Now in face of this group of parallels, whose close correspondence, if

we consider their separation in point of time (3000 B.C.; 1200 A.D.;

and the present day), is nothing short of astonishing, is it not

absolutely and utterly unreasonable to admit (as scholars no longer

hesitate to do) the relationship between the first and last, and

exclude, as a mere literary invention, the intermediate parallel?

The ground for such a denial may be mere prejudice, a reluctance to

renounce a long cherished critical prepossession, but in the face of

this new evidence does it not come perilously close to scientific

dishonesty, to a disregard for that respect for truth in research the

imperative duty of which has been so finely expressed by the late M.

Gaston Paris.—“Je professe absolument et sans réserve cette doctrine,

que la science n’a d’autre objet que la vérité, et la vérité pour

elle-même, sans aucun souci des conséquences, bonnes ou mauvaises,

regrettables ou heureuses, que cette vérité pourrait avoir dans la

pratique.”[17] When we further consider that behind these three main

parallels, linking them together, there lies a continuous chain of

evidence, expressed alike in classical literature, and surviving Folk

practice, I would submit that there is no longer any shadow of a doubt

that in the Grail King we have a romantic literary version of that

strange mysterious figure whose presence hovers in the shadowy

background of the history of our Aryan race; the figure of a divine or

semi-divine ruler, at once god and king, upon whose life, and

unimpaired vitality, the existence of his land and people directly

depends.

And if we once grant this initial fact, and resolve that we will no

longer, in the interests of an outworn critical tradition, deny the

weight of scientific evidence in determining the real significance of

the story, does it not inevitably follow, as a logical sequence, that

such versions as fail to connect the misfortunes of the land directly

with the disability of the king, but make them dependent upon the

failure of the Quester, are, by that very fact, stamped as secondary

versions. That by this one detail, of capital importance, they approve

themselves as literary treatments of a traditional theme, the true

meaning of which was unknown to the author?

Let us for a moment consider what the opposite view would entail; that

a story which was originally the outcome of pure literary invention

should in the course of re-modelling have been accidentally brought

into close and detailed correspondence with a deeply rooted sequence of

popular faith and practice is simply inconceivable, the re-modelling,

if re-modelling there were, must have been intentional, the men whose

handiwork it was were in possession of the requisite knowledge.

But how did they possess that knowledge, and why should they undertake

such a task? Surely not from the point of view of antiquarian interest,

as might be done to-day; they were no twelfth century Frazers and

Mannhardts; the subject must have had for them a more living, a more

intimate, interest. And if, in face of the evidence we now possess, we

feel bound to admit the existence of such knowledge, is it not more

reasonable to suppose that the men who first told the story were the

men who _knew_, and that the confusion was due to those who, with more

literary skill, but less first-hand information, re-modelled the

original theme?

In view of the present facts I would submit that the problem posed in

our first chapter may be held to be solved; that we accept as a _fait

acquis_ the conclusion that the woes of the land are directly dependent

upon the sickness, or maiming, of the King, and in no wise caused by

the failure of the Quester. The ‘Wasting of the land’ must be held to

have been antecedent to that failure, and the _Gawain_ versions in

which we find this condition fulfilled are, therefore, prior in origin

to the _Perceval_, in which the ‘Wasting’ is brought about by the

action of the hero; in some versions, indeed, has altogether

disappeared from the story.

Thus the position assigned in the versions to this feature of the Waste

Land becomes one of capital importance as a critical factor. This is a

point which has hitherto escaped the attention of scholars; the

misfortunes of the land have been treated rather as an accident, than

as an essential, of the Grail story, entirely subordinate in interest

to the _dramatis personae_ of the tale, or the objects, Lance and

Grail, round which the action revolves. As a matter of fact I believe

that the ‘Waste Land’ is really the very heart of our problem; a

rightful appreciation of its position and significance will place us in

possession of the clue which will lead us safely through the most

bewildering mazes of the fully developed tale.

Since the above pages were written Dr Frazer has notified the discovery

of a second African parallel, equally complete, and striking. In

_Folk-Lore_ (Vol. XXVI.) he prints, under the title _A Priest-King in

Nigeria_, a communication received from Mr P. A. Talbot, District

Commissioner in S. Nigeria. The writer states that the dominant Ju-Ju

of Elele, a town in the N.W. of the Degema district, is a Priest-King,

elected for a term of seven years. “The whole prosperity of the town,

especially the fruitfulness of farm, byre, and marriage-bed, was linked

with his life. Should he fall sick it entailed famine and grave

disaster upon the inhabitants.” So soon as a successor is appointed the

former holder of the dignity is reported to ‘die for himself.’ Previous

to the introduction of ordered government it is admitted that at any

time during his seven years’ term of office the Priest might be put to

death by any man sufficiently strong and resourceful, consequently it

is only on the rarest occasions (in fact only one such is recorded)

that the Ju-Ju ventures to leave his compound. At the same time the

riches derived from the offerings of the people are so considerable

that there is never a lack of candidates for the office.

From this and the evidence cited above it would appear that the

institution was widely spread in Africa, and at the same time it

affords a striking proof in support of the essential soundness of Dr

Frazer’s interpretation of the Priest of Nemi, an interpretation which

has been violently attacked in certain quarters, very largely on the

ground that no one would be found willing to accept an office involving

such direct danger to life. The above evidence shows clearly that not

only does such an office exist, but that it is by no means an unpopular

post.

CHAPTER VI

The Symbols

In the previous chapters we have discussed the Grail Legend from a

general, rather than a specific, point of view; _i.e._, we have

endeavoured to ascertain what was the real character of the task

imposed upon the hero, and what the nature and value of his

achievement.

We have been led to the conclusion that that achievement was, in the

first instance, of an altruistic character—it was no question of

advantages, temporal or spiritual, which should accrue to the Quester

himself, but rather of definite benefits to be won for others, the

freeing of a ruler and his land from the dire results of a punishment

which, falling upon the King, was fraught with the most disastrous

consequences for his kingdom.

We have found, further, that this close relation between the ruler and

his land, which resulted in the ill of one becoming the calamity of

all, is no mere literary invention, proceeding from the fertile

imagination of a twelfth century court poet, but a deeply rooted

popular belief, of practically immemorial antiquity and inexhaustible

vitality; we can trace it back thousands of years before the Christian

era, we find it fraught with decisions of life and death to-day.

Further, we find in that belief a tendency to express itself in certain

ceremonial practices, which retain in a greater or less degree the

character of the ritual observances of which they are the survival. Mr

E. K. Chambers, in _The Mediaeval Stage_, remarks: “If the comparative

study of Religion proves anything it is, that the traditional beliefs

and customs of the mediaeval or modern peasant are in nine cases out of

ten but the _detritus_ of heathen mythology and heathen worship,

enduring with but little external change in the shadow of a hostile

faith. This is notably true of the village festivals and their _ludi_.

Their full significance only appears when they are regarded as

fragments of forgotten cults, the naïve cults addressed by a primitive

folk to the beneficent deities of field and wood and river, or the

shadowy populace of its own dreams.”[1] We may, I think, take it that

we have established at least the possibility that in the Grail romances

we possess, in literary form, an example of the _detritus_ above

referred to, the fragmentary record of the secret ritual of a Fertility

cult.

Having reached this hypothetical conclusion, our next step must be to

examine the Symbols of this cult, the group of mysterious objects which

forms the central point of the action, a true understanding of the

nature of these objects being as essential for our success as

interpreters of the story as it was for the success of the Quester in

days of old. We must ask whether these objects, the Grail itself,

whether Cup or Dish; the Lance; the Sword; the Stone—one and all

invested with a certain atmosphere of awe, credited with strange

virtues, with sanctity itself, will harmonize with the proposed

solution, will range themselves fitly and fairly within the framework

of this hypothetical ritual.

That they should do so is a matter of capital importance; were it

otherwise the theory advanced might well, as some of my critics have

maintained, ‘never get beyond the region of ingenious speculation,’ but

it is precisely upon the fact that this theory of origin, and so far as

criticism has gone, this theory alone, does permit of a natural and

unforced interpretation of these related symbols that I rely as one of

the most convincing proofs of the correctness of my hypothesis.

Before commencing the investigation there is one point which I would

desire to emphasize, _viz._, the imperative necessity for treating the

Symbols or Talismans, call them what we will, on the same principle as

we have treated the incidents of the story, _i.e._, as a connected

whole. That they be not separated the one _from_ the other, and made

the subject of independent treatment, but that they be regarded in

their relation the one _to_ the other, and that no theory of origin be

held admissible which does not allow for that relation as a primitive

and indispensable factor. It may be the modern tendency to specialize

which is apt to blind scholars to the essential importance of regarding

their object of study as a whole, that fosters in them a habit of

focussing their attention upon that one point or incident of the story

which lends itself to treatment in their special line of study, and

which induces them to minimize, or ignore, those elements which lie

outside their particular range. But, whatever the cause, it is

indubitable that this method of ‘criticism by isolation’ has been, and

is, one of the main factors which have operated in retarding the

solution of the Grail problem.

So long as critics of the story will insist on pulling it into little

pieces, selecting one detail here, another there, for study and

elucidation, so long will the _ensemble_ result be chaotic and

unsatisfactory. We shall continue to have a number of monographs, more

or less scholarly in treatment—one dealing with the Grail as a

Food-providing talisman, and that alone; another with the Grail as a

vehicle of spiritual sustenance. One that treats of the Lance as a

Pagan weapon, and nothing more; another that regards it as a Christian

relic, and nothing less. At one moment the object of the study will be

the Fisher King, without any relation to the symbols he guards, or the

land he rules; at the next it will be the relation of the Quester to

the Fisher King, without any explanation of the tasks assigned to him

by the story. The result obtained is always quite satisfactory to the

writer, often plausible, sometimes in a measure sound, but it would

defy the skill of the most synthetic genius to co-ordinate the results

thus obtained, and combine them in one harmonious whole. They are like

pieces of a puzzle, each of which has been symmetrically cut and

trimmed, till they lie side by side, un-fitting, and un-related.

