CHAPTER I.

Produced by Ted Garvin, Lynn Bornath, Leonard Johnson and

the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at

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A HISTORY

OF

ENGLISH PROSE FICTION

BY

BAYARD TUCKERMAN

NEW YORK & LONDON

G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS

The Knickerbocker Press

1894

COPYRIGHT BY

G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS

1882

TO

MY FATHER,

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

PREFACE.

It is attempted in this volume to trace the gradual progress of English

Prose Fiction from the early romance to the novel of the present day,

in such connection with the social characteristics of the epochs to

which these works respectively belong, as may conduce to a better

comprehension of their nature and significance.

As many of the earlier specimens of English fiction are of a character

or a rarity which makes any acquaintance with them difficult to the

general public, I have endeavored so to describe their style and

contents that the reader may obtain, to some degree, a personal

knowledge of them.

The novels of the nineteenth century are so numerous and so generally

familiar, that, in the chapter devoted to this period, I have sought

rather to point out the great importance which fiction has assumed, and

the variety of forms which it has taken, than to attempt any exhaustive

criticism of individual authors--a task already sufficiently performed

by writers far more able to do it justice.

THE AUTHOR.

B.T.

"_The Benedick._"

NEW YORK, Aug. 22, 1882.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

THE ROMANCE OF CHIVALRY ........................................ 1

CHAPTER II

CHAUCER, TALES OF THE YEOMANRY, SIR T. MORE'S "UTOPIA".......... 42

CHAPTER III

THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. LYLY, GREENE, LODGE, SIDNEY ............. 60

CHAPTER IV.

THE PURITANS, "THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS" ......................... 102

CHAPTER V.

THE RESTORATION. ROGER BOYLE, MRS. MANLEY, MRS. BEHN ........... 112

CHAPTER VI.

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. SWIFT, ADDISON, DEFOE, RICHARDSON,

FIELDING, SMOLLETT ............................................. 134

CHAPTER VII.

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY CONTINUED. STERNE, JOHNSON, GOLDSMITH,

AND OTHERS. MISS BURNEY AND THE FEMALE NOVELISTS.

THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL ........................................... 220

CHAPTER VIII.

THE NOVEL IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. THE NOVEL OF

LIFE AND MANNERS. OF SCOTCH LIFE. OF IRISH LIFE.

OF ENGLISH LIFE. OF AMERICAN LIFE. THE HISTORICAL

NOVEL. THE NOVEL OF PURPOSE. THE NOVEL OF FANCY.

USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION ...................................... 274

CHAPTER I.

THE ROMANCE OF CHIVALRY.

I

In the midst of an age of gloom and anarchy, when Feudalism was slowly

building up a new social organization on the ruins of the Roman Empire,

arose that spirit of chivalry, which, in its connection with the

Christian religion, forms so sharp a division between the sentiments of

ancient and modern times. Following closely on the growth of chivalry

as an institution, there came into being a remarkable species of

fiction, which reflected with great faithfulness the character of the

age, and having formed for three centuries the principal literary

entertainment of the knighthood of Europe, left on the new

civilization, and the new literature which had outgrown and discarded

it, lasting traces of its natural beauty. Into the general fund of

chivalric romance were absorbed the learning and legend of every land.

From the gloomy forests and bleak mountains of the North came dark and

terrible fancies, malignant enchanters, and death-dealing spirits,

supposed to haunt the earth and sea; from Arabia and the East came

gorgeous pictures of palaces built of gold and precious stones, magic

rings which transport the bearer from place to place, love-inspiring

draughts, dragons and fairies; from ancient Greece and Rome came

memories of the heroes and mysteries of mythology, like old coins worn

and disfigured by passing, through ages, from hand to hand, but still

bearing a faint outline of their original character. All this mass of

fiction was floating idly in the imaginations of men, or worked as an

embellishment into the rude numbers of the minstrels, when the mediæval

romancers gathered it up, and interweaving it with the traditions of

Arthur and Charlemagne, produced those strange compositions which are

so entirely the product and repository of the habits, superstitions,

and sympathies of the Middle Ages that they serve to

"Hold the mirror up to Nature,

To show Vice its own image, Virtue its own likeness,

And the very age and body of the times,

His form and pressure."

The men who wrote, and the men who read these romances, the first

springs of our modern fiction, were influenced by two dominant ideas:

"One religious, which had fashioned the gigantic cathedrals, and swept

the masses from their native soil to hurl them upon the Holy Land; the

other secular, which had built feudal fortresses, and set the man of

courage erect and armed within his own domain."[1] These two ideas were

outwardly expressed in the Roman Church and the Feudal System.

During the anarchy of the Middle Ages, every man was compelled to look

upon war as his natural occupation, if he hoped to preserve life or

property. His land was held as a condition of military service. As long

as there was no effective administration of justice, redress for the

aggrieved lay in the sword alone. A military career had no rival in the

eyes of the ambitious and the noble. There was no learning, no art, to

share with skill in arms, the honors to which a youth aspired. Religion

and love, the most powerful inspirations of his moral life, made force

of arms the merit most worthy of their rewards. The growth of the

people in the mechanical arts took the direction of improving the

instruments of warfare; the increase of refinement and humanity tended

less to diminish war than to make it more civilized, showy, and

glorious. The armies of the Romans seem prosaic when we turn to the

brilliant array of chivalry, to the ranks of steel-clad knights

couching the lance to win fame, the smile of woman, or the reward of

religious devotion;--men to whom war seemed a grand tournament, in

which each combatant, from the king to the poorest knight, was to seek

distinction by his strength and valor. It was through the senses, and

especially through the eye, that the feudal imagination was moved.

Every heart was kindled at the sight of shining armor, horses with

brilliant trappings, gorgeous dress, and martial show. The magnificent

Norman cathedrals struck the mind with devotional awe; the donjons and

towers of the great baronial castles were suggestive of power and

glory. To the impressibility of the senses was added the romantic

spirit of adventure, which kept the knighthood of Europe in a constant

ferment, and for lack of war, burst forth in tournaments, in private

feuds, or in the extravagances of knight-errantry. The feudal system,

growing up to meet the necessities of conquerors living on conquered

territory, and founded on the principle of military service as a

condition of land tenure, made of Europe a vast army. The military

profession was exalted to an importance which crushed all effort of a

more useful or progressive nature; the military class, including all

who possessed land, and did not labor upon it, became an aristocracy

despising peaceful occupations, whose most powerful prejudice was pride

of birth, whose ruling passion was love of war. Under the influence of

this military spirit, intellectual was subordinated to active life; a

condition of ignorance and danger was sustained; an overwhelming

reverence for the supernatural was produced, and there resulted that

predominance of the imagination over the reason of man which forms the

distinctive feature of Romantic Fiction.

While the feudal system formed the framework of society, and, as much

by inspiration as by law, governed the outward actions of men, the

human mind was in complete, and almost universally willing, subjection

to theological influence. The state of war, or of readiness for war,

which was the inevitable accompaniment of feudal tenure, did much to

sustain the state of profound ignorance and consequent superstition in

which the people of mediæval times were plunged, both by preventing the

pursuit of peaceful occupations and the growth of knowledge, and by

increasing the element of danger in life, which always inclines the

human mind to a belief in the supernatural. The same results were

brought about by the character and aims of the Roman Church. The

unswerving purpose of that church was to govern, temporally as well as

spiritually. She sought to supply to men from her own store all the

knowledge which was necessary for their welfare, and that knowledge was

limited to dogmas and beliefs which would strengthen the power of the

priesthood. A strict and absolute acceptance of the truths of

Christianity as she defined them, and a humble obedience to the clergy

were made the sole and necessary conditions of salvation. A questioning

of those truths or a violation of that obedience was a crime before

which murder and license faded into insignificance. The spirit of doubt

and of inquiry which alone leads to knowledge, and through knowledge to

civilization, was repressed by excommunication or in blood. As long as

men continued in a state of helpless ignorance and willing credulity,

the church was a fitting, even a beneficent, mistress and guide. For

centuries she was the sole teacher and the sole external source of

moral elevation. For centuries she alone pointed out the distinction

between right and wrong, the beauty of virtue, and the ugliness of sin.

