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<h1>THE<br />
LOST LAND OF KING ARTHUR</h1>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 388px;">
<img id="IMGFP" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_frontis.jpg" width="388" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>KING ARTHUR’S CASTLE AND EXECUTION ROCK,
TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>Frontispiece</i>]</p>
</div>
</div>


<hr class="chap" />

<div class="limit">

<p class="center fs1">
THE LOST LAND<br />
OF KING ARTHUR</p>

<p class="center mt1"><span class="fs3">BY</span><br />
<span class="fs2">J. CUMING WALTERS</span></p>

<p class="mt1">“On the one hand we have the man Arthur, ... on the
other is a greater Arthur, a more colossal figure, of which
we have, so to speak, but a torso, rescued from the wreck
of the Celtic Pantheon.”&mdash;<span class="smcap">Professor Rhys.</span></p>

<p class="mt1">“There is truth enough to make him famous besides
that which is fabulous.”&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bacon.</span></p>

<p class="center mt1"><i>WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS</i></p>

<p class="center mt1">LONDON<br />
CHAPMAN AND HALL, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br />
1909</p>

</div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Richard Clay &amp; Sons, Limited</span>,<br />
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND<br />
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>


<div class="chapter"> </div>

<h2>FOREWORD</h2>


<p>Within a small area in the West Country may
be found the principal places mentioned in the
written chronicles of King Arthur&mdash;places with
strange long histories and of natural charm. In
these pages an impressionist view is given of the
region once called Cameliard and Lyonnesse. We
have ventured into by-ways seldom entered, and
we trust to have gathered a few details which
may not be wholly without interest in their place.
Facts are meagre about King Arthur, and romance
has so overlaid reality that his realm seems now
to be veritably a part of fairy-land. In this
respect the journey is profitless, save that, by
taking Malory as a guide, we are led to a few
delightful and half-forgotten localities out of the
ordinary route, from which romance has not been
wholly dislodged and where tradition survives
and is strong.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>




<h2>CONTENTS</h2>



<table class="toc" summary="table of contents">
<tr>
<th colspan="2" class="tdl">CHAP.</th>
<th class="tdr">PAGE</th>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">I.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">OF THE KING AND HIS CHRONICLERS</a></td>
<td class="tdr">1</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">II.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">OF LYONNESSE AND CAMELIARD</a></td>
<td class="tdr">32</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">III.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">OF ARTHUR THE KING AND MERLIN THE ENCHANTER</a></td>
<td class="tdr">61</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">IV.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">OF TINTAGEL</a></td>
<td class="tdr">86</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">V.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">OF CAERLEON-UPON-USK</a></td>
<td class="tdr">113</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">VI.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">OF THE ROUND TABLE AND KING ARTHUR’S BATTLES</a></td>
<td class="tdr">130</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">VII.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">OF CAMELOT AND ALMESBURY</a></td>
<td class="tdr">159</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">OF ST. KNIGHTON’S KIEVE AND THE HOLY GRAIL</a></td>
<td class="tdr">183</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">IX.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">OF CAMELFORD AND THE LAST BATTLE</a></td>
<td class="tdr">194</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdr">X.</td>
<td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">OF GLASTONBURY AND THE PASSING OF ARTHUR</a></td>
<td class="tdr">216</td>
</tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p>




<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>


<table class="toc" summary="list of illustrations">
<tr>
<th class="tdr" colspan="2"><i>Facing page</i></th>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMGFP">King Arthur’s Castle and Execution Rock, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG40">The Rocky Valley, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">40</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG70">Merlin’s Cave, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">70</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG96">King Arthur’s Castle, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">96</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG102">The Elephant Rock, Bossiney Cove</a></td>
<td class="tdr">102</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG110">Barras Head, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">110</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG150">The Rocky Valley, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">150</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG184">St. Knighton’s Kieve, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">184</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG192">St. Knighton’s Glen</a></td>
<td class="tdr">192</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG202">Mouth of Rocky Valley and Long Island, Tintagel</a></td>
<td class="tdr">202</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG218">St. Michael’s Tower, Glastonbury</a></td>
<td class="tdr">218</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG222">The Olde Pilgrim’s Inn, Glastonbury</a></td>
<td class="tdr">222</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG224">St. Joseph’s Chapel, Glastonbury Abbey</a></td>
<td class="tdr">224</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG236">Wells Cathedral</a></td>
<td class="tdr">236</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG248">The Abbey Barn, Glastonbury</a></td>
<td class="tdr">248</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="td1"><a href="#IMG254">Ruins of St. Joseph’s Chapel, Glastonbury</a></td>
<td class="tdr">254</td>
</tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<p class="center fs2">THE LOST LAND OF KING
ARTHUR</p>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />
OF THE KING AND HIS CHRONICLERS</h2>

<div class="ch">

<p>“What an enormous camera-obscura magnifier is Tradition!
How a thing grows in the human Memory, in the
human Imagination, when love, worship, and all that lies
in the human Heart, are there to encourage it!”&mdash;<i>Carlyle.</i></p>

</div>


<p>No pretence can be made that a complete or
exhaustive history of King Arthur is given in this
and the following chapters. Only parts of his
story and parts of the story of his most illustrious
knights are woven into this mosaic of fact and
fiction. Sometimes only a few threads of the
romance are to be discovered; at other times
many are gathered into the fabric.</p>

<p>I have taken those portions only of the Arthurian
fable, built upon a small substratum of historic
fact, which suited the immediate purpose in view;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
the rest, a huge mass, which it would have been
unprofitable to introduce, has perforce been
omitted. The primary object has been simply to
call attention to the reputed relics of the great
hero, to mark some of the floating traditions of
his power, and to speak of a few of the localities
which bear his name or are associated with his
deeds; and I have striven to add a little to the
living interest in the mouldering monuments, to
brush away a little of the dust of ages from existing
evidences, to lift a little the veil of mystery
which darkens, disguises, or shrouds the lineaments
of the king. As we find him in history,
and as he is represented in romance, he is so
noble a figure that we should dread to lose him or
the conjuring influence of his name. The proud
and triumphing Roman reeled for a time under
the shock of Arthur’s hosts. The Saxon felt his
almost invincible power. Christendom hailed his
noble order and rejoiced in his imperial sway.
Now, where he ruled and made his kingdom, are
submerged cities, fallen towers, the wash of waters,
the “trackless realm of Lyonnesse.” The sea
has swept over his territory, and the deep
shadows of centuries have fallen upon his deeds.
His fame has been made imperishable by mighty
pens, and many a mountain fastness holds his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
name and gives it forth to the world; many a
towering rock preserves his story; many a frowning
height perpetuates his deeds; many a wild
torrent proclaims his name. So by a hundred
contrivances does the memory of King Arthur
endure, and he looms, a giant, behind the mist of
ages. Six hundred localities in the British Isles
alone, it has been computed, cherish traditions
of King Arthur, and his praise is sung by a multitude
of voices, and in every region where Celtic
influence has been felt. Such an influence as this
cannot proceed wholly from the dry bones of
fiction, or from the golden toys of romance.
Legends gather about a great name, just as ivy
covers the ruined column of old time; but the
underlying base is there. Those who contend
that King Arthur never lived are open to the
charge of allowing the leaves of fable to hide
from their eyes the ruined but giant pillar
beneath.</p>

<p>In the early unwritten history of this island the
invading Brythonic race mastered the inhabitants,
the Goidels or Gauls, who had amalgamated with
the Neolithic race, and gave the country the name
of Britannia. To them is attributed the building
of Stonehenge and the round barrows in which
the dead were interred. The Cambrians, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
Welsh, and the people of Brittany are their
linguistic descendants. So hardy, stalwart, and
venturesome were the Brythons that they gradually
spread themselves over the greater part of
the country and penetrated far to the north. They
offered determined defiance to the Romans three
centuries before the Christian era, and successively
resisted Norsemen and Saxons until five
centuries of the Christian era had passed. Driven
first to the west, they took up their abode in the
wilds of Wales, and in Cornwall and Devon, and
only succumbed at last to the exterminating campaign
of the Saxons, who first cut off the Britons
of the north and the south, and then defeated the
two divisions of the race, first at Chester and
then at Bath. The crucial battle between Briton
and Saxon was under the leadership of the last of
the British chiefs, the Arthur of history and
romance, and Cerdic the victorious leader of the
“Pagans.” Cerdic, sailing across the channel in
his chiules, or long ships, had landed at the Isle
of Wight, fought King Natanleod of Hampshire,
with whom he maintained a five years’ campaign,
and, triumphant at last, and reinforced by the
followers of his son and his nephews, had established
the West Seaxe, or Wessex Kingdom.</p>

<p>But, if defeated by the British at Mount Badon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
the Saxons were not long in reversing the issue,
and Cerdic’s son Cymric, and his nephews Stuffa
and Whitgar, lived to see their rivals well-nigh
exterminated. At Wodensbury in Wiltshire the
remnants of the British race joined with the Angles
in driving the hated Saxon from the sovereignty
of Wessex, but this, too, was without permanent
result; for Cerdic’s next of descent, Cadwalla,
restored the supremacy of his house and race.</p>

<p>Cerdic is said to have died in 534, a date of
some importance as helping us to fix the true
Arthurian era. The history of many of his contemporaries
is almost as vague as Arthur’s own,
but Cerdic stands out as a man of no uncertain
history, and he serves the purpose of allowing us
to test the probabilities of Arthur’s reputed career.
That Cerdic’s record should be more definite,
though extremely brief, is due to the fact that he
was a conqueror; that Arthur’s record should be
less definite, though extremely long, is due to the
fact that he was vanquished, and that his story
became mixed with the fables of a generation
which did not know him. In the one case we
have concrete facts duly preserved; in the other
we have merely a name which fires the imagination,
and a few events which in the course of time
are magnified by romance. Allegory is but truth’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
shadow, and the very songs we deem idle, even
the loosely-strung nursery rhymes, may have
inner significance, as Carlyle has told us; men
never believed in songs that were meaningless,
and “never risked their soul’s life on allegories.”
Real history and precious lore are bound up in
these shrunken shrouds of withered myths, and
it is safe to assume that the name that is enshrined
in a folk-song is the name of a transcendent
hero, a truly great man deemed more than
human, merged into the preternatural, the ideal,
or the divine. And, like the student at the Wayside
Inn of Sudbury Town, we can&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Love the twilight that surrounds</div>
<div class="verse">The border-land of old romance,</div>
<div class="verse stars">****</div>
<div class="verse">Where mighty warriors sweep along,</div>
<div class="verse">Magnified by the purple mist,</div>
<div class="verse">The dust of centuries and of song.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Here it is that&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The chronicles of Charlemagne,</div>
<div class="verse">Of Merlin and the Mort d’Arthure</div>
<div class="verse">Mingle together.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>But how the romance of King Arthur originated,
how it came to be written, how it was
developed and elaborated, how from a simple
history it came to be invested with special significance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
and to be impregnated with spiritual meanings&mdash;to
explain this, it is necessary in some
measure to trace the course of early English
literature and to mark the advance of the English
race. The story leads us back to dim times and
small beginnings. It recalls the semi-barbarism
of the first centuries, the fierce conflicts of contending
tribes, the domination of Rome, the last
supreme encounters between Briton and Saxon,
and the making of that race which we believe
inherits the hardy and heroic qualities of both.
No doubt the substratum of fact is overlaid with
superstitions, and fantasy has reared her airy
edifices upon the frailest of history’s foundations.
The narrow track leading backward to the times
of Arthur is often undefined and irretraceable, and
the traveller finds that unstable bridges have been
cast across the gulfs which have broken up the
way. Very seldom, therefore, can a strong foothold
be obtained, and one is often disposed to
abandon the pursuit of truth as hopeless. The
tendency has ever been to strain facts to uncertain
conclusions in order to fit the exigencies of
romance.</p>