And we have been pursuing this method for over fifty years, and are

still, apparently, content to go on, each devoting attention to the

symmetrical perfection of his own little section of the puzzle, quite

indifferent to the fact that our neighbour is in possession of an

equally neatly trimmed fragment, which entirely refuses to fit in with

our own!

Is it not time that we should frankly admit the unsatisfactory results

of these years of labour, and honestly face the fact that while we now

have at our disposal an immense mass of interesting and suggestive

material often of high value, we have failed, so far, to formulate a

conclusion which, by embracing and satisfying the manifold conditions

of the problem, will command general acceptance? And if this failure be

admitted, may not its cause be sought in the faulty method which has

failed to recognize in the Grail story an original whole, in which the

parts—the action, the actors, the Symbols, the result to be obtained,

incident, and intention—stood from the very first in intimate relation

the one to the other? That while in process of utilization as a

literary theme these various parts have suffered modification and

accretion from this, or that, side, the problem of the _ultimate_

source remains thereby unaffected?

Such a reversal of method as I suggest will, I submit, not only provide

us with a critical solution capable of general acceptance, but it will

also enable us to utilize, and appreciate at their due value, the

result of researches which at the present moment appear to be mutually

destructive the one of the other. Thus, while the purely Folk-lore

interpretation of the Grail and Lance excludes the Christian origin,

and the theory of the exclusively Christian origin negatives the

Folk-lore, the pre-existence of these symbols in a popular ritual

setting would admit, indeed would invite, later accretion alike from

folk belief and ecclesiastical legend.

We are the gainers by any light that can possibly be thrown upon the

process of development of the story, but studies of the separate

symbols while they may, and do, afford valuable _data_ for determining

the character and period of certain accretions, should not be regarded

as supplying proof of the origin of the related group.

Reference to some recent studies in the Legend will make my meaning

clear. A reviewer of my small _Quest of the Holy Grail_ volume remarked

that I appeared to be ignorant of Miss Peebles’s study _The Legend of

Longinus_ “which materially strengthens the evidence for the Christian

origin.”[2] Now this is precisely what, in my view, the study in

question, which I knew and possessed, does not do. As evidence for the

fact that the Grail legend has taken over certain features derived from

the popular ‘Longinus’ story (which, incidentally, no one disputed),

the essay is, I hold, sound, and valuable; as affording material for

determining the source of the Grail story, it is, on the other hand,

entirely without value.

On the principle laid down above no theory which purports to be

explanatory of the source of one symbol can be held satisfactory in a

case where that symbol does not stand alone. We cannot accept for the

Grail story a theory of origin which concerns itself with the Lance, as

independent of the Grail. In the study referred to the author has been

at immense pains to examine the different versions of the ‘Longinus’

legend, and to trace its development in literature; in no single

instance do we find Longinus and his Lance associated with a Cup or

Vase, receptacle of the Sacred Blood.

The plain fact is that in Christian art and tradition Lance and Cup are

not associated symbols. The Lance or Spear, as an instrument of the

Passion, is found in conjunction with the Cross, Nails, Sponge, and

Crown of Thorns, (anyone familiar with the wayside Crosses of Catholic

Europe will recognize this), not with the Chalice of the Mass.[3] This

latter is associated with the Host, or _Agnus Dei_. Still less is the

Spear to be found in connection with the Grail in its Food-providing

form of a Dish.

No doubt to this, critics who share the views of Golther and Burdach

will object, “but what of the Byzantine Mass? Do we not there find a

Spear connected with the Chalice?”[4]

I very much doubt whether we do—the so-called ‘Holy Spear’ of the

Byzantine, and present Greek, liturgy is simply a small silver

spear-shaped knife, nor can I discover that it was ever anything else.

I have made careful enquiries of liturgical scholars, and consulted

editions of Oriental liturgies, but I can find no evidence that the

knife (the use of which is to divide the Loaf which, in the Oriental

rite, corresponds to the Wafer of the Occidental, in a manner

symbolically corresponding to the Wounds actually inflicted on the

Divine Victim) was ever other than what it is to-day. It seems obvious,

from the method of employment, that an actual Spear could hardly have

been used, it would have been an impossibly unwieldy instrument for the

purpose.

Nor is the ‘procession’ in which the elements are carried from the

Chapel of the Prothesis to the Sanctuary of a public character

comparable with that of the Grail castle; the actual ceremony of the

Greek Mass takes place, of course, behind a veil. A point of

considerable interest, however, is, what caused this difference in the

Byzantine liturgy? What were the influences which led to the

introduction of a feature unknown to the Western rite? If, as the

result of the evidence set forth in these pages, the ultimate origin of

the Grail story be finally accepted as deriving from a prehistoric

ritual possessing elements of extraordinary persistence and vitality,

then the _mise-en-scène_ of that story is older than the Byzantine

ritual. Students of the subject are well aware that the tradition of

ancient pre-Christian rites and ceremonies lingered on in the East long

after they had been banished by the more practical genius of the West.

It may well prove that so far from the Grail story being a reminiscence

of the Byzantine rite, that rite itself has been affected by a ritual

of which the Grail legend preserves a fragmentary record.

In my view a Christian origin for Lance and Cup, as associated symbols,

has not been made out; still less can it be postulated for Lance and

Cup as members of an extended group, including Dish, Sword, and Stone.

On this point Professor Brown’s attempt to find in Irish tradition the

origin of the Grail symbols is distinctly more satisfactory.[5]

I cannot accept as decisive the solution proposed, which seems to me to

be open to much the same criticism as that which would find in the

Lance the Lance of Longinus—both are occupied with details, rather than

with _ensemble;_ both would find their justification as offering

evidence of accretion, rather than of origin; neither can provide us

with the required _mise-en-scène_.

But Professor Brown’s theory is the more sound in that he is really

dealing with a group of associated symbols; in his view Lance and Grail

alike belong to the treasures of the Tuatha de Danann (that legendary

race of Irish ancestors, who were at once gods and kings), and

therefore _ab initio_ belong together. But while I should, on the

whole, accept the affiliation of the two groups, and believe that the

treasures of the Tuatha de Danann really correspond to the symbols

displayed in the hall of the Grail castle, I cannot consider that the

one is the origin of the other. There is one very fundamental

difference, the importance of which I cannot ignore, but which, I

believe, has hitherto escaped Professor Brown’s attention.

The object corresponding to the Grail itself is the cauldron of the

Dagda, “No company ever went from it unthankful” (or ‘unsatisfied’).[6]

Now this can in no sense be considered as a Cup, or Vase, nor is it the

true parallel to a Dish. The connection with the Grail is to be found

solely and exclusively in the food-providing properties ascribed to

both. But even here the position is radically different; the impression

we derive from the Irish text and its analogous parallels is that of

size (it is also called a ‘tub’), and inexhaustible content, it is a

cauldron of plenty.[7] Now, neither of these qualities can be

postulated of the Grail; whatever its form, Cup or Dish, it can easily

be borne (in uplifted hands, _entre ses mains hautement porte_) by a

maiden, which certainly could not be postulated of a cauldron! Nor is

there any proof that the Vessel itself contained the food with which

the folk of the Grail castle were regaled; the texts rather point to

the conclusion that the appearance of the Grail synchronized with a

mysterious supply of food of a choice and varied character. There is

never any hint that the folk feed _from the Grail;_ the only suggestion

of such feeding is in the ‘Oiste,’ by which the father of the Fisher

King (or the King himself) is nourished.

In certain texts the separation of the two is clearly brought out; in

_Joseph of Arimathea_, for instance, the Fish caught by Brons is to be

placed at one end of the table, the Grail at the other. In Gawain’s

adventure at the Grail castle, in the prose _Lancelot_, as the Grail is

carried through the hall “forthwith were the tables replenished with

the choicest meats in the world,” but the table before Gawain remains

void and bare.[8] I submit that while the Grail is in certain phases a

food-supplying talisman it is not one of the same character as the

cauldrons of plenty; also while the food supply of these latter has the

marked characteristic of _quantity_, that of the Grail is remarkable

rather for _quality_, its choice character is always insisted upon.

The perusal of Professor Brown’s subsequent study, _Notes on Celtic

Cauldrons of Plenty and The Land-Beneath-the-Waves_, has confirmed me

in my view that these special objects belong to another line of

tradition altogether; that which deals with an inexhaustible submarine

source of life, examples of which will be found in the ‘Sampo’ of the

Finnish _Kalewala_, and the ever-grinding mills of popular

folk-tale.[9] The fundamental idea here seems to be that of the origin

of all Life from Water, a very ancient idea, but one which, though akin

to the Grail tradition, is yet quite distinct therefrom. The study of

this special theme would, I believe, produce valuable results.[10]

On the whole, I am of the opinion that the treasures of the Tuatha de

Danann and the symbols of the Grail castle go back to a common

original, but that they have developed on different lines; in the

process of this development one ‘Life’ symbol has been exchanged for

another.

But Lance and Cup (or Vase) were in truth connected together in a

symbolic relation long ages before the institution of Christianity, or

the birth of Celtic tradition. They are sex symbols of immemorial

antiquity and world-wide diffusion, the Lance, or Spear, representing

the Male, the Cup, or Vase, the Female, reproductive energy.[12]

Found in juxtaposition, the Spear upright in the Vase, as in the

_Bleheris_ and _Balin_ (both, be it noted, _Gawain_) forms, their

signification is admitted by all familiar with ‘Life’ symbolism, and

they are absolutely in place as forming part of a ritual dealing with

the processes of life and reproductive vitality.[13]

A most remarkable and significant use of these symbols is found in the

ceremonies of the Samurai, the noble warrior caste of Japan. The

aspirant was (I am told still is) admitted into the caste at the age of

fourteen, when he was given over to the care of a guardian at least

fifteen years his senior, to whom he took an oath of obedience, which

was sworn upon the Spear. He remained celibate during the period

covered by the oath. When the Samurai was held to have attained the

degree of responsibility which would fit him for the full duties of a

citizen, a second solemn ceremony was held, at which he was released

from his previous vows, and presented with the Cup; he was henceforth

free to marry, but intercourse with women previous to this ceremony was

at one time punishable with death.[14]

That Lance and Cup are, _outside_ the Grail story, ‘Life’ symbols, and

have been such from time immemorial, is a fact; why, then should they

not retain that character _inside_ the framework of that story? An

acceptance of this interpretation will not only be in harmony with the

general _mise-en-scène_, but it will also explain finally and

satisfactorily, (_a_) the dominant position frequently assigned to the

Lance; (_b_) the fact that, while the Lance is borne in procession by a

youth, the Grail is carried by a maiden—the sex of the bearer

corresponds with the symbol borne.[15]

But Lance and Cup, though the most prominent of the Symbols, do not

always appear alone, but are associated with other objects, the

significance of which is not always apparent. Thus the Dish, which is

sometimes the form assumed by the Grail itself, at other times appears

as a _tailléor_, or carving platter of silver, carried in the same

procession as the Grail; or there may be two small _tailléors;_

finally, a Sword appears in varying _rôles_ in the story.

