad receiving the keys of the Castle of Maidens, although a knight nearly being caught in the portcullis also brings Yvain’s adventures into mind. It is odd that the hermit is standing on the castle walls with the key in his hand, as Galahad then after all does not need this key to enter the gate. The segment of Gawain fighting the lion seems rather standard, although the forest setting is not appropriate. The Lancelot scene is, again, most strange. Four common people (three men and a woman with loose hair) are looking down from the castle wall, so that neither Queen Guenevere nor King Baudemagus can be discerned on the walls. The castle, apparently, is built on a bridge and, as in the above-mentioned forgery, there is no support for the hilt of the Sword Bridge. The front panel also contains strange iconography. The man shooting a flower at the ladies on the elephant has been interpreted as the God of Love, but since he is neither crowned nor winged, it is more likely that he represents a lover. The motif of a man shooting a flower at ladies only occurs in the context of the siege at the castle of love, however. The flower ‘in sideview’ in the hand of the lady on the elephant is a motif that in Gothic art occurs as an attribute for the Virgin Mary; regular flowers are usually represented as seen from above. While odd-looking elephants are standard in early fourteenth-century art, this example is strange in a non-medieval way. The hanging ear is uncommon, and so is the shape of the cover on its back. Medieval bestiaries often represent war-elephants with warriors in a wooden howdah on their back.43 In this instance it 42

43

See Wixom, ‘Eleven Additions’, pp. 147–9; B. Llewlynn, ‘Medieval Treasures’, The Connoisseur 199 (1978), 64; and The Robert von Hirsch Collection. 2 Works of Art, Sotheby Parke Bernet & Co, 22 June 1978, lot 290. The Cleveland ivories can be consulted on the web: http://www. clevelandart.org/explore/departmentWork.asp?qs=0&recNo=314&deptgroup=12&view=more (October 2007). See, for instance, D. Hassig, Medieval Bestiaries. Text, Image, Ideology (Cambridge, 1995), figs.

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contains two ladies – is this the war of the sexes? – but, more importantly, this castle is made of bricks! Poor elephant, which has to carry such a massive weight. This elephant motif seems a variation on a bestiary theme as there are no other elephants represented on medieval Gothic ivories, even though the actual ivories are made of their tusks. Iconographic variations or errors can of course occur on medieval caskets too, as is clear from the arrows at the Sword Bridge episode, but the Cleveland panels have more problematic features: those concerning style. The style difference with the Parisian ivories has been noted by Wixom, who therefore proposes a Rhenish origin, but my stylistic objections are more serious.44 This carver definitely had an obsession with brick; not only is the howdah made of stone, but there is a surplus of masonry in all of the architecture. Even the roofs are made of stone segments, and what is more, apart from the Galahad scene, all entrance gates are filled up with masoned walls! There is absolutely no way in which knights can open a door or enter the building. This is not the type of error that a medieval craftsman was likely to make; rather it belongs to the category of ‘copying error’. The same is probably true for the Fountain of Youth. A medieval Fountain does not have a classical pillar as a base, and it has a ‘hamburger’ shape with little lion’s heads attached to the sides (Figs. 8, 12, 20), instead of this plain oval shape in which non-specific monster heads have been incorporated.45 Furthermore, the hilt of the Sword Bridge has an unmedieval texture, and the clothes have remarkable features. The split or short front part of the gowns of Galahad and Gawain, for instance, are unique, and knights usually wear chain mail mittens instead of chain mail gloves. Furthermore, the loose hair of the lady watching Lancelot is unmedieval, as are the rendering of moustaches and the many wrinkles on the faces of the elderly men. Apart from these ‘too realistic’ faces, the other faces look too small and unexpressive for Gothic heads. It would be interesting to examine how the organic material of these plaques could be dated, but unfortunately that is beyond my powers. Even without this technical back-up, I have the impression that there is so much ‘wrong’ with these Cleveland panels that they are likely to be nineteenthcentury forgeries.46 Koechlin was able to study the plaques when they still belonged to the Trivulzio collection in Milan, but no provenance of the

44 45

46

131–45. Wixom, ‘Eleven Additions’, p. 123. A. Rapp, Der Jungbrunnen in Literatur und bildender Kunst des Mittelalters (Zürich, 1976), describes the Cleveland panels on pp. 64–65 (fig. 5). She does not seem to have had any suspicions, although none of her examples of this motif resemble the Cleveland fountain. I do not seem to be completely alone in this impression. Ott, ‘Zur Ikonographie des ParzivalStoffs’, p. 116, n. 19 calls the Cleveland ivories ‘vermutlich eine Fälschung’; unfortunately he does not explain why. The elephant, in my view, seems based on a bestiary illumination, and the siege scene looks like a compilation of the lids in Boulogne and Liverpool. For the Liverpool ivory, see M. Gibson, The Liverpool Ivories. Late Antique and Medieval Ivory and Bone Carving in the Liverpool Museum and the Walker Art Gallery (London, 1994), no. 41.

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ivories is known before the 1875 exhibition, a fact which hardly comes to their rescue here.47

Conclusion The medieval ivory caskets are among the finest products of the Parisian ivory workshops. It can therefore be concluded that by the end of the first quarter of the fourteenth century the Parisian aristocracy must have appreciated Chrétien’s romances very much. In particular, the Perceval casket renders the details of Chrétien’s story with meticulous care. Gawain on the Perilous Bed was without any doubt the favourite Arthurian subject on the ivories. This may be due to its spectacular nature, as unlike Lancelot crossing the Sword Bridge, Gawain’s adventure is not an example of the power of love. Gawain entered the castle in search of adventure, not compelled by love. It becomes clear from the confusion in the Arthurian scenes on the composite caskets that the workshop of these ivory carvers had little first-hand acquaintance with the Arthurian stories, for somehow the order of the scenes became jumbled and features from the Gawain adventure were transferred to Lancelot. The similarities between the caskets are as interesting as the differences, as they demonstrate the reluctance of these carvers to repeat themselves in every detail. Contemporary with the carving of the Arthurian themes on the ivories, the same stories were illustrated in Chrétien manuscripts. Whereas the manuscript illuminations show most of the famous scenes, the ivory carvings tend to reproduce only the most popular (or the most spectacular?) of all. Keith Busby observed on this matter: ‘The overall picture that emerges is of an interesting symbiotic relationship between different artistic media, in which sculptors, carvers and the planners of frescoes consulted manuscripts as a prelude to executing their work.’48 I have not found any indication that this actually ever happened for the Chrétien material. Be it in a manuscript, on a mural, in stone, or in ivory, even if the episode selected for representation was the same, the treatment was always independent and no direct iconographic link of dependency from manuscripts to ivories/sculpture/painting, or the other way round, could be found. The survival of the large number of composite ivory caskets indicates the extent of the appeal that their courtly and knightly imagery must have held for fourteenth-century audiences. That interest clearly was not limited to the Middle Ages only, considering the nineteenth-century 47 48

Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques, I, 490. L. Courajod, ‘Exposition rétrospective de Milan (art industriel 1874)’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts 11 (1875), 376–92, esp. pp. 378–9. K. Busby, Codex and Context: Reading Old French Verse Narrative in Manuscript, 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 2002), I, 346.

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forgeries. A modern testimony of this popularity was kindly brought to my attention by James Pietrusz, who bought an ‘ivory replica’ at The Museum Company (USA). According to the accompanying Museum Company information, this plaque, showing a most curious invented scene of a fifteenth-century knight fighting three lions with a saracen’s sword, while a man and a woman – each sitting in a separate tree – look on, ‘represents the popular Arthurian tale, Sir Gawain fighting the lions, written by Chrétien de Troyes in c. 1181’.

Appendix 1.  PERCEVAL CASKET Paris, Musée du Louvre, OA122 (Height 7.4 cm x Width 22.5 cm x Depth 11.3 cm) lid: St Christopher / St Martin / St George / St Eustace left end: Perceval kneels before three knights back: Perceval receives his mother’s advice / his mother swoons on the bridge Perceval on horseback / Perceval kisses the lady in the tent right end: Perceval rides into Arthur’s hall front: Perceval kills the Red Knight / Perceval tries to disarm the dead Red Knight / Yonet helps him into the armour Overlap in iconography with Perceval manuscript illustrations: Perceval kneels before knights Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, fol. 1r (five knights) Paris, BnF, fr. 12577, fol. 1r (five knights) Mons, BU, 331/206 p. 15 (one knight, no forest) Perceval receives his mother’s advice — Perceval’s mother swoons on the bridge Paris, BnF, fr. 12577, fol. 1r Montpellier, Med., H 249, fol. 4v Perceval on horseback with javelins Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, fol. 1r Paris, BnF, fr. 12577, fol. 1r Montpellier, Med., H 249, fol. 1r Perceval kisses the lady in the tent Montpellier, Med., H 249, fol. 5r (no tent)

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Perceval rides into Arthur’s hall Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, fol. 1r Montpellier, Med., H 249, fol. 6v (people at table) Mons, BU, 331/206 p. 25 Paris, BnF, fr. 1453, fol. 6r Perceval kills the Red Knight Paris, BnF, fr. 12576, fol. 1r Paris, BnF, fr. 12577, fol. 1r Montpellier, Med., H 249, fol. 8r Perceval attempts to disarm the Red Knight — Yonet helps Perceval into the armour —

Appendix 2.  COMPOSITE CASKETS

Type 1 London, British Museum, inv. no. Dalton 386 (Height 9 cm x Width 26.2 cm x Depth 17 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Old men walking to / Fountain of Youth right end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed + lion’s head / three ladies watching left end: Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens London, Victoria and Albert Museum, inv. no. 146–1866 (Height 10.8 cm x Width 25.4 cm x Depth 13.3 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Old men walking to / Fountain of Youth right end: Capture of the unicorn / Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge (lion’s paw on shield)/ Gawain on the Perilous Bed / three ladies watching (+ foliage!) left end: Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens Baltimore, Walters Art Gallery, inv. no. 71.264 (formerly Paris, Economos Collection) (Height 11.5 cm x Width 24.6 cm x Depth 12.4 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament 149