Whatever there was in life to raise men above their earthly struggles,

their evil passions, and the despair of a hard and dangerous existence,

was supplied by her. The consolations of religion, the ennobling

acquaintance with the character of Christ, and the hope of salvation

through Him were incalculable blessings. Her aid in suppressing

disorder and in establishing a respect for law and government is not to

be overlooked. She presented in her own organization an example of

authority, of system, and of obedience, which, despite many failings

and abuses, was of great value to the world. But there is in human

nature an irrepressible tendency toward growth and progress, and when

this tendency began to show itself in the Middle Ages, it found in the

theological spirit, then personated by the Roman Church, its most

bitter and most powerful enemy. The church, which had hitherto been a

teacher and guide, became the champion of barbarism and the genius of

retrogression. Instead of adapting herself to the growing wants of

mankind, instead of preserving her influence and power by inward

progress proportionate to that which she saw advancing without, she

sought, stationary herself, to keep the world stationary, and to stamp

out in blood the progressive spirit of man. Hence it is that the

blessings of our modern life have been achieved in spite of the Roman

Church, which should have promoted them, and the history of modern

civilization and modern knowledge is in so large a part the history of

emancipation from the tyranny of the theological spirit,--that is, the

clerical opposition to mental and material advancement, both of which

are as necessary to moral advancement as they are to the happiness of

men. This spirit has been the same in every country and in every age,

when the spiritual has exceeded the secular power, and its lamentable

effects may be traced as well in the gloomy Protestant theocracy of

Scotland as in the Catholic Inquisition of Spain. During the period,

however, when the romances of chivalry were principally written and

enjoyed, the convulsions arising from attempts to burst the bonds by

which the minds of men were restrained, had not yet been sensibly felt.

The church was still the controlling intellectual influence. A dark

cloud of ignorance and superstition hung over Europe, to be dispelled

at last by the new growth of learning, and the consequences following

upon it. The best intelligence of the time was confined to the clergy,

who used it skilfully to maintain their authority. By every device they

sought to usurp to themselves the sole power of ministering to popular

wants. Nothing which could strike the mind through the senses was

neglected. They offset tournaments by religious shows and pageantry,

rivalled the attractions of the harp by sacred music, and to wean their

flocks from the half dramatic entertainments of the minstrels, they

invented the Miracle Play and the Mystery. The church forced herself on

the attention of every man without doors or within, by the friars

black or gray who met him at every turn, by the imposing monasteries

which formed a central figure in every landscape, and by the festivals

and processions of priests which made the common occasions for the

assemblage of the people. The constant recurrence of holy days and

fasts called the mind to the consideration of spiritual things, and the

rough superstition of the time was deeply excited when the approach of

death in a household brought the priestly train with lighted tapers,

and the awe-inspiring ceremonies with which the lingering soul was sent

on its way.

The military nature of feudalism explains the predominance of warlike

incidents in romantic fiction, and the character of the Roman Church

gives us an insight into the causes which, in addition to the ignorance

of the time, induced men to refer all remarkable events to supernatural

influence, and prepared their minds for the unquestioning belief in the

fictions which are so important a characteristic of the romances of

chivalry. The low standard of morality also, which is reflected in the

same pages, is due quite as much to the predominance of the dogmatic

over the moral element of Christianity, as to the unrefined and rude

conditions of life.

There is much that is picturesque and brilliant in the times, but much

more that is terrible. The nobles and knights, who lived sword in hand

behind their battlements and massive walls, were the rulers of the

country. Their ungoverned passions and their love of fighting for its

own sake or for that of revenge, were perpetual dangers to internal

peace. There was no power sufficient to keep them in check. The

lawlessness and anarchy caused by the ceaseless quarrels between baron

and baron, found but a feeble remedy in the laws of King or Church. Of

the darkness of the earlier Middle Ages Von Sybel[2] gives a graphic

picture: "Monarchies sank into impotence; petty lawless tyrants

trampled all social order under foot, and all attempts after scientific

instruction and artistic pleasures were as effectually crushed by this

state of general insecurity as the external well-being and material

life of the people. This was a dark and stormy period for Europe,

merciless, arbitrary, and violent. It was a sign of the prevailing

feeling of misery and hopelessness that, when the first thousand years

of our era were drawing to their close, the people in every country in

Europe looked with certainty for the destruction of the world. Some

squandered their wealth in riotous living, others bestowed it, for the

good of their souls, on churches and convents; weeping multitudes lay

day and night about the altars; some looked forward with dread, but

most with secret hope, toward the burning of the earth and the falling

in of heaven." Gradually some order and security succeeded this chaos.

The church exerted all her strength in subduing violence, and the

character of her remedies are illustrative of the evils they were

intended to abate. The truce of God set apart the days between Thursday

and Monday of each week as a time of peace, when private quarrels

should be suspended. The peace of the king forbade the avenging of an

alleged injury until forty days after its commission. The Council of

Clermont ordered that every noble youth on attaining the age of twelve

years should take an oath to defend the oppressed, the widows, and the

orphans.[3] Much superfluous energy was exhausted in the crusades. In

England the growth of the universities and the study and development of

law aided the establishment of social order, while the spread of

commerce and the improvements in husbandry brought with wealth some

refinement and luxury. The baronage wrested from the crown those

liberties which finally became the common property of all. Trade pushed

the inhabitants of the towns into prominence as an important class

whose influence was thrown entirely into the scale of peace and quiet,

on which its prosperity depended. No element of change was more

essential, and none was greater in its civilizing effects than the

development of the chivalric spirit into an institution of which the

laws and customs were observed from England to Sicily. Its influence

worked directly upon the disturbing classes of society. Only time and

the slow march of civilization could calm the restlessness and the

martial spirit of the powerful, but chivalry introduced into warfare

knightly honor and generosity, and into social life a courtesy and

gallantry which formed a strong ally to religion in bringing out the

better sentiments of humanity. At a time when force was greater than

law, when the weak and defenceless were at the mercy of the powerful,

when women were never safe from the attacks of the brutal, a body of

men who were sworn to redress wrongs, to succor the oppressed, and to

protect women and children, could not fail to be highly beneficial and

to win the reverence of mankind. To be a good knight was to be the salt

of the earth. The church gave easy absolution to the champion of the

weak,--the soldier of God. Women smiled upon the cavalier whose

profession was her service, and whose deeds, as well as the glitter of

his arms and the fascination of his martial appearance, flattered her

pride and gratified her imagination.

Yet, in considering the period of chivalry, we must not yield too much

to the attraction of its brilliant show, its high flown sentiments, and

knightly valor. Beneath religion there ever lurked a bigoted

superstition; beneath valor, cruelty; beneath love, mere brutal

passion. The sympathies of the order were much confined to the higher

classes, and there was little feeling for the sufferings of the common

people. The reign of Edward the Third embraces the most brilliant days

of chivalry. About that period is spread a mist of manly gallantry and

feminine charms which conceals the darkness beneath. The Black Prince,

after winning his spurs at Cressy, carried fire and sword among the

peaceful and defenceless inhabitants of Garonne, gratifying a greed of

gain by blood and rapine. The gallant deeds of Sir Walter de Manny, of

Sir John Chandos, the fame of Edward himself, only make darker by

contrast the desolation and suffering by which their glory was

purchased. The poetic illusion inspired by Froissart's chronicles of

knightly deeds and manners is rudely torn when we read Petrarch's

description of France after the battle of Poitiers; "I could not

believe that this was the same France which I had seen so rich and

flourishing. Nothing presented itself to my eyes but a fearful

solitude, land uncultivated, houses in ruins. Even the neighborhood of

Paris showed everywhere the marks of desolation and conflagration. The

streets are deserted, the roads overgrown with weeds, the whole is a

vast solitude."[4]

It is among the Northern conquerors that we must look for the origin of

the spirit of chivalry, which consisted first and chiefly in manly

valor exerted to obtain the favor of woman. Of this there is no trace

in any ancient civilization. Among the barbarous tribes of the North,

physical strength and military prowess were the qualities most

essential in a man, and woman naturally looked upon them as the merit

she most loved, especially as they were needed for her own protection.