I have already referred to the fact, first pointed out by the late Mr

Alfred Nutt,[16] that the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danann

correspond generally with the group of symbols found in the Grail

romances; this correspondence becomes the more interesting in view of

the fact that these mysterious Beings are now recognized as alike

Demons of Fertility and Lords of Life. As Mr Nutt subsequently pointed

out, the ‘Treasures’ may well be, Sword and Cauldron certainly are,

‘Life’ symbols.

Of direct connection between these Celtic objects and the Grail story

there is no trace; as remarked above, we have no Irish Folk or Hero

tale at all corresponding to the Legend; the relation must, therefore,

go back beyond the date of formation of these tales, _i.e._, it must be

considered as one of origin rather than of dependence.

But we have further evidence that these four objects do, in fact, form

a special group entirely independent of any appearance in Folk-lore or

Romance. They exist to-day as the four suits of the Tarot.

Students of the Grail texts, whose attention is mainly occupied with

Medieval Literature, may not be familiar with the word Tarot, or aware

of its meaning. It is the name given to a pack of cards, seventy-eight

in number, of which twenty-two are designated as the ‘Keys.’

These cards are divided into four suits, which correspond with those of

the ordinary cards; they are:

Cup (Chalice, or Goblet)—Hearts.

Lance (Wand, or Sceptre)—Diamonds.

Sword—Spades.

Dish (Circles, or Pentangles, the form varies)—Clubs.

To-day the Tarot has fallen somewhat into disrepute, being principally

used for purposes of divination, but its origin, and precise relation

to our present playing-cards, are questions of considerable antiquarian

interest. Were these cards the direct parents of our modern pack, or

are they entirely distinct therefrom?[17]

Some writers are disposed to assign a very high antiquity to the Tarot.

Traditionally, it is said to have been brought from Egypt; there is no

doubt that parallel designs and combinations are to be found in the

surviving decorations of Egyptian temples, notably in the astronomic

designs on the ceiling of one of the halls of the palace of Medinet

Abou, which is supported on twenty-two columns (a number corresponding

to the ‘keys’ of the Tarot), and also repeated in a calendar sculptured

on the southern façade of the same building, under a sovereign of the

XXIII dynasty. This calendar is supposed to have been connected with

the periodic rise and fall of the waters of the Nile.[18]

The Tarot has also been connected with an ancient Chinese monument,

traditionally erected in commemoration of the drying up of the waters

of the Deluge by Yao. The face of this monument is divided up into

small sections corresponding in size and number with the cards of the

Tarot, and bearing characters which have, so far, not been deciphered.

What is certain is that these cards are used to-day by the Gipsies for

purposes of divination, and the opinion of those who have studied the

subject is that there is some real ground for the popular tradition

that they were introduced into Europe by this mysterious people.

In a very interesting article on the subject in _The Journal of the

Gipsy-Lore Society_,[19] Mr De la Hoste Ranking examines closely into

the figures depicted on the various cards, and the names attached to

the suits by the Gipsies. He comes to the conclusion that many of the

words are of Sanskrit, or Hindustani, origin, and sums up the result of

the internal evidence as follows: “The Tarot was introduced by a race

speaking an Indian dialect. The figure known as ‘The Pope’ shows the

influence of the Orthodox Eastern Faith; he is bearded, and carries the

Triple Cross. The card called ‘The King’ represents a figure with the

head-dress of a Russian Grand-Duke, and a shield bearing the Polish

eagle. Thus the people who used the Tarot must have been familiar with

a country where the Orthodox Faith prevailed, and which was ruled by

princes of the status of Grand-Dukes. The general result seems to point

to a genuine basis for the belief that the Tarot was introduced into

Europe from the East.”

As regards the group of symbols in general, Mr W. B. Yeats, whose

practical acquaintance with Medieval and Modern Magic is well known,

writes: “(1) Cup, Lance, Dish, Sword, in slightly varying forms, have

never lost their mystic significance, and are to-day a part of magical

operations. (2) The memory kept by the four suits of the Tarot, Cup,

Lance, Sword, Pentangle (Dish), is an esoterical notation for

fortune-telling purposes.”[20]

But if the connection with the Egyptian and Chinese monuments, referred

to above, is genuine, the original use of the ‘Tarot’ would seem to

have been, not to foretell the Future in general, but to predict the

rise and fall of the waters which brought fertility to the land.

Such use would bring the ‘Suits’ into line with the analogous symbols

of the Grail castle and the treasures of the Tuatha de Danann, both of

which we have seen to be connected with the embodiment of the

reproductive forces of Nature.

If it is difficult to establish a direct connection between these two

latter, it is practically impossible to argue any connection between

either group and the ‘Tarot’; no one has as yet ventured to suggest the

popularity of the works of Chrétien de Troyes among the Gipsies! Yet

the correspondence can hardly be fortuitous. I would suggest that,

while Lance and Cup, in their associated form, are primarily symbols of

Human Life energy, in conjunction with others they formed a group of

‘Fertility’ symbols, connected with a very ancient ritual, of which

fragmentary survivals alone have been preserved to us.

This view will, I believe, receive support from the evidence of the

ceremonial Dances which formed so important a part of ‘Fertility’

ritual, and which survive in so many places to this day. If we find

these symbols reappearing as a part of these dances, their real

significance can hardly be disputed.

CHAPTER VII

The Sword Dance

The subject we are now about to consider is one which of late years has

attracted considerable attention, and much acute criticism has been

expended on the question of its origin and significance. Valuable

material has been collected, but the studies, so far, have been

individual, and independent, the much needed _travail d’ensemble_ has

not yet appeared.

One definite result has, however, been obtained; it is now generally

admitted that the so-called Sword Dances, with the closely related

Morris Dances, and Mumming Plays, are not mere survivals of martial

exercises, an inherited tradition from our warrior ancestors, but were

solemn, ceremonial (in some cases there is reason to believe,

Initiatory) dances, performed at stated seasons of the year, and

directly and intimately connected with the ritual of which we have

treated in previous chapters, a ritual designed to preserve and promote

the regular and ordered sequence of the processes of Nature. And here,

again, our enquiry must begin with the very earliest records of our

race, with the traditions of our Aryan forefathers.

The earliest recorded Sword Dancers are undoubtedly the Maruts, those

swift-footed youths in gleaming armour who are the faithful attendants

on the great god, Indra. Professor von Schroeder, in _Mysterium und

Mimus_, describes them thus:[1] they are a group of youths of equal age

and identical parentage, they are always depicted as attired in the

same manner, “Sie sind reich und prächtig geschmückt, mit Goldschmuck

auf der Brust, mit Spangen an den Händen, Hirschfelle tragen sie auf

den Schultern. Vor allem aber sind sie kriegerisch gerüstet, funkelnde

Speere tragen sie in den Händen, oder auch goldene Äxte. Goldene

Harnische oder Mäntel umhüllen sie, goldene Helme schimmern auf ihren

Häuptern. Nie erscheinen sie ohne Wehr und Waffen. Es scheint dass

diese ganz und gar zu ihren Wesen gehören.”

The writer goes on to remark that when such a band of armed youths, all

of the same age, always closely associated with each other, are

represented as Dancers, and always as Dancers—“dann haben wir

unabweislich das Bild eines Waffentanzes vor unseren Augen”—and

Professor von Schroeder is undoubtedly right.

Constantly throughout the _Rig-Veda_ the Maruts are referred to as

Dancers, “gold-bedecked Dancers,” “with songs of praise they danced

round the spring,” “When ye Maruts spear-armed dance, they (_i.e._, the

Heavens) stream together like waves of water.”[2]

And a special moment for the dance of these glorious youths “ever young

brothers of whom none is elder, none younger”[3] is that of the

ceremonial sacrifice, “sie tanzen auf ihren himmlischen Bahnen, sie

springen und tanzen auch bei den Opferfesten der Menschen.”[4]

The Maruts, as said above, were conceived of as the companions of

Indra, and helpers in his fight against his monstrous adversaries; thus

they were included in the sacrifices offered in honour of that Deity.

One of the most striking of the ritual Dramas reconstructed by

Professor von Schroeder is that which represents Indra as indignantly

rejecting the claim of the Maruts to share in such a sacrifice; they

had failed to support him in his conflict with the dragon, Vritra, when

by his might he loosed the waters, ‘neither to-day, nor to-morrow’ will

he accept a sacrifice of which they share the honour; it requires all

the tact of the Offerer, Agastya, and of the leader of the Maruts to

soothe the offended Deity.[5]

Here I would draw attention to the significant fact that the feat

celebrated is that to which I have previously referred as the most

famous of all the deeds attributed to Indra, the ‘Freeing of the

Waters,’ and here the Maruts are associated with the god.