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front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Old men walking to / Fountain of Youth right end: Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed + lion’s head and paw / three ladies watching left end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn

Type 2 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, inv. no. MMA 17.190.173 (Height 11.2 cm x Width 24.9/25.4 cm x Depth 15.6 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament (incl. knight embracing a lady on horseback and lovers in a boat) front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Thisbe in tree watches lion with cloth / Death of Pyramus and Thisbe right end: Knight (Enyas?) kills wild man / Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed / three ladies watching (+ foliage!) left end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn Cracow, Cathedral Treasury (measurements not available) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament (incl. knight embracing a lady on horseback and lovers in a boat) front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Thisbe in tree watches lion with cloth / Death of Pyramus and Thisbe right end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed + lion’s head / three ladies watching left end: Knight (Enyas?) kills wild man / Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, inv. no. 123 (Carrand Collection) (Height 7.4 cm x Width 18.6 cm x Depth 11.2 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament (incl. knight embracing a lady on horseback and lovers in a boat) front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Thisbe in tree watches lion with cloth / Death of Pyramus and Thisbe right end: Knight (Enyas?) kills wild man / Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed / three ladies watching 150



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left end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn

Variant/Later Types Birmingham, Barber Institute of Fine Arts (Height 14 cm x Width 22.9 cm x Depth 0.95 cm) lid: Tournament, heralds in trees, and ladies giving helmet to knights front: Aristotle and Alexander / Aristotle and Phyllis / Thisbe in tree watches lion with cloth / Death of Pyramus and Thisbe right end: Knight (Enyas?) kills the wild man back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed / three ladies watching left end: Tryst beneath the tree (Tristan and Isolde) / Capture of the unicorn (hunter in tree) England, Lord Gort Collection (location unknown) (Height 7.8 cm x Width 22/24 cm x Depth 12.5 cm) lid: Tournament, courtly scenes, ladies giving helmet to knights front: Aristotle alone / Aristotle and Phyllis / Virgil / Virgil in the basket and the lady dishonoured right end: Old men walking to / Fountain of Youth back: Muslim warriors before a castle listen to a messenger/ Army (king and knights) on foot left end: Knight (Enyas?) kills wild man / Gawain on the Perilous Bed, lion, 3 ladies

Fragments of Ivory Caskets with Arthurian Scenes London, British Library, binding of MS Add. 36615, Roman de Godefroy de Bouillon (Height ? cm x Width 19.5 cm) back: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge / Gawain on the Perilous Bed + lion’s head / three ladies watching Former Manzi Collection, Paris (Height 9 cm x Width 13.5 cm) end: Gawain on the Perilous Bed Prince de Wallerstein-Oettingen Collection (formerly De Boze Collection) (Height 14 cm x Width 31 cm) back: Stag hunt end: (lost, but engraving still exists: Gawain on the Perilous Bed)

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London, British Museum (Height 7.3 cm x Width 12 cm) end: Galahad receives the key of the Castle of Maidens / Knight (Enyas?) kills the wild man (holding a club) at a fountain Washington, private collection (formerly Basel, Hirsch Collection) (Height 5.8 cm x Width 9.7 cm) end: Yvain pouring water at the fountain and a seated wild man holding a club

Neo-Gothic Arthurian Ivories (14th + 19th-century?) Current whereabouts unknown Sotheby sale, 15 December 1977, lot 27 (Height ? cm x Width 25.5 cm x Depth 14.5 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament (19th c.) front: Games: ‘la main chaude’ and ‘la grenouille’ (Frog in the Middle) right end: Gawain on the Perilous Bed (19th c.) back: Lovers hunting on horseback and Castle of Love left end: Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge (19th c.) Cleveland, Cleveland Museum of Art, inv. no. 1978.39.a–c (formerly Basel, Hirsch Collection) Sotheby sale, 22 June 1978, lot 290 (Height 9.7 cm x Width 25.9 cm x Depth 13 cm) lid: Siege of the Castle of Love and tournament (incl. knight with lady on horseback and lovers in boat) front: Fountain of Youth / Capture of the unicorn / Elephant, castle with two ladies on its back / Man shooting flower at lovers back: Galahad enters the Castle of Maidens, hermit on the gate / Gawain fights the lion / Lancelot on the Sword Bridge

Other Gawain Ivories WRITING TABLET Niort, Musée Bernard d’Agesci, inv. no. 914.1.143 (Height 8.3 cm x Width 3 cm) Gawain on the Perilous Bed, lion, three ladies watching MIRROR CASE Bologna, Museo Civico (diameter 9.6 cm) Gawain on the Perilous Bed, lion, five ladies watching

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‘AN EMPIRE OF ITSELF’: ARTHUR AS ICON OF AN ENGLISH EMPIRE, 1509–1547 Stewart Mottram In Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), King Arthur rides up to a peasant and declares himself ‘Arthur, king of the Britons’. When the peasant puzzlingly asks, ‘Who are the Britons?’, Arthur rather uncertainly replies that ‘We are all Britons.’ The year 1975 also saw the publication of J. G. A. Pocock’s groundbreaking article ‘British History: A Plea for a New Subject’. Pocock sought to bridge the divide between anglocentric approaches to English history on the one hand, and isolationist approaches to Scottish, Welsh and Irish histories on the other. His article encouraged non-isolationist perspectives on British history, which recognise England’s past cultural and political ascendancy within the British Isles, but which do so from both English and non-anglocentric points of view. Pocock inaugurated what has since been called the ‘new British history’, or ‘British Problem’, a historiography that could take as its motto the Monty Python King Arthur’s claim that ‘We are all Britons’ – or at least live in an archipelago shaped irrevocably by over five hundred years of British state-formation. Over the past three decades, historians of England – and, more recently, of English literature – have set English within the wider context of British history and literature. One effect of this ‘new British history’ has been to highlight the influence on early modern English literature of England’s colonial interests in Wales, Scotland and Ireland, with recent years seeing a spate of critical studies that establish ‘British’ contexts for writing by Spenser and Shakespeare in particular.

  

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, dir. T. Gilliam and T. Jones (20th Century Fox, 1975), cited in N. Ascherson, ‘Diary’, London Review of Books 29.7 (2007), 38–39 (p. 38). J. G. A. Pocock, ‘British History: A Plea for a New Subject’, Journal of Modern History 47.4 (1975), 600–628. For an accessible introduction to the ‘new British history’ in relation to English Renaissance literature, see the Introduction to British Identities and English Renaissance Literature, ed. D. Baker and W. Maley (Cambridge, 2002).

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Yet in the rush to approach Tudor England from a ‘British’ perspective, recent criticism has risked losing sight of England’s self-image in the earlier sixteenth century as a sovereign realm, independent of Rome and the rest of Britain alike. Take Willy Maley, for example, who writes that England in the sixteenth century was a nation ‘nasty, British, and short’, its identity as England confined to the seventy-year period between the promulgation of the Appeals Act in 1533 and the accession of James I in 1603. The Appeals Act announced England’s independence from foreign powers, notably the Church of Rome; the accession of James I saw yet another foreign power – James VI of Scotland – take up rule in England. Maley’s England is the meat in the sandwich, the fragile nation-state caught between a rock and a hard place, between the shadow of Rome and the spectre of Britain. Perhaps even seventy years is too generous a time frame for England’s fleeting cultural moment? According to Maley, past subjection to imperial Rome haunted the English long after 1533. Maley notes that in the Appeals Act, England articulated its freedom from Rome in the language of its former imperial aggressor, emulating the ideology of the empire to which until so recently it had been bound. The irony of England’s decision in 1533 to articulate its freedom from foreign powers in the language of those powers has also been noted by Claire McEachern, who argues that England’s self-image as empire is ‘based as much in a competitive, mimetic resemblance to foreign authority as in a rejection of it’. England, then, wore its identity as ‘empire’ as simultaneously a badge of freedom and brand of slavery, and no sooner had England declared itself an empire than it began to make imperial conquests of its own, in 1535 extending to Wales the laws of England’s ‘Imperiall Crowne’, and throughout the 1540s attempting through pen and sword to marry Scotland to ‘the onely supreme seat of the[m]pire of greate Briteigne’, as the Welsh pamphleteer Nicholas Bodrugan (or Adams) described England in 1548. The impact on English literature of Tudor imperial expansion within the British Isles is well attested, and is the subject of several recent critical studies. Philip Schwyzer argues that the ‘English’ empire of the   



W. Maley, Nation, State and Empire in English Renaissance Literature (Houndsmills, 2003), p. 35. See Maley, p. 35; C. McEachern, The Poetics of English Nationhood, 1590–1612, Cambridge Studies in Renaissance Literature and Culture 13 (Cambridge, 1996), p. 2. 27 Hen. VIII, c. 26, in The Statutes of the Realm, 9 vols. (London, 1810–1828), III (1817), 563–569 (p. 563); N. Bodrugan, An Epitome of the Title (London, 1548; STC 3196), sig. A5v. For discussion of Bodrugan, and the British context of his Epitome, see S. Mottram, ‘Reading the Rhetoric of Nationhood in Two Reformation Pamphlets by Richard Morison and Nicholas Bodrugan’, Renaissance Studies 19.4 (2005), 523–540. The effect on English literature (particularly Spenser) of Tudor colonial projects in Ireland is explored by A. Hadfield in Edmund Spenser’s Irish Experience: Wilde Fruit and Salvage Soyl (Oxford, 1997); Chapter 6 of Literature, Politics and National Identity: Reformation to Renaissance (Cambridge, 1994); Chapter 9 of Shakespeare, Spenser and the Matter of Britain (Basingstoke, 2004); and by Maley, Salvaging Spenser: Colonialism, Culture and Identity (Houndsmills, 1997). For English literature and Tudor England’s claim to Wales, see P. Schwyzer, Literature,