But this condition is natural to all barbarous and warlike peoples, and

cannot by itself account for that sentiment which we call chivalric. To

the valor of the Goths were joined an extraordinary reverence and

respect for their women, due, as these feelings always must be, to

feminine chastity. The virtue for which the Northern women were

distinguished elevated them to a position to which the females of other

uncivilized nations never approached. It gave them a large influence in

both public and private affairs, and made them something to be won, not

bought. To obtain his wife the Northern warrior must have deserved her,

he must have given proofs that he was worthy of the woman who had

preserved her chastity inviolate, and for whom love must be mingled

with respect.[5] It is curious to observe how exactly these sentiments,

which existed at so early a period among the Gothic nations, were

continued into feudal times. Take, as one instance, the exclamation of

Regner Lodbrog, the famous Scandinavian chieftain, who about the year

860 rescued a princess from a fortress in which she was unjustly

confined, and received her hand as his reward: "I made to struggle in

the twilight that yellow haired chief, who passed his mornings among

the young maidens and loved to converse with widows. He who aspires to

the love of young virgins ought always to be foremost in the din of

arms!"[6] Compare to this a scene at Calais about the middle of the

fourteenth century. Edward III had just accomplished an adventure of

chivalry. Serving under the banner of Sir Walter de Manny as a common

knight, he had overcome in single combat the redoubted Sir Eustace de

Ribeaumont, who had brought the king twice on his knees during the

course of the battle. Edward that evening entertained all his French

prisoners as well as his own knights at supper, and at the conclusion

of the feast he adjudged the prize of valor for that day's fighting to

Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, and removing a chaplet of pearls from his

own head, he placed it on that of the French knight, with the

significant words[7]: "Sir Eustace, I present you with this chaplet as

being the best combatant this day, either within or without doors; and

I beg of you to wear it this year for love of me. I know that you are

lively and amorous, and love the company of ladies and damsels;

therefore say wherever you go that I gave it to you." But the chivalry

of the Goths was only the seed of the plant which flourished so

luxuriantly under better conditions in later times. The feudal system

fostered the growth of the sentiment into the institution, as a

palliative to anarchy and as an ornament to life, while the Church,

always eager to absorb enthusiasm and power into her own ranks, adopted

the institution as the Holy Order, and adding religious devotion to the

inspiration of love, directed the energies of chivalry into the work of

civilization, and made the knight the champion of the weak, in addition

to his character as a valiant soldier.

It is difficult in considering a period so remote and so peculiar as

that of chivalry, to fix the limit between the actual and the

imaginary, between the character of the ideals which men placed before

themselves, and the extent to which these ideals were realized. That

the writings of the romancers were exaggerations of actual manners

rather than inventions, is shown by the descriptions of the habits and

inmates of mediæval castles, which form so interesting a portion of

Froissart's chronicles, and give such striking and life like

illustrations of the society which at once inspired and enjoyed the

romances of chivalry. The castle of the Earl of Foix and the Earl

himself would have seemed quite natural in the pages of a romance:

"Ther was none more rejoysed in dedes of armes than the erle dyde: ther

was sene in his hall, chambre, and court, knightes and squyers of

honour going up and downe, and talking of armes and amours; all honour

ther was found, all maner of tidyngs of every realme and countre ther

might be herde, for out of every countree ther was resort, for the

valyantness of this erle." Of "armes and amours" the knights and ladies

loved to talk, and arms and amours formed the burden of the ponderous

tomes which the Earl of Foix caused to be read before him. The

adventures of knights-errant, and their obligation to render aid and

comfort to "all distressed ladies and damsels," have a charming

illustration in the championship of the cause of Isabel, Queen of

Edward the Second of England, by Sir John of Hainault, and the words

used by the latter in undertaking the enterprise were the echo of the

chivalric feeling of the time. As soon as the arrival of Queen Isabel

in Hainault was known, "this Sir John, being at that time very young

and panting for glory, like a knight-errant mounted his horse, and,

accompanied by a few persons, set out from Valenciennes for

Ambreticourt, where he arrived in the evening and paid the Queen every

respect and honour." Notwithstanding the remonstrances and objections

which were raised against his undertaking so perilous an adventure as

the invasion of England, "the gallant knight would not change his

purpose, saying, 'that he could die but once; that the time was in the

will of God; and that all true knights were bound to aid, to the utmost

of their power, all ladies and damsels driven from their kingdoms

comfortless and forlorn.'" To suppose that the romances formed an

accurate reflection of actual life would show an entire ignorance of

their nature; but there can be no doubt that these fictions were the

natural outcome of existing thought and manners; that they were

sufficiently life-like to interest; and that they increased and

intensified the habits and ideas in which they had their origin.

The combination of qualities and motives which we are accustomed to

express in the general term of chivalry was the mediæval ideal of

virtue, and as such was in practice inevitably subject to imperfection

and inconsistency. The Roman _virtus_ was simply courage. Chivalry

meant courage and skill in arms, united to gentle birth, to courtesy,

to gallantry, and to a faithful observance of the laws of combat; the

whole inspired by military glory, religious enthusiasm, or devotion to

women. We should admire the greatness and nobility of this ideal,

standing out as it does against a background of lawlessness and

ignorance, rather than complain that in practice its valor often

degenerated into ferocity, its Christianity into narrow bigotry, its

worship of women into license and brutality. Chivalry, supplying a

standard of excellence adapted by its nature to excite the admiration

of men, did much to refine and civilize the rude age in which it arose;

and this result is not belittled by the fact that that standard was

pitched above the possibility of human attainment. Chivalry was the

spontaneous expression of what was best in the time, and gave sentiment

and charm to lives otherwise hard and barren. Its very exaggerations

and grotesqueness illustrate the eagerness with which it was received,

and the greatness of the want which it supplied. This was an ideal,

too, separate and distinct from any that had been known before,

possessing enduring characteristics of greatness and beauty which have

never ceased to command sympathy and admiration. Though changed in

outward form, and appearing under different manifestations, the

chivalry of the Middle Ages is essentially the chivalry of to-day, but

it now exerts a moral and intellectual, instead of a physical force.

The new dignity which woman assumed in connection with the growth of

chivalry was owing considerably to a cause separate from the Northern

sentiment concerning them, and as the position of women is an important

part of the social condition we are now examining, a glance at this

other cause will not be without value or interest. It is indeed

remarkable that in the Middle Ages woman should for the first time have

attained her true rank, and that the highest conception of the female

character which the world had yet known should have been developed in

so rude and ferocious a time. The estimation in which women were held

among Eastern nations was little lower than their position among the

Jews. Where polygamy exists, and where purchase-money is paid to the

father of the bride, women never attain to high appreciation or

respect. Beauty rather than virtue was the ideal of Greece. The women

of that country, living in continual seclusion, deprived alike of

opportunities for attaining culture or exerting influence, became

narrowed in thought and intelligence, and passed their lives in

obscurity under the control of their husbands or sons.[8] Roman history

gives us examples of female excellence and distinction, and represents

women during some periods in a better position than had previously been

known. But the female sex was never accorded among the Romans the

general respect for its peculiar virtues, and the consideration for its

weakness which forms one of the brightest pages of modern civilization.

