The versions of Chrétien and Wolfram, which present us with a wounded

Fisher King, and a father, or grandfather,[20] in extreme old age, are

due in my opinion to a literary device, intended to combine two

existing variants. That the subject matter was well understood by the

original redactor of the common source is proved by the nature of the

injury,[21] but I hold that in these versions we have passed from the

domain of ritual to that of literature. Still, we have a curious

indication that the Wounding variant may have had its place in the

former. The suggestion made above as to the probable existence in the

primitive ritual of a substitution ceremony, seems to me to provide a

possible explanation of the feature found alike in Wolfram, and in the

closely allied Grail section of _Sone de Nansai; i.e._, that the wound

of the King was a punishment for sin, he had conceived a passion for a

Pagan princess.[22] Now there would be no incongruity in representing

the Dead King as reborn in youthful form, the aged King as _revenu dans

sa juvence_, but when the central figure was a man in the prime of life

some reason had to be found, his strength and vitality being restored,

for his supersession by the appointed Healer. This supersession was

adequately motivated by the supposed transgression of a fundamental

Christian law, entailing as consequence the forfeiture of his crown.

I would thus separate the _doubling_ theme, as found in Chrétien and

Wolfram, from the _wounded_ theme, equally common to these poets. This

latter might possibly be accounted for on the ground of a ritual

variant; the first is purely literary, explicable neither on the

exoteric, nor the esoteric, aspect of the ceremony. From the exoteric

point of view there are not, and there cannot be, two Kings suffering

from parallel disability; the ritual knows one Principle of Life, and

one alone. Equally from the esoteric standpoint Fisher King, and Maimed

King, representing two different aspects of the same personality, may,

and probably were, represented as two individuals, but one alone is

disabled. Further, as the two are, in very truth, one, they should be

equals in age, not of different generations. Thus the _Bleheris_

version which gives us a Dead Knight, presumably, from his having been

slain in battle, still in vigorous manhood, and a hale King is,

ritually, the more correct. The original of Manessier’s version must

have been similar, but the fact that by the time it was compiled the

Fisher King was generally accepted as being also the Maimed King led to

the introduction of the very awkward, and poorly motivated,

self-wounding incident. It will be noted that in this case the King is

not healed either at the moment of the slaying of his brother’s

murderer (which would be the logical result of the _données_ of the

tale), nor at the moment of contact with the successful Quester, but at

the mere announcement of his approach.[23]

Thus, if we consider the King, apart from his title, we find that alike

from his position in the story, his close connection with the fortunes

of his land and people, and the varying forms of the disability of

which he is the victim, he corresponds with remarkable exactitude to

the central figure of a well-recognized Nature ritual, and may

therefore justly be claimed to belong _ab origine_ to such a

hypothetical source.

But what about his title, why should he be called the _Fisher_ King?

Here we strike what I hold to be the main _crux_ of the problem, a

feature upon which scholars have expended much thought and ingenuity, a

feature which the authors of the romances themselves either did not

always understand, or were at pains to obscure by the introduction of

the obviously _post hoc_ “motif” above referred to, _i.e._, that he was

called the Fisher King because of his devotion to the pastime of

fishing: _à-propos_ of which Heinzel sensibly remarks, that the story

of the Fisher King “presupposes a legend of this personage only vaguely

known and remembered by Chrétien.”[24]

Practically the interpretations already attempted fall into two main

groups, which we may designate as the Christian-Legendary, and the

Celtic-Folk-lore interpretations. For those who hold that the Grail

story is essentially, and fundamentally, Christian, finding its root in

Eucharistic symbolism, the title is naturally connected with the use of

the Fish symbol in early Christianity: the _Icthys_ anagram, as applied

to Christ, the title ‘Fishers of Men,’ bestowed upon the Apostles, the

Papal ring of the Fisherman—though it must be noted that no

manipulation of the Christian symbolism avails satisfactorily to

account for the lamentable condition into which the bearer of the title

has fallen.[25]

The advocates of the Folk-lore theory, on the other hand, practically

evade this main difficulty, by basing their interpretation upon

Borron’s story of the catching of the Fish by Brons, equating this

character with the Bran of Welsh tradition, and pointing to the

existence, in Irish and Welsh legend, of a Salmon of Wisdom, the

tasting of whose flesh confers all knowledge. Hertz acutely remarks

that the incident, as related by Borron, is not of such importance as

to justify the stress laid upon the name, Rich Fisher, by later

writers.[26] We may also note in this connection that the Grail

romances never employ the form ‘_Wise_ Fisher,’ which, if the origin of

the name were that proposed above, we might reasonably expect to find.

It is obvious that a satisfactory solution of the problem must be

sought elsewhere.

In my opinion the key to the puzzle is to be found in the rightful

understanding of the _Fish-Fisher_ symbolism. Students of the Grail

literature have been too prone to treat the question on the Christian

basis alone, oblivious of the fact that Christianity did no more than

take over, and adapt to its own use, a symbolism already endowed with a

deeply rooted prestige and importance.

So far the subject cannot be said to have received adequate treatment;

certain of its aspects have been more or less fully discussed in

monographs and isolated articles, but we still await a comprehensive

study on this most important question.[27]

So far as the present state of our knowledge goes we can affirm with

certainty that the Fish is a Life symbol of immemorial antiquity, and

that the title of Fisher has, from the earliest ages, been associated

with Deities who were held to be specially connected with the origin

and preservation of Life.

In Indian cosmogony Manu finds a little fish in the water in which he

would wash his hands; it asks, and receives, his protection, asserting

that when grown to full size it will save Manu from the universal

deluge. This is Jhasa, the greatest of all fish.[28]

The first Avatar of Vishnu the Creator is a Fish. At the great feast in

honour of this god, held on the twelfth day of the first month of the

Indian year, Vishnu is represented under the form of a golden Fish, and

addressed in the following terms: “Wie Du, O Gott, in Gestalt eines

Fisches die in der Unterwelt befindlichen Veden gerettet hast, so rette

auch mich.”[29] The Fish Avatar was afterwards transferred to Buddha.

In Buddhist religion the symbols of the Fish and Fisher are freely

employed. Thus in Buddhist monasteries we find drums and gongs in the

shape of a fish, but the true meaning of the symbol, while still

regarded as sacred, has been lost, and the explanations, like the

explanations of the Grail romances, are often fantastic afterthoughts.

In the Māhāyana scriptures Buddha is referred to as the Fisherman who

draws fish from the ocean of Samsara to the light of Salvation. There

are figures and pictures which represent Buddha in the act of fishing,

an attitude which, unless interpreted in a symbolic sense, would be

utterly at variance with the tenets of the Buddhist religion.[30]

This also holds good for Chinese Buddhism. The goddess Kwanyin

(=Avalokitesvara), the female Deity of Mercy and Salvation, is depicted

either on, or holding, a Fish. In the Han palace of Kun-Ming-Ch’ih

there was a Fish carved in jade to which in time of drought sacrifices

were offered, the prayers being always answered.

Both in India and China the Fish is employed in funeral rites. In India

a crystal bowl with Fish handles was found in a reputed tomb of Buddha.

In China the symbol is found on stone slabs enclosing the coffin, on

bronze urns, vases, etc. Even as the Babylonians had the Fish, or

Fisher, god, Oannes who revealed to them the arts of Writing,

Agriculture, etc., and was, as Eisler puts it, ‘teacher and lord of all

wisdom,’ so the Chinese Fu-Hi, who is pictured with the mystic tablets

containing the mysteries of Heaven and Earth, is, with his consort and

retinue, represented as having a fish’s tail.[31]

The writer of the article in _The Open Court_ asserts that “the Fish

was sacred to those deities who were supposed to lead men back from the

shadows of death to life.”[32] If this be really the case we can

understand the connection of the symbol first with Orpheus, later with

Christ, as Eisler remarks: “Orpheus is connected with nearly all the

mystery, and a great many of the ordinary chthonic, cults in Greece and

Italy. Christianity took its first tentative steps into the reluctant

world of Graeco-Roman Paganism under the benevolent patronage of

Orpheus.”[33]

There is thus little reason to doubt that, if we regard the Fish as a

Divine Life symbol, of immemorial antiquity, we shall not go very far

astray.

We may note here that there was a fish known to the Semites by the name

of Adonis, although as the title signifies ‘Lord,’ and is generic

rather than specific, too much stress cannot be laid upon it. It is

more interesting to know that in Babylonian cosmology Adapa the Wise,

the son of Ea, is represented as a Fisher.[34] In the ancient Sumerian

laments for Tammuz, previously referred to, that god is frequently

addressed as _Divine Lamgar, Lord of the Net_, the nearest equivalent I

have so far found to our ‘Fisher King.’[35] Whether the phrase is here

used in an actual or a symbolic sense the connection of idea is

sufficiently striking.

In the opinion of the most recent writers on the subject the Christian

Fish symbolism derives directly from the Jewish, the Jews, on their

side having borrowed freely from Syrian belief and practice.[36]

What may be regarded as the central point of Jewish Fish symbolism is

the tradition that, at the end of the world, Messias will catch the

great Fish Leviathan, and divide its flesh as food among the faithful.

As a foreshadowing of this Messianic Feast the Jews were in the habit

of eating fish upon the Sabbath. During the Captivity, under the

influence of the worship of the goddess Atargatis, they transferred the

ceremony to the Friday, the eve of the Sabbath, a position which it has

retained to the present day. Eisler remarks that “in Galicia one can

see Israelite families in spite of their being reduced to the extremest

misery, procuring on Fridays a single gudgeon, to eat, divided into

fragments, at night-fall. In the 16th century Rabbi Solomon Luria

protested strongly against this practice. Fish, he declared, should be

eaten on the Sabbath itself, not on the Eve.”[37]

This Jewish custom appears to have been adopted by the primitive

Church, and early Christians, on their side, celebrated a Sacramental

Fish-meal. The Catacombs supply us with numerous illustrations, fully

described by the two writers referred to. The elements of this mystic

meal were Fish, Bread, and Wine, the last being represented in the

Messianic tradition: “At the end of the meal God will give to the most

worthy, _i.e._, to King David, the Cup of Blessing—one of fabulous

dimensions.”[38]

Fish play an important part in Mystery Cults, as being the ‘holy’ food.