<p>As discoverable error ever leads to general
doubt, there are not lacking those who deny that
King Arthur ever existed. He is declared to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
a myth, a type, a symbol, an allegorical figure.
Even Caxton, in printing Malory’s history, was
obliged to confute the sceptics by the mention of
what he deemed unassailable facts. It was “most
execrable infidelity,” said he, to doubt the existence
of Joshua, David, Judas Maccabæus, or
Alexander; all the world knew there was a Julius
Cæsar and a Hector; “and,” he demanded to
know with just indignation, “shall the Jewes and
the heathen be honoured in the memory and
magnificent prowesse of their worthies? Shall
the French and German nations glorifie their
triumphs with their Godfrey and Charles [Charlemagne],
and shall we of this island be so possesst
with incredulities, diffidence, stupiditie, and
ingratitude, to deny, make doubt, or expresse in
speech and history, the immortal name and fame
of our victorious Arthur? All the honour we can
doe him is to honour ourselves in remembrance of
him.”</p>

<p>Having thus made it a point of national pride
and honour with us to accept and believe in King
Arthur, Caxton proceeded to advance the proofs
of his existence, which were that his life was
written in “many noble volumes,” while his
“sepulture” might be seen at Glastyngburye
[Glastonbury], that the print of his seal was preserved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
in Westminster Abbey, and that “in the
castel of Dover ye may see Gawayn’s skulle and
Cradok’s mantel; at Wynchester, the rounde
table; in other places, Lancelotte’s sworde, and
many other thynges.” These irrefutable facts
admitted, to his thinking, of but one conclusion.
“All these thynges consydered, there can no man
reasonably gaynsaye but there was a King of
thys lande named Arthur.” The quaint prologue
to Malory’s romance abundantly testifies that
serious arguments must have been already advanced
against Arthur’s existence in order to
call for so spirited a rebuke and so complete an
answer. But, as a matter of fact, the truth of
the histories referring to his exploits had been
challenged from the first, and in spite of the immense
popularity they enjoyed and the influence
they possessed, they seem never to have been
implicitly and unanimously accepted as veracious
records.</p>

<p>Three Welsh poets are supposed to have been
the first to celebrate the deeds of Arthur&mdash;the
full-throated Taliesin, Aneurin, and Llywarch
Hên. The two latter bards commemorated the
heroes who fell at the battle of Cattraeth, in the
year 603. Aneurin’s poem, “Gododin,” about a
thousand lines in length, is preserved in a manuscript<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
of the thirteenth century. The writer, who
was present at the battle he describes, is supposed
by some to have been Gildas, the first historian;
others say he was the son of Gildas.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The poem
is of a most obscure character, and doubt has
actually arisen as to the particular battle to which
it refers, a theory having been advanced that it
celebrated a disaster which befell the Britons at
Stonehenge in 472. But Cattraeth is supposed to
have been Degstan, or Dawstane, in Liddlesdale,
at which the Saxons were defeated; and when
such divergencies as these are possible in regard
to locality, persons, and dates, the value of
Aneurin’s poem as history may easily be estimated.
The principal fact which Aneurin tells us
is that of “three warriors and threescore and
three hundred, wearing the golden torques,” only
four escaped “from the conflict of gashing
weapons,” one being himself. Another of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
who escaped from Cattraeth was Kynon, known
as “the dauntless,” whose love for the daughter
of Urien supplied the bards with a theme. Urien
himself fell in this great battle, and it was the
poet Llywarch Hên (buried, it is said, in the
Church of Llanever, near Bala Lake) who wrote
his elegy. Llywarch Hên passed his younger
days at King Arthur’s Court as a free guest and
a counselling warrior. His career is well summarised
by George Borrow in <cite>Wild Wales</cite>,
Chapter LXXIII.</p>

<p>Of the third and most important prophet and
bard, Taliesin, Prince of Song, we are told that
he was the son of Saint Henwg; that he had a
miraculous birth; that he spake in wonderful
verse at his nativity and sang riddling tales; that
he was invited by King Arthur to his Court at
Caerleon; and that, having presided over the
Round Table as a “golden-tongued knight,” he
became chief of the Bards of the West. A cairn
near Aberystwyth marks the site of his grave.
The story of the bard of the radiant brow, of his
wonderful delivery from pirates, and of his
poems, which excelled those of all others, has
always been a popular one, but the sifting of
truth from fiction is no easy task. His allusions
to Arthur probably have no superior value to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
references of Aneurin and Llywarch Hên, and we
are forced therefore to dismiss them from account.
Sir Walter Scott, in the introduction to
one of his poetic romances, justly reminded his
readers that the Bards, or Scalds, were the first
historians of all nations, and that their intention
was to relate events they had witnessed or traditions
that had reached them. “But,” he added,
“as the poetical historian improves in the art of
conveying information, the authenticity of his
narrative invariably declines. He is tempted to
dilate and dwell upon events that are interesting
to his imagination, and, conscious how indifferent
his audience is to the naked truth of his poem, his
history gradually becomes a romance.” Such
were the early historians, as well as bards, upon
whose records the English chroniclers relied.</p>

<p>These chroniclers were Gildas and Nennius, of
whom no very certain biographical facts can be
discovered, though the latter is said to have been
a monk at Bangor. Gildas is the reputed author
of a treatise, <cite>De Excidio Britanniæ</cite>, blindly
copied by Bede, which supplied a history of
Britain from the time of the Incarnation to the
year 560 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> But darkness enshrouds the historian,
of whose country, parentage, and period
much is surmised and little is discoverable. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
erudite author of <cite>Culture in Early Scotland</cite>,
Dr. Mackinnon, believes that the writer of the
gloomy and pessimistic work on the destruction
of Britain was a Romanised Briton, who migrated
to Brittany to escape the pitiless severity of the
Saxons, and there founded the monastery of Ruys.
It has even been claimed that Gildas was a native
of Clydesdale, and if this were so another link
would exist to connect Arthur himself with Scotland,
for the historian was so closely identified
with the race and the cause championed by that
king that his surname was taken from Arthur’s
famous battle of Badon, which, again, is said by
some to have been fought in the Lowlands.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
Gildas was the wisest of the Britons according to
Alcuin, and Dr. Mackinnon thinks that his
chronicle should be accepted as authentic, in spite
of its occasional errors and its undoubted bias.
The stern character of the writer is evinced by his
denunciations not only of Saxon excesses, but of
the clerical vices of his age. In short, Gildas
was a religious devotee, an austere and uncompromising
critic of the demoralising customs of
the time; a species of prophet, also, who saw in
corruption and degeneration the signs of coming
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>destruction for the race to which he belonged.
Roman influence had undermined the morals of
the people and enervated public and social life.
The story Gildas tells is one of unrelieved gloom,
but it stands out in contrast to other narratives
by its rugged simplicity and its freedom from the
more romantic elements. Murder, sacrilege, and
immorality were bringing about wholesale desolation,
and the patriotic Gildas saw no future before
his country but absolute ruin and racial extinction.
His allusions to Arthur are scanty, incidental, and
none too complimentary, and they have assumed
importance only as bases for the construction of
bold theories by subsequent writers.</p>

<p>In Somerset, near the ancient British settlement
of Brean, is a rocky islet known as Steep
Holm, 400 feet high and about a mile and a half
in circumference. In this desolate place it is said
that Gildas Badonicus took refuge during the time
of conflict between Britons and Saxons, and that
here he composed the greater part of <cite>De Excidio
Britanniæ</cite>. Leland records that the hermit
“preached every Sunday in a church by the seashore,
which stands in the country of Pebidiane,
in the time of King Trifunus; an innumerable
multitude hearing him. He always wished to be
a faithful subject to King Arthur. His brothers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
however, rebelled against that king, unwilling to
endure a master. Hueil (Howel), the eldest, was
a perpetual warrior and most famous soldier, who
obeyed no king, not even Arthur himself.” Steep
Holm was invaded by pirates, and Gildas was
compelled to seek another asylum. He chose
Glastonbury, and there he died. His attitude was
pessimistic in the extreme. “The poor remnant
of our nation,” he said, “being strengthened that
they might not be brought to utter destruction,
took arms under Ambrosius, a modest man, who,
of all the Roman nation, was then alone in the
confusion of this troubled period by chance left
alive. His parents, who, for their merit, were
adorned with the purple, had been slain in the
same broils, and now his progeny, in these our
days, although shamefully degenerated from the
worthiness of their ancestors, provoked to battle
their conquerors, and, by the goodness of God,
obtained the victory.” In this dismal strain did
he write of triumphs, and the power with which
he described defeat may therefore easily be
guessed.</p>

<p>The answer that has been given to the question,
oft repeated: Why is history so silent on King
Arthur? is a strange one. It is said that Gildas,
on hearing that Arthur had slain his brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
Howel, was so deeply offended that he determined
that the hero should not be celebrated by him.
In revenge, he cast into the sea “many excellent
books which he had written concerning the acts
of Arthur, and in the praise of his nation, by
reason of which thing you can find nothing of so
great a prince expressed in authentic writings.”
Gildas himself supplies another explanation, for
he bewailed the loss of national records “which
have been consumed in the fires of the enemy, or
have accompanied my exiled countrymen into
distant lands.” His own sources of information
were those which he found in Armorica and other
portions of the Continent.</p>

<p>Nennius is supposed to have compiled another
comprehensive history comparable with that of
Gildas&mdash;<cite>Historia Britonum</cite>&mdash;the period embraced
being from the days of Brute the Trojan
to the year 680 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> But so much doubt prevails
as to his work, that the history, despite the later
date, has been ascribed to Gildas himself. Both
may have been forgeries of the tenth or eleventh
century. For five or six centuries the story of
Arthur was “folk-lore,” and was preserved in
snatches of song, a few fragments of which still
exist. Such a legend, as Longfellow says, can
only&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Spring at first</div>
<div class="verse">Out of the hunger and the thirst</div>
<div class="verse">In all men for the marvellous.</div>
<div class="verse">And thus it filled and satisfied</div>
<div class="verse">The imagination of mankind,</div>
<div class="verse">And this ideal to the mind</div>
<div class="verse">Was truer than historic fact.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Songs in praise of heroes, real or mythical,
always exist among rude peoples&mdash;the sagas
which nations unwillingly let die. They are the
repository of national history, the inspiration of
an aspiring and progressive race, the embodiment
of its hopes, the treasury of its traditions.
Mythology, “the dark shadow which
language throws on thought,” is the first outcome
of mental activity and percipience&mdash;the struggle
for human expression of all that is marvellous
and memorable. All the early history of races is
mixed and engloomed with dim allegories. Intense
reverence for divinities, or the awe of them,
leads to the making of fables and the reciting of
marvels, in which the gods speak and act as men,
or men speak and act as gods. The thoughts of
primitive peoples are concentrated upon the hero,
the commanding figure who typifies their desires,
and about whose name cluster legends of victory.
Not infrequently, divine qualities are attributed to
that hero who thus looms majestically upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
horizon of history, and ultimately becomes a
religion. “The gods of fable are the shining
moments of great men,” Emerson said, and
whether the Arthurs and Odins of mythology were
men worshipped as deities, or deities divested of
divinity and transformed into historic heroes, the
after-ages must always have some difficulty in
deciding. What we know is that the interval
between language and literature is crowded with
shadowy mythological lore, and little of the
light flashed back from to-day can illumine the
haunted, mystic, twilight time of phantom and
superstition.</p>