With the spread of Christianity, there was for centuries no

improvement. The low standard by which the Jews had judged the sex

exerted a strong and an evil influence. The spirit of asceticism,

rapidly gaining ground in the Roman Church, pointed out absolute

chastity in both sexes as the only praiseworthy condition of life, made

marriage only an excusable sin, and recognized in that relationship,

merely its use for the propagation of the species. Views so absurd and

unnatural could not fail in producing the most evil results. Woman came

to be regarded by the church as the origin of all sin, the favorite

medium of the temptations of the Devil, the sanctity and happiness of

marriage were interfered with, and the priesthood, debarred from that

condition, showed themselves not insensible to the charms they so

fiercely denounced, and presented to their flocks demoralizing examples

of profligacy. The Northern invaders brought with them their own ideas

concerning women, rough and crude, but containing the germ of much

good. Being met by Christianity, they embraced it in large numbers,

unreflectingly, at the command of their leaders. But in embracing it

they changed it to suit themselves. Their minds were unfit for the

reception of the dogmas of the church, or for the realization and

worship of an invisible being. They seized on the ideas of Christ, the

Virgin Mary, and the Saints, and worshipped in a great degree their old

gods under the new names. But of the new objects of worship, Mary most

struck their imaginations and won their affection. The meek and

forgiving Christ was unsuited to their fierce and warlike dispositions.

But Mary, the beautiful, the tender, the merciful mother of God became

the object of an enthusiastic adoration, and with the worship of Mary

the position of the whole sex was elevated. The brutish and unnatural

teachings of the Fathers were overridden by the new and noble ideas

which were springing up. Doctrines such as that of the Immaculate

Conception rapidly won ground, and Catholic Mariolatry, taking root in

the fertile soil of Northern chivalry, worked benefits which have

lasted down to our own time, and conferred great blessings upon it.

The purely military character of feudalism impressed itself on the

habits of the time, and moulded domestic life, amusements and education

in strict accordance with it. The castles of the great lords and

knights were "academies of honour" for the children of their dependents

and less wealthy neighbors; the court yards became the scene of martial

exercises, and the presence of noble women within the walls afforded an

opportunity for the cultivation of gentle manners, and for the growth

of that feeling of reverence for the fair sex which was to form so

important an element in the boys' later life. The "gentle damoiseau,"

confided at the age of seven or eight to the care of a knight whose

reputation for prowess and courtesy ensured a good example, learned

modesty and obedience in the performance of menial services, then

considered honorable; in the court-yard of the castle he was

instructed in horsemanship, and in the use of the lance, the bow, and

the sword. In the dangers and hardships of the chase the principal

occupation in time of peace,--he was inured to fatigue, hunger, and

pain; he learned to sound the horn at the different stages of the hunt,

to dress the game when killed, and to carve it on the table.[9] He

waited upon the ladies in their apartments as upon superior beings,

whose service, even the most menial, was an honor. While yet a

damoiseau, and before he had attained the rank of squire, the youth was

expected to choose one girl who should receive his special admiration

and service, in whose name his future knightly deeds should be

performed, who should be his inspiration in battle, the reward of his

valor, and the object of his gallantry. In the loves of Amadis and

Oriana, so famous in romance, we have a simple and charming description

of the first budding of the chivalric sentiment. "Oriana was about ten

years old, the fairest creature that ever was seen; wherefore she was

called the one 'without a peer.' * * * The Child of the Sea (Amadis)

was now twelve years old, but in stature and size he seemed fifteen,

and he served the queen; but now that Oriana was there, the queen gave

her the Child of the Sea, that he should serve her, and Oriana said

that 'it pleased her'; and that word which she said the child kept in

his heart, so that he never lost it from his memory, and in all his

life he was never weary of serving her, and his heart was surrendered

to her; and this love lasted as long as they lasted, for as well as he

loved her did she also love him. But the Child of the Sea, who knew

nothing of her love, thought himself presumptuous to have placed his

thoughts on her, and dared not speak to her; and she, who loved him in

her heart, was careful not to speak more with him than with another;

but their eyes delighted to reveal to the heart what was the thing on

earth that they loved best. And now the time came that he thought he

could take arms if he were knighted; and this he greatly desired,

thinking that he would do such things that, if he lived, his mistress

should esteem him."[10]

Life in a Norman castle was at best hard and comfortless. In summer it

was enlivened by hunting and hawking, by tournaments and pageantry. The

gardens which usually surrounded a castle formed a resource for the

female portion of the inhabitants, who are often represented in the

illuminations of the time as occupied in tending the flowers or in

making garlands. But in winter there were few comforts to lessen the

suffering, and few resources to vary the monotony of life. The passages

in the romances which hail the return of spring, are full of

thankfulness and delight. Chess, dice, and cards, as well as many

frolicsome games, served, with the aid of the minstrels, to afford

amusement. The women had their occupations of spinning, sewing, and

embroidery, while some of the accomplishments they cultivated may be

inferred from the following passage in the folio of old Sir Joshua

Barnes: "And now the ladies themselves, with many noble virgins, were

meditating the various measures their skilful feet were to make, the

pleasant aires their sweet voices should warble, and those soft

divisions their tender fingers should strike on the yielding

strings."[11] Life was lacking in physical comforts, and still more in

refinement. The dining-hall became at night the sleeping place of a

promiscuous crowd of retainers. There was a very imperfect separation

of the sexes at any time. Men and women ate with their fingers, and

threw the refuse of their meal on the table, or amidst the straw on the

floor, to be devoured by the cats and dogs which swarmed about. Read

the directions for ladies' table manners given by Robert de Blois: "If

you eat with another (_i.e._, in the same plate), turn the nicest bits

to him, and do not go picking out the finest and largest for yourself,

which is not courteous. Moreover, no one should eat greedily a choice

bit which is too large or too hot, for fear of choking or burning

herself. * * * Each time you drink wipe your mouth well, that no grease

may go into the wine, which is very unpleasant to the person who drinks

after you. But when you wipe your mouth for drinking, do not wipe your

eyes or nose with the table-cloth, and avoid spilling from your mouth

or greasing your hands too much."[12] The same authority on manners and

etiquette warns ladies against scolding and disputing, against swearing

and getting drunk, and against some other objectionable actions which

betray a great lack of feminine modesty. The "Moral Instructions" of

the Chevalier de la Tour Landry present a picture of coarseness and

immorality among both men and women, which shows how incompatible was

the barrack-like existence of feudal times with the practice of any

sort of self-restraint or purity of life.

Of such a character, then, was the audience which the mediæval

romancers had to please. A class essentially military, ferocious, and

accustomed to shedding blood, yet preserving in their violence a

certain observance of laws of honor and courtesy; setting before

themselves more often an ideal of glory and nobility, than an object of

plunder or conquest; cultivating a consideration and gallantry toward

women, remarkable in view of the necessarily rough and unrefined

circumstances of their life; highly imaginative and adventurous;

rejoicing in brilliancy of dress and show; filling the monotony of

peace by tournaments, martial games, and the entertainments of the

minstrels.

[Footnote 1: Taine: History of Eng. Lit., Van Laun's trans. chap. 3,

pt. ii.]

[Footnote 2: "Hist. of Crusades," p. 11; Sir E. Strachey, Introd. to

"Morte d'Arthur."]

[Footnote 3: Mill's "Chivalry."]

[Footnote 4: Quoted in Green's "Short History of the English People."

p. 224.]

[Footnote 5: Warton's "Hist. of English Poetry," Dissert. i.]

[Footnote 6: Quoted by Warton, "Hist. of Poetry," Dis. i.]

[Footnote 7: Froissart's "Chronicles," v. ii, p. 248, Johnes' Trans.]

[Footnote 8: Lecky's "History of Morals," chap. 5, vol. 2.]

[Footnote 9: Scott's "Essay on Chivalry."]

[Footnote 10: "Amadis of Gaul," Southey's ed. vol. 1, p. 40. This

romance belongs to a late period of romantic fiction, but the passage

cited is a good illustration of mediæval sentiment.]

[Footnote 11: Sir J. Barnes' "History of Edward III."]

[Footnote 12: Wright's "Manners and Sentiments in the Middle Ages,"

p. 276.]

II.