But they were also the objects of independent worship. They were

specially honoured at the Câturmâsya, the feasts which heralded the

commencement of the three seasons of four months each into which the

Indian year was divided, a division corresponding respectively to the

hot, the cool, and the wet, season. The advantages to be derived from

the worship of the Maruts may be deduced from the following extracts

from the _Rig-Veda_, which devotes more than thirty hymns to their

praise. “The adorable Maruts, armed with bright lances, and cuirassed

with golden breastplates, enjoy vigorous existence; may the cars of the

quick-moving Maruts arrive for our good.” “Bringers of rain and

fertility, shedding water, augmenting food.” “Givers of abundant food.”

“Your milchkine are never dry.” “We invoke the food-laden chariots of

the Maruts.”[6] Nothing can be clearer than this; the Maruts are

‘daimons’ of fertility, the worship of whom will secure the necessary

supply of the fruits of the earth.

The close association of the Maruts with Indra, the great Nature god,

has led some scholars to regard them as personifications of a special

manifestation of Nature, as Wind-gods. Professor von Schroeder points

out that their father was the god Rudra, later known as Çiva, the god

of departed souls, and of fruitfulness, _i.e._, a Chthonian deity, and

suggests that the Maruts represent the “in Wind und Sturm dahinjagende

Seelenschar.”[7] He points out that the belief in a troop of departed

souls is an integral part of Aryan tradition, and classifies such

belief under four main headings.

1. Under the form of a spectral Hunt, the Wild Huntsman well known in

European Folk-lore. He equates this with Dionysus Zagreus, and the Hunt

of Artemis-Hekate.

2. That of a spectral Army, the souls of warriors slain in fight. The

Northern _Einherier_ belong to this class, and the many traditions of

spectral combats, and ghostly battles, heard, but not seen.

3. The conception of a host of women in a condition of ecstatic

exaltation bordering on madness, who appear girdled with snakes, or

hissing like snakes, tear living animals to pieces, and devour the

flesh. The classic examples here are the Greek Maenads, and the Indian

Senâs, who accompany Rudra.

4. The conception of a train of theriomorphic, phallic, demons of

fertility, with their companion group of fair women. Such are the

Satyrs and Nymphs of Greek, the Gandharvas and Apsaras of Indian,

Mythology.

To these four main groups may be added the belief among Germanic

peoples, also among the Letts, in a troop of Child Souls.

These four groups, in more or less modified forms, appear closely

connected with the dominant Spirit of Vegetation, by whatever name that

spirit may be known.

According to von Schroeder there was, among the Aryan peoples

generally, a tendency to regard the dead as assuming the character of

daimons of fertility. This view the learned Professor considers to be

at the root of the annual celebrations in honour of the Departed, the

‘Feast of Souls,’ which characterized the commencement of the winter

season, and is retained in the Catholic conception of November as the

month of the Dead.[8]

In any case we may safely conclude that the Maruts, represented as

armed youths, were worshipped as deities of fruitfulness; that their

dances were of a ceremonial character; and that they were, by nature

and origin, closely connected with spirits of fertility of a lower

order, such as the Gandharvas. It also appears probable that, if the

Dramas of which traces have been preserved in the _Rig-Veda_, were, as

scholars are now of opinion, once actually represented, the

mythological conception of the Maruts must have found its embodiment in

youths, most probably of the priestly caste, who played their _rôle_,

and actually danced the ceremonial Sword Dance. As von Schroeder says,

“Kein Zweifel dass sie dabei von menschlichen, resp. priesterlichen

Personen dargestellt wurden.[9]

When we turn from the early Aryan to the classic Greek period we find

in the Kouretes, and in a minor degree in the Korybantes, a parallel so

extraordinarily complete, alike in action and significance, that an

essential identity of origin appears to be beyond doubt.

The Kouretes were, as their name indicates, a band of armed youths, of

semi-divine origin, “Kureten sind von Haus aus halb-göttlich dämonische

Wesen nicht nur menschliche Priester, oder deren mythische

Vertreter.”[10] Again, they are to be considered as “elementare

Urwesen,” and as such of “Göttliche Abkunft.”[11] Preller regards them

as “Dämonen des Gebirgs,”[12] while a passage from Hesiod, quoted by

Strabo, equates them with nymphs and satyrs, _i.e._, fertility

demons.[13]

When we remember that the Gandharvas are the Indian equivalent of the

Satyrs the close parallel between the Maruts and the Kouretes, both

alike bands of armed youths, of elementary origin, and connected with

beings of a lower grade, is striking.

The home of the Kouretes was in Crete, where they were closely

associated with the worship of the goddess Rhea. The traditional story

held that, in order to preserve the infant Zeus from destruction by his

father Kronos, they danced their famous Sword Dance round the babe,

overpowering his cries by the clash of their weapons.

Their dance was by some writers identified with the Pyrrhic dance,

first performed by Athene, in honour of her victory over the Giants,

and taught by her to the Kouretes. It had however, as we shall see, a

very distinct aim and purpose, and one in no way connected with warlike

ends.

In Miss J. E. Harrison’s deeply interesting volume, _Themis_,[14] she

gives the translation of a fragmentary _Hymn of the Kouretes_,

discovered among the ruins of a temple in Crete, a text which places

beyond all doubt the fact that, however mythical in origin, the

Kouretes, certainly, had actual human representatives, and that while

in the case of the Maruts there may be a question as to whether their

dance actually took place, or not, so far as the Kouretes are concerned

there can be no such doubt.

The following is the text as preserved to us; the slabs on which it is

inscribed are broken, and there are consequent lacunae.

“Io, Kouros most great, I give thee hail, Kronian, lord of all that is

wet and gleaming, thou art come at the head of thy Daimones. To Dikte

for the year, Oh march, and rejoice in the dance and song,

“That we make to thee with harps and pipes mingled together, and sing

as we come to a stand at thy well-fenced altar.

“Io, &c.

“For here the shielded Nurturers took thee, a child immortal, from

Rhea, and with noise of beating feet hid thee away.

“Io, &c.

“And the Horai began to be fruitful year by year, and Dikè to possess

mankind and all wild living things were held about by wealth-loving

Peace.

“Io, &c.

“And the Horai began to be fruitful year by year, and Dikè to possess

mankind and all wild living things were held about by wealth-loving

Peace.

“Io, &c.

“To us also leap for full jars, and leap for fleecy flocks, and leap

for fields of fruit, and for hives to bring increase.

“Io, &c.

“Leap for our cities, and leap for our sea-borne ships, and leap for

our young citizens, and for goodly Themis.”

This hymn is most extraordinarily interesting; it places beyond all

doubt what was the root intention of this ceremonial dance; it was

designed to stimulate the reproductive energies of Nature, to bring

into being fruitful fields, and vineyards, plenteous increase in the

flocks and herds, and to people the cities with youthful citizens; and

the god is entreated not merely to accept the worship offered, but

himself to join in the action which shall produce such fair results, to

leap for full jars, and fleecy flocks, and for youthful citizens.

The importance of movement, notably of what we may call group movement,

as a stimulant to natural energies, is thoroughly recognized among

primitive peoples; with them Dance holds a position equivalent to that

which, in more advanced communities, is assigned to Prayer. Professor

von Schroeder comments on this, “Es ist merkwürdig genug zu sehen wie

das Tanzen nach dem Glauben primitiver Völker eine ähnliche Kraft und

Bedeutung zu haben scheint wie man sie auf höheren Kulturstufen dem

inbrünstigen Gebete zuschreibt.”[15] He cites the case of the

Tarahumara Indians of Central America; while the family as a whole are

labouring in the fields it is the office of one man to dance

uninterruptedly on the dance place of the house; if he fails in his

office the labour of the others will be unsuccessful. The one sin of

which a Tarahumara Indian is conscious is that of not having danced

enough. Miss Harrison, in commenting on the dance of the Kouretes,

remarks that among certain savage tribes when a man is too old to dance

he hands on his dance to another. He then ceases to exist socially;

when he dies his funeral is celebrated with scanty rites; having ‘lost

his dance’ he has ceased to count as a social unit.[16]

With regard to the connection of the Kouretes with the infant Zeus,

Miss Harrison makes the interesting suggestion that we have here a

trace of an Initiation Dance, analogous to those discussed by M. Van

Gennep in his _Rites du Passage_, that the original form was Tităns,

‘White-clay men,’ which later became Titāns, ‘Giants,’ and she draws

attention to the fact that daubing the skin with white clay is a

frequent practice in these primitive rituals. To this I would add that

it is a noteworthy fact that in our modern survivals of these dances

the performers are, as a rule, dressed in white.

The above suggestion is of extreme significance, as it brings out the

possibility that these celebrations were not only concerned with the

prosperity of the community, as a whole, but may also have borne a

special, and individual, aspect, and that the idea of Initiation into

the group is closely connected with the ceremonial exercise of group

functions.

To sum up, there is direct proof that the classic Greeks, in common

with their Aryan forefathers, held the conception of a group of Beings,

of mythic origin, represented under the form of armed youths, who were

noted dancers, and whose activities were closely connected with the

processes of Nature. They recognized a relation between these beings,

and others of a less highly developed aspect, phallic demons, often of

theriomorphic form. Thus the dance of the Kouretes should be considered

as a ceremonial ritual action, rather than as a warlike exercise; it

was designed to promote the fruitfulness of the earth, not to display

the skill of the dancers in the handling of weapons. When we turn to an

analogous group, that of the Korybantes, we find that, while presenting

a general parallel to the Kouretes (with whom they are often coupled in

mythologies), they also possess certain distinct characteristics, which

form a connecting link with other, and later, groups.

The Korybantes were of Phrygian origin, attached to the worship of the

goddess Kybele, and Attis, the well-known Phrygian counterpart to the

Phoenician Adonis, and originally the most important embodiment of the

Vegetation Spirit. Röscher considers them to be of identical origin

with the Kouretes, _i.e._, as elementary ‘daimons,’ but the Korybantes

of Classic art and tradition are undoubtedly human beings. Priests of

Kybele, they appear in surviving bas-reliefs in company with that

goddess, and with Attis.

The dance of the Korybantes is distinguished from that of the Kouretes

by its less restrained, and more orgiastic character; it was a wild and

whirling dance resembling that of the modern Dervishes, accompanied by

self-mutilation and an unrhythmic clashing of weapons, designed, some

writers think, to overpower the cries of the victims.