<p>Yet Geoffrey, Archdeacon of Monmouth, and
afterwards Bishop of St. Asaph (1100-1154), in
giving shape and substance to the Arthurian
legends and traditions, had no better material to
work with than that supplied by the British folk-songs,
the tainted records of Gildas and Nennius,
and the so-called Armoric collections of Walter,
Archdeacon of Oxford, who flourished in the
eleventh century, and connected the Arthur of
Brittany with the Arthur of Siluria. Geoffrey’s
famous <cite>Chronicon sive Historia Britonum</cite>, dedicated
to Robert, Earl of Gloucester, and given
to the world in the Latin tongue in the year 1115,
was professedly a translation of the <cite>Brut y Brenhined</cite>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
a “history of the Kings of Britain, found
in Brittany,” best described in Wordsworth’s
phrase: “A British record long concealed in old
Armorica, whose secret springs no Gothic conqueror
e’er drank.”</p>

<p>In reality his imagination had been fired by the
bardic celebrations of Arthur’s triumphs, the
songs still sung vauntingly by an unconquered
race. The old monkish chronicler manifested a
marvellous ingenuity in imparting circumstantiality
of the most convincing character to his narrative.
He connected place-names of great repute
with eponymous heroes; he linked the truths of
the Roman occupation with the half-truths or
fables of the British resistance; he wove some of
the most striking Scriptural facts into the fabric of
the romance; he so leavened falsehood with reality
that the imposture was hard to detect, especially in
an uncritical age, and the effect was most impressive
upon the minds of an unreasoning generation.
His inventions did not extend to incidents; these he
took from the chronicles to hand, and he can only
be charged with a free amplification of the records,
and a readjustment of the events which
had been described. Notwithstanding all the
craft and devices of the chronicler, however,
his history was almost immediately challenged,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
William of Newburgh, a Yorkshire monk, declaring
that Geoffrey had “lied saucily and shamelessly,”
with many other hard terms. He charged
the supposed chronicler with making use of, and
wholly depending upon, the old Breton tales, and
with adding to these contestable compilations
“increase of his own.” Nor was William of
Newburgh alone in his protests and denunciation.
Giraldus Cambriensis, by a parable, implied that
Geoffrey’s work was a deceit. There was a man
at Caerleon, he said, who could always tell a liar
because he saw the devil and his imps leaping
upon the man’s tongue. The Gospel of St. John
was given him; he placed it in his bosom; and
the evil spirits vanished. Then the <cite>History of
the Britons</cite>, by “Geoffrey Arthur” (“Arthur”
was a by-name of Geoffrey’s), was handed to
him, and the imps immediately reappeared in
greater numbers, and remained a longer time than
usual on his body and on his book. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Cœdit
quæstio</i>. But all this did not prevent Geoffrey’s
masterpiece in nine books from attaining a remarkable
popularity both in its original form and
when translated, as it rapidly was, into the Anglo-Saxon
and the Norman-French languages, where
it could be fully understanded of the people. It
covered the history of the Britons from the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
of Brut, great-grandson of Æneas of Troy, to
Cadwallader’s death in 688.</p>

<p>The first translators were Geoffrey Gaisnar or
Gaimar, in 1154 (the original history had been
published only seven years previously), who turned
the story into Norman-French verse, and Wace,
a native of Jersey, who obtained the favour of the
Norman kings, and was the author of two long
romances in Norman-French&mdash;the famed <cite>Brut</cite>, or
<cite>Geste des Bretons</cite>, and the almost equally famous
<cite>Roman de Rou</cite>. The former work was a free
metrical rendering, published in Henry II.’s reign,
of Geoffrey’s <cite>Chronicle</cite>, with some new matter.
Wace, according to Hallam the historian, was a
prolific versifier who has a “claim to indulgence,
and even to esteem, as having far excelled his
contemporaries without any superior advantages
of knowledge.” It was in emulation of him that
several Norman writers composed metrical
histories.</p>

<p>Then came Layamon, a Midland priest living
at a noble church at Emly, or Arley, who at the
close of the twelfth century produced the first
long poem written in the English language. He
did not go to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work
direct, but wrote an amplified imitation of Wace’s
version of the <cite>Chronicle</cite>. Layamon’s paraphrase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
contained just over double the number of lines in
Wace’s poem, the additions consisting chiefly of
interpolated dramatic speeches. There were
already Cymric, Armoric, Saxon, and Norman
ingredients in the medley of history and romance,
and to these Layamon added a slight Teutonic
element, for the chansons of the Trouvères had
carried the fame of Arthur into Germany, and
already new legends with new meanings were
germinating from the loosely-scattered seed.
With Artus for the central figure and with courtly
chivalry for the theme, these variations and expansions
of the story of the British chief exercised
as powerful and enduring an influence upon
the people of France and Germany as they had
done, and continued to do, upon the people of
Britain. The good priest seems to have had no
other object in writing in good plain Saxon the
story of King Arthur than to make widely known
among his countrymen the noble deeds in which
he evidently had an abounding faith. In fact, his
purpose was purely patriotic. The only guile he
employed was in supplying the names of many
persons and places, in addition to the speeches, all
of which circumstances served to magnify the
literary imposture. Walter Map, or Mapes, a
man of the Welsh Marches, with a reputation for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
exceeding frankness and honour, followed Layamon
and introduced other and more striking details
of permanent value. Map was the friend of
Becket, and is believed to have been for some
time the king’s chaplain. For the love of the
king his work was done. His Latin satirical
poems display his chief characteristics, and it is
as a wit rather than a writer that he was famous
at the Court. Yet it was this man who is held
to have conceived the character of the pure and
stainless knight Sir Galahad, assigning to him
what is in some respects the chief, or at all events
the worthiest, position in the Arthurian list of
knights. If Sir Galahad, stainless, chivalrous,
alone capable of achieving the Quest of the Grail,
were the creation of Walter Map, to him we owe
that spiritual and religious element which refines
and enriches King Arthur’s history. Map wrote
the story of the Grail, a Christianised rendering
of Celtic myth, and to him probably we owe the
moving and impressive <cite>Mort</cite>, with those notable
outbursts which rank among the treasures of our
literature. He, however, had the originals to
work upon. The Welsh had taken their legends
to Brittany, the troubadours were singing them,
and the German and the French chroniclers were
at work. And though there is no doubt that Map<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
contributed in a considerable degree to the
romances, it must be faithfully recorded that questions
have arisen whether he was really capable
of doing all that has been attributed to him, and
whether, if he had the capacity, he would also
have had the inclination. “Spotless spirituality,”
such as he is supposed to have infused into the
story, is scarcely consistent with the character of
the man whose Anacreontics are often lacking in
refinement.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>

<p>So far, it will be easily conceded, very little has
been advanced in the way of proof of the existence
of the British prince and hero, of the Cymric
“Dux Bellorum,” of the Chief of the Siluri or
Dumnonii, the name given to the remnant of the
British races driven westward by the Saxons.
We can understand Milton questioning who
Arthur was, and doubting “whether any such
reigned in Britain.” “It had been doubted heretofore,
and may be again with good reason,” he
wrote, notwithstanding the fascination possessed
by&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“What resounds</div>
<div class="verse">In fable or romance of Uther’s son</div>
<div class="verse">Begirt with British and Armoric knights.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>

<p class="uni">Geoffrey’s “monument of stupendous delusion”
had not deceived him, and Sir Thomas Malory’s
laborious compilation, while winning unstinted
admiration for its beauty, richness, and delectation,
would be as unconvincing historically as
were Caxton’s quaintly-argued evidences. All the
tributaries which now combined to make the full
broad current of Arthurian literature were infected
at their sources, numerous and widely separated
as those sources were. If Malory depended, as
we have the authority of the best scholars for believing,
upon the several ancient romances of
Merlin, the inventions and adaptations of Walter
Map, the mysterious compilations of pseudonymous
“Helie de Bouri” and “Luces de Gast,” with
other manuscripts&mdash;some of which are untraced&mdash;of
like character, it was obvious that he was
only presenting us with an aggregation of the
impostures, inventions, fables, and falsities of the
centuries preceding. That Malory had a conscientious
belief in the romance is extremely probable,
though in the absence of all information concerning
him&mdash;for he is a name, a great name, and
little more&mdash;we can only infer this from the
scrupulous manner in which he has performed his
task and from the commendatory form in which
it was issued in the year 1485.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>

<p>Judged purely as literature, and with every
allowance made for want of uniformity in level as
well as for the tediousness of numberless digressions,
Malory’s romance only admits of one
opinion; and to him and to Caxton (who, despite
the humility of his prologues and epilogues, and
his professions of “simpleness and ignorance,”
was a scholar and a master of middle-class English)
the race is under a perpetual debt.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> The
compiler does not seem to be open to the charge
levelled against him by Sir Walter Scott, that he
“exhausted at hazard, and without much art or
combination, from the various French prose
folios”; on the contrary it is easy to conceive
that he exercised that “painful industry” with
which he is credited by the writer of the Preface
to the edition of 1634. In addition to this, he
stamped his own individuality upon the work, and
manifested a singular purity of taste by removing
the grosser elements which stained many of the
earlier versions, and by preserving all that was
best as literature and in keeping with the finest
and truest spirit of romance. We know from the
scholarly investigations of Dr. Sommer and Sir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
Edmund Strachey how judicious Malory was in
translating from his “French books,” or in making
abstracts, or in amending and enlarging.
With true insight he chose the material that was
of good report and of genuine worth; the dross
he cast aside. Malory may have belonged to a
Yorkshire family, judging from the fact that
Leland recorded that a Malory possessed a lordship
in that county, but there is no slight
authority for believing that he was a Welshman
and a priest&mdash;“a servant of Jesu both day and
night,” as he himself said. That he was a good
and earnest Christian his own work proves beyond
all question, for he imparted all the religious
ardour to the romance that he could, and accentuated
that element when it had already been
introduced.</p>

<p>The romance of Arthur was enriched, to use
Gibbon’s words, with the various though incoherent
ornaments which were familiar to the experience,
the learning, or the fancy of the twelfth
century. Every nation enhanced and adorned the
popular romance, until “at length the light of
science and reason was re-kindled, the talisman
was broken, the visionary fabric melted into air,
and by a natural though unjust reverse of public
opinion the severity of the present age became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
inclined to question the existence of Arthur.”
That Arthur’s name should stream like a cloud,
man-shaped, from mountain-peak is the fault of the
mediæval writers who, in taking the British king
for their hero, could represent no age but their
own, and had no consciousness of anachronism.
It came natural to them in speaking of the
sixth-century knights to endow them with the
attributes of the thirteenth and fourteenth century,
and to describe Arthur’s Britain much as they
would have described the Britain of a Henry or
an Edward. The Arthur of Geoffrey, of Walter
Map, and of Malory is as impossible as the Arthur
of Wagner, Lytton, Swinburne, and Tennyson.
Most of the writers on chivalry have either viewed
and treated the Knights of the Round Table as
contemporary heroes, or have altogether idealised
them. We are forced to the conclusion that Geoffrey
and all the other mediæval chroniclers had no
real conception of the character of the age of
which they wrote; if they discovered real names
and real persons they transported them to an
imaginary world and invested them with fabulous
attributes. They made reality itself unreal, transformed
heroes into myths, and buried history
beneath romance; they had no power to recognise
truth even when it appeared to them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>