The romances of chivalry sprang to life a logical production of the

times. Their authors seized on the character of a king and a

warrior--their highest conception of greatness, in the persons of

Charlemagne and Arthur. Regardless of anachronism, they represented

their heroes as the centre of a chivalric court, accoutred in the arms,

and practising the customs of later centuries; they created in fact a

new Arthur and a new Charlemagne, adapted to the new times. They

brought to light the almost forgotten characters of antiquity. They

represented Jason and Alexander invested with chivalric attributes and

affected by mediæval superstitions. Hercules, according to them,

performed his labors, not because of the wrath of Juno or the command

of Jove, but, like a true knight-errant, to gain the favor of a

Boeotian princess. Virgil the poet was transformed into Virgil the

enchanter. The chief heroes were surrounded with restless knights,

whose romantic adventures afforded unlimited range to the imagination,

and delighted the chivalric mind. The romancers mingled with their

endless tales of "arms and amours," the superstitions and myths which

occupied the minds of men to the exclusion of all real knowledge and

inquiry. The gloomy and terrible fictions which had adorned the songs

of Northern scalds, the bright and fanciful imagery contained in the

tales of Arabia and the East which the crusaders brought back with them

into Europe, the superstitions of Christianity itself, were given only

a greater influence in the lives of fictitious heroes than they were

supposed to have in those of living men. Perfectly suited to the times,

and in fact born of them, the romances took at once a powerful hold on

the popular imagination. The characters of Arthur, of Launcelot and of

Tristram became the objects of an ardent admiration, and the standards

of excellence to which many strove to attain. The most exaggerated

ideas of chivalry contained in the romances were adopted in actual

life. Knights and ladies took upon themselves adventures and cultivated

manners, which vied in extravagance with those of imaginary beings. The

personality of King Arthur was so intensely realized, that for

centuries it was believed that he would one day return from beyond the

grave to resume his glorious rule. On his tomb were supposed to be

inscribed the words:

Hic jacet Arthurus rex, quondam rexque futurus.

Henry II visited his legendary grave at Glastonbury, and named his

grandson Arthur. Edward I held a Round Table at Kenilworth. Remarkable

features of nature--rocks, caves, and mounds were associated in the

popular mind with the achievements of Arthur, and many are connected

with them by name at the present day.

But the romances relating to Arthur were far more than the reflection

of passing thoughts and customs destined to perish with the

generations who read them. They embodied the ideals of the English race

six centuries ago, and although appearing in a different form, those

ideals are still our own. The examples presented in romantic fiction of

manly courage, of self-sacrificing devotion, of simplicity of

character, and of chivalric consideration for the weakness of the

female sex, may excite our admiration and sympathy, as well as that of

a fierce and untutored knighthood. These tales were the product of the

English mind in its boyhood, and it is to the youth of our day that

they are best adapted and most attractive; but the rationalism of the

nineteenth century may find in their spirit of simple faith, of

unquestioning belief and trust, much that is beautiful in human life

which modern thought and science have swept away. It is on account of

the enduring character of the ideals, of which the Arthurian legends

were the spontaneous expression, that these works, although contained

in a rude form, without artistic plan or literary merit to give them

permanence, have never wholly passed from the acquaintance of men. The

rude force and beauty of mediæval fiction has been deeply felt by many

of the greatest minds which have contributed to modern literature. To

the perusal of the story of Launcelot and Guenever Dante ascribes the

coming of Paolo and Francesca _al doloroso passo_. While the other

works of Ariosto have fallen into obscurity, his "Orlando Furioso" has

achieved a lasting fame. One of the greatest poems in the German

language, the "Oberon" of Wieland, is almost a reproduction of a

chivalric romance. The reader of Milton is often reminded of

Uther's son,

Begirt with British and Armoric knights.

Spenser transferred romantic fiction into the region of allegory, and

gave to English literature the immortal "Faery Queen." In our own day

the "Idyls" of Tennyson have made the legends of Arthur a part of our

common thought, and the Knights of the Round Table familiar in almost

every household. The romances of chivalry fall naturally into three

general classes: those relating to Charlemagne and his peers; those

relating to classical and mythological heroes; and, finally, the tales

connected with King Arthur. The strong similarity which exists in the

character and incidents of these three classes makes an acquaintance

with one of them sufficient for the purpose of this work. The "Morte

d'Arthur" and the romances of which it forms a compendium will therefore

be chiefly considered, as being the most interesting in their bearing

on English fiction.

In the early part of the twelfth century, Walter Mapes, Archdeacon of

Oxford, while travelling in France, became possessed of a book written

in the British or Armoric language, which treated of the history of

kings of Britain, and was undoubtedly even at that time of considerable

antiquity. Little is known concerning this curious work. It related the

fabulous martial deeds of British kings, of whose existence there is no

previous record, their victories over giants and dragons, and the

various supernatural influences to which they were subject. Hence comes

the story of King Lear and of Jack the Giant-Killer, and here are first

met the characters of King Arthur and the enchanter Merlin. This book

having been translated into Latin by Geoffrey of Monmouth, a

Benedictine monk, at once attained a great popularity and reputation;

and for several centuries was universally accepted as true history. A

number of metrical romances soon appeared to gratify the taste which

Geoffrey's chronicle had excited, and in the first half of the

thirteenth century the same stories began to be written in prose. From

this time until the middle of the fifteenth century most of what we now

call romantic fiction was produced, although many imitations and

translations appeared in England for more than a century afterward. The

exact dates of the different romances and the names of their authors

cannot be positively established, as the early copies were undated, and

the names prefixed to them are believed to be fictitious. During this

period were given to the world, among many others, the romances of

Merlin the Enchanter, of Launcelot du Lac, of Meliadus, of his son

Tristram, of Gyron le Courtoys, of Perceval le Gallois, and, finally,

that of the Saint Gréal, in which the whole body of knights-errant are

represented, probably by some monkish writer, in the search for the

Holy Cup which had held the blood of Christ. At last Sir Thomas Malory,

a London knight, well read in chivalric literature, combined these

tales in the volume he called the "Morte d'Arthur," an excellent

specimen of a chivalric romance, which was printed by Caxton in 1485,

and has since appeared in many editions down to the present day.

The influence of the supernatural appears in the very beginning of the

"Morte d'Arthur," and throughout we trace its controlling effect upon

the incidents of the story. It is by the help of Merlin's magic that

King Uther Pendragon slays the Duke of Cornwall, and assuming the

likeness of his rival, obtains possession of his wife Igraine, "a faire

ladye, and a passing wyse," from which union Arthur is born. On the

death of Uther, when the chief nobles and knights are summoned to

London by the Archbishop of Canterbury to choose a new king, it is

Merlin's art which discovers to them a sword imbedded in a great rock

in the churchyard of St. Paul's bearing the inscription: "Whoso pulleth

this sword out of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all

England"; and it is by the same supernatural aid that the stripling

Arthur, whose birth is unknown, fulfils the task which all had essayed

in vain. By the friendly influence of Merlin, Arthur receives his

famous sword Excalibur from the hands of the Lady of the Lake, with the

scabbard whose wearer can lose no blood; he defeats with great

slaughter the hosts of the eleven kings who dispute his throne; and

obtains in marriage the celebrated Guenever, who brings him in dowry

the Table Round. But Merlin, who could do so much for others, had the

power only to foresee, and not to avert, his own impending fate.

Enamoured of a fickle damsel, who soon tires of his love, the great

enchanter discloses his secrets to her, and with a sad farewell and

final advice to Arthur, he suffers himself to be imprisoned forever in

the rock which his own magic had wrought, by the spell which he had

intrusted to his treacherous mistress. The friendly arts of Merlin are

succeeded by the machinations of the malicious fairy Morgana, and the

watchful care of the the Lady of the Lake. To excite the childlike

wonder of his readers, the romancer turns knights to stone, or makes

them invisible; he introduces enchanted castles, vessels that steer

themselves, and the miraculous properties of the Saint Gréal, Arthur

and Tristram fight with dragons and giants. The loves of Tristram and

Isoud arise from the drinking of an amorous potion. The chastity of

knight and damsel is determined by the magic horn, whose liquor the

innocent drink, but the guilty spill; and by the enchanted garland,

which blooms on the brow of the chaste, but withers on that of the

faithless. Inventions such as these were regarded as facts, or at least

as possible occurrences, by the readers of romantic fiction. Men

believed what they were told, and to doubt, to inquire were

intellectual efforts which they knew not how to make, and which all the

influences of their life opposed their making. There were no fictions

in the romances more improbable than the accounts of foreign parts

brought back by travellers. Sir John of Mandeville was not doubted when

he wrote that he had met with a race of men who had only one eye, and

that in the middle of the forehead, or a people with only one foot and

that one large enough to be used as a parasol. The knight who had

mastered the art of reading looked upon such stories as curious facts.