Upon a tablet dedicated to the Phrygian _Mater Magna_ we find Fish and

Cup; and Dölger, speaking of a votive tablet discovered in the Balkans,

says, “Hier ist der Fisch immer und immer wieder allzu deutlich als die

heilige Speise eines Mysterien-Kultes hervorgehoben.”[39]

Now I would submit that here, and not in Celtic Folk-lore, is to be

found the source of Borron’s Fish-meal. Let us consider the

circumstances. Joseph and his followers, in the course of their

wanderings, find themselves in danger of famine. The position is

somewhat curious, as apparently the leaders have no idea of the

condition of their followers till the latter appeal to Brons.[40]

Brons informs Joseph, who prays for aid and counsel from the Grail. A

Voice from Heaven bids him send his brother-in-law, Brons, to catch a

fish. Meanwhile he, Joseph, is to prepare a table, set the Grail,

covered with a cloth, in the centre opposite his own seat, and the fish

which Brons shall catch, on the other side. He does this, and the seats

are filled—“Si s’i asieent une grant partie et plus i ot de cels qui

n’i sistrent mie, que de cels qui sistrent.” Those who are seated at

the table are conscious of a great “douceur,” and “l’accomplissement de

lor cuers,” the rest feel nothing.

Now compare this with the Irish story of the Salmon of Wisdom.[41]

Finn Mac Cumhail enters the service of his namesake, Finn Eger, who for

seven years had remained by the Boyne watching the Salmon of Lynn Feic,

which it had been foretold Finn should catch. The younger lad, who

conceals his name, catches the fish. He is set to watch it while it

roasts but is warned not to eat it. Touching it with his thumb he is

burned, and puts his thumb in his mouth to cool it. Immediately he

becomes possessed of all knowledge, and thereafter has only to chew his

thumb to obtain wisdom. Mr Nutt remarks: “The incident in Borron’s poem

has been recast in the mould of mediaeval Christian Symbolism, but I

think the older myth can still be clearly discerned, and is wholly

responsible for the incident as found in the _Conte du Graal_.”

But when these words were written we were in ignorance of the

Sacramental Fish-meal, common alike to Jewish, Christian, and Mystery

Cults, a meal which offers a far closer parallel to Borron’s romance

than does the Finn story, in which, beyond the catching of a fish,

there is absolutely no point of contact with our romance, neither

Joseph nor Brons derives wisdom from the eating thereof; it is not they

who detect the sinners, the severance between the good and the evil is

brought about automatically. The Finn story has no common meal, and no

idea of spiritual blessings such as are connected therewith.

In the case of the Messianic Fish-meal, on the other hand, the parallel

is striking; in both cases it is a communal meal, in both cases the

privilege of sharing it is the reward of the faithful, in both cases it

is a foretaste of the bliss of Paradise.

Furthermore, as remarked above, the practice was at one time of very

widespread prevalence.

Now whence did Borron derive his knowledge, from Jewish, Christian or

Mystery sources?

This is a question not very easy to decide. In view of the pronounced

Christian tone of Borron’s romance I should feel inclined to exclude

the first, also the Jewish Fish-meal seems to have been of a more open,

general and less symbolic character than the Christian; it was frankly

an anticipation of a promised future bliss, obtainable by all.

Orthodox Christianity, on the other hand, knows nothing of the Sacred

Fish-meal, so far as I am aware it forms no part of any Apocalyptic

expectation, and where this special symbolism does occur it is often

under conditions which place its interpretation outside the recognized

category of Christian belief.

A noted instance in point is the famous epitaph of Bishop Aberkios,

over the correct interpretation of which scholars have spent much time

and ingenuity.[42] In this curious text Aberkios, after mentioning his

journeys, says:

“Paul I had as my guide,

Faith however always went ahead and set before me as food a _Fish_ from

a _Fountain_, a huge one, a clean one,

Which a _Holy Virgin_ has _caught_.

This she gave to the friends ever to eat as food,

Having good _Wine_, and offering it watered together with _Bread_.

Aberkios had this engraved when 72 years of age in truth.

_Whoever can understand this_ let him pray for Aberkios.”

Eisler (I am here quoting from the Quest article) remarks, “As the last

line of our quotation gives us quite plainly to understand, a number of

words which we have italicized are obviously used in an unusual,

metaphorical, sense, that is to say as terms of the Christian Mystery

language.” While Harnack, admitting that the Christian character of the

text is indisputable, adds significantly: “_aber das Christentum der

Grosskirche ist es nicht_.”

Thus it is possible that, to the various points of doubtful orthodoxy

which scholars have noted as characteristic of the Grail romances,

Borron’s Fish-meal should also be added.

Should it be objected that the dependence of a medieval romance upon a

Jewish tradition of such antiquity is scarcely probable, I would draw

attention to the _Voyage of Saint Brandan_, where the monks, during

their prolonged wanderings, annually ‘kept their Resurrection,’ _i.e._,

celebrate their Easter Mass, on the back of a great Fish.[43] On their

first meeting with this monster Saint Brandan tells them it is the

greatest of all fishes, and is named Jastoni, a name which bears a

curious resemblance to the Jhasa of the Indian tradition cited

above.[44] In this last instance the connection of the Fish with life,

renewed and sustained, is undeniable.

The original source of such a symbol is most probably to be found in

the belief, referred to in a previous chapter,[45] that all life comes

from the water, but that a more sensual and less abstract idea was also

operative appears from the close connection of the Fish with the

goddess Astarte or Atargatis, a connection here shared by the Dove.

Cumont, in his _Les Religions Orientales dans le Paganisme Romain_,

says: “Two animals were held in general reverence, namely, Dove and

Fish. Countless flocks of Doves greeted the traveller when he stepped

on shore at Askalon, and in the outer courts of all the temples of

Astarte one might see the flutter of their white wings. The Fish were

preserved in ponds near to the Temple, and superstitious dread forbade

their capture, for the goddess punished such sacrilege, smiting the

offender with ulcers and tumours.”[46]

But at certain mystic banquets priests and initiates partook of this

otherwise forbidden food, in the belief that they thus partook of the

flesh of the goddess. Eisler and other scholars are of the opinion that

it was the familiarity with this ritual gained by the Jews during the

Captivity that led to the adoption of the Friday Fish-meal, already

referred to, Friday being the day dedicated to the goddess and, later,

to her equivalent, Venus. From the Jews the custom spread to the

Christian Church, where it still flourishes, its true origin, it is

needless to say, being wholly unsuspected.[47]

Dove and Fish also appear together in ancient iconography. In Comte

Goblet d’Alviella’s work _The Migration of Symbols_ there is an

illustration of a coin of Cyzicus, on which is represented an Omphalus,

flanked by two Doves, with a Fish beneath;[48] and a whole section is

devoted to the discussion of the representations of two Doves on either

side of a Temple entrance, or of an Omphalus. In the author’s opinion

the origin of the symbol may be found in the sacred dove-cotes of

Phoenicia, referred to by Cumont.

Scheftelowitz instances the combination of Fish-meal and Dove, found on

a Jewish tomb of the first century at Syracuse, and remarks that the

two are frequently found in combination on Christian tombstones.[49]

Students of the Grail romances will not need to be reminded that the

Dove makes its appearance in certain of our texts. In the _Parzival_ it

plays a somewhat important _rôle;_ every Good Friday a Dove brings from

Heaven a Host, which it lays upon the Grail; and the Dove is the badge

of the Grail Knights.[50] In the prose _Lancelot_ the coming of the

Grail procession is heralded by the entrance through the window of a

Dove, bearing a censer in its beak.[51] Is it not possible that it was

the already existing connection in Nature ritual of these two, Dove and

Fish, which led to the introduction of the former into our romances,

where its _rôle_ is never really adequately motivated? It is further to

be noted that besides Dove and Fish the Syrians reverenced Stones, more

especially meteoric Stones, which they held to be endowed with life

potency, another point of contact with our romances.[52]

That the Fish was considered a potent factor in ensuring fruitfulness

is proved by certain prehistoric tablets described by Scheftelowitz,

where Fish, Horse, and Swastika, or in another instance Fish and

Reindeer, are found in a combination which unmistakeably denotes that

the object of the votive tablet was to ensure the fruitfulness of

flocks and herds.[53]

With this intention its influence was also invoked in marriage

ceremonies. The same writer points out that the Jews in Poland were

accustomed to hold a Fish feast immediately on the conclusion of the

marriage ceremony and that a similar practice can be prove for the

ancient Greeks.[54] At the present day the Jews of Tunis exhibit a

Fish’s tail on a cushion at their weddings.[55] In some parts of India

the newly-wedded pair waded knee-deep into the water, and caught fish

in a new garment. During the ceremony a Brahmin student, from the

shore, asked solemnly, “What seest thou?” to which the answer was

returned, “Sons and Cattle.”[56] In all these cases there can be no

doubt that it was the prolific nature of the Fish, a feature which it

shares in common with the Dove, which inspired practice and intention.

Surely the effect of this cumulative body of evidence is to justify us

in the belief that Fish and Fisher, being, as they undoubtedly are,

Life symbols of immemorial antiquity, are, by virtue of their origin,

entirely in their place in a sequence of incidents which there is solid

ground for believing derive ultimately from a Cult of this nature. That

Borron’s Fish-meal, that the title of Fisher King, are not accidents of

literary invention but genuine and integral parts of the common body of

tradition which has furnished the incidents and _mise-en-scène_ of the

Grail drama. Can it be denied that, while from the standpoint of a

Christian interpretation the character of the Fisher King is simply

incomprehensible, from the standpoint of Folk-tale inadequately

explained, from that of a Ritual survival it assumes a profound meaning

and significance? He is not merely a deeply symbolic figure, but the

essential centre of the whole cult, a being semi-divine, semi-human,

standing between his people and land, and the unseen forces which

control their destiny. If the Grail story be based upon a Life ritual

the character of the Fisher King is of the very essence of the tale,

and his title, so far from being meaningless, expresses, for those who

are at pains to seek, the intention and object of the perplexing whole.

The Fisher King is, as I suggested above, the very heart and centre of

the whole mystery, and I contend that with an adequate interpretation

of this enigmatic character the soundness of the theory providing such

an interpretation may be held to be definitely proved.