<p>King Arthur was a traditional and historic
chieftain of rude times, the man of an epoch, a
hero to be sung and remembered. His life must
have been a tumult; his seventy odd battles were
the events of his era. Whether he represents a
nascent civilisation, or whether, following the
Romans, he simply maintained a barbaric splendour
in the cities they had made or by means of
some enlightened laws they had instituted, is a
matter of dispute. But he is the “gray king,”
the elemental hero, not the advanced type. It is
a remarkable fact that English scholars have until
quite recently done so little to popularise Arthurian
literature. Malory’s version remained almost
inaccessible until Southey issued his edition, and
the best work of all was undertaken for us in latter
years by Dr. Sommer, a German. Considering
the hold on the imagination which the romance
possessed, little was done to elucidate the obscurities
and to solve the mysteries concerning not
only the authors but the heroes themselves and
the land to which they belonged. Much has been
conjectured, but we feel that we are dealing more
with phantoms and fancies than with realities and
facts. Yet what an inspiration King Arthur has
been! His name has lingered, his memory has
been treasured in national ballads. Poets have in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
all ages hovered round the subject, and some have
alighted upon it, only perhaps to leave it again as
beyond their scope.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The mightiest chiefs of British song</div>
<div class="verse">Scorned not such legends to prolong.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Milton, Spenser, Dryden, Warton, Collins, Scott
and Gray, together with derided and half-forgotten
Blackmore; Lytton, with his ambitious
epic, doomed to unmerited neglect; Rossetti,
James Russell Lowell, and lastly, Arnold, Morris,
Swinburne, and Tennyson&mdash;these have lifted the
romance into the highest and purest realm of
poetry, and have impregnated the story with
new meanings and illuminated it with rich interpretation.</p>

<p>All have felt the influence of Arthur’s history,
“its dim enchantments, its fury of helpless battle,
its almost feminine tenderness of friendship, its
fainting passion, its religious ardours, all at
length vanishing in defeat and being found no
more.” We have seen how the Arthurian history,
real or fabulous, arose from early traditions and
grew as each chronicler handled it and combined
with it the traditions and the fictions of other
races. It lost nothing by its transfusion into new
tongues, but was enriched by the imaginations of
the adapters and combined with the stories already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
current in other lands. The hero that Celtic
boastfulness had created became the representative
hero of at least three peoples in these early
times, and the songs of the Trouvères speedily
spread his fame over Western Europe. We find
Arthur represented as the master of a vast kingdom,
and his power extending to Rome itself;
and we find him claimed as the natural hero of
nearly every race which heard his praise and was
kindled to valour by the example of his exploits.
Each country seemed bent upon supplying at least
one representative of the Table Round, and
eagerly competed for the pre-eminence and perfection
of the knight of its choice. The kingdom
allotted to him was without limit, and as the
elder Disraeli would put it, “fancy bent her iris
of many-softened hues over a delightful land of
fiction.”</p>

<p>Lost though King Arthur’s realm is, the land
of the ancient British chieftain must have been
real, and it is most possible that we tread the dust
which covers it in journeying from Caerleon to
Glastonbury, from Glastonbury to Camelford,
from Camelford to Tintagel. To these places is
our pilgrimage directed.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>


<div class="chapter"> </div>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />
OF LYONNESSE AND CAMELIARD</h2>

<div class="ch">

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“In olde dayes of the King Artour,</div>
<div class="verse">Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,</div>
<div class="verse">All was this lond fulfilled of faerie.”&mdash;<i>Chaucer.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<p>“I betook me among those lofty fables and romances
which recount in solemn cantos the deeds of knighthood
founded by our victorious kings, and from hence had in
renown over all Christendom.... Even these books proved
to me so many incitements to the love and steadfast
observation of virtue.”&mdash;<i>Milton.</i></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Time upon my waste committed hath such theft,</div>
<div class="verse">That it of Arthur here scarce memory hath left.”</div>
<p class="right"><i>Drayton.</i></p>
</div></div></div>



</div>

<p>No matter how far the chroniclers of old departed
from fact in the details of their narratives,
they grouped the incidents around a central
figure, a magnificent ancient hero; and, more
than that, they specified the actual locality in
which that hero had won his renown. But just
as they magnified the hero out of all proportion,
so they extended the area of his realm beyond all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
possibility: hence the difficulties that meet us in
the search for truth.</p>

<p>Of the Celts, Ralph Waldo Emerson has perhaps
left us, in brief, the best record. He sums
up the greatness and the importance of the race
by saying that of their beginning there is no
memory, and that their end is likely to be still
more remote in the future; that they had endurance
and productiveness and culture and a sublime
creed; that they had a hidden and precarious
genius; and that they “made the best popular
literature of the Middle Ages in the songs of
Merlin and the tender and delicious anthology of
Arthur.” This race was not likely to take a
narrow view of its possessions, or to assign a
small territory to its greatest monarch. Its
claim may be preposterous, but that comes of the
consciousness of superior strength and of daring
imagination. Britain was not large enough for
the Celts; they required not a country but a
continent. And when their songs were sung,
their stories told, and their great Arthur’s name
celebrated throughout the west, they boldly
affirmed that the west was his, and that he had
subdued and ruled the whole civilised world.
Arthur’s England became in their eyes the perfect
realm, the ideal place; and the survival of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
this idea may be discovered in the works of the
poets, old and new.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Foemen feet to dust have trod</div>
<div class="verse">The blue-robed messengers of God,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">was Llywarch Hên’s allusion to the slaughter
of bards, evincing his belief in their sacred
character. Song was to the Cymry at once
education, a vent for national feeling, and a
memorial of great events. The bard ranked beside
the artisan as one of the pillars of social life.
He had only one theme, his country’s hope, misfortune,
and destiny; and, as M. Thierry has
aptly said, the nation, poetical in its turn, extended
the bounds of fiction by ascribing fantastic
meaning to the words. “The wishes of the bards
were received as promises, their expectations as
prophecies; even their silence was made expressive.
If they sang not of Arthur’s death, it was
a proof that Arthur yet lived; if the harper undesignedly
sounded some melancholy air, the
minds of his hearers spontaneously linked with
the vague melody the name of a spot, rendered
mournfully famous by the loss of a battle with
the foreign conqueror. This life of hopes and
recollections gave charms, in the eyes of the
latter Cambrians, to their country of rocks and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
morasses.” How much we really owe, then, to
historic fact and how much to bardic song the
accounting of Camelot and Avalon, Tintagel and
Almesbury, as the famous and redoubtable spots
of Arthurian accomplishments and occupation,
would be difficult to decide. Literary genius
from the first centres in the minstrel, who is both
composer and singer, who stimulates to action
and records events, who is himself “doer” and
“seer.”</p>

<p>But for this rich and sustained Celtic influence
our literature would be poor indeed, would be
less romantic, less poetic, and lacking in the
vitality of human passions, human hopes and
aspirations, human suffering and despair. For
the dominant note in Celtic literature&mdash;and this
particularly applies to the Arthurian legend which,
despite its boasts, is a story of failure&mdash;is an
indefinable melancholy, an exquisite regret; the
poetry may be, as Matthew Arnold said, drenched
in the dew of natural magic, and the romances
may be threaded with radiant lights, but there
always remains the underlying sombreness of
texture or the overhanging cloud-darkening of
the scene. Joyous music concludes in a minor
key or is broken by a sudden note of pathos.
The Celtic bards sang of war, but though the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
heroes always went forth bravely to battle it has
been recorded that they “always fell.” Victories
are less frequently celebrated than defeats are
mourned. The glory of the Celt was vast and
transcendent, but from minstrel-times it was a
fading glory. Work as the history-weavers
might with the golden shuttles of romance their
tears mingled with the gleaming strands, and
the tissue as it left the loom was a medley of
broken lights and shadows. Nevertheless, the
pictures they have left us of chivalrous times
remain unsurpassed for the grandeur of their
conception: they remain the model and despair of
all ages.</p>

<p>The description of Arthurian England, the
“Logris” of the chroniclers, comports with the
suggestions of romance, but ill accords with the
facts.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Even if we grant the Round Table and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
the Quest of the Grail, the fact remains that the
times were barbarous and that the Britons of the
sixth century had only reached the outer borders
of civilisation. The exploits of the knights themselves
are indicative of a prevailing state of
lawlessness verging perilously upon absolute
savagery. Appalling rites were practised in the
castle strongholds, and the life neither of man
nor woman was deemed precious. The romancers
themselves do not disguise that the purpose and
the methods of the knights were little superior to
the purpose and methods of those whom they
warred against; and the common practice of the
knights to “reward themselves” in their own
ways for victories achieved disposes at once of
the contention that their motives were unselfish,
or that their chivalry was pure and disinterested.
The England of King Arthur was therefore by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
no means like to be the ideal land of peace,
beauty, and content which poets have imagined.
Neither can we concede the whole claim to
Arthur’s undisputed possession of the entire kingdom.
The freedom with which the chroniclers
spoke of the king’s unmolested journey north,
south, east, and west, only proves that they made
an unwarrantable use of names. Among the places
loosely mentioned or referred to at random in the
romance, or perchance confused in the writers’
minds with places within a small area, we must
count all those beyond the Severn and Trent,
unless we adopt the alternative theory and accept
the north as Arthur’s realm. To these we add
all the large proportion of places, more or less
fantastically named, which seem to have had no
existence out of the chroniclers’ brain. Where
shall we look for Carbonek, for the land of Petersaint,
for Joyous Isle, for Waste Lands, for
Lonazep, for Goothe, for Case, for the Castles of
Grail, La Beale Regard, Pluero, Jagent, and
Magouns? to say nothing of a host of others.
And are we to be deluded by the familiarity with
which Jerusalem, Tuscany, Egypt, Turkey, and
Hungary are spoken of, into believing that these
distant places were really visited by Arthur and
his knights? Even if we were to concede all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
localities mentioned in Malory’s work we should
be confronted by a new difficulty in the <cite>Mabinogion</cite>,
where quite a fresh series of towns and
countries is mentioned in addition to many of the
old ones. But while in the <cite>Mabinogion</cite> the west
of Europe is almost exclusively dealt with, the
English, French, and German historians would
be content with nothing less than the best part
of the hemisphere. No petty view, however,
must be taken of the Arthur-land of romance.
If Caerleon was his capital, we must believe that
he was not unknown north of the Humber, and
that he had a castle in old Carlisle. Calydon and
Brittany, Ireland and Wales, acknowledged his
power and felt his sway. The Roman himself met
Arthur face to face; knights carried his fame to
Constantinople&mdash;so the early historians asseverate,
and so they doubtless sincerely believed.</p>