If this suggestion be correct it would seem to indicate that, if the

Dance of the Kouretes was originally an Initiation Dance, that of the

Korybantes was Sacrificial in character. We shall see later that

certain features in the surviving forms of the Sword Dance also point

in this direction.

The interest of the Korybantes for our investigation lies in the fact

that here again we have the Sword Dance in close and intimate

connection with the worship of the Vegetation Spirit, and there can be

no doubt that here, as elsewhere, it was held to possess a stimulating

virtue.

A noticeable point in the modern survivals of these Dances is that the

Dance proper is combined with a more or less coherent dramatic action.

The Sword Dance originally did not stand alone, but formed part of a

Drama, to the action of which it may be held to have given a cumulative

force.

On this point I would refer the reader to Professor von Schroeder’s

book, where this aspect of the Dance is fully discussed.[17]

We have already spoken of the Maruts, and their dramatic connection

with Indra; the Greek Dancers offer us no direct parallel, though the

connection of the Kouretes with the infant Zeus may quite possibly

indicate the existence in the original form of the Dance, of a more

distinctly dramatic element.

We have, however, in the Roman Salii a connecting link which proves

beyond all doubt that our modern dances, and analogous representations,

are in fact genuine survivals of primitive ceremonies, and in no way a

mere fortuitous combination of originally independent elements.

The Salii formed a college of priests, twelve in number, dedicated to

the service of Mars, who, it is important to remember, was originally a

god of growth and vegetation, a Spring Deity, who bestowed his name on

the vernal month of March; only by degrees did the activities of the

god become specially connected with the domain of War.[18]

There seem to have been two groups of Salii, one having their college

on the Palatine, the other on the Quirinal; the first were the more

important. The Quirinal group shared in the celebrations of the latter

part of the month only.

The first of March was the traditional birthday of Mars, and from that

date, during the whole of the month, the Salii offered sacrifices and

performed dances in his honour. They wore pointed caps, or helmets, on

their head, were girt with swords, and carried on the left arm shields,

copied from the ‘ancilia’ or traditional shield of Mars, fabled to have

fallen from heaven. In their right hand they bore a small lance.

Dionysus of Halicarnassus, in a passage describing the Salii, says,

“they carried in their right hand a spear, or staff, or something of

that sort.” Miss Harrison, quoting this passage, gives a reproduction

of a bas-relief representing the Salii carrying what she says “are

clearly drumsticks.” (As a matter of fact they very closely resemble

the ‘Wands’ which in the Tarot cards sometimes represent the ‘Lance’

suit.)

Miss Harrison suggests that the original shields were made of skins,

stretched upon a frame, and beaten by these ‘drumsticks.’ This may

quite well have been the case, and it would bear out my contention that

the original contact of weapon and shield was designed rather as a

rhythmic accompaniment to the Dance, than as a display of skill in

handling sword and lance, _i.e._, that these dances were not primarily

warlike exercises.

At the conclusion of their songs the Salii invoked Mamurius Veturius,

the smith who was fabled to have executed the copies of the original

shield, while on the 14th of March, a man, dressed in skins, and

supposed to represent the aforesaid smith, was led through the streets,

beaten by the Salii with rods, and thrust out of the city.

The following day, the 15th, was the feast of Anna Perenna, fabled to

be an old woman, to whom Mars had confided the tale of his love for

Nerio, and who, disguising herself as the maiden, had gone through the

ceremony of marriage with the god. This feast was held outside the

gates. On the 23rd the combined feast of Mars and Nerio was held with

great rejoicing throughout the city. Modern scholars have unanimously

recognized in Mamurius Veturius and Anna Perenna the representatives of

the Old Year, the Vegetation Spirit, and his female counterpart, who,

grown old, must yield place to the young god and his correspondingly

youthful bride. Reference to Chapter 5, where the medieval and modern

forms of this Nature ritual are discussed, and instances of the

carrying out of Winter, and ceremonial bringing in of Spring, are

given, will suffice to show how vital and enduring an element in

Folk-lore is this idea of driving out the Old Year, while celebrating

the birth of the New. Here then, again, we have a ritual Sword Dance

closely associated with the practice of a Nature cult; there can, I

think, be no doubt that _ab initio_ the two were connected with each

other.

But the dance of the Salii with its dramatic Folk-play features forms

an interesting link between the classic Dance of the Kouretes, and the

modern English survivals, in which the dramatic element is strongly

marked. These English forms may be divided into three related groups,

the Sword Dance, the Morris Dance, and the Mumming Play. Of these the

Morris Dance stands somewhat apart; of identical origin, it has

discarded the dramatic element, and now survives simply as a Dance,

whereas the Sword Dance is always dramatic in form, and the Mumming

Play, acted by characters appearing also in the Sword Dance, invariably

contains a more or less elaborate fight.[19]

The Sword Dance proper appears to have been preserved mostly in the

North of England, and in Scotland. Mr Cecil Sharp has found four

distinct varieties in Yorkshire alone. At one time there existed a

special variant known as the _Giants’ Dance_, in which the leading

characters were known by the names of Wotan, and Frau Frigg; one figure

of this dance consisted in making a ring of swords round the neck of a

lad, without wounding him.

Mr E. K. Chambers has commented on this as the survival of a

sacrificial origin.[20] The remarks of this writer on the Sword Dance

in its dramatic aspect are so much to the point that I quote them here.

“The Sword Dance makes its appearance, not like heroic poetry in

general, as part of the minstrel repertory, but as a purely popular

thing at the agricultural festivals. To these festivals we may

therefore suppose it to have originally belonged.” Mr Chambers goes on

to remark that the dance of the Salii discussed above, was clearly

agricultural, “and belongs to Mars not as War god, but in his more

primitive quality of a fertilization Spirit.”

In an Appendix to his most valuable book the same writer gives a full

description, with text, of the most famous surviving form of the Sword

Dance, that of Papa Stour (old Norwegian _Pâpey in Stôra_), one of the

Shetland Islands.

The dance was performed at Christmas (Yule-tide). The dancers, seven in

number, represented the seven champions of Christendom; the leader,

Saint George, after an introductory speech, performed a solo dance, to

the music of an accompanying minstrel. He then presented his comrades,

one by one, each in turn going through the same performance. Finally

the seven together performed an elaborate dance. The complete text of

the speeches is given in the Appendix referred to.[21]

The close connection between the English Sword Dance, and the Mumming

Play, is indicated by the fact that the chief character in these plays

is, generally speaking, Saint George. (The title has in some cases

become corrupted into _King_ George.) In Professor von Schroeder’s

opinion this is due to Saint George’s legendary _rôle_ as Dragon

slayer, and he sees in the importance assigned to this hero an argument

in favour of his theory that the “Slaying of the Dragon” was the

earliest Aryan Folk-Drama.

In _Folk-Lore_, Vol. X., a fully illustrated description of the Mumming

Play, as performed at Newbold, a village near Rugby, is given.[22] Here

the characters are Father Christmas, Saint George, a Turkish Knight,

Doctor, Moll Finney (mother of the Knight), Humpty Jack, Beelzebub, and

‘Big-Head-and-Little-Wit.’ These last three have no share in the action

proper, but appear in a kind of Epilogue, accompanying a collection

made by Beelzebub.

The Play is always performed at Christmas time, consequently Father

Christmas appears as stage-manager, and introduces the characters. The

action consists in a general challenge issued by Saint George, and

accepted by the Turkish Knight. A combat follows, in which the Turk is

slain. His mother rushes in, weeps over the body, and demands the

services of a Doctor, who appears accordingly, vaunts his skill in

lines interspersed with unintelligible gibberish, and restores the Turk

to life. In the version which used to be played throughout Scotland at

Hogmanay (New-Year-tide), the characters are Bol Bendo, the King of

France, the King of Spain, Doctor Beelzebub, Golishan, and Sir

Alexander.[23] The fight is between Bol Bendo (who represents the Saint

George of the English version), and Golishan. The latter is killed,

and, on the demand of Sir Alexander (who acts as stage-manager),

revived by the doctor, this character, as in the English version,

interlarding the recital of his feats of healing skill with

unintelligible phrases.[24] There is a general consensus of opinion

among Folk-lore authorities that in this rough drama, which we find

played in slightly modified form all over Europe (in Scandinavia it is

the Julbock, a man dressed in skins, who, after a dramatic dance, is

killed and revived),[25] we have a symbolic representation of the death

and re-birth of the year; a counterpart to those ceremonies of driving

out Winter, and bringing in Spring, which we have already described.

This chapter had already been written when an important article, by Dr

Jevons, entitled _Masks and the Origin of the Greek Drama_ appeared in

_Folk-Lore_ (Vol. XXVII.) The author, having discussed the different

forms of Greek Drama, and the variety of masks employed, decides that

“Greek Comedy originated in Harvest Festivals, in some ceremony in

which the Harvesters went about in procession wearing masks.” This

ceremony he connects directly with the English Mumming Plays,

suggesting that “the characters represented on this occasion were the

Vegetation Spirit, and those who were concerned in bringing about his

revivification—in fine, Greek Comedy and the Mumming Play both sprang

from the rite of revivification.” At a later stage of our enquiry we

shall have occasion to return to this point, and realize its great

importance for our theory.

The Morris Dances differ somewhat from the Sword, and Mumming Dances.

The performances as a rule take place in the Spring, or early Summer,

chiefly May, and Whitsuntide. The dances retain little or no trace of

dramatic action but are dances pure and simple. The performers,

generally six in number, are attired in white elaborately-pleated

shirts, decked with ribbons, white mole-skin trousers, with bells at

the knee, and beaver hats adorned with ribbons and flowers. The leader

carries a sword, on the point of which is generally impaled a cake;

during the dancing slices of this cake are distributed to the lookers

on, who are supposed to make a contribution to the ‘Treasury,’ a

money-box carried by an individual called the Squire, or Clown, dressed

in motley, and bearing in the other hand a stick with a bladder at one

end, and a cow’s tail at the other.