CHAPTER X

The Secret of the Grail (1)

The Mysteries

Students of the Grail literature cannot fail to have been impressed by

a certain atmosphere of awe and mystery which surrounds that enigmatic

Vessel. There is a secret connected with it, the revelation of which

will entail dire misfortune on the betrayer. If spoken of at all it

must be with scrupulous accuracy. It is so secret a thing that no

woman, be she wife or maid, may venture to speak of it. A priest, or a

man of holy life might indeed tell the marvel of the Grail, but none

can hearken to the recital without shuddering, trembling, and changing

colour for very fear.

“C’est del Graal dont nus ne doit

Le secret dire ne conter;

Car tel chose poroit monter

Li contes ains qu’il fust tos dis

Que teus hom en seroit maris

Qui ne l’aroit mie fourfait.

..............................

Car, se Maistre Blihis ne ment

Nus ne doit dire le secré.”[1]

“Mais la mervelle qu’il trova

Dont maintes fois s’espoenta

Ne doit nus hom conter ne dire

Cil ki le dist en a grant ire

Car c’est li signes del Graal (other texts secrés)

S’en puet avoir et paine et mal (Li fet grant pechié et grant mal)

Cil qui s’entremet del conter

Fors ensi com it doit aler.”[2]

The above refers to Gawain’s adventure at the Black Chapel, _en route_

for the Grail Castle.

The following is the answer given to Perceval by the maiden of the

White Mule, after he has been overtaken by a storm in the forest. She

tells him the mysterious light he beheld proceeded from the Grail, but

on his enquiry as to what the Grail may be, refuses to give him any

information.

“Li dist ‘Sire, ce ne puet estre

Que je plus vos en doie dire

Si vous .c. fois esties me sire

N’en oseroie plus conter,

Ne de mon labor plus parler (other texts, ma bouche)

Car ce est chose trop secrée

Si ne doit estre racontée

Par dame ne par damoisele,

Par mescine ne par puciele,

Ne par nul home qui soit nés

Si prouvoires n’est ordenés,

U home qui maine sainte vie,

............................

Cil poroit deI Graal parler,

Et la mervelle raconter,

Que nus hom nel poroit oïr

Que il ne l’estuece fremir

Trambler et remuer color,

Et empalir de la paour.’”[3]

From this evidence there is no doubt that to the romance writers the

Grail was something secret, mysterious and awful, the exact knowledge

of which was reserved to a select few, and which was only to be spoken

of with bated breath, and a careful regard to strict accuracy.

But how does this agree with the evidence set forth in our preceding

chapters? There we have been led rather to emphasize the close

parallels existing between the characters and incidents of the Grail

story, and a certain well-marked group of popular beliefs and

observances, now very generally recognized as fragments of a once

widespread Nature Cult. These beliefs and observances, while dating

from remotest antiquity, have, in their modern survivals, of recent

years, attracted the attention of scholars by their persistent and

pervasive character, and their enduring vitality.

Yet, so far as we have hitherto dealt with them, these practices were,

and are, popular in character, openly performed, and devoid of the

special element of mystery which is so characteristic a feature of the

Grail.

Nor, in these public Folk-ceremonies, these Spring festivals, Dances,

and Plays, is there anything which, on the face of it, appears to bring

them into touch with the central mystery of the Christian Faith. Yet

the men who wrote these romances saw no incongruity in identifying the

mysterious Food-providing Vessel of the _Bleheris-Gawain_ version with

the Chalice of the Eucharist, and in ascribing the power of bestowing

Spiritual Life to that which certain modern scholars have identified as

a _Wunsch-Ding_, a Folk-tale Vessel of Plenty.

If there be a mystery of the Grail surely the mystery lies here, in the

possibility of identifying two objects which, apparently, lie at the

very opposite poles of intellectual conception. What brought them

together? Where shall we seek a connecting link? By what road did the

romancers reach so strangely unexpected a goal?

It is, of course, very generally recognized that in the case of most of

the pre-Christian religions, upon the nature and character of whose

rites we possess reliable information, such rites possessed a two-fold

character—_exoteric;_ in celebrations openly and publicly performed, in

which all adherents of that particular cult could join freely, the

object of such public rites being to obtain some external and material

benefit, whether for the individual worshipper, or for the community as

a whole—_esoteric;_ rites open only to a favoured few, the initiates,

the object of which appears, as a rule, to have been individual rather

than social, and _non_-material. In some cases, certainly, the object

aimed at was the attainment of a conscious, ecstatic, union with the

god, and the definite assurance of a future life. In other words there

was the public worship, and there were the Mysteries.

Of late years there has been a growing tendency among scholars to seek

in the Mysteries the clue which shall enable us to read aright the

baffling riddle of the Grail, and there can be little doubt that, in so

doing, we are on the right path. At the same time I am convinced that

to seek that clue in those Mysteries which are at once the most famous,

and the most familiar to the classical scholar, _i.e._, the Eleusinian,

is a fatal mistake. There are, as we shall see, certain essential, and

radical, differences between the Greek and the Christian religious

conceptions which, affecting as they do the root conceptions of the two

groups, render it quite impossible that any form of the Eleusinian

Mystery cult could have given such results as we find in the Grail

legend.[4]

Cumont in his _Les Religions Orientales dans le Paganisme Romain_,

speaking of the influence of the Mysteries upon Christianity, remarks

acutely, “Or, lorsqu’on parle de mystères on doit songer à I’Asie

hellénisée, bien plus qu’à la Grèce propre, malgré tout le prestige qui

entourait Eleusis, car d’abord les premières communautés Chrétiennes se

font fondées, formées, développées, au milieu de populations

Orientales, Sémites, Phrygiens, Egyptiens.”[5]

This is perfectly true, but it was not only the influence of _milieu_,

not only the fact that the ‘hellenized’ faiths were, as Cumont points

out, more advanced, richer in ideas and sentiments, more pregnant, more

poignant, than the more strictly ‘classic’ faiths, but they possessed,

in common with Christianity, certain distinctive features lacking in

these latter.

If we were asked to define the special characteristic of the central

Christian rite, should we not state it as being a Sacred meal of

Communion in which the worshipper, not merely symbolically, but

actually, partakes of, and becomes one with, his God, receiving thereby

the assurance of eternal life? (_The Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ

preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life_.)

But it is precisely this conception which is lacking in the Greek

Mysteries, and that inevitably, as Rohde points out: “The Eleusinian

Mysteries in common with all Greek religion, differentiated clearly

between gods and men, _eins ist der Menschen, ein andres der

Götter-Geschlecht_—ἕν ἀνδρῶν ἕν θεῶν γένος.” The attainment of union

with the god, by way of ecstasy, as in other Mystery cults, is foreign

to the Eleusinian idea. As Cumont puts it “The Greco-Roman deities

rejoice in the perpetual calm and youth of Olympus, the Eastern deities

die to live again.”[6] In other words Greek religion lacks the

Sacramental idea.

Thus even if we set aside the absence of a parallel between the ritual

of the Greek Mysteries and the _mise-en-scène_ of the Grail stories,

Eleusis would be unable to offer us those essential elements which

would have rendered possible a translation of the incidents of those

stories into terms of high Christian symbolism. Yet we cannot refrain

from the conclusion that there was something in the legend that not

merely rendered possible, but actually invited, such a translation.

If we thus dismiss, as fruitless for our investigation, the most famous

representative of the Hellenic Mysteries proper, how does the question

stand with regard to those faiths to which Cumont is referring, the

hellenized cults of Asia Minor?

Here the evidence, not merely of the existence of Mysteries, but of

their widespread popularity, and permeating influence, is overwhelming;

the difficulty is not so much to prove our case, as to select and

co-ordinate the evidence germane to our enquiry.

Regarding the question as a whole it is undoubtedly true that, as

Anrich remarks, “the extent of the literature devoted to the Mysteries

stands in no relation whatever (_gar keinem Verhältniss_) to the

importance in reality attached to them.”[7] Later in the same

connection, after quoting Clement of Alexandria’s dictum “Geheime Dinge

wie die Gottheit, werden der Rede anvertraut, nicht der Schrift,” he

adds, “_Schriftliche Fixierung ist schon beinahe Entweihung_.”[8] A

just remark which it would be well if certain critics who make a virtue

of refusing to accept as evidence anything short of a direct and

positive literary statement would bear in mind. There are certain lines

of research in which, as Bishop Butler long since emphasized,

probability must be our guide.

Fortunately, however, so far as our present research is concerned, we

have more than probability to rely upon; not only did these Nature

Cults with which we are dealing express themselves in Mystery terms,

but as regards these special Mysteries we possess clear and definite

information, and we know, moreover, that in the Western world they

were, of all the Mystery faiths, the most widely spread, and the most

influential.

As Sir J. G. Frazer has before now pointed out, there are parallel and

over-lapping forms of this cult, the name of the god, and certain

details of the ritual, may differ in different countries, but whether

he hails from Babylon, Phrygia, or Phoenicia, whether he be called

Tammuz, Attis, or Adonis, the main lines of the story are fixed, and

invariable. Always he is young and beautiful, always the beloved of a

great goddess; always he is the victim of a tragic and untimely death,

a death which entails bitter loss and misfortune upon a mourning world,

and which, for the salvation of that world, is followed by a

resurrection. Death and Resurrection, mourning and rejoicing, present

themselves in sharp antithesis in each and all of the forms.

We know the god best as Adonis, for it was under that name that, though

not originally Greek, he became known to the Greek world, was adopted

by them with ardour, carried by them to Alexandria, where his feast

assumed the character of a State solemnity; under that name his story

has been enshrined in Art, and as Adonis he is loved and lamented to

this day. The Adonis ritual may be held to be the classic form of the

cult.

But in Rome, the centre of Western civilization, it was otherwise:

there it was the Phrygian god who was in possession; the dominating

position held by the cult of Attis and the _Magna Mater_, and the

profound influence exercised by that cult over better known, but

subsequently introduced, forms of worship, have not, so far, been

sufficiently realized.

The first of the Oriental cults to gain a footing in the Imperial city,

the worship of the _Magna Mater_ of Pessinonte was, for a time, rigidly

confined within the limits of her sanctuary. The orgiastic ritual of

the priests of Kybele made at first little appeal to the more

disciplined temperament of the Roman population. By degrees, however,

it won its way, and by the reign of Claudius had become so popular that

the emperor instituted public feasts in honour of Kybele and Attis,

feasts which were celebrated at the Spring solstice, March

15th-27th.[9]

As the public feast increased in popularity, so did the Mystery feast,

of which the initiated alone were privileged to partake, acquire a

symbolic significance: the foods partaken of became “un aliment de vie

spirituelle, et doivent soutenir dans les épreuves de la vie l’initié.”