<p>But the more cautious student will confine his
attention to a group of but half-a-dozen places in
South Wales, Devonshire, and Cornwall, and will
doubt the truth of tradition even when it mingles
with the nomenclature of the romance. Of
Lyonnesse whelmed beneath the waves we have
no knowledge; it is a lost and perhaps half fabulous
region. Cameliard, whose boundaries are
fairly well known, is strewed with doubtful relics,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
and preserves a multitude of strange stories. These
are all that remain to us when we have traversed
King Arthur’s land. Lyonnesse is reported to
have been a region of extreme fertility, uniting
the Scilly Isles with Western Cornwall. The
hardy Silures were the inhabitants of this tract,
and were remarkable for their industry and piety.
No fewer than one hundred and forty churches
testified to the latter quality, and the rocks called
Seven Stones mark the site of their largest city.
Tradition is untrustworthy as to any great cataclysm,
but the Saxon chronicle declared that
Lyonnesse was destroyed by a “high tide” on
November 11, 1099. The assumption is that
where the sea now sweeps with tremendous force,
between Land’s End and the Scillies, once lay a
fair region, another Atlantis, which formed no
unimportant part of King Arthur’s realm. The
etymology of the name Scilly is more or less
doubtful. The word has been identified with
Silura, or Siluria, the land of the Silures&mdash;that
is, South Wales. Malory’s Surluse, or Surluce,
reminiscent of the French Sorlingues, if it be not
Scilly must remain unidentified. The first mention
of it is in the history of La Cote Male Taile,
where it is said that Sir Lancelot and the damsel
Maledisant (afterwards known as Bienpensant)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
“rode forth a great while until they came to the
border of the county of Surluse, and there they
found a fair village with a strong bridge like a
fortress.” A later reference shows that it was in
and about Cornwall that the knights were at this
time staying and seeking adventures with the
king; and the “riding forth a great while to the
border of the country of Surluse” would fit in
with the idea that Cornwall and Scilly were not
then divided by the sea, but formed part of the
kingdom of Lyonnesse. Sir Tristram, who is
essentially a Lyonnesse knight, was sought in the
country of Surluse when he had vanished during
the period of King Mark’s treachery; and there
seems no doubt that, though an accessible part
of the kingdom, it was a considerable distance
away, and perhaps somewhat out of the beaten
track. Sir Galahalt, “the haut prince,” was its
ruler, and he was resorted to by the knights; but
we are distinctly told that “the which country
was within the lands of King Arthur,” and for
that reason Sir Galahalt could not even arrange a
joust without obtaining his sovereign’s consent.
Again, Sir Galahalt was known as Sir Galahalt
“of the Long Isles,” which admits of a fair deduction,
and seems not without its significance in
this argument.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 390px;">
<img id="IMG40" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_040fp.jpg" width="390" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>THE ROCKY VALLEY, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 40</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>

<p>The “guarded Mount,” dedicated to St.
Michael, overlooks the long Atlantic waves, the
waste of waters, and “towards Namancos and
Bayona’s hold,” and this Ultima Thule is
thronged with traditions of Arthur and his lost
territory. Grim, cavernous Pengwaed, or Land’s
End, with its granite rocks; the Lizard, and
Penzance, the last town in England, are all stored
with these old memories; and the waves flooding
the bays tell of that younger time over which
hangs perpetual shadow. This is the Lyonnesse
of Tennyson’s imagining, the</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Land of old, upheaven from the abyss</div>
<div class="verse">By fire, to sink into the abyss again,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">where long hillocks dip down to the sea-line,
where the coast spreads out into shifting treacherous
sand, and where amid the dreary plains the
Silures fought their battles for life and freedom.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>
At Vellan, Arthur slaughtered so many Danes
that the mill next day was worked with blood.
Land’s End still shows its “Field of Slaughter,”
and by the coast Arthur and Mordred met during
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>the last conflict. Lyonnesse may have included
Armorica also, still rich with its incomparable
traditions and its unsurpassed folk-songs. For
once the people of Brittany, Cornwall, and Wales,
speaking practically the same tongue, lavished all
their poetic wealth upon the Arthurian cycle of
legendary history, claimed the knights in common,
and each still claims to possess the more
famous shrines. Merlin’s forest thus becomes a
part of Lyonnesse; Joyous Gard (as we shall presently
see) can still be found in Brittany, instead
of Northumberland; and Avalon, instead of being
a pilgrim’s resort in Somerset, is an island
off the Breton coast, seen dimly from the wild
moorland country, strewn with dolmens, and
reaching down to a shore of silvery sands. Between
the orange-coloured rocks “the sea rushes
up in deep blue and brilliant green waves of indescribable
transparency. On a bright summer day
the whole scene is one of unspeakable radiance.
Delightful little walks wind round the western
headland, where more groups of rock appear, as
weird and fantastic as the first.”<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> And across
the stretch of azure sea lies the dim islet which
Breton legend affirms is King Arthur’s resting-place.
When we consider the French sources of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
the history compiled by Geoffrey, Wace, and Map,
the reasonableness of believing that Avalon was
at first located in Brittany becomes at once apparent,
and the wonder is that in this and many
other cases the transference of the scenes to England
should have been so complete or that English
equivalents should have been so readily
accepted.</p>

<p>The more obscure names of places would doubtless
be identified if the search were more assiduous
in Brittany than in Britain, and if the
original Breton nomenclature were used as a
basis. Tristram, Iseult, and Lancelot at least are
French, and the prevailing tone of the romances
in which they figure is French; we must look to
Brittany for some part of the scenery.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> At
various times it has been stated that Sir Lancelot’s
Joyous Gard was none other than Alnwick,
or else Bamborough Castle, in Northumberland,
a structure which dates from the year 554, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
may have been the site of an earlier stronghold.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>
But why Sir Lancelot, a Breton Knight of
Arthur’s Court, whose exploits are confined to
Lyonnesse, the southern portion of King Arthur’s
territory, should have had his castle located in
the north cannot be determined, unless we so far
revise our opinions as to credit (as some have
done) the existence of a Scotch knight of that
name. Instead of looking to Northumberland for
Sir Lancelot’s stronghold, and endeavouring to
identify Bamborough as his residence, why not
turn straightway to France, his native land, and
accept such facts as are there to be found? The
chronicle of Malory itself says that Joyous Gard
was “over sea.” Beyond the forest of Landerneau
may still be seen the traditional site of
a Chateau de la Joyeuse-Garde, with an ancient
gateway and a Gothic vault of the twelfth century
remaining. Here at least we find the name; the
Breton regards the spot as that which Lancelot,
the Breton knight, claimed as his own; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
scene is in that Armorica from which the original
traditions sprang, or, at least, where they took
earliest root.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> In addition to Joyous Gard, Brittany
boasts of its Tristan Island in the Bay of
Douarnenez, named after the “Tristan des Léonais”
who was the rival of King Mark. King
Mark, too (“Marc’h,” in the original, signifying
horse, and so named because of his pointed ears),
has his own locality, for according to Breton
legend he was not ruler of Cornwall but of Plomarc’h,
which place lies a little to the east of
Douarnenez and contains the ruins of his “palace.”
But Renan justly inquired, if Armorica saw the
birth of the Arthurian cycle, how was it that we
failed to find there any traces of the nativity?</p>

<p>Cameliard is a tract in some respects not so
hard to define or locate as Lyonnesse. The town
of Brecknock, three miles from which is Arthur’s
Hill, seems to have marked one of its borders,
and its capital was a now undiscoverable city,
Carohaise. Ritson believes that Arthur’s kingdom
could not have been considerable, and he is
disposed to grant him the lordship only over
Devon and Cornwall, with perhaps some territory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
in South Wales, the land called Gore or Gower.
Be that as it may, his name, by a series of links,
extends from Cornwall to Northumberland, from
the Scillies to London, and from London to Carlisle.
The British tribe, the Silures, to which
Arthur belonged, occupied the region now divided
into the counties of Hereford, Monmouth and
Glamorgan. Brecknock and Radnor may have
been added, and it is certain that Arthur had
supreme dominion over Cornwall and part of
Somerset and Devon. Any “kings” of these
places, such as Erbin, father of Geraint, must
have been tributary to him. Tacitus has left us
an account of the valour, the determination, and
the warrior qualities of the Silures, who had
Iberian blood in their veins. It was after the
Roman and Saxon invasions that they removed
their seat of Government from London to Siluria,
Arthur having his court at Caerleon. The Britons
were a Christian race, for that religion had been
introduced among the Latinised Brythonic tribes
before the end of the second century. This race
prevailed over the Goidels and Ivernians in the
territory, and on the recall of the Roman legions
one of the Brythons succeeded the Dux Britanniarum
and thus became the head of the Cymry
(or Cambroges, “fellow-countrymen”). Saxon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
Cerdic and his son Cymric for twenty years found
it impossible to break through the forest districts
west of the Avon, which formed the outwork of
the British forces; and we may almost take it for
granted that at one time the whole of the west
country was in Arthur’s power, a line from Liddlesdale
in the north to the southern extremity of
Lyonnesse, taking in Cumberland, Wales (and
perhaps Staffordshire and Shropshire), Devon and
Cornwall, roughly marking the boundary. But
his reported excursions north of the Trent and to
the east counties would also lead to the inference
that for some time the tribe overran the major part
of the country. Hence we can account for the
large number of scattered memorials of the monarch
found in all parts of the land, though superstition
may have attached his name to many
places where he was absolutely unknown.
Arthur’s Seats, or Quoits, abound. They are to
be found both in North and South Wales, and the
name seems to have been given to any rock or
commanding situation which in the popular fancy
was fit to bear it. In Anglesey, in the wooded
grounds of Llwyliarth a seat of the Lloyd family,
a rocking stone, the famous Maen Chwf, is called
Arthur’s Quoit. Cefn Bryn ridge in Glamorganshire,
an imposing elevation, is crowned with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
cromlech, together with numerous cairns and
tumuli. The cromlech, known as Arthur’s Stone,
is a mass of millstone grit fourteen feet long and
seven feet two inches deep, and rests upon a
number of upright supporters each five feet high.
In the Welsh Triads this cromlech, which is near
the turnpike road from Reynoldstone to Swansea,
is alluded to as “the big stone of Sketty,” and it
ranks as one of the wonders of Wales. Another
such stone is to be found in Moccas parish, Herefordshire,
the cromlech in this case being eighteen
feet long, nine feet broad, and twelve feet thick,
and supported originally by eleven upright pillars.
The colossal king was to have colossal monuments.
Brecknockshire has several imposing
memorials of Arthur. Five miles south of Brecon
rise the twin peaks of the mountain range, and
they are designated Arthur’s Chair. A massive
British cromlech adjoining the park of Mocras
Court is called Arthur’s Table. On the edge of
Gossmoor there is a large stone upon which are
impressed marks resembling four horse-shoes.
Tradition asserts that these marks were made by
the horse King Arthur rode when he resided at
Castle Denis and hunted on the moors. Between
Mold and Denbigh is Moel Arthur, an ancient
British fort, defended by two ditches of great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
depth. At Rhuthyn (Ruthin) in the vicinity King
Arthur is said to have beheaded his enemy Huail
(Howel), to whom Gildas refers. The record might
be extended indefinitely, though no valid argument
can be based upon any of the facts. The indiscriminate
use of Arthur’s name often shows an
extravagance of imagination and a reckless disregard
of what is appropriate. Between Mold and
Ruthin, for instance, is Maen Arthur, a stone
which popular fancy has adjudged to bear the
exact impression of the hoof of the king’s steed.
There is something like substantial reason for
believing that the British hero was connected
with Monmouth, Cardiff, and even with Dover,
and either the Arthur of the Silures or another
British chief seems to have reached Carlisle&mdash;that
is, if the chronicles did not confuse Cardoile with
Carduel. The Cumbrian Arthur figures in two
ancient ballads, “The Marriage of Gawaine,”
and “The Boy and the Mantle,” while Scott’s
poem of Arthur and his Court at Carlisle is, of
course, too well known to need more than a reference.
In the time of Baeda Carlisle was known
as Lugubalia, which name by corruption became
Luel. The British prefix Caer, a stone fort, made
the name Caer-Luel, and as such it was long
known. It gradually degenerated into Carliol,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
and finally became Carlisle. That the ancient city
should have become confused with Caerleon is
natural and explicable. Yet Arthur’s connection
with a portion of the north is strongly insisted
on. Where Wigan now stands he fought a
famous battle. Pendragon Castle in Westmoreland
claims him as its founder; and passing by
easy stages we find ourselves confronted with a
Northumbrian Arthur. From this point the transition
to Scotland itself is extremely easy, the lowland
part of that country being claimed as the
veritable Cameliard.</p>