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Appeals Act was from its outset British, its self-image silently incorporating Wales and Scotland, even as it spoke of itself as independent of all foreign powers. Schwyzer talks of the prize and the price of England’s British identity: England gained an empire as Britain, but as Britain it also lost its identity as England – a loss, Maley writes, that was ‘arguably an originary loss’. As Shakespeare’s John of Gaunt bemoans, England ‘that was wont to conquer others’ has ‘made a shameful conquest of itself ’.10 Caught between a Roman rock and a British hard place, England never quite got off the ground in the sixteenth century. Or did it? England’s self-image as a self-contained nation-state continued to influence English literature and culture long after England embarked, from the 1530s onwards, on its ‘British’ colonial projects, its ‘expansion’ into Wales, new plantations in Ireland, and attempts to forge a Protestant alliance with Scotland. Before Tudor England is entirely written out of existence, to become, with Atlantis, just one more mythical Atlantic kingdom, I should like to stake out a case for England’s existence as an empire in the early sixteenth century. England’s fleeting cultural moment, then, serves as the subject of this article, which reintroduces uncertainty into King Arthur’s claim (in Monty Python and the Holy Grail) that ‘We are all Britons’, and which does so by exploring England’s imperial self-image in literature written during the reign of Henry VIII. The Appeals Act was not the first text to speak in the language of empire about England’s freedom from Rome. This language of empire had been signalling England’s sovereignty for some decades before the onset of Henry’s ‘great matter’. Within the forty or so years of Henry’s reign (1509–47), I shall be exploring texts that celebrate England (not Britain) as an imperial – by which I mean an independent – realm, focusing discussion on how texts from this period made use of King Arthur, as icon of the empire that Henry VIII was claiming for himself and England. In so doing, I shall be arguing for an English imperial identity in the early sixteenth century that stands apart, both from mainland Europe, and from England’s colonial projects within the British Isles – England’s efforts at ‘internal colonialism’, or what Maley terms ‘indigenous indigestion’.11 This article is intended to sit alongside recent ‘British’ readings of Tudor English texts, by Willy Maley, Andrew Hadfield and Philip Schwyzer, among others. I want to argue that England found literary representation in the sixteenth century as a realm independent of its British neighbours, but I acknowledge in so

  10 11

Nationalism, and Memory in Early Modern England and Wales (Cambridge, 2004). For background to the attempted Anglo-Scottish alliance (1540s–60s), see C. Kellar, Scotland, England, and the Reformation 1534–1561 (Oxford, 2003), and S. Alford The Early Elizabethan Polity: William Cecil and the British Succession Crisis, 1558–1569 (Cambridge, 1998). Schwyzer, pp. 1–13. Maley, Nation, State and Empire, p. 29. Shakespeare, King Richard II, ed. A. Gurr (Cambridge, 2003), II.i.65–66. Maley, Nation, State and Empire, p. 24.

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doing that ideas of ‘English’ as well as of ‘British’ empire, of policies at once isolationist and expansionist, inform literature written in the reign of Henry VIII. It would be wrong to deny that England ‘invented’ Britain in the sixteenth century to serve its developing colonial agenda, both within and without the British Isles. It is important to remember though that the term ‘imperial’ did not always connote ‘colonial expansion’ in Henrician England, and that when some writers referred to the ‘English empire’, they referred to England, not Britain, to a sovereign nation-state, not a synecdoche for ‘the[m]pire of greate Briteigne’, as Nicholas Bodrugan would have had it. England won its independence from Rome with words, not swords. ‘Where by dyvers sundrie olde autentike histories and cronicles’, the 1533 Appeals Act begins, ‘it is manifestly declared and exp[re]ssed that this Realme of Englond is an Impire … gov[er]ned by oon Sup[re]me heede and King’.12 The Appeals Act helped Henry VIII divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn. In so far as it rejected the authority of any law court outside of England, its purpose was to block Queen Catherine’s appeal to Rome to have Pope Clement VII pass judgment on the sanctity of her marriage to Henry VIII. Henry was desperate for a divorce by the time the Appeals Act was passed in April 1533. He and Anne Boleyn had secretly married three months earlier, and Anne was at that time already pregnant with the future Queen Elizabeth (she had conceived the previous December).13 By legislating in the Appeals Act against Catherine’s appeal to Rome, Henry made his marriage problems a purely domestic affair, a matter of English matrimonial law, fit only to be tried by an English clergyman. As self-styled head of the English church, Henry delegated the responsibility to his newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. The Appeals Act became law on 7 April, and by 28 May Cranmer had passed judgement on both Henry’s marriages – annulling his marriage to Catherine, blessing his marriage to Anne. The concept of empire, then, does not always encode colonial expansion. The Appeals Act teaches us to pay closer attention to the context within which the word ‘empire’ is used. Despite its grandiose claims, its reference to chronicles sundry, authentic and old, the Appeals Act is a document driven by Henry’s desire for Anne Boleyn, its tone more romance than epic. The word ‘empire’ in the Appeals Act is a declaration, not of colonial intent, but of independence – Henry’s from Catherine and England’s from Rome. True, by 1535 the word ‘empire’ was being used to justify England’s expansion into Wales, and it would be 12 13

24 Hen. VIII, c. 12, in Statutes, III (1817), 427–29 (p. 427). For disputes over the date of Henry’s marriage to Anne, see D. MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer: A Life (New Haven, 1996), pp. 637–38. Princess Elizabeth was born on 7 September 1533, so Anne must have conceived in early December 1532.

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used in similar colonial contexts throughout the sixteenth century. Back in 1533, however, empire signalled England’s independence from, not its pretensions to, foreign rule, and this isolationist idea of empire also had currency throughout the sixteenth century, both before and after 1533. Empire could mean one of two things in the Tudor period, and both meanings were largely concurrent with one another up until the last decades of Elizabeth’s reign. This two-fold meaning was consistent with the Latin imperium, a term which in the Roman Republic simply meant power, but which evolved under the Augustan Empire to describe the scale of the landmass over which the Emperor held sway. The Appeals Act borrowed from the diction of the Republic, to say something pithy about the extent of Henry’s power in England, not to signal his aspirations to conquest abroad. As Richard Koebner explains, the Appeals Act referred to ‘imperium such as [it was] understood by humanists – a term expressive of dignity and splendour, but not of precedence of other kingdoms – not at all claiming world-supremacy’.14 With its two-fold meaning in the sixteenth century, the term empire was liable to cause some confusion, of course. Some evidence of its misinterpretation comes in the form of a letter written by Eustace Chapuys, the English ambassador of the Habsburg Emperor Charles V during the period of Henry’s ‘great matter’ – his conviction by 1527 that his eighteen-year marriage to Catherine was altogether immoral in the eyes of God. As Catherine’s nephew, Charles V took a close personal interest in Henry’s domestic affairs, and Chapuys’s frequent letters to Charles from this period are full of the latest court gossip and tittle-tattle. One of these letters, written on 13 January 1531, records Chapuys’s conversation that day with Thomas Howard, duke of Norfolk. Howard must have been familiar with the recent efforts of Edward Foxe to collect together historical sources supportive of Henry’s claim to exercise power (imperium) over the English church, and thereby to decide for himself the sanctity of his marriage to Queen Catherine. Foxe had begun to compile the Collectanea satis copiosa, the ‘sufficiently abundant collection’ of source material, following the breakdown in July 1529 of the papal court convened at Blackfriars to decide on whether to grant Henry his annulment. It was to the Collectanea that the Appeals Act presumably referred, when it spoke of the ‘diverse sundry old authentic histories and chronicles’ that together declared England an empire, ‘governed by one supreme head and king’. Howard made more specific use of the material contained in the Collectanea, to defend Henry’s ‘right of empire’ in England before the implacable ambassador, Chapuys. Howard, Chapuys writes, had said to him

14

R. Koebner, ‘ “The Imperial Crown of this Realm”: Henry VIII, Constantine the Great and Polydore Vergil’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 26 (1953), 29–52 (p. 51).

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that the Popes in former times had tried to usurp authority, and that the people would not suffer it, – still less would they do so now; that the King had a right of empire in his kingdom, and recognised no superior; … that Constantine reigned here, and the mother of Constantine was English, &c. [That] he had lately shown the ambassadors of France the seal or the tomb of King Arthur (I did not know of whom he spoke,) in which there was a writing, which I would see in a bill of parchment … This bill contained only the words ‘Patricius Arcturus, Brittaniæ. Galliæ, Germaniæ, Daciæ Imperator’. I said I was sorry he was not also called Emperor of Asia … and if from this he argued that they might still make conquests like the said Arthur, let him consider what had become of the Assyrians, Macedonians, Persians, &c.15

Chapuys completely misinterprets what Howard here means by his use of the term ‘empire’. When Howard claims that the ‘King had a right of empire in his kingdom, and recognised no superior’, his use of the word ‘empire’ is what Koebner would call ‘humanist’, in so far as it signals Henry’s claims to unrivalled authority in England (‘in his kingdom’). But Howard’s ‘humanist’ understanding of empire is clearly lost on Chapuys, who rather misses the point of Howard’s reference to the empires of Constantine and Arthur, assuming that Howard is here announcing an English colonial project, and warning the English to consider the fates of other empire-builders (the Assyrians, Macedonians, Persians) before embarking on ‘conquests like the said Arthur’. Howard’s encounter with Chapuys serves to underscore the concurrence in the sixteenth century of the two ideas of empire outlined above, but it also highlights the confusions inherent in this two-fold understanding of the term. It is worth noting here that Howard seems to have made no allowance for this potential for confusion when he chose to identify imperial England with the past empires of Constantine and Arthur. In his letter to Charles V, Chapuys freely confessed that he had never before heard of King Arthur, but from the words that Howard alleges were written on Arthur’s tomb (claiming Arthur as emperor of modern day Britain, France, Belgium, Germany and Romania), it is easy to see why Chapuys assumed from Howard’s identification of Henry with Arthur that Howard was here announcing an English campaign to reclaim Arthur’s erstwhile empire overseas. Chapuys would certainly have heard of Constantine the Great, the Roman emperor who first extended tolerance to Christianity (through the Edict of Milan in AD 313). Constantine was proclaimed emperor when fighting in Britain in 306, although the myth that his mother, Helena, was English (from Colchester) is of medieval origin, can be discounted (her place of birth has been traced to modern-day Turkey), and, like the largely 15

Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII: Preserved in the Public Record Office, the British Museum, and Elsewhere in England, ed. J. S. Brewer et al., 21 vols. of 35 parts (London, 1862–1910), V (1880), 19–20 [hereafter LP].