His religion was a religion of miracles, and, ignorant of natural laws,

he was accustomed to refer any unusual occurrence to the influence of

supernatural beings, a habit of thought which presented an ever-ready

solution to mysteries and problems otherwise inexplicable.

The entire credence accorded to the supernatural features of the

romance gave to it a power and an interest which has now, of course,

disappeared; but the influence of the supernatural upon the work is so

strong, that even the modern reader, wandering with Launcelot and

Tristram in a world of wonders, meets a giant without surprise, and

feels at home in an enchanted castle.

When Arthur is finally established on his throne, the knights of the

Round Table begin their wonderful career of adventure and gallantry.

With them the reader roams over a vague and unreal land called Britain

or Cornwall, in full armor, the ever ready lance in rest. At almost

every turn a knight is met who offers combat, and each detail of the

conflict--the rush of the horses, the breaking of lances, the final

hand-to-hand with swords--is described with a minuteness which only the

military enthusiasm of the Middle Ages could thoroughly appreciate.

Sometimes our hero meets a damsel who tells a tale of wrong, and leads

the knight to champion her cause; again, he encounters some old

companion in arms, breaks a lance upon him by way of friendly

salutation, and wanders with him in search of adventures, inquiring of

a chance peasant or dwarf, of a wrong to be avenged, or a danger to be

incurred. The reader attends tournaments, of which every blow and every

fall are chronicled. He becomes familiar with the respective merits and

prowess of a hundred different champions. He learns the laws of

judicial combat, and the intricate rules of the chivalric code. With

imagination aroused and sympathies excited he enters a life of

alternate combat and love, almost real in the consistency of its

improbability. Three gallant knights, Sir Gawaine, Sir Marhaus, and Sir

Uwaine set out together in search of adventures.

At the last they cam in to a grete forest that was named the

countreye and foreste of Arroy and the countrey of straunge

auentures. In this countrey, said syr Marhaus cam neuer knyghte syn

it was crystened, but he fonde straunge auentures, and soo they

rode, and cam in to a depe valey ful of stones, and ther by they

sawe a fayr streme of water, aboue ther by was the hede of the

streme, a fayr fontayne, & thre damoysels syttynge therby. And

thenne they rode to them, and eyther salewed other, and the eldest

had a garland of gold aboute her hede, and she was thre score

wynter of age, or more, and her here[13] was whyte under the

garland. The second damoysel was of thirty wynter of age, with a

serkelet of gold aboute her hede. The thyrd damoysel was but xv

year of age, and a garland of floures aboute her hede. When these

knyghtes had soo beholde them, they asked hem the cause why they

sat at that fontayne; we be here, sayd the damoysels for thys

cause, yf we may see ony erraunt knyghtes to teche hem unto

straunge auentures, and ye be thre knyghtes that seken auentures,

and we be thre damoysels, and therfore eche one of yow must chose

one of us. And whan ye haue done soo, we wylle lede yow vnto thre

hyhe wayes, and there eche of yow shall chese a wey and his

damoysel wyth hym. And this day twelue monethe ye must mete here

ageyn and god sende yow your lyues, and ther to ye must plyzte your

trouthe. This is wel said, sayd Syr Marhaus. * * * Thenne euery

damoysel took her knyght by the raynes of his brydel, and broughte

him to the thre wayes, and there was their othe made to mete at the

fontayne that day twelue moneth and they were lyvynge, and soo they

kyst and departed, and eueryche knyghte sette his lady behynde

him.[14]

Sir Alysandre le Orphelin holds a piece of ground against all comers. A

damsel called La Belle Alice proclaims at Arthur's court that whoever

overthrows him, shall have herself and all her lands. Many knights

undertake the adventure, but all are defeated by Sir Alysandre.

And whanne La Beale Alys sawe hym juste soo wel, she thought hym a

passynge goodly knyght on horsbak. And thenne she lepte out of her

pauelione, and toke Syr Alisandre by the brydel, and thus she sayd;

Fayre knyght, I require the of thy knyghthode, shewe me thy vysage.

I dar wel, sayd Sir Alysander shewe my vysage. And then he put of

his helme, and she sawe his vysage, she said; O swete Jhesu! the I

must loue and neuer other. Thenne shewe me your vysage, said he.

Thenne she unwympeled her vysage. And whanne he saw her, he sayde,

here haue I fond my loue and my lady. Truly fayre lady, said he, I

promise yow to be your knyghte, and none other that bereth the lyf.

Now, gentil knyghte, said she, telle me your name. My name is, said

he, Alysander le Orphelyn. Now damoysel, telle me your name, said

he. My name is, said she, Alys la Beale Pilggrym. And whan we be

more at oure hertes ease both ye and I shalle telle other of what

blood we be come. Soo there was grete loue betwyxe them. And as

they thus talked, ther came a knyghte that hyght Harsouse le

Berbuse, and axed parte of sir Alysanders speres. Thenne Sir

Alysander encountred with hym, and at the fyrst Sir Alysander smote

hym ouer his hors croupe.[15]

Sir Tristram is thus welcomed at Arthur's court:

Thenne Kynge Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand, and wente to the

table round. Thenne came Quene Guenever and many ladyes with her,

and alle the ladyes sayden at one voyce, welcome Sir Tristram,

welcome, said the damoysels, welcome said knightes, welcome said

Arthur, for one of the best knyghts and the gentylst of the world,

and the man of moost worship, for all manner of hunting thou berest

the pryce, and of all mesures of blowynge thou art the begynninge,

and of alle the termes of huntynge and haukinge ye are the

begynner, of all Instrumentes of musyke ye are the best, therefor

gentyl knyght, said Arthur, ye are welcome to this courte.[16]

The description of the combat between King Arthur and Accolon is

perhaps the most interesting of the kind which the "Morte d'Arthur"

contains. Accolon of Gaul had by the aid of Morgan le Fay obtained

possession of Arthur's enchanted sword and scabbard.[17]