<p>According to no mean authority, we must leave
England entirely and search in the North alone
for the sites, not only of King Arthur’s battles,
but for all the places connected with his exploits
and his residence. Badon is then found in Linlithgowshire
at Bowden Hill, and the great battle
of Arderydd is located at Arthuret in Liddlesdale.
The Scotch Merlin and the Scotch Lancelot are
the king’s companions, and a Scotch Gildas is
the historian. The resting place of Avalon is
then found in the caverns of the Eildon Hills, and
the voice to rouse him from his charmed sleep
will echo through them and “peal proud Arthur’s
march from fairyland.” As a curious fact it may
be mentioned that nearly all the heroes of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
“Four Ancient Books of Wales” are traced to
Scotland, and admittedly in the Arthurian legend
the British king was connected with as northern
a place as the Orkneys by the marriage of his
sister to the king of those islands. Of King
Arthur, the Scotch ballad rudely tells that when
he ruled that land he “ruled it like a swine.” The
story of the king was the diversion of James V.,
who may have known that Drummelziar on the
Tweed could boast of a Holy Thorn like Glastonbury,
that there was an Arthur’s Oven on the
Carron near Falkirk, and that Guinevere’s sepulchre
was at Meigle in Strathmore. Edinburgh,
or Agnet, is positively represented as the site
where the Castle of Maidens stood, and the lion-shaped
Arthur’s Hill is supposed to confirm the
tradition that here the king abode and made his
name.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> His tomb is pointed out in Perthshire,
and all the machinery of the romances is claimed
as of Scotch origin and invention. The names of
localities are traced, and by transporting Arthur
boldly to the Lowlands we account more easily
for his rapid incursions into Northumberland and
of the country north of the Trent, if we cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
for his equally rapid journeys to Dover and
Almesbury and Winchester.</p>

<p>Are not the interchangeability of names and the
duplication of persons and places susceptible of a
very simple explanation? Caerleon, or Carduel,
was confused with Carlisle, each in itself a fitting
and likely place for Arthurian exploits; the historians
were grievously misled as to Winchester
and the part it occupied in the romances; and we
know now that various contradictions simply
arose from the confusion in the minds of the
chroniclers, who never seemed to have been quite
certain whether Caledonia and Calydon were not
one and the same, whether Camelot was inland or
by the sea, whether Joyous Gard was a few days’
or a few months’ journey from Cornwall, whether
Camelot was in England or in Wales, whether
Arthur’s “owne castell” at Tintagel could be
reached by “riding all night” from London, or
whether Lyonnesse was Cornwall or Brittany. A
hundred topographical complexities meet us
wherever we look, and the sole conclusion of the
matter is that Geoffrey and his successors inextricably
mixed Scotch, Welsh, and Armoric details
both in regard to the stories and the localities.
The historians made no effort to be consistent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
in their allusions, to reconcile contradictory
statements, or to account for abrupt changes of
scene from the South-West to the North. While
they endeavoured to concentrate Arthur’s kingdom
in South Wales and Cornwall they made
occasional sweeps to Berwick and Edinburgh, and
annihilated the distance between Dover and Carlisle.
To add to the confusion there were names,
especially in the Lowlands of Scotland and in the
West of England, of the same derivation, and, as
Mr. Glennie has demonstrated, it is as easy to
discover a Caledonian Caerleon, Avalon, or Camelot
as it is to discover any of them in the district
once called Cameliard. The unravelling of the
skein, which became more and more entangled as
new hands developed the romances, is now almost
an impossibility. Arthur’s own name was
changed, and it has been affirmed that he is still
confused with Arthurius of Gwent, and with
others of like name who were distinct persons.
The conclusion of the whole matter must be that
names in the romances are a source of error and
confusion; that different significances were attached
to them by the chroniclers themselves, and
that if the truth be ever established totally new
meanings may be expected.</p>

<p>Let me here give one instance of possible confusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
of names, and broach a somewhat bold
theory. The name Camelford, the scene of the
last battle, is by some said to be derived from the
Anglo-Saxon <i>gafol</i>, meaning “tribute,” the spot
so called marking the ford where of old time
tribute was paid. The name Guildford is also declared
to have a similar signification, and, in fact,
to be but a variation of Camelford. If this be so,
a curious point arises. Guildford is mentioned
towards the close of the Arthurian history. Sir
Lancelot and the king having parted company, it
is recorded that Arthur “departed towards Winchester
with his fellowship. And so by the way
the king lodged in a towne called Astolat, which
is now in English called Gilford.” Upon this
Mr. Aldis Wright observes: “Guildford in Surrey
is no doubt the place alluded to; but I am not
aware that the name of Astolat or Astolot (Caxton)
is given to it in any authentic history.” It may
be argued that King Arthur would be more likely
to pass through Guildford, Surrey, than through
Camelford, Cornwall. But his starting point is
not certain, and it must be specially noted that
the Winchester to which he was making his way
was not Winchester in Hampshire but “Camelot,
that is, Winchester” (Book XVIII., c. 9). The
unauthorised and even absurd interpolation that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
Camelot was Winchester at once changes the
whole argument. Disregarding this misleading
explanation we find that Arthur was on his way
to Camelot from one of his Courts, and if Camelot
was in Somersetshire it is most likely that Camelford
would be one of the intermediate stages.
But the importance of the whole contention is
this: Astolat, as frequently mentioned in connection
with the “faire maide” Elaine and Sir Lancelot’s
worthiest love episode, is undiscoverable.
The name is unknown outside romance; and
though we are assured that it is “now in English
called Gilford,” no authority can be found for the
assertion. Besides, Guildford in Surrey was
rather beyond the borders of the British Kingdom,
even granting occasional excursions to Middlesex
and Kent. But if Guildford were synonymous
with Camelford, as the derivation permits
us to believe, then Astolat was none other than
Camelford, and at once there are light and order
where formerly prevailed obscurity and confusion.
Another point worth mention is that, although
tradition marks Camelford as the actual scene of
important events in the Arthurian history, and
although from its situation, its proximity to Tintagel,
and its steep hill suitable to be crowned by
a baron’s castle such as Sir Bernard of Astolat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
possessed, we may safely surmise that it was well
known to the ever-journeying knights, yet the
actual name of Camelford is never mentioned in
the chronicles. As it was of Anglo-Saxon origin,
this omission would easily be accounted for in the
earliest records, while if Astolat was the traditional
name it is at once clear how it could equally
be applied to Camelford and to Guildford. We
must of course remember that where the chroniclers
themselves sought to elucidate they too often
confused; the finger-posts they set up have started
many upon weary and fruitless journeys, and the
guidance offered with such confidence turns out
most commonly to be the most random of guesses.
If, however, we may place the slightest credence
in the “Astolat, which is now in English called
Gilford,” as much can be said for “Gilford” being
“Gafolford” or Camelford, as for its being
“Gyldeford” or Guildford. The stretch of low-lying
level fields on either side of the Camel, the
sharp-peaked hills in the distance, the dark meres
among the hills, and the angry sea lashing against
the rocks visible a mile or two away, all accord
with the typical scenery of King Arthur’s realm,
and make us not unwilling to believe that famous
Astolat was here to be found.</p>

<p>When all is told, when all the searching is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
ended, it is found that some half-dozen places
only stand out pre-eminent from the host of localities
in the West in each of which only a single
seed seems to have germinated; and these half-dozen
places, like the last citadels of the hero,
resist every effort and assault of the invader to
dislodge the traditions of Arthur. I have not attempted
to write a history of these places, but
only to say something of their aspect to-day and
of the chief events and ancient traditions linked
with their names. Now and again I mention
facts of later date for the purpose of showing
that these famous spots have continued to be
the centres of activity and connected with great
characters; but in the main I confine myself
to the legends of Arthur and to the episodes of
chivalry. To have attempted more would have
entailed not only a far more comprehensive work,
but the treatment of the subject in a more
scientific spirit than is here displayed. The object
has been to deal rather with the romantic
side than with the technical, for which the deep
scholarship of a Rhys or a Müller alone can be
the qualification. It is necessary to premise also
that of the most conspicuous Arthurian localities
nothing but the bare tradition can be recorded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
That tradition lives and is cherished, but its
origin is undiscoverable. The sap lingers in the
branches, but the roots are detached and lost.
The legend is spread everywhere, but there are
no verities. The visitor to the Arthurian scenes
finds nothing but eponymous names and superstitions&mdash;indeed,
the evidence present leads him
to other conclusions than those he seeks. He
looks for a British encampment, and he finds a
<em>post</em>-Roman; he looks for a relic of Arthur, and
he finds one of Antoninus. What is persistently
ascribed to the British hero, or associated with his
times, is either intangible or is irreconcilable with
existing facts. Castles he is said to have inhabited
were built centuries after his death, and there can
only remain the free speculation that they mark
the site of a former structure of which no trace
remains and of which no record was made. Spots
which are called King Arthur’s grave, or his seat,
or his hunting-ground, or his camp, neither he
nor his band, it often happens, could ever have been
near. We look for persons, and we find a crowd
of phantoms; we eagerly watch for demonstrations,
and we find myth and fable; we hope to see
the clear page of history, and we find a page that
is undecipherable or blotted with shadows. Records<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
are effaced, song and story delude, the track
to truth is almost closed. Everything crumbles
into dust at the touch, like Guinevere’s golden
hair, and nothing is now left but the pure
romance. And some of us may be content and
almost glad to have it so.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>


<div class="chapter"> </div>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />
OF ARTHUR THE KING AND MERLIN THE ENCHANTER</h2>

<div class="ch">
<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“No matter whence we do derive our name,</div>
<div class="verse">All Brittany shall ring of Merlin’s fame,</div>
<div class="verse">And wonder at his Arts.”</div>
<p class="right"><cite>The Birth of Merlin</cite>, Act III. sc. iv.</p>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“He by wordes could call out of the sky</div>
<div class="verse i2">Both sunne and moone, and make them him obey;</div>
<div class="verse">The land to sea, and sea to maineland dry,</div>
<div class="verse i2">And darksome night he eke could turn to day;</div>
<div class="verse">That to this day, for terror of his fame</div>
<div class="verse">The feendes do quake when any him to them does name.”&mdash;<i>Spenser.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