Philosophers boldly utilized the framework of the Attis cult as the

vehicle for imparting their own doctrines, “Lorsque le Nèoplatonisme

triomphera la fable Phrygienne deviendra le moule traditionnel dans

lequel des exégètes subtils verseront hardiment leurs spéculations

philosophiques sur les forces créatrices fécondantes, principes de

toutes les formes matérielles, et sur la délivrance de l’âme divine

plongée dans la corruption de ce monde terrestre.”[10]

Certain of the Gnostic sects, both pre- and post-Christian, appear to

have been enthusiastic participants in the Attis mysteries;[11]

Hepding, in his _Attis_ study, goes so far as to refer to Bishop

Aberkios, to whose enigmatic epitaph our attention was directed in the

last chapter, as “_der Attis-Priester_.”[12]

Another element aided in the diffusion of the ritual. Of all the

Oriental cults which journeyed Westward under the aegis of Rome none

was so deeply rooted or so widely spread as the originally Persian cult

of Mithra—the popular religion of the Roman legionary. But between the

cults of Mithra and of Attis there was a close and intimate alliance.

In parts of Asia Minor the Persian god had early taken over features of

the Phrygian deity. “Aussitôt que nous pouvons constater la présence du

culte Persique en Italie nous le trouvons étroitement uni à celui de la

Grande Mére de Pessinonte.”[13] The union between Mithra and the

goddess Anâhita was held to be the equivalent of that subsisting

between the two great Phrygian deities Attis-Kybele. The most ancient

Mithreum known, that at Ostia, was attached to the Metroon, the temple

of Kybele. At Saalburg the ruins of the two temples are but a few steps

apart. “L’on a tout lieu de croire que le culte du dieu Iranien et

celui de la déesse Phrygienne vécurent en communion intime sur toute

l’étendue de l’Empire.”[14]

A proof of the close union of the two cults is afforded by the mystic

rite of the Taurobolium, which was practised by both, and which, in the

West, at least, seems to have passed from the temples of the Mithra to

those of the _Magna Mater_. At the same time Cumont remarks that the

actual rite seems to have been practised in Asia from a great

antiquity, before Mithraism had attributed to it a spiritual

significance. It is thus possible that the rite had earlier formed a

part of the Attis initiation, and had been temporarily disused.[15]

We shall see that the union of the Mithra-Attis cults becomes of

distinct importance when we examine, (_a_) the spiritual significance

of these rituals, and their elements of affinity with Christianity,

(_b_) their possible diffusion in the British Isles.

But now what do we know of the actual details of the Attis mysteries?

The first and most important point was a Mystic Meal, at which the food

partaken of was served in the sacred vessels, the tympanum, and the

cymbals. The formula of an Attis initiate was “_I have eaten from the

tympanum, I have drunk from the cymbals_.” As I have remarked above,

the food thus partaken of was a Food of Life—“_Die Attis-Diener in der

Tat eine magische Speise des Lebens aus ihren Kult-Geräten zu essen

meinten_.”[16]

Dieterich in his interesting study entitled _Eine Mithrasliturgie_

refers to this meal as the centre of the whole religious action.

Further, in some mysterious manner, the fate of the initiate was

connected with, and dependent upon, the death and resurrection of the

god. The Christian writer Firmicius Maternus, at one time himself an

initiate, has left an account of the ceremony, without, however,

specifying whether the deity in question was Attis or Adonis—as

Dieterich remarks “Was er erzählt kann sich auf Attis-gemeinden, und

auf Adonis-gemeinden beziehen.”

This is what he says: “_Nocte quadam simulacrum in lectica supinum

ponitur, et per numeros digestis fletibus plangitur: deinde cum se

ficta lamentatione satiaverint lumen infertur: tunc a sacerdote omnium

qui flebant fauces unguentur, quibus perunctis sacerdos hoc lento

murmure susurrit:_

‘Have courage, O initiates of the saviour-god,

For there will be salvation for us from our toils—’

on which Dieterich remarks: “Das Heil der Mysten hängt an der Rettung

des Gottes.”[17] [*** Note: The above has an English translation of

Weston’s Greek ***]

Hepding holds that in some cases there was an actual burial, and

awakening with the god to a new life.[18] In any case it is clear that

the successful issue of the test of initiation was dependent upon the

resurrection and revival of the god.

Now is it not clear that we have here a close parallel with the Grail

romances? In each case we have a common, and mystic, meal, in which the

food partaken of stands in close connection with the holy vessels. In

the Attis feast the initiates actually ate and drank from these

vessels; in the romances the Grail community never actually eat from

the Grail itself, but the food is, in some mysterious and unexplained

manner, supplied by it. In both cases it is a _Lebens-Speise_, a Food

of Life. This point is especially insisted upon in the _Parzival_,

where the Grail community never become any older than they were on the

day they first beheld the Talisman.[19] In the Attis initiation the

proof that the candidate has successfully passed the test is afforded

by the revival of the god—in the Grail romances the proof lies in the

healing of the Fisher King.

Thus, while deferring for a moment any insistence on the obvious points

of parallelism with the Sacrament of the Eucharist, and the

possibilities of Spiritual teaching inherent in the ceremonies,

necessary links in our chain of argument, we are, I think, entitled to

hold that, even when we pass beyond the outward _mise-en-scène_ of the

story—the march of incident, the character of the King, his title, his

disability, and relation to his land and folk—to the inner and deeper

significance of the tale, the Nature Cults still remain reliable

guides; it is their inner, their esoteric, ritual which will enable us

to bridge the gulf between what appears at first sight the wholly

irreconcilable elements of Folk-tale and high Spiritual mystery.

CHAPTER XI

The Secret of the Grail (2)

The Naassene Document

We have now seen that the Ritual which, as we have postulated, lies, in

a fragmentary and distorted condition, at the root of our existing

Grail romances, possessed elements capable of assimilation with a

religious system which the great bulk of its modern adherents would

unhesitatingly declare to be its very antithesis. That Christianity

might have borrowed from previously existing cults certain outward

signs and symbols, might have accommodated itself to already existing

Fasts and Feasts, may be, perforce has had to be, more or less

grudgingly admitted; that such a _rapprochement_ should have gone

further, that it should even have been inherent in the very nature of

the Faith, that, to some of the deepest thinkers of old, Christianity

should have been held for no new thing but a fulfilment of the promise

enshrined in the Mysteries from the beginning of the world, will to

many be a strange and startling thought. Yet so it was, and I firmly

believe that it is only in the recognition of this one-time claim of

essential kinship between Christianity and the Pagan Mysteries that we

shall find the key to the Secret of the Grail.

And here at the outset I would ask those readers who are inclined to

turn with feelings of contemptuous impatience from what they deem an

unprofitable discussion of idle speculations which have little or

nothing to do with a problem they hold to be one of purely literary

interest, to be solved by literary comparison and criticism, and by no

other method, to withhold their verdict till they have carefully

examined the evidence I am about to bring forward, evidence which has

never so far been examined in this connection, but which if I am not

greatly mistaken provides us with clear and unmistakable proof of the

actual existence of a ritual in all points analogous to that indicated

by the Grail romances.

In the previous chapter we have seen that there is evidence, and

abundant evidence, not merely of the existence of Mysteries connected

with the worship of Adonis-Attis, but of the high importance assigned

to such Mysteries; at the time of the birth of Christianity they were

undoubtedly the most popular and the most influential of the foreign

cults adopted by Imperial Rome. In support of this statement I quoted

certain passages from Cumont’s _Religions Orientales_, in which he

touches on the subject: here are two other quotations which may well

serve as introduction to the evidence we are about to examine.

“Researches on the doctrines and practices common to Christianity and

the Oriental Mysteries almost invariably go back, beyond the limits of

the Roman Empire, to the Hellenized East. It is there we must seek the

key of enigmas still unsolved—The essential fact to remember is that

the Eastern religions had diffused, first anterior to, then parallel

with, Christianity, doctrines which acquired with this latter a

universal authority in the decline of the ancient world. The preaching

of Asiatic priests prepared in their own despite the triumph of the

Church.”[1]

But the triumph of the new Faith once assured the organizing,

dominating, influence of Imperial Rome speedily came into play.

Christianity, originally an Eastern, became a Western, religion, the

‘Mystery’ elements were frowned upon, kinship with pre-Christian faiths

ignored, or denied; where the resemblances between the cults proved too

striking for either of these methods such resemblances were boldly

attributed to the invention of the Father of Lies himself, a cunning

snare whereby to deceive unwary souls. Christianity was carefully

trimmed, shaped, and forced into an Orthodox mould, and anything that

refused to adapt itself to this drastic process became by that very

refusal anathema to the righteous.

Small wonder that, under such conditions, the early ages of the Church

were marked by a fruitful crop of Heresies, and heresy-hunting became

an intellectual pastime in high favour among the strictly orthodox.

Among the writers of this period whose works have been preserved

Hippolytus, Bishop of Portus in the early years of the third century,

was one of the most industrious. He compiled a voluminous treatise,

entitled _Philosophumena_, or _The Refutation of all Heresies_, of

which only one MS. and that of the fourteenth century, has descended to

us. The work was already partially known by quotations, the first Book

had been attributed to Origen, and published in the _editio princeps_

of his works. The text originally consisted of ten Books, but of these

the first three, and part of the fourth, are missing from the MS. The

Origen text supplies part of the lacuna, but two entire Books, and part

of a third are missing.

Now these special Books, we learn from the Introduction, dealt with the

doctrines and Mysteries of the Egyptians and Chaldaeans, whose most

sacred secrets Hippolytus boasts that he has divulged. Curiously

enough, not only are these Books lacking but in the Epitome at the

beginning of Book X. the summary of their contents is also missing, a

significant detail, which, as has been suggested by critics, looks like

a deliberate attempt on the part of some copyist to suppress the

information contained in the Books in question. Incidentally this would

seem to suggest that the worthy bishop was not making an empty boast

when he claimed to be a revealer of secrets.