In some forms of the dance there is a ‘Lord’ and a ‘Lady,’ who carry

‘Maces’ of office; these maces are short staves, with a transverse

piece at the top, and a hoop over it. The whole is decorated with

ribbons and flowers, and bears a curious resemblance to the _Crux

Ansata_.[26] In certain figures of the dance the performers carry

handkerchiefs, in others, wands, painted with the colours of the

village to which they belong; the dances are always more or less

elaborate in form.

The costume of the ‘Clown’ (an animal’s skin, or cap of skin with tail

pendant) and the special character assumed by the Maytide celebrations

in certain parts of England, _e.g._, Cornwall and Staffordshire,[27]

would seem to indicate that, while the English Morris Dance has dropped

the dramatic action, the dancers not being designated by name, and

playing no special _rôle_, it has, on the other hand, retained the

theriomorphic features so closely associated with Aryan ritual, which

the Sword Dance, and Mumming Play, on their side, have lost.[28]

A special note of these English survivals, and one to which I would now

draw attention, is the very elaborate character of the figures, and the

existence of a distinct symbolic element. I am informed that the Sword

dancers of to-day always, at the conclusion of a series of elaborate

sword-lacing figures, form the Pentangle; as they hold up the sign they

cry, triumphantly, “_A Nut! A Nut!_” The word _Nut_=_Knot_ (as in the

game of ‘_Nuts_, _i.e._, breast-knots, nosegays, _in May_’). They do

this often even when performing a later form of the Mumming Play.

I have already drawn attention to the fact that in _Gawain and the

Green Knight_ the hero’s badge is the Pentangle (or Pentacle), there

explained as called by the English ‘the Endless Knot.’[29] In the

previous chapter I have noted that the Pentangle frequently in the

Tarot suits replaces the Dish; in Mr Yeats’s remarks, cited above, the

two are held to be interchangeable, one or the other always forms one

of the group of symbols.

In one form of the Morris Dance, that performed in Berkshire, the

leader, or ‘Squire’ of the Morris carries a Chalice! At the same time

he bears a Sword, and a bull’s head at the end of a long pole. This

figure is illustrated in Miss Mary Neal’s _Esperance Morris Book_.[30]

Thus our English survivals of these early Vegetation ceremonies

preserve, in a more or less detached form, the four symbols discussed

in the preceding chapter, Grail, Sword, Lance, and Pentangle, or Dish.

It seems to me that, in view of the evidence thus offered, it is not a

very hazardous, or far-fetched hypothesis to suggest that these

symbols, the exact value of which, as a group, we cannot clearly

determine, but of which we know the two most prominent, Cup and Lance,

to be sex symbols, were originally ‘Fertility’ emblems, and as such

employed in a ritual designed to promote, or restore, the activity of

the reproductive energies of Nature.

As I have pointed out above an obvious dislocation has taken place in

our English survivals. Sword Dance, Mumming Play, and Morris Dance, no

longer form part of one ceremony, but have become separated, and

connected, on the one hand with the Winter, on the other with the early

Summer, Nature celebrations; it is thus not surprising that the symbols

should also have become detached. The fact that the three groups

manifestly form part of an original whole is an argument in favour of

the view that at one moment all the symbols were used together, and the

Grail chalice carried in a ceremony in which Sword, Lance, and

Pentangle, were also displayed.

But there is another point I would suggest. Is it not possible that, in

these armed youths, who were in some cases, notably in that of the

Salii, at once warriors and priests, we have the real origin of the

Grail Knights? We know now, absolutely, and indubitably, that these

Sword Dances formed an important part of the Vegetation ritual; is it

not easily within the bounds of possibility that, as the general

ceremonial became elevated, first to the rank of a Mystery Cult, and

then used as a vehicle for symbolic Christian teaching, the figures of

the attendant warrior-priests underwent a corresponding change? From

Salii to Templars is not after all so ‘far a cry’ as from the

glittering golden-armed Maruts, and the youthful leaping Kouretes, to

the grotesque tatterdemalion personages of the Christmas Mumming Play.

We have learnt to acknowledge the common origin of these two latter

groups; may we not reasonably contemplate a possible relation existing

between the two first named?

CHAPTER VIII

The Medicine Man

In previous chapters I have referred to the part played by the Doctor

in a large number of the surviving ‘Fertility’ ceremonies, and to the

fact, noted by other writers, that even where an active share is no

longer assigned to the character, he still appears among the _dramatis

personae_ of these Folk-plays and processions.[1] We will now examine

more closely the _rôle_ allotted to this mysterious personage; we shall

find it to be of extreme antiquity and remarkable significance.

In the interesting and important work by Professor von Schroeder, to

which I have already often referred, we find the translation of a

curious poem (_Rig-Veda_, 10. 97), a monologue placed in the mouth of a

Doctor, or Medicine Man, who vaunts the virtue of his herbs, and their

power to cure human ills.[2] From the references made to a special sick

man von Schroeder infers that this poem, like others in the collection,

was intended to be acted, as well as recited, and that the personage to

be healed, evidently present on the scene, was probably represented by

a dummy, as no speeches are allotted to the character.

The entire poem consists of 23 verses of four lines each, and is

divided by the translator into three distinct sections; the first is

devoted to the praise of herbs in general, their power to cure the sick

man before them, and at the same time to bring riches to the Healer—the

opening verses run:

“Die Kräuter alt, entsprossen einst

Drei Alter vor den Göttern noch,

Die braunen will Ich preisen jetzt!

Hundert und sieben Arten sinds.

“Ja, hundert Arten, Mütterlein,

Und tausend Zweige habt ihr auch,

Ihr, die ihr hundert Kräfte habt,

Macht diesen Menschen mir gesund.

“Ihr Kräuter hört, ihr Mütterchen,

Ihr göttlichen, das sag ich euch:

Ross, Rind und Kleid gewänn’ ich gern

Und auch dein Leben, lieber Mann!

.................................

Fürwahr ihr bringt mir Rinder ein,

Wenn ihr ihn rettet diesen Mann.”

He then praises the power of all herbs:

“Vom Himmel kam der Kräuter Schar

Geflogen, und da sprechen sie;

Wen wir noch lebend treffen an

Der Mann soll frei von Schaden sein.”

Finally the speaker singles out one herb as superior to all others:

“Die Kräuter viel in Soma’s Reich

Die hundertfach verständigen,

Von denen bist das beste du

Erfüllst den Wunsch, und heilst das Herz.”

He conjures all other herbs to lend their virtue to this special

remedy:

“Ihr Kräuter all’ in Soma’s Reich

Verbreitet auf der Erde hin,

Ihr, von Brihaspati erzeugt,

Gebt diesem Kraute eure Kraft!

“Nicht nehme Schaden, der euch gräbt,

Noch der, für Welchen Ich euch grub!

Bei uns soll Alles, Mensch, und Vieh,

Gesund und ohne Schaden sein.

“Ihr, die ihr höret dies mein Wort,

Ihr, die ihr in der Ferne seid,

Ihr Pflanzen all’, vereignet euch,

Gebt diesem Kraute eure Kraft!”

And the herbs, taking counsel together with Soma their king, answer:

“Für Wen uns ein Brahmane braucht

Den, König, wollen retten wir,”

a line which throws a light upon the personality of the speaker; he is

obviously a Brahmin, and the Medicine Man here, as elsewhere, unites

the functions of Priest and Healer.

Professor von Schroeder suggests that this Dramatic Monologue formed

part of the ceremonies of a Soma feast, that it is the Soma plant from

which the heavenly drink is brewed which is to be understood as the

first of all herbs and the curer of all ills, and the reference to Soma

as King of the herbs seems to bear out this suggestion.

In a previous chapter[3] I have referred to a curious little poem, also

found in the _Rig-Veda_, and translated by von Schroeder under the

title _A Folk-Procession at a Soma-Feast_, the _dramatis personae_ of

the poem offering, as I pointed out, a most striking and significant

parallel to certain surviving Fertility processions, notably that of

Värdegötzen in Hanover. In this little song which von Schroeder places

in the mouth of the leader of the band of maskers, the Doctor is twice

referred to; in the opening lines we have the Brahmin, the Doctor, the

Carpenter, the Smith, given as men plying different trades, and each

and all in search of gain; in the final verse the speaker announces, “I

am a Poet (or Singer), my father a Doctor.” Thus of the various trades

and personages enumerated the Doctor alone appears twice over, an

indication of the importance attached to this character.

Unfortunately, in view of the fragmentary condition of the survivals of

early Aryan literature, and the lack of explanatory material at our

disposal, it is impossible to decide what was the precise _rôle_

assigned to the ‘Medicine Man’; judging from the general character of

the surviving dramatic fragments and the close parallel which exists

between these fragments and the Medieval and Modern Fertility

ceremonies, it seems extremely probable that his original _rôle_ was

identical with that assigned to his modern counterpart, _i.e._, that of

restoring to life or health the slain, or suffering, representative of

the Vegetation Spirit.

This presumption gains additional support from the fact that it is in

this character that the Doctor appears in Greek Classical Drama. Von

Schroeder refers to the fact that the Doctor was a stock figure in the

Greek ‘Mimus’[4] and in Mr Cornford’s interesting volume entitled _The

Origin of Attic Comedy_, the author reckons the Doctor among the stock

Masks of the early Greek Theatre, and assigns to this character the

precise _rôle_ which later survivals have led us to attribute to him.

The significance of Mr Cornford’s work lies in the fact that, while he

accepts Sir Gilbert Murray’s deeply interesting and suggestive theory

that the origins of Greek Tragedy are to be sought in “the Agon of the

Fertility Spirit, his Pathos, and Theophany,” he contends that a

similar origin may be postulated for Attic Comedy—that the stock Masks

(characters) agree with a theory of derivation of such Comedy from a

ritual performance celebrating the renewal of the seasons.[5] “They

were at first serious, and even awful, figures in a Religious Mystery,

the God who every year is born, and dies, and rises again; his Mother

and his Bride; the Antagonist who kills him; the Medicine Man who

restores him to life.”[6]

I would submit that the presence of such a character in the original

ritual drama of Revival which, on my theory, underlies the romantic

form of the Grail legend, may, in view of the above evidence, and of

that brought forward in the previous chapters, be accepted as at least

a probable hypothesis.