And thenne they dressyd hem on bothe partyes of the felde, & lete

their horses renne so fast that eyther smote other in the myddes of

the shelde, with their speres hede, that bothe hors and man wente

to the erthe. And thenne they sterte up bothe, and pulled oute

their swerdys, * * * And so they went egrely to the battaille, and

gaf many grete strokes, but alweyes Arthurs swerd bote[18] not like

Accolon's swerd. But for the most party euery stroke that Accolon

gaf he wounded sore Arthur, that it was merucylle he stode. And

alweyes his blood fylle from him fast. When Arthur behelde the

ground so sore bebledde he was desmayed, and thenne he demed

treason that his swerd was chaunged, for his swerd boote not

styl[19] as it was wont to do, therefore he dredde hym sore to be

dede, for euer hym seemed that the swerd in Accolons hand was

Excalibur, for at euery stroke that Accolon stroke he drewe blood

on Arthur. Now knyghte, said Accolon unto Arthur, kepe the wel from

me, but Arthur ansuered not ageyne, and gat hym suche a buffet on

the helme that he made hym to stoupe nygh fallynge doune to the

earthe. Thenne Sir Accolon with drewe hym a lytel, and cam on with

Excalibur on hyghe, and smote Syr Arthur suche a buffet that he

felle nyhe to the erthe. Thenne were they wroth bothe, and gaf eche

other many sore strokes, but alweyes Syr Arthur lost so muche blood

that it was merucille he stode on his feet, but he was so ful of

knighthode, that knyghtly he endured the payne. And Syr Accolon

lost not a dele of blood, therefore he waxed passynge lyghte, and

Syr Arthur was passynge feble, and wende veryly to have dyed, but

for al that he made countenaunce as though he myghte endure, and

helde Accolon as shorte as he myght. But Accolon was bolde by cause

of Excalibur that he waxed passynge hardy. * * * And therewith he

cam fyersly upon Arthur, and syre Arthur was wrothe for the blood

that he had lost, and smote Accolon on hyhe upon the helme soo

myztely that he made hym nyhe to falle to the erthe. And therewith

Arthurs swerd brast at the crosse and felle in the grasse amonge

the blood, and the pommel and the sure handels he helde in his

handes. When syr Arthur sawe that, he was in grete fere to dye, but

alweyes he helde vp his shelde and lost no ground nor bated no

chere. Thenne syre Accolon beganne with wordes of treason, and sayd

knyghte thow arte overcome, and mayste not endure, and also thow

arte wepenles, and thow hast loste moche of thy blood, and I am ful

lothe to slee the, therfor yelde the to me as recreaunt. Nay, saide

syre Arthur I maye not so, for I haue promysed to doo the bataille

to the vttermost by the feythe of my body whyle me lasteth the lyf,

and therfor I had leuer to dye with honour than to lyve with shame.

And yf it were possyble for me to dye an C tymes, I had leuer to

dye so ofte, than yelde me to the, for though I lacke wepen, I

shalle lacke no worship. And yf thou slee me wepenles that shalle

be thy shame. Wel, sayd Accolon, as for the shame I wyl not spare.

Now kepe the from me, for thow arte but a dede ma. And therwith

Accolon gaf hym suche a stroke that he felle nyghe to the erthe,

and wolde haue had Arthur to haue cryed hym mercy. But syre Arthur

pressed unto Accolon with his sheld and gaf hym with the pomel in

his hand suche a buffet that he wente thre strydes abak. * * * And

at the next stroke Syr Accolon stroke hym suche a stroke that by

the damoysels enchauntement the swerd Excalibur felle oute of

Accolons hande to the erthe. And therwith alle syre Arthur lyghtely

lepte to hit, and gate hit in his hand, and forwith al he knewe

that it was his suerd Excalibur, & sayd thow hast ben from me al to

long, & moche dommage hast thow done me. * * * And therwith syr

Arthur russhed on hym with hys myghte, and pulled hym to the erthe,

and thenne russhed of his helme, and gaf hym suche a buffet on the

hede that the blood cam oute at his eres, his nose & his mouthe.

Now wyll I slee the said Arthur. Slee me ye may wel, said Accolon,

and it please yow, for ye ar the best knyghte that euer I fonde,

and I see wel that god is with yow.

The knights of the Round Table had much more difficulty in dealing with

one another than in overcoming the most redoubtable giants. Sir

Launcelot arrived at a giant's castle,[20] and "he looked aboute, and

sawe moche peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayre knyghte thow art

unhappy. Anone with al cam there vpon hym two grete gyaunts wel armed

al sauf the hedes, with two horryble clubbes in theyr handes. Syre

Launcelot put his sheld afore hym and put the stroke aweye of the one

gyaunt, and with his swerd he clafe his hede a sondre. Whan his felaw

sawe that, he ran awey as he were wood, for fere of the horryble

strokes, & laucelot after hym with al his myzt & smote hym on the

sholder, and clafe hym to the nauel. Thenne Syre Launcelot went in to

the halle, and there came afore hym thre score ladyes and damoysels,

and all kneled unto hym, and thanked God and hym of their

delyveraunce." The horrors of battle as recounted by the romancers lose

much of their painfulness by the enjoyment which the combatants take in

them, and by the facility with which the most terrible wounds are

healed. The mediæval passion for conflict and violence could hardly be

more strikingly illustrated than by the words of the mother of

Tristram, who had just given birth to her son in the midst of a forest,

and being far from human aid, sees that her end is near. "Now lete me

see my lytel child for whome I haue had alle this sorowe. And whan she

sawe hym she said thus, A my lytel sone, thou hast murthered thy moder,

and therfore I suppose, thou that art a murtherer soo yong, thou arte

ful lykely to be a manly man in thyn age."[21]

From the recital of combats we turn to tales of love. The most

interesting of these relate to Launcelot and Guenever, and to Tristram

and Isould. They differ in many respects, and yet share the noteworthy

feature that both the women are already married, and their lovers are

connected by ties of relationship or of great intimacy with the

husbands whom they wrong. Arthur, however, is made to preserve,

throughout the story of his deception, the same dignity and the same

respect which he had always possessed, and in the loyalty of his

character never admits a doubt of his wife's virtue; while King Mark,

the husband of Isould, loses the sympathy of the reader by his

treachery and cowardice, and is always conscious of Isould's

infidelity. Guenever and Launcelot feel the deeper and the nobler

passion, as theirs is inspired solely by each other's merit, while that

of Isould and Tristram is inflamed by an amorous potion. The immorality

of these love stories was not in the Middle Ages the same immorality

which it would be considered at present. The conditions of life were

all opposed to self restraint. The standard of morals was set by the

church, and according to her interpretation of Christianity, continence

was so subsidiary to orthodoxy, that what would now be considered a

crime, was in the Middle Ages an irregularity which need not weigh on

the conscience. Evidence of this is amply supplied by the social

history of the time, and the fact is fully illustrated by the

romances. The authors of these compositions, from their tendency to

idealization, held up to their readers a higher view of virtue in every

respect than was practised in actual life, and in their writings,

conjugal infidelity is of constant occurrence. The fictitious

personages who indulge in licence are but dimly conscious of

wrong-doing, and almost the only evidence of a realization of their

fault is in the Quest of the Saint Gréal, when Launcelot and other

noble knights acknowledge that the attainment of the sacred prize is

not for them as being "sinful men," and the quest is achieved by the

spotless Sir Galahad, who, impersonating the purifying influence of

Christianity, forms the most striking character conceived by the

fertile imagination of the Middle Ages. The virtue of constancy was far

more admired than that of chastity, and it is said of Guenever, whose

sin had brought such calamity upon the Round Table, that "as she was a

true lover, so she had a good end."

Launcelot and Tristram vie with one another in the deeds of chivalry

which they accomplish in honor of their ladies, and the intimacy which

exists between the two knights and their mistresses adds much to the

interest of the story. A fine touch in the loves of Tristram and Isould

is the introduction of Sir Palomides, a valiant knight, almost the

equal of Tristram in prowess, who loves Isould as passionately as his

successful rival, but finds no favor to reward a long career of

devotion. The passions of jealousy and hatred on the one hand, and

knightly courtesy and honor on the other, which alternately sway the

two warriors, and struggle for the mastery in their relations with each

other, form a touching picture, and show that the romancers could

occasionally rise above the description of conflicts to a study of the

heart and character of men.

That our lovers felt a deep and absorbing passion, there can be no

doubt. Sir Dynas, the Seneschal, tells the Queen la Belle Isould that

Sir Tristram is near: "Thenne for very pure joye la Beale Isould

swouned, & whan she myghte speke, she said, gentyl knyghte Seneschall

help that I myghte speke with him, outher my herte will braste." They

meet, and then "to telle the joyes that were between la Beale Isoud and

sire Tristram, there is no tongue can telle it, nor herte thinke it,

nor pen wryte it." When Tristram thought Isoud unfaithful, he "made

grete sorowe in so much that he fell downe of his hors in a swoune, and

in suche sorowe he was in thre dayes and thre nyghtes." When he left

her, Isoud was found "seke in here bedde, makynge the grettest dole

that ever ony erthly woman made." "Sire Alysander beheld his lady Alys

on horsbak as he stood in her pauelione. And thenne was he soo

enamoured upon her that he wyst not whether he were on horsbak or on

foote." Sir Gareth falls in love at first sight: "and euer the more syr

Gareth behelde that lady, the more he loued her, and soo he burned in

loue that he was past himself in his reason, and forth toward nyghte

they wente unto supper, and sire Gareth myghte not ete for his loue was

soo hot that he wyst not wher he was."