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mythical Arthur, is a myth that was most probably unknown to Chapuys.16 What Chapuys would have known about Constantine, however, is the fact that Charles V was himself identified with this Roman ruler of an empire that stretched from Lebanon in the east to Portugal in the west, and from the North African seaboard in the south to the Scottish borders in the north. When Charles was elected Holy Roman Emperor in June 1519, his Grand Chancellor, Mercurino de Gattinara, had been quick to identify Constantine’s with Charles’s Christian empire.17 The comparison was not inaccurate. By June 1519, Charles ruled over most of modern day Spain, southern Italy, Germany, Austria, Hungary and the Low Countries. His colonies in Latin America even exceeded the boundaries of Constantine’s ancient empire, a fact that Charles’s motto, plus ultra (still further), strove to make clear.18 Thomas Howard, then, had failed sufficiently to take his audience into account when he had spoken to Chapuys of Henry’s imperial aspirations, and had done so by identifying Henry’s English empire with the erstwhile empires of Constantine and Arthur. As ambassador to an emperor whose very motto spoke of territorial conquest, it was always likely that Chapuys would read a colonial subtext into Howard’s talk of empire; Howard’s allusion to Constantine, and his ill-judged reference to the inscription on Arthur’s tomb, must have tipped the balance firmly in favour of this misreading. Yet while Chapuys claimed only to have heard of Arthur from Thomas Howard’s rather enigmatic allusion to the Great Seal on his tomb, Charles V himself would certainly have known of Arthur, and of his significance, not only for the Tudor idea of empire, but for the Habsburg empire that Charles inherited in 1519 from his grandfather, the Emperor Maximilian I. Martin Biddle has recently written on Maximilian’s Arthurianism, his identification with the political and chivalric ideals associated with Arthur’s legendary court at Camelot. Particularly interesting is Biddle’s exploration of the influence on Maximilian’s autobiographical writings of Arthurian romances in the tradition of Chrétien de Troyes: ‘We have no indication that Charles was particularly influenced by Maximilian’s Arthurianism’, Biddle writes, ‘but he must have been fully aware of it’.19 Charles V’s uncle, Henry VIII, certainly assumed he was. Henry 16

17

18

19

See P. J. Casey, ‘Constantine I’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: From the Earliest Times to the Year 2000, ed. H. C. G. Matthew and B. Harrison, 60 vols. (Oxford, 2004), XIII, 29–32. See ‘Historia vite et gestorum’, ed. C. Bornate, Miscellanea di storia Italiana 48 (1915), 233–568 (pp. 405–406); trans. J. M. Headley, ‘The Habsburg World Empire and the Revival of Ghibellinism’, in Theories of Empire, 1450–1800, ed. D. Armitage (Aldershot, 1998), pp. 45–79 (p. 50). For the motto and accompanying columnar device, see E. E. Rosenthal, ‘The Invention of the Columnar Device of Emperor Charles V at the Court of Burgundy in Flanders in 1516’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 36 (1973), 198–230. M. Biddle, ‘The Painting of the Round Table’, in King Arthur’s Round Table: An Archaeological Investigation, ed. M. Biddle (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 425–473 (p. 472).

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met with Charles three times following his election as Emperor in June 1519, and all three occasions were marked with displays of pomp and pageantry that sought explicitly to identify Charles and Henry with the legendary King Arthur. Charles set foot in England in May 1520, staying overnight at Dover Castle en route from Spain to the Low Countries. This was followed by a brief meeting with Henry in France just two months later, in the English-owned port of Calais. Charles’s second and much longer visit to England occurred almost two years later, from 26 May to 7 July 1522.20 On both visits, Charles and his fleet were directed to Dover, where Charles was lodged at Dover Castle, where ‘ye may see Gauwayns skulle/ & Cradoks mantel’, William Caxton reminds readers in his preface to Malory’s Morte Darthur. Dover Castle is only one of several English sites that according to Caxton contains some of the ‘many remembraunces’ of Arthur ‘and also of his knyghts’, the others being the Abbey of Westminster, famed for its Great Seal ‘Patricius Arthurus … Imperator’ (with which Howard attempted to impress Chapuys), and the Great Hall at Winchester, site of the Round Table itself.21 Caxton names Dover Castle, Westminster Hall and the Great Hall at Winchester as sites of special Arthurian interest, and moreover as sites that prove the historicity of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, to say nothing of their Englishness. On both his visits to England, Charles stayed at Dover Castle, and in 1522 he rode through London and was taken to see the Winchester Round Table. Seen from the perspective of the Morte Darthur, Charles’s English itinerary starts to look very Arthurian indeed, a suspicion that will be confirmed when we turn in a moment to the pageantry that accompanied Charles’s royal entry into London on 6 June 1522. For now though, it is worth just mentioning Arthur’s role in the iconography of the banqueting house at Calais, which was specially constructed for Henry’s meeting with Charles at Calais on 11 July 1520. At the entrance to the banqueting house stood a triumphal arch, upon which a life-size statue of Arthur had been placed, complete with sceptre in one hand and a miniaturised Round Table in the other. To his left and right had been placed the arms and accoutrements of England and the Empire. The figure of Hercules, club in hand, stood astride Charles’s badge, the Columns of Hercules, and his motto, plus ultra (still further).22 Arthur, then, is here being identified with both Henry and Charles, and it is Charles’s colonial projects in the New World, beyond the Herculean Columns that marked the westernmost limits of the ancient world, that here receive particular attention. 20 21 22

Biddle provides an itinerary of Charles’s visit to England in the summer of 1522, on p. 430 (fig. 154). T. Malory, [Le Morte Darthur] (London, 1485; STC 801), sig. iiv. An account of the Calais banqueting house forms part of Le triu[m]phe festifz bien venue e honorable recoeul faict per le Roy da[n]gleterre en la Ville de Calais (Arras, 1520). For discussion, see Biddle, pp. 450–63.

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Charles was again compared to Arthur when riding with Henry through London on the evening of Friday 6 June 1522. To mark the occasion, the mayor and aldermen of London had commissioned a total of nine pageants, to be placed at intervals along a route from Southwark, over London Bridge, past the Leadenhall, and then westwards along Cornhill and Cheapside, with both Henry and Charles alighting outside St Paul’s Cathedral. Two contemporary descriptions of the nine pageants survive, the first printed in Hall’s Vnion of the two famelies of Lancastre & Yorke (the Vnion), the second preserved in manuscript at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge (the Descrypcion).23 William Lily wrote verse (in Latin) for six of the nine pageants, which served to comment on the scenes these pageants presented, and which children read out to Henry and Charles, as they paused before each stage. Lily’s verse was translated into ‘rude englysshe’, and the rather free translation printed alongside the Latin original in a pamphlet produced by Richard Pynson in 1522 (the Tryumphe).24 The fifth pageant, at the Cornhill Conduit, consisted of a mock castle with two towers, each emblazoned with the arms of the Emperor and King of England. In between these towers, writes the author of the Descrypcion, a palace had been constructed, where satte the ryght noble and victorious emprow[er] kynge Arthur w[i]t[h] a crowne imperiall in complett harnes and a swerde in hys hande w[i]t[h] the rownde table before hyme. Whiche was accompanyed w[i]t[h] all the noble prynces that were vvnder his obeisaunce … Also ther was a childe goodly apparelde whiche saluted the emprow[er] in laten v[er]sis laudyng & resemblyng hym in noblenes to the seyd Arthur.25

An English translation of this child’s address to Charles V is printed in Pynson’s Tryumphe. It compares ‘the fame of worthy Arthure’ (sig. A5r) as a military conqueror with the similar reputation for war-like deeds enjoyed by King David among the Israelites, Hannibal among the Carthaginians, Alexander the Great among the Greeks and Cato (‘the Censor’) among the Romans.26 It is against the backdrop of this panoply of military heroes that Lily subsequently foregrounds the military prowess of Charles 23

24

25 26

E. Hall, The vnion of the two noble and illustrate famelies of Lancastre & Yorke (London, 1548; STC 12721), sigs. QQq6r–RRr2v; ‘The descrypcion of the pageantes made in the Cyte of London att the recevyng of the most excellent pryncys Charlys the fyfte Emperour, & Henry the viij. kyng off englonde’, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 298, II, 8, pp. 132–42. Of the tryu[m]phe/ and the v[er]ses that Charles themperour/ & the most myghty redouted kyng of England/ Henry the. viii. were saluted with/ passyng through London ([London], [1522]; STC 15606.7), sig. A2r. A transcription is printed in C. R. Baskervill, ‘William Lily’s Verse for the Entry of Charles V into London’, The Huntington Library Bulletin 9 (1936), 1–14 (pp. 8–14). For Lily’s commission, see Baskervill, pp. 3–4. ‘The Descrypcion’, p. 138. Lily’s reference to ‘Cato’ could refer to either of two Roman statesmen named Marcus Porcius Cato, but given the military context it is most likely that the reference is here to Cato ‘the Censor’, who according to Plutarch boasted in 196 BC that he had captured more towns than he had spent days in Spain. See A. E. Astin, Cato the Censor (Oxford, 1978), pp. 28–50 (p. 47).