</div>


<p>The fact that the name Art(h)us does not occur
in the Gildas manuscript has led to the inference
that the king was unknown to that chronicler;
and the assumption that he is alluded to as Ursus
(the Bear) tends to confirm the theory of those
who would affirm that he is no more than a solar
myth. It must be understood that the Arthur of
romance, as we now know him, was a character
ever increasing in importance and prominence as
the history was re-written and elaborated; at first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
a minor actor in the drama, he at length became
the leading figure and the centre around which all
the other characters were grouped. The Arthur
of the historian Nennius is the original personage
to whom all the famed attributes have been accorded
by subsequent writers. With so much
doubt and confusion, involving the identity of the
person himself, it is inevitable that even more
doubt and confusion should exist when we come
to detailed events. Even the name of Arthur’s
father is variously given, a circumstance which
caused Milton to question the veracity of the
whole history; and the date of his birth, of his
death, the age at which he died and other smaller
points, lead to nothing but endless contradiction.
The number of his battles is variously given as
twelve and seventy-six; he is said to have wedded
not one but three Guineveres (Gwenhwyvar); his
age at death varies from just over thirty years to
over ninety; and the date of the last battle is
537, 542, or 630.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> King Arthur’s actual name<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
may have been Arthur Mab-Uther; his genealogical
line has been traced back to Helianis,
nephew of Joseph; the year 501 is now usually
accepted as the date of his birth; and St. David,
son of a prince of Cardiganshire, is mentioned not
only as his contemporary but as a near relative.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
If the Sagas were compared with the Arthurian
romances numerous points of resemblance could
be shown. Olaf is the Arthur of the story, Gudrun
the Guinevere, and Odin is the Merlin, while
the city of Drontheim serves as Caerleon. The
story recounting how Arthur magically obtained
his sword Excalibur finds an exact parallel in the
story of Sigmund, Volsung’s son; and even the
emblem of the dragon is not lacking,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> for in the
story of the Volsung we learn that Sigurd’s
shield bore the image of that monster, “and with
even such-like image was adorned helm, and
saddle, and coat-armour.” But again it must be
remembered that Arthur’s kingdom is reported
to have extended to Iceland itself; in fact, the
bounds of his kingdom were only set by the
chroniclers where their own definite geographical
knowledge ended.</p>

<p>“We cannot bring within any limits of history,”
Sir Edward Strachey has properly said,
“the events which here succeed each other, when
the Lords and Commons of England, after the
death of King Uther at St. Albans, assembled at
the greatest church of London, guided by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
joint policy of the magician Merlin and the
Christian bishop of Canterbury, and elected
Arthur to the throne; when Arthur made Caerleon,
or Camelot, or both, his headquarters in a
war against Cornwall, Wales, and the North, in
which he was victorious by the help of the King
of France; when he met the demand for tribute
by the Roman Emperor Lucius with a counterclaim
to the empire for himself as the real representative
of Constantine, held a parliament at
York to make the necessary arrangements,
crossed the sea from Sandwich to Barflete in
Flanders, met the united forces of the Romans
and Saracens in Burgundy, slew the emperor in
a great battle, together with his allies, the Sowdan
of Syria, the King of Egypt, and the King of
Ethiopia, sent their bodies to the Senate and
Podesta of Rome as the only tribute he would
pay, and then followed over the mountains
through Lombardy and Tuscany to Rome, where
he was crowned emperor by the Pope, ‘sojourned
there a time, established all the lands from Rome
into France, and gave lands and realms unto his
servants and knights,’ and so returned home to
England, where he seems thenceforth to have
devoted himself wholly to his duties as the head
of Christian knighthood.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>

<p>This is the very monstrosity of fable, the grossness
of which carries with it its own condemnation.
These facts, however, are not insisted upon
by Malory, though such claims for Arthur were
made by the credulous and less scrupulous writers.
Romance has entirely remodelled his character,
and has filled in all the gaps in his life-story in
that triumphant manner in which Celtic genius
manifests its power. The legendary Arthur is
made to realise the sublime prophecies of Merlin,
and as those prophecies waxed more bold and
arrogant in the course of ages the proportions of
the hero were magnified to suit them. Merlin
had cherished the hope of the coming of a victorious
chief under whom the Celts should be
united, but the slaughter at Arderydd when the
rival tribes fought each other, almost destroyed
all such aspirations. Nevertheless the prophet
foretold the continuance of discord among the
British tribes, until the chief of heroes formed a
federation on returning to the world, and his prediction
concluded with the haunting words:
“Like the dawn he will arise from his mysterious
retreat.” Mr. Stuart Glennie calls Merlin a barbarian
compound of madman and poet, prophet
and bard, but denies that he was a mythic personage
or a poetic creation. He was, like Arthur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
himself, an actual pre-mediæval personage, and,
as in the case of Arthur, we have no means of
determining his origin, his nationality, or the
<i>locale</i> of his wanderings. But if, as Wilson
observes in one of his “Border Tales,” tradition
is “the fragment which history has left or lost
in its progress, and which poetry following in its
wake has gathered up as treasures, breathed upon
them its influence and embalmed them in the
memories of men unto all generations,” we shall
extract a residuum of truth from the fanciful
fables of which Merlin is the subject.</p>

<p>Myrdin Emrys, the Welsh Merlin, is claimed
as a native of Bassalleg, an obscure town in the
district which lies between the river Usk and
Rhymney. The chief authority for this is Nennius;
but according to others the birthplace was
Carmarthen, at the spot marked by Merlin’s tree,
regarding which the prophecy runs that when the
tree tumbles down Carmarthen will be overwhelmed
with woe. What we know of Merlin
in Malory’s chronicle is that he was King Arthur’s
chief adviser, an enchanter who could bring about
miraculous events, and to whom was delivered
the royal babe upon a ninth wave of the ocean;
a prophet who foretold his sovereign’s death, his
own fate, and the infidelity of Guinevere; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
warrior, the founder of the Round Table, and the
wise man who “knew all things.” Wales and
Scotland alike claim as their own this most striking
of the characters in the Arthurian story.
Brittany also holds to the belief that Merlin was
the most famous and potent of her sons, and that
his influence is still exercised over that region.
Matthew Arnold, gazing at the ruins of Carnac,
saw from the heights he clambered the lone coast
of Brittany, stretching bright and wide, weird
and still, in the sunset; and recalling the old
tradition, he described how&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“It lay beside the Atlantic wave</div>
<div class="verse">As though the wizard Merlin’s will</div>
<div class="verse i2">Yet charmed it from his forest grave.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>The Scotch Merlin, Merlin Sylvester, or Merlin
the Wild, was Merdwynn of the haugh of Drummelziar,
a delightful lowland region, where the
little sparkling Pausayl burn bickers down between
the heather-clad hills until it mixes its
waters with the Tweed. He is said to have taken
to the woods of Upper Tweeddale in remorse for
the death of his nephew, though it is more likely
that he lost his reason after the decisive defeat
of the Cymry by the Christians of the sixth
century. Sir Walter Scott records that in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
<cite>Scotichronicon</cite>, to which work however no historic
importance can be ascribed, as it is notoriously
a priestly invention, is an account of an interview
betwixt St. Kentigern and Merdwynn
Wyllt when he was in this distracted and miserable
state. The saint endeavoured to convert the
recluse to Christianity, for he was a nature-worshipper,
as his poems show. From his mode of
life he was called Lailoken, and on the saint’s
commanding him to explain his situation, he
stated that he was doing penance imposed upon
him by a voice from heaven for causing a bloody
conflict between Lidel and Carwanolow. He continued
to dwell in the woods of Caledon, frequenting
a fountain on the hills, enjoying the
companionship of his sister Gwendydd (“The
Dawn”), and ever musing upon his early love
Hurmleian (The Gleam), both of whom were frequently
mentioned in his poems. His fate was a
singular one, and has been confused with that of
the Merlin of Arthur. He predicted that he
should perish at once by wood, earth, and water,
and so it came to pass; for being pursued and
stoned by the rustics&mdash;others say by the herdsmen
of the Lord of Lanark&mdash;he fell from a rock into
the river Tweed, and was transfixed by a sharp
stake&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Sude perfossus, lapide percussus, et unda,</div>
<div class="verse">Hæc tria Merlinum fertur inire necem.</div>
<div class="verse">Sicque ruit, mersusque lignoque prehensus,</div>
<div class="verse">Et fecit vatem per terna pericular verum.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>The grave of the Scotch Merlin is pointed out
at Drummelziar, where it is marked by an aged
thorn-tree. On the east side of the churchyard the
Pausayl brook falls into the Tweed, and a prophecy
ran thus:&mdash;“When Tweed and Pausayl
join at Merlin’s grave, Scotland and England shall
one monarch have.” And we learn accordingly
that on the day of the coronation of James VI the
Tweed overflowed and joined the Pausayl at the
prophet’s grave. The predictions of this Merlin
continued for many centuries to impress the
Scotch, and he seems to have had a reputation
equal to that of Thomas the Rhymer. Geoffrey
of Monmouth was the first to introduce a Merlin
into the Arthurian romance, and whether that
Merlin had for a prototype Merdwynn Wyllt, or
whether there was in reality a Merlin of Wales,
remains an open question. All that can be said
definitely is that similar deeds are ascribed to
both, that each occupies a similar place among his
contemporaries, that their rhapsodical prophecies
partake of the same character, and that their mysterious
deaths have points in common. But it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
contended that the <i>vates</i> of Vortigern and of
Aurelius Ambrosius, the companion and adviser
of Uther Pendragon and of Arthur, was Myrdin
Emrys, who took his name from Dinas Emrys in
the Vale of Waters, whose haunt was the rugged
heights of Snowdon, and who knew nothing of
the Merlin Caledonius who wandered about the
heathery hills of Drummelziar, who was present
at the battle of Arderydd in 573, and who
lamented in wild songs the defeat of the pagans
and the shattering reverse to the Cymric cause.
These poems, which bewail the fortunes of this
unfortunate race, seem to have found their way
into the famous Ancient Books of Wales, thus
tending further to confuse the two Merlins, and
resulting in the old chroniclers ascribing the acts
of both to the Myrdin Emrys of King Arthur’s
court. The late Professor Veitch’s poem on
Merlin contains some specimens of Merdwynn
Wyllt’s verse, and sets forth his faith in nature,
tinged a little as it were by the Christianity of the
era.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG70" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_070fp.jpg" width="600" height="388" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>MERLIN’S CAVE, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 70</i></p></div>
</div>