But what is of special interest to us is the treatment meted out to the

Christian Mystics, whom Hippolytus stigmatizes as heretics, and whose

teaching he deliberately asserts to be simply that of the Pagan

Mysteries. He had come into possession of a secret document belonging

to one of these sects, whom he calls the Naassenes; this document he

gives in full, and it certainly throws a most extraordinary light upon

the relation which this early Christian sect held to exist between the

New, and the Old, Faith. Mr G. R. S. Mead, in his translation of the

Hermetic writings entitled _Thrice-Greatest Hermes_, has given a

careful translation and detailed analysis of this most important text,

and it is from his work that I shall quote.

So far as the structure of the document is concerned Mr Mead

distinguishes three stages.

(_a_) An original Pagan source, possibly dating from the last half of

the first century B.C., but containing material of earlier date.

(_b_) The working over of this source by a Jewish Mystic whom the

critic holds to have been a contemporary of Philo.

(_c_) A subsequent working over, with additions, by a Christian Gnostic

(Naassene), in the middle of the second century A. D. Finally the text

was edited by Hippolytus, in the _Refutation_, about 222 A. D. Thus the

ground covered is roughly from 50 B. C. to 220 A. D.[2]

In the translation given by Mr Mead these successive layers are

distinguished by initial letters and difference of type, but these

distinctions are not of importance for us; what we desire to know is

what was really held and taught by these mystics of the Early Church.

Mr Mead, in his introductory remarks, summarizes the evidence as

follows: “The claim of these Gnostics was practically that

Christianity, or rather the Good News of The Christ, was precisely the

consummation of the inner doctrine of the Mystery-institutions of all

the nations: the end of them all was the revelation of the Mystery of

Man.”[3] In other words the teaching of these Naassenes was practically

a synthesis of all the Mystery-religions, and although Hippolytus

regards them as nothing more than devotees of the cult of the _Magna

Mater_, we shall see that, while their doctrine and teaching were

undoubtedly based mainly upon the doctrine and practices of the

Phrygian Mysteries, they practically identified the deity therein

worshipped, _i.e._, Attis, with the presiding deity of all the other

Mysteries.

Mr Mead draws attention to the fact that Hippolytus places these

Naassenes in the fore-front of his _Refutation;_ they are the first

group of Heretics with whom he deals, and we may therefore conclude

that he considered them, if not the most important, at least the

oldest, of such sectaries.[4]

With these prefatory remarks it will be well to let the document speak

for itself. It is of considerable length, and, as we have seen, of

intricate construction. I shall therefore quote only those sections

which bear directly upon the subject of our investigation; any reader

desirous of fuller information can refer to Mr Mead’s work, or to the

original text published by Reitzenstein.[5]

At the outset it will be well to understand that the central doctrine

of all these Mysteries is what Reitzenstein sums up as “the doctrine of

the Man, the Heavenly Man, the Son of God, who descends and becomes a

slave of the Fate Sphere: the Man who, though originally endowed with

all power, descends into weakness and bondage, and has to win his own

freedom, and regain his original state. This doctrine is not Egyptian,

but seems to have been in its origin part and parcel of the Chaldean

Mystery-tradition and was widely spread in Hellenistic circles.”[6]

Thus, in the introductory remarks prefixed by Hippolytus to the

document he is quoting he asserts that the Naassenes honour as the

Logos of all universals Man, and Son of Man—“and they divide him into

three, for they say he has a mental, psychic, and choïc aspect; and

they think that the Gnosis of this Man is the beginning of the

possibility of knowing God, saying, ‘The beginning of Perfection is the

Gnosis of Man, but the Gnosis of God is perfected Perfection.’ All

these, mental, psychic, and earthy, descended together into one Man,

Jesus, the Son of Mary.”[7]

Thus the _Myth of Man_, the Mystery of Generation, is the subject

matter of the document in question, and this myth is set forth with

reference to all the Mysteries, beginning with the Assyrian.

Paragraph 5 runs: “Now the Assyrians call this Mystery Adonis, and

whenever it is called Adonis it is Aphrodite who is in love with and

desires Soul so-called, and Aphrodite is Genesis according to them.”[8]

But in the next section the writer jumps from the Assyrian to the

Phrygian Mysteries, saying, “But if the Mother of the Gods emasculates

Attis, she too regarding him as the object of her love, it is the

Blessed Nature above of the super-Cosmic, and Aeonian spaces which

calls back the masculine power of Soul to herself.”[9]

In a note to this Mr Mead quotes from _The Life of Isidorus:_ “I fell

asleep and in a vision Attis seemed to appear to me, and on behalf of

the Mother of gods to initiate me into the feast called Hilario, a

mystery which discloses the way of our salvation from Hades.”

Throughout the document reference is continually made to the Phrygians

and their doctrine of Man. The Eleusinian Mysteries are then treated of

as subsequent to the Phrygian, “after the Phrygians, the Athenians,”

but the teaching is represented as being essentially identical.

We have then a passage of great interest for our investigation, in

which the Mysteries are sharply divided into two classes, and their

separate content clearly defined. There are—“the little Mysteries,

those of the Fleshly Generation, and after men have been initiated into

them they should cease for a while and become initiated in the Great,

Heavenly, Mysteries—for this is the Gate of Heaven, and this is the

House of God, where the Good God dwells alone, into which House no

impure man shall come.”[10] Hippolytus remarks that “these Naassenes

say that the performers in theatres, they too, neither say nor do

anything without design—for example, when the people assemble in the

theatre, and a man comes on the stage clad in a robe different from all

others, with lute in hand on which he plays, and thus chants the Great

Mysteries, not knowing what he says:

‘Whether blest Child of Kronos, or of Zeus, or of Great Rhea,

Hail Attis, thou mournful song of Rhea!

Assyrians call thee thrice-longed-for Adonis;v All Egypt calls thee

Osiris;

The Wisdom of Hellas names thee Men’s Heavenly Horn;

The Samothracians call thee august Adama;v The Haemonians, Korybas;

The Phrygians name thee Papa sometimes;

At times again Dead, or God, or Unfruitful, or Aipolos;

Or Green Reaped Wheat-ear;

Or the Fruitful that Amygdalas brought forth,

Man, Piper—Attis!’

This is the Attis of many forms, of whom they sing as follows:

‘Of Attis will I sing, of Rhea’s Beloved,

Not with the booming of bells,

Nor with the deep-toned pipe of Idaean Kuretes;

But I will blend my song with Phoebus’ music of the lyre;

Evoi, Evan,—for thou art Pan, thou Bacchus art, and Shepherd of bright

stars!’”[11]

On this Hippolytus comments: “For these and suchlike reasons these

Naassenes frequent what are called the Mysteries of the Great Mother,

believing that they obtain the clearest view of the universal Mystery

from the things done in them.”

And after all this evidence of elaborate syncretism, this practical

identification of all the Mystery-gods with the Vegetation deity

Adonis-Attis, we are confronted in the concluding paragraph, after

stating that “the True Gate is Jesus the Blessed,” with this astounding

claim, from the pen of the latest redactor, “And of all men we alone

are Christians, accomplishing the Mystery at the Third Gate.”[12]

Now what conclusions are to be drawn from this document which, in its

entirety, Mr Mead regards as “the most important source we have for the

higher side (regeneration) of the Hellenistic Mysteries”?

First of all, does it not provide a complete and overwhelming

justification of those scholars who have insisted upon the importance

of these Vegetation cults—a justification of which, from the very

nature of their studies, they could not have been aware?

Sir James Frazer, and those who followed him, have dealt with the

public side of the cult, with its importance as a recognized vehicle

for obtaining material advantages; it was the social, rather than the

individual, aspect which appealed to them. Now we find that in the

immediate _pre_- and _post_-Christian era these cults were considered

not only most potent factors for assuring the material prosperity of

land and folk, but were also held to be the most appropriate vehicle

for imparting the highest religious teaching. The Vegetation deities,

Adonis-Attis, and more especially the Phrygian god, were the chosen

guides to the knowledge of, and union with, the supreme Spiritual

Source of Life, of which they were the communicating medium.

We must remember that though the document before us is, in its actual

form, the expression of faith of a discredited ‘Christian-Gnostic’

sect, the essential groundwork upon which it is elaborated belongs to a

period anterior to Christianity, and that the Ode in honour of Attis

quoted above not only forms part of the original source, but is, in the

opinion of competent critics, earlier than the source itself.

I would also recall to the memory of the reader the passage previously

quoted from Cumont, in which he refers to the use made by the

Neo-Platonist philosophers of the Attis legend, as the mould into which

they poured their special theories of the universe, and of

generation.[13] Can the importance of a cult capable of such

far-reaching developments be easily exaggerated? Secondly, and of more

immediate importance for our investigation, is it not evident that we

have here all the elements necessary for a mystical development of the

Grail tradition? The Exoteric side of the cult gives us the Human, the

Folk-lore, elements—the Suffering King; the Waste Land; the effect upon

the Folk; the task that lies before the hero; the group of Grail

symbols. The Esoteric side provides us with the Mystic Meal, the Food

of Life, connected in some mysterious way with a Vessel which is the

centre of the cult; the combination of that vessel with a Weapon, a

combination bearing a well-known ‘generative’ significance; a double

initiation into the source of the lower and higher spheres of Life; the

ultimate proof of the successful issue of the final test in the

restoration of the King. I would ask any honest-minded critic whether

any of the numerous theories previously advanced has shown itself

capable of furnishing so comprehensive a solution of the _ensemble_

problem?

At the same time it should be pointed out that the acceptance of this

theory of the origin of the story in no way excludes the possibility of

the introduction of other elements during the period of romantic

evolution. As I have previously insisted,[14] not all of those who

handled the theme knew the real character of the material with which

they were dealing, while even among those who did know there were some

who allowed themselves considerable latitude in their methods of

composition; who did not scruple to introduce elements foreign to the

original _Stoff_, but which would make an appeal to the public of the

day. Thus while Bleheris who, I believe, really held a tradition of the

original cult, contented himself with a practically simple recital of

the initiations, later redactors, under the influence of the Crusades,

and the Longinus legend—possibly also actuated by a desire to

substitute a more edifying explanation than that originally

offered—added a directly Christian interpretation of the Lance. As it

is concerning the Lance alone that Gawain asks, the first modification

must have been at this point; the bringing into line of the twin

symbol, the Vase, would come later.