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V himself. He foresees that Charles will in battle establish himself as ruler of the wide world, ‘from Eest to Occydent’, and he prays that God give Charles ‘the hygh victory’, so that ‘all folkes thy worthynesse shall knowe’. So thou Charles/ thou Cesar armypotent Shalt cause thy fame and honour for to blowe Ouer all the worlde/ from Eest to Occydent That all folkes thy worthynesse shall knowe For the we shall to the hygh god/ our knees bowe Prayeng hym to sende the/ the hygh victory That peace in erthe/ may raigne unyuersally. (sig. A5r)

It is the extent of Arthur’s overseas empire that is also being emphasised in this pageant at the Cornhill Conduit. Arthur sits at the Round Table dressed for war, his sword a symbol of military might, his imperial crown of the empire he has built through battle abroad. Around him sit his subjects, the sovereigns of the lands he has conquered, among them the Celtic nations of Scotland, Wales, Britanny, Cornwall and Ireland; and the Scandinavian countries of Denmark, Norway and Iceland. Arthur and the Round Table also featured in the iconography of the Calais banqueting house, suggesting that there too we are being encouraged to see Arthur in his imperial role. It is a role in which Charles himself is cast at Calais, and again at the Cornhill Conduit. On both these occasions, Charles’s selfimage as emperor ‘ouer all the worlde’ is amplified through identification with the Emperor-King Arthur. But if the English were encouraging Charles to see himself as emperor of the world, then what room was left for Henry to cultivate his own imperial ambitions? Maley dates England’s imperial age from the Appeals Act that freed England from Rome, but in fact ‘empire’ is a discourse that had been associated with English systems of power since at least the accession in 1485 of Henry VII, the first Tudor king. Dale Hoak has recently argued for a date as early as the reign of Henry V.27 England’s self-image as empire did not before the 1530s imply any claim to headship over the English church, despite Edward Foxe’s efforts in the Collectanea to argue otherwise. However the Appeals Act had not only claimed England’s independence from the Church of Rome, but its freedom from foreign powers more generally, and it was England’s independence from the Habsburg Holy Roman Empire in particular that formed the subtext of Tudor imperial claims prior to the compilation of the Collectanea. In the first of his Eclogues, Virgil had somewhat disparagingly referred to Britain as a place of exile and land wholly divided from the rest of the 27

P. Grierson, ‘The Origins of the English Sovereign and the Symbolism of the Closed Crown’, The British Numismatic Journal 33 (1964), 118–134; D. Hoak, ‘The Iconography of the Crown Imperial’, in Tudor Political Culture, ed. D. Hoak (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 54–103.

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world, ‘penitus toto diuisos orbe’ – Virgil’s world here being defined by the boundaries of the Roman Empire, which did not fully extend into England and Wales until some sixty years after Virgil’s death in 19 BC.28 Virgil’s England was but a place of exile, but in the early Tudor period England chose rather to celebrate its reputation as a world apart, and it was within the language of empire that England vaunted its independence, not from the Roman Church (at least not before the 1530s), but from the Habsburg Holy Roman Empire of Maximilian I, and of his grandson Charles V. The story goes that in 1517 Maximilian was planning to resign the Holy Roman Empire to Henry VIII. Rumours of this had reached Henry’s ambassador to Maximilian, Cuthbert Tunstall, and were relayed to Henry in a letter from Tunstall dated 12 February 1517. Maximilian himself seems to have shown little intention of securing the election of Henry VIII, however. His death in January 1519 seems rather to have cut short his efforts to see his grandson elected heir to the Holy Roman Empire.29 Tunstall probably suspected the rumour to be a fiction cooked up at the Imperial court, and his letter to Henry seeks diplomatically to disabuse Henry VIII of what to the ambitious king must have seemed an attractive offer of assistance. It is Tunstall’s line of reasoning that interests us here. Tunstall writes that Maximilian could never successfully solicit Henry’s election as Emperor, since only princes of the Empire were eligible to stand for election – ‘wheras your Grace’, Tunstall tells Henry, ‘is not, nor never sithen the Cristen faith the Kings of Englond wer subgiet to th’empire’. Henry could not be Emperor because England was not of the Empire. ‘But the Crown of Englond’, Tunstall asserts, is an Empire off hitselff, mych bettyr then now the Empire of Rome: for which cause your Grace werith a close Crown. And therfor yff ye were chosen, sens your Grace is not off th’empire, the Election wer voide. And iff your Grace shuld accepte the said Election, therby ye must confesse your realme to be under subjection off th’empire to the perpetual prejudice off your successor.30

Divided from the Holy Roman Empire, England was an empire of itself, a sceptred isle that stood apart from the rest of the world. When Charles V, rather than Henry VIII, succeeded Maximilian as Holy Roman Emperor, England could with equanimity accept the Emperor’s self-image as world ruler, accept his conquests beyond the Columns of Hercules, safe in the knowledge that the world Charles claimed as his own was not the world ruled by King Harry of England. The 1522 Entry was quick to emphasise, 28 29 30

Ecloga, I. 66, in P. Vergili Maronis, Opera, ed. R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford, 1969), p. 3. W. Maltby, The Reign of Charles V (Basingstoke, 2002), pp. 19–20. Original Letters Illustrative of English History, ed. H. Ellis, 1st ser., 3 vols. (London, 1824), I, 136.

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even to encourage, Charles’s worldly ambitions, but it was just as quick to remind Charles of England’s ‘otherworldly’ status, penitus toto diuisos orbe, and within this ‘world divided from the world’ of Henry’s own status as sole emperor-king. Before we explore how Henry’s self-image as emperor in England found expression in the 1522 Entry, it will be necessary briefly to summarise the context of Charles’s visit to England in the summer of 1522. Charles came to England to win support for his planned war with the French king, Francis I. At stake were the disputed Italian territories of Milan and Genoa, currently under French control, but coveted by Charles V, who saw in northern Italy a much-needed land corridor to link Spain and southern Italy with his power base in northern Europe.31 War was inevitable after Francis I, hearing rumours that Charles planned to invade northern Italy, launched a series of pre-emptive strikes in the summer of 1521 against the Imperial territories of Navarre and Burgundy. England played peacemaker, in autumn 1521 hosting peace talks at Calais, which were chaired by Henry VIII’s chief minister, Cardinal Wolsey. In Speke, Parrot, written in response to the Calais Conference, England’s selfproclaimed poet laureate John Skelton comments on a Europe beset by the Turk, by the army of Suleiman I (the Magnificent), which had sacked Belgrade in August 1521, sending shockwaves across all of Christendom.32 Peace had to be a priority, writes Skelton, for with Francis I and Charles V fighting among themselves, Europe could easily fall prey to the Turk. The real enemy was without, not within, and it was therefore vital that the peace talks at Calais succeed. In Speke, Parrot Skelton openly accuses Wolsey of mismanaging such an important and delicate affair, but Wolsey was in fact brisk and business-like in carrying out his orders – it was just that his orders were not what Skelton and others had been led to believe. Unknown to Skelton, Wolsey was sent to Calais, not to broker peace, but to talk of war. Charles sought England’s support for his war with France, and Henry VIII was prepared to help his young nephew, in exchange for a marriage alliance between Charles and the Princess Mary (the future Mary I). The peace talks at Calais look retrospectively like a farce, for in August 1521, as the Ottomans were sacking Belgrade, Wolsey travelled from Calais to Bruges, to sign a treaty that committed England to the Empire’s war with France. A second treaty, concluded at Calais in November 1521, reiterates England’s commitment to war, which was again reaffirmed in the Treaty of Windsor, signed 16 June 1522, during Charles V’s visit to England.33 Skelton was an opportunist, who in Speke, Parrot assumed he spoke 31 32 33

See Maltby, pp. 32–37, and New Catholic Encyclopedia, ed. T. Carson and J. Cerrito, 2nd edn, 15 vols. (Detroit, 2003), III, 430. G. Walker, John Skelton and the Politics of the 1520s (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 63–100. LP, III.ii (1867), 620–21, 760–61 and 983–84.

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for the court, and for Henry VIII himself, when he spoke of Wolsey’s mismanagement of the peace talks at Calais. In fact, Skelton had aimed rather wide of the mark, as was all too apparent when, far from being in disgrace, on his return to England Wolsey was greeted warmly by the King, and was granted St Albans’s Abbey as a gesture of the King’s esteem.34 The Calais Conference had been a cover for the Anglo-Imperial alliance against France, and it was against the backdrop of their preparations for war that Charles and Henry had entered London together on 6 June. Writing to his secretary Jean de la Sauche the day after the Entry, Charles spoke of the ‘magnificent reception’ that he and Henry had received in London, and of the ‘solemn and costly pageants’ that had been erected in their honour, but he also spoke with enthusiasm about Henry’s commitment to war with France. ‘A great number of English troops have already crossed to Calais to join the Emperor’s’, Charles reported, and ‘the King has also prepared a good army by sea, which will join the Emperor’s in eight days’.35 But Charles and Henry did not openly admit that their war with France was aimed at obtaining for the Empire a land corridor in northern Italy, especially not with the Ottoman army encamped in Eastern Europe. Instead of turning their attention to the Turkish threat, as writers like Skelton advised, Charles and Henry merely used the language of crusade, and used it to justify their own offensive against Francis I. The AngloImperial treaties signed at Bruges, Calais and Windsor spoke of the French king as himself an infidel and enemy of Christendom, and they identified Francis with the Turk, as both ‘enemies of the Christian faith’.36 Couched in this language, then, the Anglo-Imperial war against France was no war at all, but part of a holy crusade to cleanse Europe of its infidels, heretics and schismatics. This same language is used in the 1522 Entry itself, which presents Charles and Henry, not as warmongers, but as children of the Church. The Tryumphe tells us that placards were posted ‘at euery pagiant’ along the Entry route, and that the same two verses were ‘writen in letters of golde’ upon every placard: ‘Carolus Henricus uiuant. Defensor uterq[ue] ǀ Henricus Fidei. Carolus Ecclesiae’. The Tryumphe provides the following rather free translation: God saue noble Charles/ and pusant kynge He[n]ry And gyue to the[m] bothe: good helth/ lyfe/ & long The one of holy churche defender right mighty The other of the faithe/ as cha[m]pions moost strong. (sig. A3r)

Charles and Henry, then, are both described as defenders, of the church and faith respectively. The placard celebrated the recent conferment 34 35 36

Walker, pp. 93–94. LP, III.ii (1867), 977–78 (p. 977). LP, III.ii (1867), 620–21 (p. 621).