But, it may be objected, granting that the Doctor in these Fertility

processions and dramas represents a genuine survival of a feature of

immemorial antiquity, a survival to be traced alike in Aryan remains,

in Greek literature, and in Medieval ceremony, what is the precise

bearing upon the special subject of our investigations? There is no

Doctor in the Grail legend, although there is certainly abundant scope

for his activities!

There may be no Doctor in the Grail legend to-day, but was there never

such a character? How if this be the key to explain the curious and

persistent attribution of healing skill to so apparently unsuitable a

personage as Sir Gawain? I would draw the attention of my readers to a

passage in the _Perceval_ of Chrétien de Troyes, where Gawain, finding

a wounded knight by the roadside, proceeds to treat him:

“Et Mesire Gauvain savoit

Plus que nuls homs de garir plaie;

Une herbe voit en une haie

Trop bonne pour douleur tolir

De plaie, et il la va cueillir.”[7]

Other MSS. are rather fuller:

“Et Messires Gauvain savoit

Plus que nus hons vivant de plaies,

Unes herbe voit les une haies

Qu’il connoissoit lonc temps avoit

Que son mestre apris li avoit

Enseigniee et bien moustree,

Et il l’avoit bien esgardee

Si l’a molt bien reconneue.”[8]

We find reference to Gawain’s possession of medical knowledge

elsewhere. In the poem entitled _Lancelot et le cerf au pied blanc_,

Gawain, finding his friend desperately wounded, carries him to a

physician whom he instructs as to the proper treatment.[9]

“Ende Walewein wiesde den Ersatere mere

Ene const, die daertoe halp wel sere.”[10]

In the parallel adventure related in _Morien_ Gawain heals Lancelot

without the aid of any physician:[11]

“Doe was Walewein harde blide

Ende bant hem sine wonden ten tide

Met selken crude die daer dochten

Dat si niet bloden mochten.”[12]

They ride to an anchorite’s cell:

“Si waren doe in dire gedochten

Mochten sie daer comen tier stont

Datten Walewein soude maken gesont.”[13]

The Dutch _Lancelot_ has numerous references to Gawain’s skill in

healing. Of course the advocates of the originality of Chrétien de

Troyes will object that these references, though found in poems which

have no connection with Chrétien, and which are translations from lost

French originals of an undetermined date, are one and all loans from

the more famous poem. This, however, can hardly be contended of the

Welsh _Triads;_ there we find Gwalchmai, the Welsh Gawain, cited as one

of the three men “To whom the nature of every object was known,”[14] an

accomplishment exceedingly necessary for a ‘Medicine Man,’ but not at

first sight especially needful for the equipment of a knight.[15] This

persistent attribution of healing skill is not, so far as my

acquaintance with medieval Romance goes, paralleled in the case of any

other knight; even Tristan, who is probably the most accomplished of

heroes of romance, the most thoroughly trained in all branches of

knightly education, is not credited with any such knowledge. No other

knight, save Gawain, has the reputation of a Healer, yet Gawain, the

Maidens’ Knight, the ‘fair Father of Nurture’ is, at first sight,

hardly the personage one might expect to possess such skill. Why he

should be so persistently connected with healing was for long a problem

to me; recently, however, I have begun to suspect that we have in this

apparently motiveless attribution the survival of an early stage of

tradition in which not only did Gawain cure the Grail King, but he did

so, not by means of a question, or by the welding of a broken sword,

but by more obvious and natural means, the administration of a healing

herb. Gawain’s character of Healer belongs to him in his _rôle_ of

Grail Winner.

Some years ago, in the course of my reading, I came across a passage in

which certain knights of Arthur’s court, riding through a forest, come

upon a herb ‘which belonged to the Grail.’ Unfortunately the reference,

at the time I met with it, though it struck me as curious, did not

possess any special significance, and either I omitted to make a note

of it, or entered it in a book which, with sundry others, went

mysteriously astray in the process of moving furniture. In any case,

though I have searched diligently I have failed to recover the passage,

but I note it here in the hope that one of my reader may be more

fortunate.

It is perhaps not without significance that a mention of Peredur

(Perceval) in Welsh poetry may also possibly contain a reference to his

healing office. I refer to the well-known _Song of the Graves_ in the

Black Book of Carmarthen where the grave of Mor, son of Peredur

Penwetic, is referred to. According to Dr G. Evans the word _penwedic_,

or _perfeddyg_, as it may also be read, means _chief Healer_. Peredur,

it is needless to say, is the Welsh equivalent of Perceval, Gawain’s

successor and supplanter in the _rôle_ of Grail hero.

I have no desire to press the point unduly, but it is certainly

significant that, entirely apart from any such theory of the evolution

of the Grail legend as that advanced in these pages, a Welsh scholar

should have suggested a rendering of the title of the Grail hero which

is in complete harmony with that theory; a rendering also which places

him side by side with his compatriot Gwalchmai, even as the completely

evolved Grail story connects him with Gawain. In any case there is food

for reflection in the fact that the possibility of such an origin once

admitted, the most apparently incongruous, and inharmonious, elements

of the story show themselves capable of a natural and unforced

explanation.

In face of the evidence above set forth it seems impossible to deny

that the Doctor, or Medicine Man, did, from the very earliest ages,

play an important part in Dramatic Fertility Ritual, that he still

survives in the modern Folk-play, the rude representative of the early

ritual form, and it is at least possible that the attribution of

healing skill to so romantic and chivalrous a character as Sir Gawain

may depend upon the fact that, at an early, and pre-literary stage of

his story, he played the _rôle_ traditionally assigned to the Doctor,

that of restoring to life and health the dead, or wounded,

representative of the Spirit of Vegetation.

If I am right in my reading of this complicated problem the

_mise-en-scène_ of the Grail story was originally a loan from a ritual

actually performed, and familiar to those who first told the tale. This

ritual, in its earlier stages comparatively simple and objective in

form, under the process of an insistence upon the inner and spiritual

significance, took upon itself a more complex and esoteric character,

the rite became a Mystery, and with this change the _rôle_ of the

principal actors became of heightened significance. That of the Healer

could no longer be adequately fulfilled by the administration of a

medicinal remedy; the relation of Body and Soul became of cardinal

importance for the Drama, the Medicine Man gave place to the Redeemer;

and his task involved more than the administration of the original

Herbal remedy. In fact in the final development of the story the

_Pathos_ is shared alike by the representative of the Vegetation

Spirit, and the Healer, whose task involves a period of stern testing

and probation.

If we wish to understand clearly the evolution of the Grail story we

must realize that the simple Fertility Drama from which it sprung has

undergone a gradual and mysterious change, which has invested it with

elements at once ‘rich and strange,’ and that though Folk-lore may be

the key to unlock the outer portal of the Grail castle it will not

suffice to give us the entrance to its deeper secrets.

APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIII

While having no connection with the main subject of our study, the

Grail legend, I should like to draw the attention of students of

Medieval literature to the curious parallel between the _Rig-Veda_ poem

of the _Medicine Man_ or _Kräuter-Lied_ as it is also called, and

Rusteboeuf’s _Dist de l’Erberie_. Both are monologues, both presuppose

the presence of an audience, in each case the speaker is one who vaunts

his skill in the use of herbs, in each case he has in view the ultimate

gain to himself. Here are the opening lines of the Medieval poem:[1]

“Seignor qui ci estes venu

Petit et grant, jone et chenu,

Il vos est trop bien avenu

Sachiez de voir;

Je ne vos vueil pas deçevoir

Bien le porroz aperçevoir

Ainz que m’en voise.

Asiez vos, ne fetes noise

Si escotez s’il ne vos poise

Je sui uns mires.”

He has been long with the lord of Caire, where he won much gold; in

Puille, Calabre, Luserne.

“Ai herbes prises

Qui de granz vertuz sont enprises

Sus quelque mal qu’el soient mises

Le maus s’enfuit.”

There is no reference in the poem to a cure about to be performed in

the presence of the audience, which does not however exclude the

possibility of such cure being effected.

It would be interesting to know under what circumstances such a poem

was recited, whether it formed part of a popular representation. The

audience in view is of a mixed character, young and old, great and

small, and one has a vision of the Quack Doctor at some village fair,

on the platform before his booth, declaiming the virtues of his

nostrums before an audience representative of all ranks and ages. It is

a far cry from such a Medieval scene to the prehistoric days of the

_Rig-Veda_, but the _mise-en-scène_ is the same; the popular ‘seasonal’

feast, the Doctor with his healing herbs, which he vaunts in skilful

rhyme, the hearers, drawn from all ranks, some credulous, some amused.

There seems very little doubt that both poems are specimens, and very

good specimens, of a _genre_ the popularity and vitality of which are

commensurate with the antiquity of its origin.[2]

CHAPTER IX

The Fisher King

The gradual process of our investigation has led us to the conclusion

that the elements forming the existing Grail legend—the setting of the

story, the nature of the task which awaits the hero, the symbols and

their significance—one and all, while finding their counterpart in

prehistoric record, present remarkable parallels to the extant practice

and belief of countries so widely separate as the British Isles,

Russia, and Central Africa.

The explanation of so curious a fact, for it is a fact, and not a mere

hypothesis, may, it was suggested, most probably be found in the theory

that in this fascinating literature we have the, sometimes partially

understood, sometimes wholly misinterpreted, record of a ritual,

originally presumed to exercise a life-giving potency, which, at one

time of universal observance, has, even in its decay, shown itself

possessed of elements of the most persistent vitality.