The fellowship, it may even be, the rivalry, between the two great

Benedictine houses of Fescamp and Glastonbury, led to the redaction, in

the interests of the latter, of a _Saint-Sang_ legend, parallel to that

which was the genuine possession of the French house.[15] For we must

emphasize the fact that the original Joseph-Glastonbury story is a

_Saint-Sang_, and not a _Grail_ legend. A phial containing the Blood of

Our Lord was said to have been buried in the tomb of Joseph—surely a

curious fate for so precious a relic—and the Abbey never laid claim to

the possession of the Vessel of the Last Supper.[16] Had it done so it

would certainly have become a noted centre of pilgrimage—as Dr Brugger

acutely remarks such relics are _besucht_, not _gesucht_.

But there is reason to believe that the kindred Abbey of Fescamp had

developed its genuine _Saint-Sang_ legend into a Grail romance, and

there is critical evidence to lead us to suppose that the text we know

as _Perlesvaus_ was, in its original form, now it is to be feared

practically impossible to reconstruct, connected with that Abbey. As we

have it, this alone, of all the Grail romances, connects the hero alike

with Nicodemus, and with Joseph of Arimathea, the respective

protagonists of the _Saint-Sang_ legends; while its assertion that the

original Latin text was found in a holy house situated in marshes, the

burial place of Arthur and Guenevere, unmistakably points to

Glastonbury.

In any case, when Robert de Borron proposed to himself the task of

composing a trilogy on the subject the Joseph legend was already in a

developed form, and a fresh element, the combination of the Grail

legend with the story of a highly popular Folk-tale hero, known in this

connection as Perceval (though he has had many names), was established.

Borron was certainly aware of the real character of his material; he

knew the Grail cult as Christianized Mystery, and, while following the

romance development, handled the theme on distinctively religious

lines, preserving the Mystery element in its three-fold development,

and equating the Vessel of the Mystic Feast with the Christian

Eucharist. From what we now know of the material it seems certain that

the equation was already established, and that Borron was simply

stating in terms of romance what was already known to him in terms of

Mystery. In face of the evidence above set forth there can no longer be

any doubt that the Mystic Feast of the Nature cults really had, and

that at a very early date, been brought into touch with the Sacrament

of the Eucharist.

But to Chrétien de Troyes the story was romance, pure and simple. There

was still a certain element of awe connected with Grail, and Grail

Feast, but of the real meaning and origin of the incidents he had, I am

convinced, no idea whatever. Probably many modifications were already

in his source, but the result so far as his poem is concerned is that

he duplicated the character of the Fisher King; he separated both,

Father and Son, from the Wasted Land, transferring the responsibility

for the woes of Land and Folk to the Quester, who, although his failure

might be responsible for their continuance, never had anything to do

with their origin. He bestowed the wound of the Grail King, deeply

significant in its original conception and connection, upon Perceval’s

father, a shadowy character, entirely apart from the Grail tradition.

There is no trace of the Initiation elements in his poem, no Perilous

Chapel, no welding of the Sword. We have here passed completely and

entirely into the land of romance, the doors of the Temple are closed

behind us. It is the story of Perceval li Gallois, not the Ritual of

the Grail, which fills the stage, and with the story of Perceval there

comes upon the scene a crowd of Folk-tale themes, absolutely foreign to

the Grail itself.

Thus we have not only the central theme of the lad reared in woodland

solitude, making his entrance into a world of whose ordinary relations

he is absolutely and ludicrously ignorant, and the traditional

illustrations of the results of that ignorance, such as the story of

the Lady of the Tent and the stolen ring; but we have also the sinister

figure of the Red Knight with his Witch Mother; the three drops of

blood upon the snow, and the ensuing love trance; pure Folk-tale

themes, mingled with the more chivalric elements of the rescue of a

distressed maiden, and the vanquishing in single combat of doughty

antagonists, Giant, or Saracen. One and all of them elements offering

widespread popular parallels, and inviting the unwary critic into paths

which lead him far astray from the goal of his quest, the Grail Castle.

I dispute in no way the possible presence of Celtic elements in this

complex. The Lance may well have borrowed at one time features from

early Irish tradition, at another details obviously closely related to

the Longinus legend. It is even possible that, as Burdach insists,

features of the Byzantine Liturgy may have coloured the representation

of the Grail procession, although, for my own part, I consider such a

theory highly improbable in view of the facts that (_a_) Chrétien’s

poem otherwise shows no traces of Oriental influence; (_b_) the ‘Spear’

in the Eastern rite is simply a small spear-shaped knife; (_c_) the

presence of the lights is accounted for by the author of _Sone de

Nansai_ on the ground of a Nativity legend, the authenticity of which

was pointed out by the late M. Gaston Paris; (_d_) it is only in the

later prose form that we find any suggestion of a Grail Chapel, whereas

were the source of the story really to be found in the Mass, such a

feature would certainly have had its place in the earliest versions.

But in each and all these cases the solution proposed has no relation

to other features of the story; it is consequently of value _in_, and

_per se_, only, and cannot be regarded as valid evidence for the source

of the legend as a whole. In the process of transmutation from Ritual

to Romance, the kernel, the Grail legend proper, may be said to have

formed for itself a shell composed of accretions of widely differing

_provenance_. It is the legitimate task of criticism to analyse such

accretions, and to resolve them into their original elements, but they

are accretions, and should be treated as such, not confounded with the

original and essential material. After upwards of thirty years spent in

careful study of the Grail legend and romances I am firmly and entirely

convinced that the root origin of the whole bewildering complex is to

be found in the Vegetation Ritual, treated from the esoteric point of

view as a Life-Cult, _and in that alone_. Christian Legend, and

traditional Folk-tale, have undoubtedly contributed to the perfected

romantic _corpus_, but they are in truth subsidiary and secondary

features; a criticism that would treat them as original and primary can

but defeat its own object; magnified out of proportion they become

stumbling-blocks upon the path, instead of sign-posts towards the goal.

CHAPTER XII

Mithra and Attis

The fact that there was, at a very early date, among a certain sect of

Christian Gnostics, a well-developed body of doctrine, based upon the

essential harmony existing between the Old Faith and the New, which

claimed by means of a two-fold Initiation to impact to the inner circle

of its adherents the secret of life, physical and spiritual, being, in

face of the evidence given in the previous chapter, placed beyond any

possible doubt, we must now ask, is there any evidence that such

teaching survived for any length of time, or could have penetrated to

the British Isles, where, in view of the priority of the

_Bleheris-Gawain_ form, the Grail legend, as we know it, seems to have

originated? I think there is at least presumptive evidence of such

preservation, and transmission. I have already alluded to the close

connection existing between the Attis cult, and the worship of the

popular Persian deity, Mithra, and have given quotations from Cumont

illustrating this connection; it will be worth while to study the

question somewhat more closely, and discover, if possible, the reason

for this intimate alliance.

On the face of it there seems to be absolutely no reason for the

connection of these cults; the two deities in no way resemble each

other; the stories connected with them have no possible analogy; the

root conception is widely divergent.

With the character of the deity we know as Adonis, or Attis, we are now

thoroughly familiar. In the first instance it seems to be the human

element in the myth which is most insisted upon. He is a mortal youth

beloved by a great goddess; only after his tragic death does he appear

to assume divine attributes, and, alike in death and resurrection,

become the accepted personification of natural energies.

Baudissin, _Adonis und Esmun_, remarks that Adonis belongs to “einer

Klasse von Wesen sehr unbestimmter Art der wohl über den Menschen aber

unter den grossen Göttern stehen, und weniger Individualität besitzen

als diese.”[1] Such a criticism applies of course equally to Attis.

Mithra, on the other hand, occupies an entirely different position.

Cumont, in his _Mystères de Mithra_, thus describes him; he is “le

génie de la lumière céleste. Il n’est ni le soleil, ni la lune, ni les

étoiles, mais à l’aide de ces mille oreilles, et de ces deux milles

yeux, il surveille le monde.”[2]

His beneficent activities might seem to afford a meeting ground with

the Vegetation goods—“Il donne l’accroissement, il donne l’abondance,

il donne les troupeaux, il donne la progéniture et la vie.”[3]

This summary may aptly be compared with the lament for Tammuz, quoted

in Chapter 3.

But the worship of Mithra in the form in which it spread throughout the

Roman Empire, Mithra as the god of the Imperial armies, the deity

beloved of the Roman legionary, was in no sense of this concrete and

material type.

This is how Cumont sums up the main features. Mithra is the Mediator,

who stands between “le Dieu inaccessible, et inconnaissable, qui règne

dans les sphères éthérées, et le genre humain qui s’agite ici-bas.”—“Il

est le Logos émané de Dieu, et participant à sa toute puissance, qui

après avoir formé le monde comme démiurge continue à veiller sur lui.”

The initiates must practice a strict chastity—“La résistance à la

sensualité était un des aspects du combat contre le principe du mal—le

dualisme Mithraique servait de fondement à une morale très pure et très

efficace.”[4]

Finally, Mithraism taught the resurrection of the body—Mithra will

descend upon earth, and will revive all men. All will issue from their

graves, resume their former appearance and recognize each other. All

will be united in one great assembly, and the good will be separated

from the evil. Then in one supreme sacrifice Mithra will immolate the

divine bull, and mixing its fat with the consecrated wine will offer to

the righteous the cup of Eternal Life.[5]

The final parallel with the Messianic Feast described in Chapter 9 is

too striking to be overlooked.

The celestial nature of the deity is also well brought out in the

curious text edited by Dieterich from the great Magic Papyrus of the

Bibliothèque Nationale, and referred to in a previous chapter. This

text purports to be a formula of initiation, and we find the aspirant

ascending through the Seven Heavenly Spheres, to be finally met by

Mithra who brings him to the presence of God. So in the Mithraic

temples we find seven ladders, the ascent of which by the Initiate

typified his passage to the seventh and supreme Heaven.[6]

Bousset points out that the original idea was that of three Heavens

above which was Paradise; the conception of Seven Heavens, ruled by the

seven Planets, which we find in Mithraism, is due to the influence of

Babylonian sidereal cults.[7]

There is thus a marked difference between the two initiations; the

Attis initiate dies, is possibly buried, and revives with his god; the

Mithra initiate rises direct to the celestial sphere, where he is met

and welcomed by his god. There is here no evidence of the death and

resurrection of the deity.

What then is the point of contact between the cults that brought them

into such close and intimate relationship?

I think it must be sought in the higher teaching, which, under widely

differing external mediums, included elements common to both. In both

cults the final aim was the attainment of spiritual and eternal life.