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upon Henry of the title Fidei Defensor (Defender of the Faith), promulgated by Leo X in a bull dated 11 October 1521; but it also sought to impress upon Charles that he and Henry were co-equals in their pretended ‘crusade’ against France, that far from being the Emperor’s subordinate, Henry was like Charles a defender and champion of Christendom, like Charles charged with the task of cleansing Christendom of its ‘Turks’. Some twenty days after the Entry, on his visit to Winchester, Charles was again reminded of these verses, and of their implication for his and Henry’s political relationship to one another. Winchester is home to King Arthur’s Round Table, which since 1348 has been hanging in the Great Hall at Winchester Castle, although repaired, repainted and re-hung in 1516. We know from the account of one Paolo Giovio that Charles was taken to view the newly painted table on his visit in June 1522.37 The claim that Henry and Charles were ‘defensor uterq[ue]’ was pinned up on the wall directly below the Round Table, writes the antiquary and mayor of Winchester, John Trussell.38 The Winchester Round Table bears a painted image of King Arthur, seated at the head of the Table with sword in one hand and sceptre in the other – exactly as he is described in the manuscript description of the pageant at the Cornhill Conduit. In the 1522 Entry, and again at Winchester, Charles was confronted with images of Arthur as an emperorking, and on both occasions Charles was clearly being encouraged to see in Arthur’s empire a forerunner of his own. Yet whereas it is Charles alone who is identified with Arthur in the verses that accompanied the pageant at the Cornhill Conduit, the configuration at Winchester of the Round Table and its accompanying placard aligns both Charles and Henry with the Emperor-King Arthur, by virtue of their mutual role, to which the placard draws attention, as defenders of church and faith. Henry claims to be Charles’s co-equal in their ‘crusade’ against France, and through this he claims with Charles an equal status as emperor-king. At Winchester, Henry’s self-image as emperor of England is expressed through identification with Arthur, and his imperial role was made even more explicit in the 1522 Entry, for the author of the Descrypcion writes that at the pageant at Gracechurch Street the first ‘Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne’ was shown conferring ‘ij swerdys and .ij. Crownys imperyall off gold’ upon actors representing both Henry and Charles.39 As Dale Hoak asserts, ‘there can be little doubt that … on the eve of Charles’s visit, Henry VIII thought of himself as very like an emperor, as much the “imperial” heir of Charlemagne as any wearer of the crown of the Holy Roman Empire’.40 37 38 39 40

See P. Giovio, Descriptio Britanniae, Scotiae, Hyberniae et Orchadum (Venice, 1548), sig. biir–v. Cited in Biddle, p. 405. J. Trussell, ‘The Origin of Cities’ (c. 1636), Hertfordshire Records Office, MS W/K1/11/1, p. 38. Cited in Biddle, p. 431. ‘The Descrypcyon’, p. 135. Hoak, ‘Iconography’, pp. 83–4.

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Philip Schwyzer has recently argued that the early Tudor kings played up their British (i.e. Welsh) roots for political advantage, noting how Henry Tudor marketed himself as the mab darogan, or son of prophecy, on his march through Wales from Milford Haven to the Battle of Bosworth.41 In his History of the Kings of Britain, written in Latin in the early twelfth century, Geoffrey of Monmouth tells of how Cadwalladr, the last king of the Britons, was forbidden by an angel to return to Britain from Rome, ‘for that God had willed the Britons should no longer reign in Britain before that time should come whereof Merlin had prophesied unto Arthur’.42 The angel asked the Britons patiently to submit to Saxon rule, but prophesied their future deliverance by the mab darogan, a military leader who would free the Britons from their Saxon yoke, and who in Welsh bardic tradition was identified as a direct descendant of Cadwalladr. It was no accident, then, that Henry Tudor commissioned a genealogy which traced his family tree through Cadwalladr to the ‘ancient kings of Brytaine and the Prince of Wales’, nor was it coincidence that at Bosworth, and again at his coronation at St Paul’s, Henry Tudor bore on his coat of arms the red dragon which the prophet Merlin (according to Geoffrey of Monmouth) identified with the Britons, and which in the History fights and eventually defeats the white dragon of the Saxon invaders. Henry Tudor was very much aware of the role of the mab darogan in Welsh political prophecy, and in his self-presentation as king he shrewdly exploited its symbolism so as to win support from the Welsh for his claims to the throne, presenting his victory at Bosworth as a British (i.e. Welsh) victory over the Saxon English. Henry Tudor’s son Henry VIII also used British history and prophecy for political reasons, and not just the history of the British King Arthur. If Henry Tudor used British history to support his claim to the crown of England, his son fell back on British figures like King Arthur to support his imperial claims – as king of England – first to England and the English Church, then to England’s British neighbours, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. We have seen how Arthur was used in the 1522 Entry to signal Henry’s self-image as emperor of England, his claim in other words to govern independently of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, to rule a realm which Cuthbert Tunstall identified as ‘an Empire off hitselff, mych bettyr then now the Empire of Rome’. Schwyzer argues that Henry VIII’s imperial ambitions expanded beyond England’s borders to fill all Britain and beyond, pointing out that England’s break with Rome, its annexation of Wales (in 1535), and its attempts in the 1540s to forge a union with Scotland, were all presented in government propaganda as a restoration of ancient, British rights. In each of these, England’s imperial projects in 41 42

See Schwyzer, pp. 13–25. Geoffrey of Monmouth, History of the Kings of Britain [Historia regum Britanniae], trans. S. Evans, rev. C. W. Dunn (London, 1963), p. 262.

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the 1530s and 1540s, Arthur was certainly a useful figure, for the scope of Arthur’s ancient British empire came to be regarded by Henry VIII and his advisors as sufficient justification for England’s own policy of imperial expansion. That Henry VIII had designs on Wales and Scotland, and that he excused these designs with reference to ancient British history, is beyond doubt. The pamphlets with which England sought to sell to the Scots their proposals for Anglo-Scottish union traced the Tudor royal line back to the ancient British kings, who (we are told) had ruled over Scotland, as well as England and Wales, and whose truly British empire should therefore be restored to their rightful successor, the current king of England, King Henry VIII. One such pamphleteer, the Scottish asylum seeker in England, James Harrison, even went so far as to claim that most inhabitants of England, Scotland and Wales, not just the Tudor kings, could claim ancestry with the ancient British, arguing that Anglo-Scottish union was therefore right and proper, and looking forward to that happy time when ‘those hatefull termes of Scottes & Englishmen, shalbe abolished and blotted oute for euer, and that we shal al agre on the onely title and name of Britons’.43 Yet while it is important to acknowledge the extent to which Henry VIII and his government used ancient British history to further their designs on Scotland and Wales, it is equally important to remind ourselves of the semantic range of the term ‘empire’ in Tudor England, and to remember that the language of empire – and the example of Arthur – was used to signal England’s sovereignty, its independence from the Holy Roman Empire and Roman Church (after c. 1530), as well as to express England’s colonial ambitions over its British neighbours. In the 1522 Entry, and again in Thomas Howard’s conversation with Eustace Chapuys in January 1531, Arthur and his empire stand for England’s independence from Rome, and signal the extent of Henry’s power (imperium) within (not beyond) England’s borders. As these are English (rather than British) ideas of empire, so the Arthur who becomes iconic of Henry’s claims to govern England and the English church is an English (not a British) Arthur, the relics of his reign – Round Table, Great Seal, Sir Gawain’s skull – scattered across the English Home Counties, at Winchester, Westminster and Dover Castle respectively. True, there were English writers in the early Tudor period who identified Arthur as of British (i.e. Welsh) ethnicity, but these were writers sceptical of the historicity of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History, the source for Arthur’s presentation as emperor-king, and it was by pointing to the British (rather than English) origins of the History that John Rastell, in his Pastyme of People (1530), signalled his wholesale rejection of Arthur and the History to boot. Rastell did not emphasise 43

J. Harrison, An Exhortacion to the Scottes to conforme them selfes to the honorable, expedie[n]t, and godly vnion, betwene the twoo realmes of Englande and Scotlande (London, 1547; STC 12857), sig. G5v.