The Roman war introduced into the "Morte d'Arthur" is a curious

illustration of the vagueness of the historical groundwork of the

romances of chivalry. The memory of Roman power was still too great to

permit a warrior to achieve greatness without having matched his

strength against that of Rome, and thus we have the singular spectacle

of King Arthur with his adventurous knights, clad in mail, passing

easily through "Almayne" into Italy, conquering giants by the way, and

reducing the Emperor Lucius to dependence.

The story of the Saint Gréal originally formed a distinct romance, but

it was the dull production of some ascetic monk, who thought that the

knights of the Round Table were too much occupied with secular

pursuits, and who found no greater encomium to pass upon Sir Galahad,

than to call him a "maid." But the idea of the Christian knighthood

setting out to seek the Holy Cup was "marvellous and adventurous," and

so well suited to please the mediæval mind that we find this quest

introduced into several of the romances of chivalry, and it appears,

though in an incomplete form, in the "Morte d'Arthur." The adventures

met with by the knighthood are much the same as when they were pursuing

a less lofty object. Sir Galahad occupies the intervals between his

serious occupations with rolling his father Sir Launcelot and other

noble knights into the dust in the usual unsaintly fashion. The

supernatural element is stronger perhaps in the story of the Saint

Gréal than in any other romance, and the monkish inspiration of the

work is everywhere manifest. When Sir Galahad rescues the inmates of

the Castle of Maidens by overthrowing their oppressors, the romancer

points out that the Castle of Maidens "betokeneth the good souls that

were in prison before the incarnation of Jesu Christ." It is here also

that we learn that "Sir Launcelot is come but of the eighth degree from

our Lord Jesu Christ, and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree from our

Lord Jesu Christ; therefore I dare say that they may be the greatest

gentlemen of the world."

When we have read of the "byrth, lyf and actes of Kyng Arthur, of his

noble knyghtes of the rounde table, theyr mervayllous enquests and

aduentures, th' achyeuyng of the sangréal," we come to the "dolorous

deth and departyng out of this world of them." It is indeed a "pytous

hystory." Long drawn out as the romance is, serious tax though it

sometimes be on the reader's patience, the author succeeds in making us

so familiar with all his heroes, in inspiring us with so deep and

active a sympathy with them, that it is with a real sadness that we

read of the dissensions brought about by the loves of Launcelot and

Guenever, the deserted Round Table, the separation of life-long

companions, and the fraternal war between Sir Launcelot, Sir Gawaine,

and King Arthur. Their love for each other was so strong that it is not

wholly quenched even in the sanguinary struggles which follow, and it

bursts forth in full vigor when death comes upon them in the midst of

their fury. Sir Gawaine is the first to go, using his last strength to

write to Sir Launcelot begging his forgiveness: "I byseche the, Sir

Launcelot, to retorne ageyne vnto this realme, and see my tombe, &

praye some prayer more or lesse for my soule."

Whan syr Arthur wyst that syre Gawayne was layd so lowe he went

vnto hym, and there the kyng made sorowe oute of mesure, and took

sire Gawayne in his armes, and thryes[22] he there swouned. And

thenne whan he awaked, he sayd, allas Sir Gawayne my sisters sone,

here now thou lyggest[23], the man in the world that I loued moost,

and now is my joye gone, for now my neuewe syre Gawayne I will

discouer me vnto your persone, in syr Launcelot & you I had moost

my joye and myn affyaunce, & now haue I lost my joye of you bothe,

wherefor all myn erthely joye is gone from me.[24]

We turn from the death of Sir Gawaine only to witness the mortal blow

dealt to King Arthur; to see his famous sword Excalibur, which he had

borne so nobly and so long, returned to the Lady of the Lake; and the

almost lifeless body of the great king carried away over the water by

the fairy queens, disappearing at last beneath the horizon. Guenever

would seen to have deserved a harder fate than simply to retire to a

nunnery of which she is made the abbess. Sir Launcelot dies a holy man

and a monk, saying masses for the souls of his old companions in arms.

With his death the old glory of the Round Table passes away forever.

And whan syr Ector herd suche noyse & lyghte in the quyre of joyous

Garde, he alyghted and put his hors from hym, and came in to the

quyre, & there he sawe men synge the seruyse full lamentably. And

alle they knewe syre Ector, but he knewe not them. Thenne went syr

Bors to syr Ector, & tolde him how there laye hys broder syr

Launcelot dede, and then syr Ector threwe his shelde, hys swerde &

helme from hym. And whan he behelde syr Launcelot's vysage, he

felle donne in a sowne. And when he awakyd it were harde for any

tonge to telle the doleful complayntes that he made for his broder.

A, syr Launcelot, he sayd, thou were head of all Crysten knyztes,

and now I dare saye, sayd syr Ector, thou syr Launcelot, ther thou

lyest, that thou were neuer matched of none erthely knyghtes

handes. And thou were the curtoyste knyghte that ever bare shelde.

And thou were the truest frend to thy louer that euer bestradde

hors, & thou were the truest louer of a synfull man that euer loued

woman. And thou were the kyndest man that euer stroke wyth swerde.

And thou were the goodelyest persone that euer came among prees of

knyghtes. And thou were the mekest man & the gentylest that euer

ete in halle amonge ladyes. And thou were the sternest knyghte to

thy mortall foo that euer put spere in the reyst. Thenne there was

wepyng & dolour oute of mesure.[25]

The literary form of the "Morte d'Arthur" admits of description rather

than of criticism. A noble and forcible simplicity of expression

pervades the old Norman French in which the romances of chivalry were

first written, which is well reflected in the English of Sir Thomas

Malory. Of plot there is none. The same vagueness pervades the course

of the narrative, which is characteristic of the historical groundwork,

the geography, and the time of action. Most of the incidents depend on

chance. Life in the Middle Ages was a very serious affair, and in the

romances there was almost no attempt at wit or humor. In the "Morte

d'Arthur," perhaps the only passage which might have raised a laugh among

the early readers of the romance, is that in which King Arthur's fool

Dagonet is clad in Sir Mordred's armor, and in that disguise is made to

chase before him the coward King Mark. The authors of the romances of

chivalry never attempted delineation of character. Their heroes are

good knights or bad knights, and in either case possess only the

particular qualities which would place them in one of these categories.

The female characters are still more slightly drawn, and show no

distinct attributes except beauty and a capacity to love.

In laying down the "Morte d'Arthur," and bidding farewell to the

Middle Ages with their heroes of chivalry, we come to the end of a most

picturesque period of English history,--a period marked by lights and

shadows, rather than by distinct forms. There was ferocity, and there

was courtesy; there was brilliant show and rude coarseness; there were

scenes of blood and scenes of noble chivalry. In the next chapter we

shall notice the tendencies which were at work to replace this state of

society by a better. But to the Middle Ages will always be traced much

that is distinctive of English character, and in the history of fiction

we may fairly allow to the knights of romance the legendary charm and

fascination which hang about their bright helmets in the long vista of

departed years.

[Footnote 13: Hair.]

[Footnote 14: "Morte d'Arthur." Southey's reprint from Caxton's ed.,

1485, chaps. xix and xx. book 4.]

[Footnote 15: "Morte d'Arthur," book 10, chap. xxxix.]

[Footnote 16: Southey's "Morte d'Arthur," vol. 2, p. 11.]

[Footnote 17: "Morte d'Arthur," book 4, chap. ix.]

[Footnote 18: Hit, cut.]

[Footnote 19: Cut not steel.]

[Footnote 20: "Morte d'Arthur," book 6, ch. x.]

[Footnote 21: "Morte d'Arthur," book 8, ch. i.]

[Footnote 22: Thrice.]

[Footnote 23: Liest.]

[Footnote 24: "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. ii.]

[Footnote 25: "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. xiii.]