Moreover, both possessed essential features which admitted, if they did

not encourage, an assimilation with Christianity. Both of them, if

forced to yield ground to their powerful rival, could, with a fair show

of reason, claim that they had been not vanquished, but fulfilled, that

their teaching had, in Christianity, attained its normal term.

The extracts given above will show the striking analogy between the

higher doctrine of Mithraism, and the fundamental teaching of its great

rival, a resemblance that was fully admitted, and which became the

subject of heated polemic. Greek philosophers did not hesitate to

establish a parallel entirely favourable to Mithraism, while Christian

apologists insisted that such resemblances were the work of the Devil,

a line of argument which, as we have seen above, they had already

adopted with regard to the older Mysteries. It is a matter of

historical fact that at one moment the religious fate of the West hung

in the balance, and it was an open question whether Mithraism or

Christianity would be the dominant Creed.[8]

On the other hand we have also seen that certainly one early Christian

sect, the Naassenes, while equally regarding the Logos as the centre of

their belief, held the equivalent deity to be Attis, and frequented the

Phrygian Mysteries as the most direct source of spiritual

enlightenment, while the teaching as to the Death and Resurrection of

the god, and the celebration of a Mystic Feast, in which the

worshippers partook of the Food and Drink of Eternal Life, offered

parallels to Christian doctrine and practice to the full as striking as

any to be found in the Persian faith.

I would therefore submit that it was rather through the medium of their

inner, Esoteric, teaching, that the two faiths, so different in their

external practice, preserved so close and intimate a connection and

that, by the medium of that same Esoteric teaching, both alike came

into contact with Christianity, and, in the case of the Phrygian cult,

could, and actually did, claim identity with it.

Baudissin in his work above referred to suggests that the Adonis cult

owed its popularity to its higher, rather than to its lower, elements,

to its suggestion of ever-renewing life, rather than to the

satisfaction of physical desire to be found in it.[9] Later evidence

seems to prove that he judged correctly.

We may also note that the Attis Mysteries were utilized by the priests

of Mithra for the initiation of women who were originally excluded from

the cult of the Persian god. Cumont remarks that this, an absolute rule

in the Western communities, seems to have had exceptions in the

Eastern.[10] Is it possible that the passage quoted in the previous

chapter, in which Perceval is informed that no woman may speak of the

Grail, is due to contamination with the Mithra worship? It does not

appear to be in harmony with the prominent position assigned to women

in the Grail ritual, the introduction of a female Grail messenger, or

the fact that (with the exception of Merlin in the Borron text) it is

invariably a maiden who directs the hero on his road to the Grail

castle, or reproaches him for his failure there.

But there is little doubt that, separately, or in conjunction, both

cults travelled to the furthest borders of the Roman Empire. The medium

of transmission is very fully discussed by Cumont in both of the works

referred to. The channel appears to have been three-fold. First,

commercial, through the medium of Syrian merchants. As ardently

religious as practically business-like, the Syrians introduced their

native deities wherever they penetrated, “founding their chapels at the

same time as their counting-houses.”[11]

Secondly, there was social penetration—by means of the Asiatic slaves,

who formed a part of most Roman households, and the State _employés_,

such as officers of customs, army paymasters, etc., largely recruited

from Oriental sources.

Thirdly, and most important, were the soldiers, the foreign legions,

who, drawn mostly from the Eastern parts of the Empire, brought their

native deities with them. Cumont signalizes as the most active agents

of the dispersion of the cult of Mithra, Soldiers, Slaves, and

Merchants.[12]

As far North as Hadrian’s Dyke there has been found an inscription in

verse in honour of the goddess of Hierapolis, the author a prefect,

probably, Cumont remarks, the officer of a cohort of Hamii, stationed

in this distant spot. Dedications to Melkart and Astarte have been

found at Corbridge near Newcastle. The Mithraic remains are practically

confined to garrison centres, London, York, Chester, Caerleon-on-Usk,

and along Hadrian’s Dyke.[13] From the highly interesting map attached

to the Study, giving the sites of ascertained Mithraic remains, there

seems to have been such a centre in Pembrokeshire.

Now in view of all this evidence is it not at least possible that the

higher form of the Attis cult, that in which it was known and practised

by early Gnostic Christians, may have been known in Great Britain?

Scholars have been struck by the curiously unorthodox tone of the Grail

romances, their apparent insistence on a succession quite other than

the accredited Apostolic tradition, and yet, according to the writers,

directly received from Christ Himself. The late M. Paulin Paris

believed that the source of this peculiar feature was to be found in

the struggle for independence of the early British Church; but, after

all, the differences of that Church with Rome affected only minor

points of discipline: the date of Easter, the fashion of tonsure of the

clergy, nothing which touched vital doctrines of the Faith. Certainly

the British Church never claimed the possession of a revelation _à

part_. But if the theory based upon the evidence of the Naassene

document be accepted such a presentation can be well accounted for.

According to Hippolytus the doctrines of the sect were derived from

James, the brother of Our Lord, and Clement of Alexandria asserts that

“The Lord imparted the Gnosis to James the Just, to John and to Peter,

after His Resurrection; these delivered it to the rest of the Apostles,

and they to the Seventy.”[14] Thus the theory proposed in these pages

will account not only for the undeniable parallels existing between the

Vegetation cults and the Grail romances, but also for the Heterodox

colouring of the latter, two elements which at first sight would appear

to be wholly unconnected, and quite incapable of relation to a common

source.

Nor in view of the persistent vitality and survival, even to our own

day, of the Exoteric practices can there be anything improbable in the

hypothesis of a late survival of the Esoteric side of the ritual.

Cumont points out that the worship of Mithra was practised in the fifth

century in certain remote cantons of the Alps and the Vosges—_i.e._, at

the date historically assigned to King Arthur. Thus it would not be in

any way surprising if a tradition of the survival of these

semi-Christian rites at this period also existed.[15] In my opinion it

is the tradition of such a survival which lies at the root, and

explains the confused imagery, of the text we know as the

_Elucidation_. I have already, in my short study of the subject, set

forth my views; as I have since found further reasons for maintaining

the correctness of the solution proposed, I will repeat it here.[16]

The text in question is found in three of our existing Grail versions:

in the MS. of Mons; in the printed edition of 1530; and in the German

translation of Wisse-Colin. It is now prefixed to the poem of Chrétien

de Troyes, but obviously, from the content, had originally nothing to

do with that version.

It opens with the passage quoted above (p. 130) in which Master Blihis

utters his solemn warning against revealing the secret of the Grail. It

goes on to tell how aforetime there were maidens dwelling in the

hills[17] who brought forth to the passing traveller food and drink.

But King Amangons outraged one of these maidens, and took away from her

her golden Cup:

“Des puceles une esforcha

Et la coupe d’or li toli—[4].”

His knights, when they saw their lord act thus, followed his evil

example, forced the fairest of the maidens, and robbed them of their

cups of gold. As a result the springs dried up, the land became waste,

and the court of the Rich Fisher, which had filled the land with

plenty, could no longer be found.

For 1000 years the land lies waste, till, in the days of King Arthur,

his knights find maidens wandering in the woods, each with her

attendant knight. They joust, and one, Blihos-Bliheris, vanquished by

Gawain, comes to court and tells how these maidens are the descendants

of those ravished by King Amangons and his men, and how, could the

court of the Fisher King, and the Grail, once more be found, the land

would again become fertile. Blihos-Bliheris is, we are told, so

entrancing a story-teller that none at court could ever weary of

listening to his words.

The natural result, which here does not immediately concern us, was

that Arthur’s knights undertook the quest, and Gawain achieved it. Now

at first sight this account appears to be nothing but a fantastic

fairy-tale (as such Professor Brown obviously regarded it), and

although the late Dr Sebastian Evans attempted in all seriousness to

find a historical basis for the story in the events which provoked the

pronouncement of the Papal Interdict upon the realm of King John, and

the consequent deprivation of the Sacraments, I am not aware that

anyone took the solution seriously. Yet, on the basis of the theory now

set forth, is it not possible that there may be a real foundation of

historical fact at the root of this wildly picturesque tale? May it not

be simply a poetical version of the disappearance from the land of

Britain of the open performance of an ancient Nature ritual? A ritual

that lingered on in the hills and mountains of Wales as the Mithra

worship did in the Alps and Vosges, celebrated as that cult habitually

was, in natural caverns, and mountain hollows? That it records the

outrage offered by some, probably local, chieftain to a priestess of

the cult, an evil example followed by his men, and the subsequent

cessation of the public celebration of the rites, a cessation which in

the folk-belief would certainly be held sufficient to account for any

subsequent drought that might affect the land? But the ritual, in its

higher, esoteric, form was still secretly observed, and the tradition,

alike of its disappearance as a public cult, and of its persistence in

some carefully hidden strong-hold, was handed on in the families of

those who had been, perhaps still were, officiants of these rites.

That among the handers on of the torch would be the descendants of the

outraged maidens, is most probable.

The sense of mystery, of a real danger to be faced, of an overwhelming

Spiritual gain to be won, were of the essential nature of the tale. It

was the very mystery of Life which lay beneath the picturesque

wrappings; small wonder that the Quest of the Grail became the synonym

for the highest achievement that could be set before men, and that when

the romantic evolution of the Arthurian tradition reached its term,

this supreme adventure was swept within the magic circle. The knowledge

of the Grail was the utmost man could achieve, Arthur’s knights were

the very flower of manhood, it was fitting that to them the supreme

test be offered. That the man who first told the story, and boldly, as

befitted a born teller of tales, wedded it the Arthurian legend, was

himself connected by descent with the ancient Faith, himself actually

held the Secret of the Grail, and told, in purposely romantic form,

that of which he knew, I am firmly convinced, nor do I think that the

time is far distant when the missing links will be in our hand, and we

shall be able to weld once more the golden chain which connects Ancient

Ritual with Medieval Romance.

CHAPTER XIII

The Perilous Chapel

Students of the Grail romances will remember that in many of the

versions the hero—sometimes it is a heroine—meets with a strange and

terrifying adventure in a mysterious Chapel, an adventure which, we are

given to understand, is fraught with extreme peril to life. The details

vary: sometimes there is a Dead Body laid on the altar; sometimes a

Black Hand extinguishes the tapers; there are strange and threatening

voices, and the general impression is that this is an adventure in

which supernatural, and evil, forces are engaged.