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Arthur’s British origins as part of Henry’s bid to colonise Wales and Scotland. He was not interested in Englishing King Arthur, because he was not interested in King Arthur at all. In Pastyme of People, Rastell denounces Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History as a ‘feyned fable’, and in the same sentence denies its applicability to English history, and to the English imperial ambitions of Henry VIII.44 Rastell certainly opposed the Englishing of Arthur, but by all accounts he was the exception, not the rule. As Ceridwen LloydMorgan notes, with reference to the Welsh chronicler Elis Gruffydd (fl. c. 1490–1556), in the sixteenth century ‘the English paid far more attention to Arthur than did the Welsh’. Arthur may have originated in Welsh literature, but in England his legend took on a life of its own, shaped by the turbulent political landscape of the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. ‘The Arthur of the English’, Lloyd-Morgan contends, ‘was not the Arthur of the Welsh.’45 One English writer concerned to appropriate Arthur for England and England’s imperial self-image in the 1530s and 1540s was the antiquary and bibliophile John Leland, who in 1544 wrote (in Latin) A learned and true assertion of the original, life, actes, and death of the most noble, valiant, and renoumed Prince Arthur, as it was titled in the 1582 translation by Richard Robinson.46 Leland’s Assertion is an archaeological investigation uncovering texts, relics and place names that together point to evidence of Arthur’s historical existence – as a specifically English king. Leland sets out to uncover all there is to know about the historical Arthur, ‘euen from the very egge’ that brought him into being (sig. C1v). Beginning with Arthur’s conception and birth at Tintagel Castle, Leland arranges his material biographically, in each of his seventeen chapters treating episodes and events associated with Arthur’s legendary life. There is a chapter on Arthur’s knights, wherein we are told of Gawain’s tomb in a chapel at Dorchester Castle, and of Lancelot’s at Glastonbury Abbey. In other chapters, Leland waxes lyrical about King Arthur’s Seal, which he saw at Westminster Abbey (following in Thomas Howard’s footsteps), and which so impressed him that ‘for a long time the Maiestie thereof not onely drewe away but also detayned myne eyes from me to the beholding thereof’ (sig. E4v). Nothing, Leland goes on to write, ‘more evidently approueth that Arthure was liuing, the[n] the same Seale doth’ (sig. F2v). But Leland does not stop there. Chapter Fifteen is titled ‘King Arthures 44 45

46

John Rastell, The Pastyme of People & A New Boke of Purgatory, ed. J. Geritz, The Renaissance Imagination 14 (New York, 1985), p. 206. Cited in Schwyzer, p. 28. C. Lloyd-Morgan, ‘The Celtic Tradition’, in The Arthur of the English: The Arthurian Legend in Medieval English Life and Literature, ed. W. R. J. Barron, Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages 2 (Cardiff, 1999), pp. 1–9 (p. 9). J. Leland, Assertio inclytissimi Arturij Regis Britanniae (London, 1544; STC 15440); trans. R. Robinson (London, 1582; STC 15441). Parenthetical citations refer to the text of Robinson’s translation.

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Tombe Found’ (sig. I2r), and the following chapter describes the three locations in Glastonbury Abbey where the discovered bones of Arthur and Guinevere were housed, culminating with a description of their translation to the high altar in 1278 by Edward I. All this serves as ammunition for Leland’s concluding ‘confutation and ouerthrow of Slaunders rashly affirming that Arthure was not liuing’ (sig. L1r). But there is more at stake here than Arthur’s historical existence. On the title page Arthur is identified as ‘King of great Brittaine’, but throughout the Assertion Leland conducts an archaeological investigation that digs only in English cultural soil. The very English John Leland (he was born in London) calls Arthur ‘my countreyman’ (sig. C1r), and readers of the Assertion would be forgiven for thinking that Arthur had never once set foot in Wales – even Caerleon-upon-Uske (south-east Wales), which Leland identifies early on in the Assertion as the possible site of Arthur’s coronation, is later Anglicised as ‘Caerlegion, or Chester vpo[n] Vske’ (sig. E2r). As for Caerleon’s claim (via Geoffrey of Monmouth) to be the site of Arthur’s court at Camelot, Leland ignores this completely, instead identifying Camelot with the site of an old fort near Somerton in modern day Somerset. Leland revisits the sites of special Arthurian interest about which Caxton writes in the preface to Malory’s Morte Darthur, affirming Westminster as the site of Arthur’s Great Seal, Winchester as the site of the Round Table, and only varying from Caxton to name Dorchester (rather than Dover) Castle as the burial place of Gawain and Cradoc. By setting in England the episodes of Arthurian legend, Leland does not just doggedly follow his sources, but seems actively to question the Welsh backdrop to the events described in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History. The Assertion, then, is as much an assertion of Arthur’s Englishness as it is an assertion of his actual historical existence. Within it, Leland maps out a territory for Arthur that extends from Glastonbury in the West to Westminster in the East, and from Dorchester in the South to York in the North – a very English territory for a very English king. Of course, Arthur steps outside these boundaries to fight in France, but then so had all self-respecting English kings, Henry VIII among them. Like all Leland’s historical projects, the Assertion had an English imperial agenda – part of the wider attempt (by Edward Foxe and Thomas Howard, among others) to identify specific historical documents behind the reference in the Appeals Act to ‘divers sundry old authentic histories and chronicles’. In the same year that the Appeals Act became law (1533), Henry had commissioned John Leland to ‘serche and peruse the Libraries of hys realme in monasteries, couentes [sic], and colleges’.47 The aim was to catalogue those historical documents which, like a mirror, would serve

47

The laboryouse Iourney & serche of Johan Leylande … by Iohan Bale (London, 1549; STC 15445), sig. B8v.

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to reflect England’s new self-image as an empire, compact of church and state, and ‘gov[er]ned by oon Sup[re]me heede and King’. At New Year 1546, Leland presented Henry with a ‘small treatyse’ (sig. B7v), a progress report that spoke of his travels around the libraries and religious houses in England, and of his success ‘in bryngunge full manye thynges to lyght, as concernynge the vsurped autoryte of the Byshopp of Rome and hys complyces, to the manyfest and vyolent derogacyon of kyngely dygnyte’ (sig. C5r). Thirteen years after the Appeals Act had pronounced England’s independence from Rome, Leland was finally compiling the historical evidence that would lambaste papal claims to exercise power in England. Leland’s ‘small treatyse’ to Henry VIII was published in 1549 as the Laboryouse Journey, with an introduction and extended commentary by its editor John Bale. Bale emphasises the political agenda that had informed Leland’s bibliographical project, noting how ‘in all ages haue there bene some godly writers in Engla[n]de, which haue both smelled out, & also by theyr writynges detected the blasphemouse fraudes of thys Antichrist [i.e. the pope]’, and how Leland was by the discovery of these godly writers ‘occasyoned to write a great booke, called Antiphilarchia, agaynst the ambycyouse empyre of the Romysh byshop’ (sig. C6r). Leland’s anti-papal dialogue, the unpublished Antiphilarchia, was one outcome of Leland’s laborious journey in search of England’s antiquities.48 In his treatise, Leland also spoke of works-in-progress: of a book describing the ‘mountaynes, valleys, mores, hethes, forestes, woodes, cyties, burges, castels, pryncypall manor places, monasteryes, and colleges’ of Henry’s realm (sig. D4v); of another book detailing ‘the auncyent names of hauens, ryuers, promontories, hilles, woodes, cities, townes, castelles, and varyete of kyndes of people’ in England and Wales (sig. D7v); of a fifty-volume history of England and Wales; and of a sixvolume description of the islands adjacent to England and Wales, among them the Isle of Wight [Vecta], Isle of Anglesey [Mona], and Isle of Man [Menavia] (sig. E2r). To these printed encyclopaedias, Leland intended to add a map of England, engraved in silver, and designed to appeal directly to Henry’s self-image as emperor of England. ‘Thus instructed’, he wrote to Henry, I trust shortly to se the tyme, that like as Carolus Magnus had amo[n]g his treasures thre large and notable tables of syluer, rychely enameled, one of the syte and descripcion of Constantynople, an other of the site and figure of the magnificent citie of Rome, and the third of the descrypcion of the worlde. So shall your Maiestie haue thys your worlde and impery of Englande so sett fourthe in a quadrate table of syluer … (sig. D5v)

48

The presentation copy of Antiphilarchia is housed in Cambridge University Library, MS Ee.5.14.

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Leland’s interest in the history and geography of both England and Wales clearly adds a colonial inflection to his description of England as a ‘worlde and impery’, but it is a colonial inflection that sits comfortably alongside the emphasis throughout the Laboryouse Journey on England’s self-image as an empire independent of the Roman Church. Leland’s search for England’s antiquities was intimately connected with the imperial agenda of the Appeals Act, his Antiphilarchia ‘agaynst the ambycyouse empyre of the Romysh byshop’ contributing to England’s need throughout the earlier Tudor period to identify itself (in Leland’s words) as a ‘worlde and impery’, a world divided from the world, or ‘empire of itself ’. Like other royalists writing for Henry VIII, among them William Lily and Thomas Howard, Leland co-opts the Emperor-King Arthur into imperial England’s public relations campaign. Commenting on Leland’s description of England as an empire, Bale notes that the idea of England as a world divided from the world goes back to ancient Roman times, the Romans under Claudius having ‘obtayned’ in England ‘an other worlde beyonde the Occeane sea’ (sig. D6r). Like Thomas Howard, Bale then points to the continuity of England’s status as ‘worlde and impery’ from Roman through to Tudor times; like Howard, Bale falls back for support on the iconic figures of Constantine and Arthur. ‘The empire’ of England, he writes, ‘is manifest in kinge Brennus, in great Constantyne, in Arthure, and in Edward the third. This bringe I in here, that men should not disdaynously scorne, that they are yet ignoraunt of’ (sig. D6v). In January 1531, Chapuys had so entirely misconstrued Thomas Howard’s ill-judged reference to Arthur’s fame as empire-builder abroad that Arthur’s early ‘retirement’ from Royal Supremacy propaganda might easily have been anticipated. John Guy argues that Henry and his ‘divorce team’ were fully aware of the holes in their historical argument for England’s freedom from Rome. Guy writes that the Appeals Act avoided mentioning specific people and precedents precisely in order to conceal the absence in the Collectanea of a convincing historical case for England’s identification within the Appeals Act as an ‘empire’ independent of Rome.49 But against all apparent odds, Arthur continued to be used as icon of an English empire right up until the eve of Henry’s death in 1547. In the early Tudor period, empire did not (or did not only) signal England’s colonial ambitions within the British Isles, but spoke also to England’s sense of itself as free from the colonial ambitions of others, whether the Roman Empire or Roman Church. It was to England’s independence that the word ‘empire’ had referred in the Appeals Act: this usage was already current in 1517, when Cuthbert Tunstall called 49

J. Guy, ‘Thomas Cromwell and the Intellectual Origins of the Henrician Revolution’, in Reassessing the Henrician Age: Humanism, Politics and Reform 1500–1550, ed. A. Fox and J. Guy (Oxford, 1986), pp. 151–178.