That if the ritual, which according to our theory lies at the root of

the Grail story, be indeed the ritual of a Life Cult, it should, _in_

and _per se_, possess precisely these characteristics, will, I think,

be admitted by any fair-minded critic; the point of course is, can we

definitely _prove_ our theory, _i.e._, not merely point to striking

parallels, but select, from the figures and incidents composing our

story, some one element, which, by showing itself capable of

explanation on this theory, and on this theory alone, may be held to

afford decisive proof of the soundness of our hypothesis?

It seems to me that there is one such element in the bewildering

complex, by which the theory can be thus definitely tested, that is the

personality of the central figure and the title by which he is known.

If we can prove that the Fisher King, _qua_ Fisher King, is an integral

part of the ritual, and can be satisfactorily explained alike by its

intention, and inherent symbolism, we shall, I think, have taken the

final step which will establish our theory upon a sure basis. On the

other hand, if the Fisher King, _qua_ Fisher King, does not fit into

our framework we shall be forced to conclude that, while the

_provenance_ of certain elements of the Grail literature is practically

assured, the _ensemble_ has been complicated by the introduction of a

terminology, which, whether the outcome of serious intention, or of

mere literary caprice, was foreign to the original source, and so far,

defies explanation. In this latter case our theory would not

necessarily be _manqué_, but would certainly be seriously incomplete.

We have already seen that the personality of the King, the nature of

the disability under which he is suffering, and the reflex effect

exercised upon his folk and his land, correspond, in a most striking

manner, to the intimate relation at one time held to exist between the

ruler and his land; a relation mainly dependent upon the identification

of the King with the Divine principle of Life and Fertility.

This relation, as we have seen above, exists to-day among certain

African tribes.

If we examine more closely into the existing variants of our romances,

we shall find that those very variants are not only thoroughly _dans le

cadre_ of our proposed solution, but also afford a valuable, and

hitherto unsuspected, indication of the relative priority of the

versions.

In Chapter I, I discussed the task of the hero in general, here I

propose to focus attention upon his host, and while in a measure

traversing the same ground, to do so with a view to determining the

true character of this enigmatic personage.

In the _Bleheris_ version,[1] the lord of the castle is suffering under

no disability whatever; he is described as “tall, and strong of limb,

of no great age, but somewhat bald.” Besides the King there is a Dead

Knight upon a bier, over whose body Vespers for the Dead are solemnly

sung. The wasting of the land, partially restored by Gawain’s question

concerning the Lance, has been caused by the ‘Dolorous Stroke,’ _i.e._,

the stroke which brought about the death of the Knight, whose identity

is here never revealed. Certain versions which interpolate the account

of Joseph of Arimathea and the Grail, allude to ‘Le riche Pescheur’ and

his heirs as Joseph’s descendants, and, presumably, for it is not

directly stated, guardians of the Grail,[2] but the King himself is

here never called by that title. From his connection with the Waste

Land it seems more probable that it was the Dead Knight who filled that

_rôle_.

In the second version of which Gawain is the hero, that of _Diû

Crône_,[3] the Host is an old and infirm man. After Gawain has asked

the question we learn that he is really dead, and only compelled to

retain the semblance of life till the task of the Quester be achieved.

Here, again, he is not called the Fisher King.

In the _Perceval_ versions, on the contrary, we find the name

invariably associated with him, but he is not always directly connected

with the misfortunes which have fallen upon his land. Thus, while the

Wauchier texts are incomplete, breaking off at the critical moment of

asking the question, Manessier who continues, and ostensibly completes,

Wauchier, introduces the Dead Knight, here Goondesert, or Gondefer

(which I suspect is the more correct form), brother of the King, whose

death by treachery has plunged the land in misery, and been the direct

cause of the self-wounding of the King.[4] The healing of the King and

the restoration of the land depend upon Perceval’s slaying the murderer

Partinal. These two versions show a combination of Perceval and Gawain

themes, such as their respective dates might lead us to expect.

Robert de Borron is the only writer who gives a clear, and tolerably

reasonable, account of why the guardian of the Grail bears the title of

Fisher King; in other cases, such as the poems of Chrétien and Wolfram,

the name is connected with his partiality for fishing, an obviously

_post hoc_ addition.

The story in question is found in Borron’s _Joseph of Arimathea_.[5]

Here we are told how, during the wanderings of that holy man and his

companions in the wilderness, certain of the company fell into sin. By

the command of God, Brons, Joseph’s brother-in-law, caught a Fish,

which, with the Grail, provided a mystic meal of which the unworthy

cannot partake; thus the sinners were separated from the righteous.

Henceforward Brons was known as ‘The Rich Fisher.’ It is noteworthy,

however, that in the Perceval romance, ascribed to Borron, the title is

as a rule, _Roi_ Pescheur, not _Riche_ Pescheur.[6]

In this romance the King is not suffering from any special malady, but

is the victim of extreme old age; not surprising, as he is Brons

himself, who has survived from the dawn of Christianity to the days of

King Arthur. We are told that the effect of asking the question will be

to restore him to youth;[7] as a matter of fact it appears to bring

about his death, as he only lives three days after his restoration.[8]

When we come to Chrétien’s poem we find ourselves confronted with a

striking alteration in the presentment. There are, not one, but two,

disabled kings; one suffering from the effects of a wound, the other in

extreme old age. Chrétien’s poem being incomplete we do not know what

he intended to be the result of the achieved Quest, but we may I think

reasonably conclude that the wounded King at least was healed.[9]

The _Parzival_ of von Eschenbach follows the same tradition, but is

happily complete. Here we find the wounded King was healed, but what

becomes of the aged man (here the grandfather, not as in Chrétien the

father, of the Fisher King) we are not told.[10]

The _Perlesvaus_ is, as I have noted above,[13] very unsatisfactory.

The illness of the King is badly motivated, and he dies before the

achievement of the Quest. This romance, while retaining certain

interesting, and undoubtedly primitive features, is, as a whole, too

late, and _remaniée_ a redaction to be of much use in determining the

question of origins.

The same may be said of the _Grand Saint Graal_ and _Queste_ versions,

both of which are too closely connected with the prose _Lancelot_, and

too obviously intended to develope and complete the _données_ of that

romance to be relied upon as evidence for the original form of the

Grail legend.[12] The version of the _Queste_ is very confused: there

are two kings at the Grail castle, Pelles, and his father; sometimes

the one, sometimes the other, bears the title of Roi Pescheur.[13]

There is besides, an extremely old, and desperately wounded, king,

Mordrains, a contemporary of Joseph, who practically belongs, not to

the Grail tradition, but to a Conversion legend embodied in the _Grand

Saint Graal_.[14] Finally, in the latest cyclic texts, we have three

Kings, all of whom are wounded.[15]

The above will show that the presentment of this central figure is much

confused; generally termed Le Roi Pescheur, he is sometimes described

as in middle life, and in full possession of his bodily powers.

Sometimes while still comparatively young he is incapacitated by the

effects of a wound, and is known also by the title of Roi Mehaigné, or

Maimed King. Sometimes he is in extreme old age, and in certain closely

connected versions the two ideas are combined, and we have a wounded

Fisher King, and an aged father, or grandfather. But I would draw

attention to the significant fact that in no case is the Fisher King a

youthful character; that distinction is reserved for his Healer, and

successor.

Now is it possible to arrive at any conclusion as to the relative value

and probable order of these conflicting variants? I think that if we

admit that they do, in all probability, represent a more or less

coherent survival of the Nature ritual previously discussed, we may, by

help of what we know as to the varying forms of that ritual, be enabled

to bring some order out of this confusion.

If we turn back to Chapters 4, 5, and 7, and consult the evidence there

given as to the Adonis cults, the Spring Festivals of European Folk,

the Mumming Plays of the British Isles, the main fact that emerges is

that in the great majority of these cases the representative of the

Spirit of Vegetation is considered as dead, and the object of these

ceremonies is to restore him to life. This I hold to be the primary

form.

This section had already been written when I came across the important

article by Dr Jevons, referred to in a previous chapter.[16] Certain of

his remarks are here so much to the point that I cannot refrain from

quoting them. Speaking of the Mumming Plays, the writer says: “The one

point in which there is no variation is that—the character is killed

and brought to life again. The play is a ceremonial performance, or

rather it is the development in dramatic form of what was originally a

religious or magical rite, representing or realizing the revivification

of the character slain. This revivification is the one essential and

invariable feature of all the Mummer’s plays in England.”[17]

In certain cases, _e.g._, the famous Roman Spring festival of Mamurius

Veturius and the Swabian ceremony referred to above,[18] the central

figure is an old man. In no case do I find that the representative of

Vegetation is merely wounded, although the nature of the ritual would

obviously admit of such a variant.

Thus, taking the extant and recognized forms of the ritual into

consideration, we might expect to find that in the earliest, and least

contaminated, version of the Grail story the central figure would be

dead, and the task of the Quester that of restoring him to life. Viewed

from this standpoint the _Gawain_ versions (the priority of which is

maintainable upon strictly literary grounds, Gawain being the original

Arthurian romantic hero) are of extraordinary interest. In the one form

we find a Dead Knight, whose fate is distinctly stated to have involved

his land in desolation, in the other, an aged man who, while preserving

the semblance of life, is in reality dead.

This last version appears to me, in view of our present knowledge, to

be of extreme critical value. There can, I think, be little doubt that

in the primary form underlying our extant versions the King was dead,

and restored to life; at first, I strongly suspect, by the agency of

some mysterious herb, or herbs, a feature retained in certain forms of

the Mumming play.

In the next stage, that represented by Borron, he is suffering from

extreme old age, and the task of the Quester is to restore him to

youth. This version is again supported by extant parallels. In each of

these cases it seems most probable that the original ritual (I should

wish it to be clearly understood that I hold the Grail story to have

been primarily dramatic, and actually performed) involved an act of

substitution. The Dead King in the first case being probably

represented by a mere effigy, in the second being an old man, his place

was, at a given moment of the ritual, taken by the youth who played the

_rôle_ of the Quester. It is noteworthy that, while both Perceval and

Galahad are represented as mere lads, Gawain, whatever his age at the

moment of the Grail quest, was, as we learn from _Diû Crône_, dowered

by his fairy Mistress with the gift of eternal youth.[19]