Such an adventure befalls Gawain on his way to the Grail Castle.[1] He

is overtaken by a terrible storm, and coming to a Chapel, standing at a

crossways in the middle of a forest, enters for shelter. The altar is

bare, with no cloth, or covering, nothing is thereon but a great golden

candlestick with a tall taper burning within it. Behind the altar is a

window, and as Gawain looks a Hand, black and hideous, comes through

the window, and extinguishes the taper, while a voice makes lamentation

loud and dire, beneath which the very building rocks. Gawain’s horse

shies for terror, and the knight, making the sign of the Cross, rides

out of the Chapel, to find the storm abated, and the great wind fallen.

Thereafter the night was calm and clear.

In the _Perceval_ section of Wauchier and Manessier we find the same

adventure in a dislocated form.[2]

Perceval, seeking the Grail Castle, rides all day through a heavy

storm, which passes off at night-fall, leaving the weather calm and

clear. He rides by moonlight through the forest, till he sees before

him a great oak, on the branches of which are lighted candles, ten,

fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five. The knight rides quickly towards it,

but as he comes near the lights vanish, and he only sees before him a

fair little Chapel, with a candle shining through the open door. He

enters, and finds on the altar the body of a dead knight, covered with

a rich samite, a candle burning at his feet.

Perceval remains some time, but nothing happens. At midnight he

departs; scarcely has he left the Chapel when, to his great surprise,

the light is extinguished.

The next day he reaches the castle of the Fisher King, who asks him

where he passed the preceding night. Perceval tells him of the Chapel;

the King sighs deeply, but makes no comment.

Wauchier’s section breaks off abruptly in the middle of this episode;

when Manessier takes up the story he gives explanations of the Grail,

etc., at great length, explanations which do not at all agree with the

indications of his predecessor. When Perceval asks of the Chapel he is

told it was built by Queen Brangemore of Cornwall, who was later

murdered by her son Espinogres, and buried beneath the altar. Many

knights have since been slain there, none know by whom, save it be by

the Black Hand which appeared and put out the light. (As we saw above

it had not appeared.) The enchantment can only be put an end to if a

valiant knight will fight the Black Hand, and, taking a veil kept in

the Chapel, will dip it in holy water, and sprinkle the walls, after

which the enchantment will cease.

At a much later point Manessier tells how Perceval, riding through the

forest, is overtaken by a terrible storm. He takes refuge in a Chapel

which he recognizes as that of the Black Hand. The Hand appears,

Perceval fights against and wounds it; then appears a Head; finally the

Devil in full form who seizes Perceval as he is about to seek the veil

of which he has been told. Perceval makes the sign of the Cross, on

which the Devil vanishes, and the knight falls insensible before the

altar. On reviving he takes the veil, dips it in holy water, and

sprinkles the walls within and without. He sleeps there that night, and

the next morning, on waking, sees a belfry. He rings the bell, upon

which an old man, followed by two others, appears. He tells Perceval he

is a priest, and has buried 3000 knights slain by the Black Hand; every

day a knight has been slain, and every day a marble tomb stands ready

with the name of the victim upon it. Queen Brangemore founded the

cemetery, and was the first to be buried within it. (But according to

the version given earlier she was buried beneath the altar.) We have

here evidently a combination of two themes, Perilous Chapel and

Perilous Cemetery, originally independent of each other. In other MSS.

the Wauchier adventure agrees much more closely with the Manessier

sequel, the Hand appearing, and extinguishing the light. Sometimes the

Hand holds a bridle, a feature probably due to contamination with a

Celtic Folk-tale, in which a mysterious Hand (here that of a giant)

steals on their birth-night a Child, and a foal.[3] These _Perceval_

versions are manifestly confused and dislocated, and are probably drawn

from more than one source.

In the _Queste_ Gawain and Hector de Maris come to an old and ruined

Chapel where they pass the night. Each has a marvellous dream. The next

morning, as they are telling each other their respective visions, they

see, “a Hand, showing unto the elbow, and was covered with red samite,

and upon that hung a bridle, not rich, and held within the fist a great

candle that burnt right clear, and so passed afore them, and entered

into the Chapel, and then vanished away, and they wist not where.”[4]

This seems to be an unintelligent borrowing from the _Perceval_

version.

We have, also, a group of visits to the Perilous Chapel, or Perilous

Cemetery, which appear to be closely connected with each other. In each

case the object of the visit is to obtain a portion of the cloth which

covers the altar, or a dead body lying upon the altar. The romances in

question are the _Perlesvaus_, the prose _Lancelot_, and the _Chevalier

à deux Espées_.[5] The respective protagonists being Perceval’s sister,

Sir Lancelot, and the young Queen of Garadigan, whose city has been

taken by King Ris and who dares the venture to win her freedom.

In the first case the peril appears to lie in the Cemetery, which is

surrounded by the ghosts of knights slain in the forest, and buried in

unconsecrated ground. The _Lancelot_ version is similar, but here the

title is definitely _Perilous Chapel_. In the last version there is no

hint of a Cemetery.

In the _Lancelot_ version there is a dead knight on the altar, whose

sword Lancelot takes in addition to the piece of cloth. In the poem a

knight is brought in, and buried before the altar; the young queen,

after cutting off a piece of the altar cloth, uncovers the body, and

buckles on the sword. There is no mention of a Hand in any of the three

versions, which appear to be late and emasculated forms of the theme.

The earliest mention of a Perilous Cemetery, as distinct from a Chapel,

appears to be in the Chastel Orguellous section of the _Perceval_, a

section probably derived from a very early stratum of Arthurian

romantic tradition. Here Arthur and his knights, on their way to the

siege of Chastel Orguellous, come to the _Vergier des Sepoltures_,

where they eat with the Hermits, of whom there are a hundred and more.

“ne me l’oïst or pas chi dire

Les merveilles del chimetire

car si sont diverses et grans

qu’il n’est hom terriens vivans

qui poist pas quidier ne croire

que ce fust onques chose voire.”[6]

But there is no hint of a Perilous Chapel here.

The adventures of Gawain in the _Atre Perilleus_,[7] and of Gawain and

Hector in the _Lancelot_ of the final cyclic prose version, are of the

most _banal_ description; the theme, originally vivid and picturesque,

has become watered down into a meaningless adventure of the most

conventional type.

But originally a high importance seems to have been attached to it. If

we turn back to the first version given, that of which Gawain is the

hero, we shall find that special stress is laid on this adventure, as

being part of ‘the Secret of the Grail,’ of which no man may speak

without grave danger.[8] We are told that, but for Gawain’s loyalty and

courtesy, he would not have survived the perils of that night. In the

same way Perceval, before reaching the Fisher King’s castle, meets a

maiden, of whom he asks the meaning of the lighted tree, Chapel, etc.

She tells him it is all part of the _saint secret_ of the Grail.[9] Now

what does this mean? Unless I am much mistaken the key is to be found

in a very curious story related in the _Perlesvaus_, which is twice

referred to in texts of a professedly historical character. The tale

runs thus. King Arthur has fallen into slothful and _fainéant_ ways,

much to the grief of Guenevere, who sees her lord’s fame and prestige

waning day by day. In this crisis she urges him to visit the Chapel of

Saint Austin, a perilous adventure, but one that may well restore his

reputation. Arthur agrees; he will take with him only one squire; the

place is too dangerous. He calls a youth named Chaus, the son of Yvain

the Bastard, and bids him be ready to ride with him at dawn. The lad,

fearful of over-sleeping, does not undress, but lies down as he is in

the hall. He falls asleep—and it seems to him that the King has wakened

and gone without him. He rises in haste, mounts and rides after Arthur,

following, as he thinks, the track of his steed. Thus he comes to a

forest glade, where he sees a Chapel, set in the midst of a grave-yard.

He enters, but the King is not there; there is no living thing, only

the body of a knight on a bier, with tapers burning in golden

candlesticks at head and foot. Chaus takes out one of the tapers, and

thrusting the golden candlestick betwixt hose and thigh, remounts and

rides back in search of the King. Before he has gone far he meets a

man, black, and foul-favoured, armed with a large two-edged knife. He

asks, has he met King Arthur? The man answers, No, but he has met him,

Chaus; he is a thief and a traitor; he has stolen the golden

candlestick; unless he gives it up he shall pay for it dearly. Chaus

refuses, and the man smites him in the side with the knife. With a loud

cry the lad awakes, he is lying in the hall at Cardoil, wounded to

death, the knife in his side and the golden candlestick still in his

hose.

He lives long enough to tell the story, confess, and be shriven, and

then dies. Arthur, with the consent of his father, gives the

candlestick to the church of Saint Paul, then newly founded, “for he

would that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be known, and

that prayer should be made for the soul of the squire.”[10]

The pious wish of the King seems to have been fulfilled, as the story

was certainly well known, and appears to have been accepted as a

genuine tradition. Thus the author of the _Histoire de Fulk Fitz-Warin_

gives a _résumé_ of the adventure, and asserts that the Chapel of Saint

Austin referred to was situated in Fulk’s patrimony, _i.e._, in the

tract known as the Blaunche Launde, situated in Shropshire, on the

border of North Wales. As source for the tale he refers to _Le Graal,

le lyvre de le Seint Vassal_, and goes on to state that here King

Arthur recovered _sa bounté et sa valur_ when he had lost his

knighthood and fame. This obviously refers to the _Perlesvaus_ romance,

though whether in its present, or in an earlier form, it is impossible

to say. In any case the author of the _Histoire_ evidently thought that

the Chapel in question really existed, and was to be located in

Shropshire.[11] But John of Glastonbury also refers to the story, and

he connects it with Glastonbury.[12]

Now how can we account for so wild, and at first sight so improbable, a

tale assuming what we may term a semi-historical character, and

becoming connected with a definite and precise locality?—a feature

which is, as a rule, absent from the Grail stories.

At the risk of startling my readers I must express my opinion that it

was because the incidents recorded were a reminiscence of something

which had actually happened, and which, owing to the youth, and

possible social position, of the victim, had made a profound impression

upon the popular imagination.

_For this is the story of an initiation_ (or perhaps it would be more

correct to say the test of fitness for an initiation) _carried out on

the astral plane, and reacting with fatal results upon the physical._

We have already seen in the Naassene document that the Mystery ritual

comprised a double initiation, the Lower, into the mysteries of

generation, _i.e._, of physical Life; the higher, into the Spiritual

Divine Life, where man is made one with God.[13]