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England an ‘empire of itself’, and remained so at least until 1546, when Leland described England as a ‘worlde and impery’. Throughout Henry’s reign, England, as well as Britain, was being described as an empire, and for England’s empire the figure of Arthur remained iconic. Of course, England’s difference from Rome was also central to the self-image of Elizabethan England, with Bishop John Jewel remarking that England ‘is devided from, and is no part’ of ‘the Empyre of Rome’.50 In Elizabeth’s reign, however, the figure of Arthur fared somewhat differently, questions about his historicity undermining his usefulness as a royalist icon in the later sixteenth century. The Shepheardes Calender was less than complimentary about what E.K. (in his notes to ‘Aprill’) called the ‘fine fables and lowd lyers’, who ‘were the Authors of King Arthure the great’, and in The Faerie Queene Spenser downplays Arthur’s role in the line of British kings and queens that begins with Brutus and ends with Elizabeth I.51 Although Arthur is identified by Spenser as ancestor of Elizabeth I in Book II.x.4, in Book I Arthur confesses himself a changeling, completely unaware of ‘the lignage and the certain Sire,/ from which I sprong’ (I.ix.3: 3–4); throughout the Faerie Queene Arthur is never made fully aware of his British royal origins, his name never once appearing in Spenser’s list of British kings and queens.52 By the time the first three books of the Faerie Queene were published in 1590, however, England was already facing its ‘British’ destiny under James VI of Scotland, his accession all but inevitable after the death in 1587 of his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots. Under James, England would no longer be considered an ‘empire of itself’, while Arthur would find employment elsewhere, no longer an icon of England, but of Britain’s hopes embodied in James’s eldest son, Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales.

50 51

52

J. Jewel, An Exposition vpon the two Epistles of the Apostle Sainct Paule to the Thessalonians (London, 1583; STC 14603), sig. Y3r. E. Spenser, The Shepheardes Calender: Conteyning tvvelue Æglogues proportionable to the twelue monethes (London, 1579; STC 23089), fol. 15v. The Faerie Qveene, ed. A. C. Hamilton, H. Yamashita and T. Suzuki (Harlow, 2001). Spenser’s genealogy of British kings and queens, up to and including Elizabeth I, begins in Book II.x.9–68 (from Brutus to Arthur’s father Uther Pendragon), and ends in Book III.iii.26–50 (from Arthur’s half-brother Artegall to the ‘royall Virgin’ Elizabeth I [49:6]).

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CONTENTS OF PREVIOUS VOLUMES

Details of earlier titles are available from the publishers Bart Besamusca and Erik Kooper Walter Haug Douglas Kelly Norris J. Lacy Matthias Meyer Ad Putter Felicity Riddy Thea Summerfield Jane H. M. Taylor Bart Veldhoen Norbert Voorwinden Lori J. Walters

XVII   (1999) The Study of the Roman van Walewein The Roman van Walewein as a Postclassical Literary Experiment The Pledge Motif in the Roman van Walewein: Original Variant and Rewritten Quest Convention and Innovation in the Middle Dutch Roman van Walewein It’s Hard to Be Me, or Walewein/Gawan as Hero Walewein in the Otherworld and the Land of Prester John Giving and Receiving: Exchange in the Roman van Walewein and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Reading a Motion Picture: Why Steven Spielberg Should Read the Roman van Walewein The Roman van Walewein: Man into Fox, Fox into Man The Roman van Walewein Laced with Castles Fight Description in the Roman van Walewein and in Two Middle High German Romances. A Comparison Making Bread from Stone: The Roman van Walewein and the Transformation of Old French Romance

XVIII   (2001) The Composition of the Tristran of Beroul The Lure of the Hybrid: Tristan de Nanteuil, chanson de Geste Arthurien? Carleton W. Carroll and L’Extrait du Roman d’Erec et Enide de La Curne de SainteMaria Colombo Timelli Palaye Raluca Radulescu ‘Talkyng of cronycles of kinges and of other polycyez’: Fifteenth-Century Miscellanies, the Brut and the Readership of Le Morte Darthur Julia Marvin Albine and Isabelle: Regicidal Queens and the Historical Imagination of the Anglo-Norman Prose Brut Chronicles Norris J. Lacy and Arthurian Literature, Art, and Film, 1995–1999 Raymond H. Thompson † Richard N. Illingworth Jane H. M. Taylor

XIX   (2002) Comedy and Tragedy in Some Arthurian Recognition Scenes Elizabeth Archibald Christine Ferlampin-Acher Merveilleux et comique dans les romans arthuriens français (XIIe–Xve siècles) Angelica Rieger La bande dessinée virtuelle du lion d’Yvain: sur le sens de l’humour de Chrétien de Troyes Norris J. Lacy Convention, Comedy and the Form of La Vengeance Raguideli Peter S. Noble Le comique dans Les Merveilles de Rigomer et Hunbaut Karen Pratt Humour in the Roman de Silence Bénédicte Milland-Bove La pratique de la ‘disconvenance’ comique dans le Lancelot en prose: les mésaventures amoureuses de Guerrehet Frank Brandsma Lancelot Part 3 Marilyn Lawrence Comic Functions of the Parrot as Minstrel in Le Chevalier du Papegau Francesco Zambon Dinadan en Italie

Marjolein Hogenbirk Donald L. Hoffman Elizabeth S. Sklar Linda Gowans

Gerald Seaman Monica L. Wright Jane Dewhurst Richard Barber and Cyril Edwards Krista Sue-Lo Twu Dinah Hazell Edward Donald Kennedy Tamar Drukker Janina P. Traxler

Ann Dooley Sioned Davies Helen A. Roberts Erich Poppe Mary-Ann Constantine Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan

A Comical Villain: Arthur’s Seneschal in a Section of the Middle Dutch Lancelot Compilation Malory and the English Comic Tradition ‘Laughyng and Smylyng’: Comic Modalities in Malory’s Tale of Sir Launcelot du Lake The Eachtra an Amadáin Mhóir as a Response to the Perceval of Chrétien de Troyes XX   (2003) Reassessing Chrétien’s Elusive Vanz Their Clothing Becomes Them: the Narrative Function of Clothing in Chrétien de Troyes Generic Hybridity in Hartmann von Aue’s Der arme Heinrich The Grail Temple in Der jüngere Titurel The Awntyrs off Arthure at the Terne Wathelyne: Reliquary for Romance The Blinding of Gwennere: Thomas Chestre as Social Critic Malory’s Morte Darthur: A Politically Neutral English Adaptation of the Arthurian Story King, Crusader, Knight: the Composite Arthur of the Middle English Prose Brut Pendragon, Merlin and Logos: the Undoing of Babel in That Hideous Strength XXI   (2004) Arthur of the Irish: A Viable Concept? Performing Culwch ac Olwen Court and Cyuoeth: Chrétien de Troyes’ Erec et Enide and the Middle Welsh Gereint Owein, Ystorya Bown, and the Problem of ‘Relative Distance’. Some Methodological Considerations and Speculations Neith Flesh nor Fowl: Merlin as Bird-man in Breton Folk Tradition Narratices and Non-narratives: Aspects of Welsh Arthurian Tradition

XXII   (2005) Locating Narrative Authority in Perlesvaus : Le Haut Livre du Graal Fanni Bogdanow Micheau Gonnot’s Arthuriad Preserved in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, fr. 112 and its Place in the Evolution of Arthurian Romance Annette Völfing Albricht’s Jüngerer Titurel: Translating the Grail Helen Fulton Arthurian Prophecy and the Deposition of Richard II Julia Marvin Arthur Authorized: The Prophecies of the Prose Brut Chronicle Norris J. Lacy and The Arthurian Legend in Literature, Popular Culture and the Raymond H. Thompson Performing Arts, 1999–2004 Benn Ramm

Andrew Lynch P. J. C. Field Joyce Coleman D. Thomas Hanks Jr Raluca L. Radulescu Margaret Robson Martin Connolly Norris J. Lacy Fanni Bogdanow Tony Grand Robert Gossedge

Norris J. Lacy Lori J. Walters Cora Dietl Stefano Mula Marjolein Hogenbirk Sarah Gordon Linda Gowans Joseph M. Sullivan Frank Brandsma Susanne Kramarz-Bein Martine Meuwese

XXIII   (2006) Beyond Shame: Chivalric Cowardice and Arthurian Narrative Malory’s Forty Knights Fooling with Language: Sir Dinadan in Malory’s Morte Darthur William Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde and the Editing of Malory’s Morte Darthur Ballad and Popular Romance in the Percy Folio Local Hero: Gawain and the Politics of Arthurianism Promise-postponement Device in The Awntyrs off Arthure: a Possible Narrative Model L’Atre perilleux and the Erasure of Identity The Theme of the Handsome Coward in the Post-Vulgate Queste del Saint Graal A Time of Gifts? Jean de Nesle, William A. Nitze and the Perlesvaus Thomas Love Peacock’s The Misfortunes of Elphin and the Romantic Arthur XXIV   (2007) Perceval on the Margins: a Pan-European Perspective More Bread from Stone: Gauvain as a Figure of Plenitude in the French, Dutch and English Traditions Artus – ein Fremdkörper in der Tristantradition? Dinadan Abroad: Tradition and Innovation for a CounterHero Gringalet as an Epic Character Consumption and the Construction of Identity in Medieval European Arthurian Romance Lamenting or just Grumbling? Arthur’s Nephew Expresses his Discontent Youth and Older Age in the Dire Adventure of Chrétien’s Yvain, the Old Swedish Hærra Ivan, Hartmann’s Iwein and the Middle English Ywain and Gawain Degrees of Perceptibility: the Narrator in the French Prose Lancelot, and in its German and Dutch Translations Die altnorwegische Parcevals saga im Spannungsfeld ihrer Quelle und der mittelhochdeutschen und mittelenglischen Parzival-überlieferung Crossing Borders: Text and Image in Arthurian Manuscripts