OF ST. KNIGHTON’S KIEVE AND THE HOLY GRAIL
“The war-worn champion quits the world--to hide
His thin autumnal locks where monks abide
In cloistered privacy.”--_Wordsworth._
“Hither came Joseph of Arimathy,
Who brought with him the Holy Grayle (they say),
And preacht the truth: but since it greatly did decay.”
_Spenser._
About a mile from Tintagel, along the hilly road leading to Boscastle,
and passing the wonderful little Bossiney cove with its elephant-shaped
rock, there is a small rapid stream which winds through the Rocky
Valley and falls like a torrent at low tide into the sea. The Rocky
Valley, with its three huge boulders, its narrow walk now leading to
the side of the stream and now mounting far above it, and ending only
where the iron cliffs beetle above the roughest of bays, is one of the
most sublime spectacles that Nature has to display in that enchanted
region. The scenery is a mixture of dark and frowning heights standing
out with precipitous sides, and of green and gentle undulations, amidst
which sparkles ever and anon the tinkling sinuous brooklet. But it is
not so much the valley, despite its manifold charms, as the little
stream, which has a special interest for the pilgrim. By devious ways
its course may be traced back through a rushy channel which lies
deep and almost hidden between two sets of well-wooded hills until
suddenly the traveller hears the sound of a sharp splashing from an
unseen cataract. The walk now leads upward to a small gate; passing
through the opening we descend once more a steep embankment and find
ourselves at the water-edge. It is a haunted, sequestered spot, shut
in by the hills, overcast by shadows, the one sound the sound of the
leaping stream. This is St. Knighton’s Kieve, once regarded with a
species of holy awe in Cornwall and believed, like most natural wells
or “basins,” to be under the special protection and influence of a
saint. The superstition is an old one, and slowly dying out, though the
belief in holy wells, fairy wells, and wishing wells is one of the most
pleasing and least harmful of all ancient fancies. Every spring was of
yore regarded more or less as a miracle; every torrent had its tutelary
genius.
[Illustration: _Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle_]
ST. KNIGHTON’S KIEVE, TINTAGEL
[_To face p. 184_]
The Kieve is a natural bowl into which the flashing cascade plunges
from the rocks above. The water has worn its way through a narrow rocky
crevice and drops through a natural bridge thickly overgrown with fern
and moss. The dark Kieve receives the torrent, and the water spreads
out again and dimples in the shallow bed, gliding smoothly and almost
silently through the luxurious plantation. Now and then we catch its
gleam among the lush foliage, and a mile or more beyond may be seen
the deep blue of the sea into which it pours its tiny tribute. Below
the edge of the Kieve is a flat slab, and the stream is broken as it
shoots down; on one side is a bulging black rock which looks darker by
contrast with the shining waters. The trees form a screen through which
the light passes more dimly, and this secluded half-hidden spot is
perceived to be a fitting scene for the stories it has inspired.
The Kieve as a place for complete retirement would, with many
disadvantages, possess the one strong and desirable advantage of being
difficult to discover without those written instructions as to the
winding path which are now placed in the visitor’s hands. For, lying
a mile or more beyond the beaten track, it can be found only after
a confusing journey through the thick brush and weeds of the valley,
over rudely constructed bridges, up steep and slippery embankments, and
finally through the doorway which is kept closed and locked against all
comers save those who have begun the search from the right and legal
road.
If we were to adhere strictly to Malory’s narrative we should say
that the quest for the Holy Grail began at Camelot. Local tradition,
however, is privileged to depart from written records, and it happens
that in this case the scene is transferred to this spot near King
Arthur’s birthplace. We are asked to believe that the knights, standing
with bowed heads in the Kieve, undertook the search for the Holy Vessel
of the Last Supper, brought by Joseph of Arimathæa to this land, the
Cup that had been hidden and lost, and was destined to be discovered
only by the pure and perfect knight. The king, standing on the bridge
of rock above the torrent, watched his reverent followers in the stream
below laving their brows in its waters, listening to the music of the
fall, and, full of the inspiration of the scene, making their solemn
vows, and with a firm desire after righteousness setting forth upon
the quest. Lancelot and Bors, Perceval and Galahad, when in the wild
woods far distant or among the ruined chapelries, when tormented by
doubts and wrestling with foes, might be expected to recall that cool
and shady gathering-place, to see in a vision the flashing cascade, to
dream of the crystalline brightness of the plunging water, and with
renewed hope and courage to continue their hard task.
Some such sequestered place the poet of “Sir Galahad, a Christmas
Mystery,” may have had in mind when he pictured the lonely knight
struck with awe by hearing a voice which said that the great Quest
would be achieved by him alone--
“Following
That holy Vision, Galahad, go on.”
To this very spot, too, if legend be true, the knights who had failed
returned.
The story of the Holy Grail is too profound and complex a study to be
treated in these pages save in the most superficial and limited manner.
Volumes have been and still can be devoted to the subject, and yet not
exhaust all that is to be told of this world-legend with its infinite
variations and its numberless phases and meanings. Like a river of
many obscure sources, most of which are now partly known, thanks to
the perseverance of the most devoted and painstaking of exploring
scholars, it gathers in volume upon the way, and to trace it backward
or onward involves an equally long and tortuous journey. The primary
form of the legend, the actual beginning of the Grail romance cycle,
remains a mystery and seemingly undiscoverable. The oldest poems on
the subject, those of Christien de Troyes and Robert de Borron, were
founded upon a model, or models, absolutely untraced. That it was a
primitive Celtic tradition admits of no doubt, but when Walter Map
incorporated the legend into the Arthurian story in the thirteenth
century there were Latin, German, and French originals for him to work
upon. In one chief version of the narrative Perceval is the supreme
figure; in the other Galahad, Perceval, and Bors all achieve a measure
of success, the first named being the absolute victor and the others
being admitted to partial triumph. The Christian element in the cycle
is distinct almost throughout, and the many versions have one point in
common--the sanctity of the Grail, its connection with the Saviour, or
with John the Baptist, and its continued miraculous power proceeding
from this connection. But the Celtic originals would be free from
traces of Christian symbolism. In Malory we find the Holy Vessel in
the possession of King Pelleas, nigh cousin to Joseph. When the king
and Sir Lancelot went to take their repast a dove entered the window
of the castle, and she bore in her bill a little censer of gold from
which proceeded a savour as if all the spicery of the world had been
there. The table was forthwith filled with good meats and drinks by
means of the Grail, “the richest thing that any man hath living,” as
King Pelleas declared. Whether the Grail was a chalice which received
the blood of the crucified Lord; whether, as others have affirmed, it
was the dish on which the head of John the Baptist had lain; or whether
it was a miraculous stone which fell from the crown of the revolting
angels made for Lucifer, the belief in its reality in early times must
have been sincere and ineradicable. It was said to have sustained
Joseph during an imprisonment of forty-two years; the fisherman king,
Pelleas, needed no food while it was in his keeping. This is set forth
in Wolfram’s “Parzival”--
“Whate’er one’s wishes did command,
That found he ready to his hand.”
Wolfram von Eschenbach, to whom both Germans and English owe so much,
found a collection of badly joined fables which he turned into an epic,
making Parzival (Perceval) the hero and the Grail quest the central
incident. Wolfram knew nothing of Joseph of Arimathæa; but Mr. Alfred
Nutt has pointed out that the Joseph form of the Grail story and the
Perceval form may really form one organic whole, or the one part may
be an explanatory after-thought. Whether the Christian element was
influenced by Celtic tradition, or whether the Christian legend was
superimposed upon the Celtic basis, is the subtle point which few care
to say is decided. The suggestion has been thrown out that the Grail
legend may even be of Jewish origin, and that in singing of their Holy
City whose walls should be called “salvation,” whose gates “praise,”
and whose “stones should be laid in fair colours,” they supplied the
germ from which in mediæval ages the Grail-myth sprang. The Grail was
an article of strong belief with the Templars who worshipped the head
of John the Baptist, which was reported to have been found in the
fourth century, to have kept an Emperor from dying at Constantinople,
and to have provided nourishment for all who were engaged upon
religious crusades. The idea of the Holy City seems again to recall the
aspiration of the Templars, and the Sarras of romance may have been
none other than Jerusalem. Mr. Nutt has been able to adduce Celtic
parallels for all the leading incidents in the romance of the Grail,
while the many inconsistencies in the versions are explained by the
fusion of two originally distinct groups of stories. It is, as Mr.
Nutt aptly says, the Christian transformation of the old Celtic myths
and folk-tales which “gave them their wide vogue in the Middle Ages,
which endowed the theme with such fascination for the preachers and
philosophers who use it as a vehicle for their teaching, and which has
endeared it to all lovers of mystic symbolism.”
Four of Malory’s “Books” treat of the quest of the Holy Grail and of
the adventures of the knights who undertook it. These “Books” supply
the spiritual and religious leaven of the romance. Only by stainless
and honourable lives, not by prowess and courage, so the knights were
taught, could the final goal be reached. Success in the tournament and
in war was achieved by inferior means. Hardihood and skill were of no
avail where the Grail was the prize. “I let you to wit,” said King
Pelleas, “here shall no knight win worship but if he be of worship
himself and good living, and that loveth God; and else he getteth no
worship here, be he ever so hardy.” Sinful Lancelot was fated to test
this truth. Struggle manfully as he would, victory was not for him,
though, as the old hermit told Sir Bors, “had not his sin been, he
had passed all the knights that ever were in his days”; but “sin is
so foul in him that he may not achieve such holy deeds.” The devoted
knights might speak of Lancelot’s nobleness and courtesy, his beauty
and gentleness, but the quest was not for him. His expiation was
severe. Of the hundred and fifty knights--“the fairest fellowship and
the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in any realm of
the world--whom King Arthur reluctantly allowed to seek for the Grail,
only one, the virgin Galahad, could enter the Castle of Maidens and
deliver the prisoners, could hear the voices of angels foretelling his
triumph, could find the Grail, and could be crowned in the holy city
of Sarras, the ‘spiritual place.’” It was in this city that Joseph had
been succoured; it was here that Perceval’s sister was entombed; it
was here by general assent that the pure Galahad was proclaimed king;
and it was here that the Grail remained. “And when he was come for to
behold the land, he let make about the table of silver a chest of gold
and of precious stones, that covered the holy vessel; and every day in
the morning the three fellows (Perceval and Bors with Galahad) would
come before it, and say their devotions.” At the year’s end Galahad
saw a man kneeling before the Grail; he was in the likeness of
the bishop: it was Joseph. The saint told the virgin knight that his
victory had been complete and his life perfect. “And therewith,” runs
the beautiful chronicle, “he kneeled down before the table and made his
prayers; and then suddenly his soul departed unto Jesus Christ, and
a great multitude of angels bare his soul up to heaven that his two
fellows might behold it; also, his two fellows saw come from heaven a
hand, but they saw not the body, and then it came right to the vessel
and took it, and the spear, and so bare it up to heaven. Since then was
there never a man so hardy for to say that he had seen the Sancgreal.”
[Illustration: _Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle_]
ST. KNIGHTON’S GLEN
[_To face p. 192_]
We turn instinctively to Tennyson for the poetisation of this incident.
No one has worked on the legends so wondrously as he, no one has
added more to their moral significance or to their mysticism. His
paraphrase of the prose of Malory, his additions to the details, and
his glorification of the vision, rank among the greatest triumphs of
his peculiar art.
With what feelings is one likely to read his _Holy Grail_, and,
standing near the broken and gleaming torrent of St. Knighton’s Kieve,
try to imagine that the marvellous quest which ended in Sarras began at
this spot?