<p>The Merlin of King Arthur was reputed to be a
native of Carmarthen among other places, and at
three miles’ distance from the town may be seen
“Merlin’s Cave,” one of the traditional places of
his mysterious entombment. Merlin’s birth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
formed the subject of one of the apocryphal plays
of Shakespeare: the weird magician and worker
of enchantment would have been worthy of the
masters’ own depiction. In the romances he
comes with mystery and awe, and he departs with
mystery and shame. “Men say that Merlin was
begotten of a devil,” said Sir Uwaine; and the
maid Nimuë (Vivien) on whom he was “assotted,”
grew weary of him, and fain would have been
delivered of him, “for she was afraid of him
because he was a devil’s son.” In that wondrously
rich drama of 1662, “The Birth of Merlin,”
the popular tradition is taken up that the
arch-magician was the son of the arch-fiend. The
story introduces Aurelius and Vortiger (Vortigern),
the two Kings of Britain; Ut(h)er Pendragon,
the brother of Aurelius; Ostorius, the Saxon
general; and other historic characters of the era.
The chief point of the plot is the search for and
identification of Merlin’s father; and, that matter
settled, the dramatist treats of Merlin’s supernatural
skill, his prophecies, and his aid of Vortiger
in building the castle which hostile fiends
broke down by night as fast as it was built by
day. Merlin is represented as born with the
beard of an old man, able to talk and walk, and
within a few hours of his birth explaining to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
mother that he reads a book “to sound the depth
of arts, of learning, wisdom, knowledge.”</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“I can be but half a man at best,</div>
<div class="verse">And that is your mortality; the rest</div>
<div class="verse">In me is spirit. ’Tis not meat nor time</div>
<div class="verse">That gives this growth and bigness. No, my years</div>
<div class="verse">Shall be more strange than yet my birth appears.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>He prophesies forthwith, recognises his father,
the Devil, at a glance, gives proof of his miraculous
powers in many ways; and proceeding to
Vortiger’s court baffles the native magicians, and
shows the king why his castle cannot be built by
reason of the dragons in conflict. He foretells
that the victory of the white dragon means the
ultimate victory of the Saxons&mdash;“the white
horror who, now knit together, have driven and
shut you up in these wild mountains,” and that
the king who won his throne by bloodshed must
yield it to Prince Uter. The prediction is verified,
and after Vortiger’s death Merlin is sent for to
expound “the fiery oracle” in the form of a
dragon’s head,</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“From out whose mouth</div>
<div class="verse">Two flaming lakes of fire stretch east and west,</div>
<div class="verse">And ... from the body of the star</div>
<div class="verse">Seven smaller blazing streams directly point</div>
<div class="verse">On this affrighted kingdom.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">The portent causes terror, until Merlin, as interpreter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
tells of revolutions, the rise and fall of
nations, and the changes in Britain’s state which
it signifies. Aurelius has been treacherously slain
at Winchester by the Saxons, and Prince Uter is
to be his avenger. The passage in which Merlin
relates what is to come is one of singular dignity
and impressiveness. Seven rays are “speaking
heralds” to the island. Uter Pendragon is to
have a son and a daughter. The latter will be
Queen of Ireland, while of the son “thus Fate
and Merlin tells”&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“All after times shall fill their chronicles</div>
<div class="verse">With fame of his renown, whose warlike sword</div>
<div class="verse">Shall pass through fertile France and Germany,</div>
<div class="verse">Nor shall his conquering foot be forced to stand,</div>
<div class="verse">Till Rome’s imperial wealth hath crowned his fame</div>
<div class="verse">With monarch of the west; from whose seven hills</div>
<div class="verse">With conquest, and contributory kings</div>
<div class="verse">He back returns to enlarge the Briton bounds,</div>
<div class="verse">His heraldry adorned with thirteen crowns.</div>
<div class="verse">He to the world shall add another worthy,</div>
<div class="verse">And, as a loadstone, for his prowess draw</div>
<div class="verse">A train of martial lovers to his court.</div>
<div class="verse">It shall be then the best of knighthood’s honour</div>
<div class="verse">At Winchester to fill his castle hall,</div>
<div class="verse">And at his Royal table sit and feast</div>
<div class="verse">In warlike orders, all their arms round hurled</div>
<div class="verse">As if they meant to circumscribe the world.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>This is a noble passage, and sums up the leading
points in King Arthur’s history, as related in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
the Fabliaux, and at the same time serves as evidence
of the power of divination and eloquence of
Merlin. The matter of the prophecy was obviously
taken from Malory, but the dramatist introduced
one strange variation in his story. Merlin,
indignant that his demoniac father should strive
to harm his mother, uses his art and magic spells
to enclose the Devil in a rock&mdash;an idea suggested,
no doubt, by Merlin’s own fate. Furthermore,
finding himself called to aid Pendragon against
the Saxons, Merlin conducts his mother to a place
of retirement called Merlin’s Bower, and tells her
that when she dies he will erect a monument&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Upon the verdant plains of Salisbury&mdash;</div>
<div class="verse">(No king shall have so high a sepulchre)&mdash;</div>
<div class="verse">With pendulous stones that I will hang by art,</div>
<div class="verse">Where neither lime nor mortar shall be used,</div>
<div class="verse">A dark enigma to the memory,</div>
<div class="verse">For none shall have the power to number them.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Here we become acquainted with the superstition
that the megalithic wonders of Stonehenge
were Merlin’s workmanship, and that the mysterious
structure was his mother’s tomb. Another
idea was that it was the burial place of Uther
Pendragon and Constantine. The drama, so far
as it relates to Merlin and Vortigern, closely follows
the popular tradition, though there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
several variations of the story of the castle which
could not be finished, and its site, as might be
expected, is the subject of many contradictory
declarations. The allegorical meaning of the
story is quite clear. To the heights of Snowdon,
it is said, Merlin led King Vortigern, whose castle
could not be built for meddlesome goblins. The
wizard led the monarch to a vast cave and showed
him two dragons, white and red, in furious conflict.
“Destroy these,” he said, “and the goblins
whom they rule will cease to torment you.”
Vortigern slew the dragons of Hate and Conspiracy,
and his castle was completed.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
<p>The story of Merlin’s death has again led to
much speculation upon the recondite subject of
the situation of the tomb in which his “quick”
body was placed by the guile of Nimuë, or Vivien,
one of the damsels of the lake. Malory distinctly
avers that it was in Cornwall that the doting
wizard met his fate. He went into that country,
after showing Nimuë many wonders, and “so it
happed that Merlin showed to her a rock, whereat
was a great wonder, and wrought by enchantment,
that went under a great stone.” By subtle
working the maiden induced the wizard to go
under the stone to tell her of the marvels there,
and then she “so wrought him” that with all
his own crafts he could not emerge again. Some
time afterwards Sir Bagdemagus, riding to an
adventure, heard Merlin’s doleful cries from under
the stone, but he was unable to help him, as the
stone was so heavy that a hundred men could not
move it. Merlin told the knight that no one could
rescue him but the woman who had put him
there, and, according to some traditions, he lives
to this day in the vault. Spenser, in the <cite>Faërie
Queene</cite>, describes the tomb as&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“A hideous, hollow, cave-like bay</div>
<div class="verse">Under a rock that has a little space</div>
<div class="verse">From the swift Tyvi, tumbling down apace</div>
<div class="verse">Amongst the woody hills of Dynevowr.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>

<p class="uni">The Tyvi is known to us as the Towy, and
Dynevowr is Dynevor Park.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“There the wise Merlin, whilom wont, they say,</div>
<div class="verse i2">To make his wonne low underneath the ground,</div>
<div class="verse">In a deep delve far from view of day,</div>
<div class="verse i2">That of no living wight he might be found,</div>
<div class="verse i2">When so he counselled with his sprights around.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Others say that the guileful damsel led her doting
lover to Snowdon, and there put forth the charm
of woven paces and of waving hands until he lay
as dead in a hollow oak. Sometimes an eldritch
cry breaks upon the ear of the climber as he nears
the summit of Snowdon: it is Merlin lamenting
the subtlety of his false love, which doomed him
to perpetual shame.</p>

<p>There is the Carmarthen cave, and there is a
“Merlin’s Grave” four miles from Caerleon, both
of which are shown as Merlin’s resting-place.
But ancient bards told another strange tale of
the fate of the “boy without a father,” whose
blood had once been sought to sprinkle upon the
cement for the bricks of Vortigern’s castle. They
declared that the enchanter was sent out to sea
in a vessel of glass, accompanied by nine bards,
or prophets, and neither vessel nor crew was
heard of again&mdash;which is not surprising. But
Lady Charlotte Guest, in her notes to the <cite>Mabinogion</cite>,
boldly transports the scene of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>Merlin’s
doom to the Forest of Brécéliande, in Brittany,
one of the favoured haunts of romance and the
delight of the Trouvères. Vivien, to whose artifices
he succumbed, is said to have been the
daughter of one Vavasour, who married a niece
of the Duchess of Burgundy, and received as
dowry half the Forest of Briogne. It was when
Merlin and Vivien were going through Brécéliande
hand in hand that they found a bush of
white thorn laden with flowers; there they rested,
and the magician fell asleep. Then Vivien,
having been taught the art of enchantment by
Merlin, rose and made a ring nine times with her
wimple round the bush; and when the wizard
woke it seemed to him that he was enclosed in
the strongest tower ever made&mdash;a tower without
walls and without chains, which he alone had
known the secret of making. From this enmeshment
Merlin could never escape, and, plead as he
would, the damsel would not release him. But
it is written that she often regretted what she
had done and could not undo, for she had thought
the things he had taught her could not be true.
This, however, seems to be an interpolation. Sir
Gawain, travelling through the forest, saw a
“kind of smoke,” and heard Merlin’s wailing
voice addressing him out of the obscurity.
The wonders of the Forest of Brécéliande were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
sufficiently believed in of old time that we find
the chronicler Wace actually journeying to the
spot to find the fairy fountain and Merlin’s tomb.
Another variation of the story is that Merlin made
himself a sepulchre in the Forest of Arvantes, that
Vivien persuaded him to enter it, and then closed
the lid in such manner that thereafter it could
never be opened. Matthew Arnold, sparing and
reticent in speech, as is his wont, describes Merlin’s
fate with subdued force and subtle charm,
putting the story in the mouth of desolate Iseult,
who told her children of the “fairy-haunted land”
away the other side of Brittany, beyond the
heaths, edged by the lonely sea; and of</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The deep forest glades of Broce-liand,</div>
<div class="verse">Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps,</div>
<div class="verse">Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Very cunningly and mystically has the poet told
of Vivien’s guile as she waved a wimple over the
blossom’d thorn-tree and the sleeping dotard,
until within “a little plot of magic ground,” a
“daisied circle,” Merlin was made prisoner till
the judgment day. Celtic mythology, Renan tells
us, is nothing more than a transparent naturalism,
the love of nature for herself, the vivid impression
of her magic, accompanied by the sorrowful feeling
that man knows. When face to face with
her, he believes that he hears her commune with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
him concerning his origin and destiny. “The
legend of Merlin mirrors this feeling,” he continues.
“Seduced by a fairy of the woods, he
flies with her and becomes a savage. Arthur’s
messengers come upon him as he is singing by a
fountain; he is led back again to court, but the
charm carries him away. He returns to his
forests, and this time for ever.”</p>

<p>“La forêt de Brocelinde,” writes Emile Souvestre,
in that fascinating and half-pathetic work,
<cite>Les Derniers Bretons</cite>, “se trouve située dans le
commune de Corcoret, arrondissement de Ploërmal.
Elle est celebrée dans les romans de la
table ronde. C’est là que l’on rencontre <i>la fontaine
de Baranton, le Val sans retour, la tombe
de Merlin</i>. On sait que ce magicien se trouve
encore dans cette forêt, où il est retenu par les
enchantements de Viviane à l’ombre d’un bois
d’aubépine. Viviane avait essayé sur Merlin le
charme qu’elle avait appris de lui-même, sans
croire qu’il pût opérer; elle se desespéra quand
elle vit qui celui qu’elle adorait était à jamais
perdu pour elle.” This statement is not confirmed
in the English romance, and is opposed
wholly to the sentiment of the story as conceived
by Tennyson and other modern writers. “On
assure que Messire Gauvain (Gawain) et quelques
chevaliers de la table ronde cherchèrent partout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
Merlin, mais en vain. Gauvain seul l’entendit
dans la forêt de Brocelinde, mais ne put le voir.”
The district of Brocelinde, or Brécéliande, is rich
in antiquities, dolmens and menhirs being found
together with other relics of early times and the
mysterious workers of the stone age. To add to
the scenic attractions of the locality there are
ruined castles, the remains of machicolated walls,
ancient chateaux, and churches dating back many
centuries. It is fitting that here, therefore, romance
should maintain one of its strongholds and
that traditions of the master-magician should
linger.</p>

<p>There is yet one other legend which should be
noted. It represents the magician as perpetually
roaming about the wood of Calydon lamenting the
loss of the chieftains in the battle of Arderydd;
while yet another tells of a glass house built for
him in Bardsey Island by his companion, the
Gleam, in which house of sixty doors and sixty
windows he studied the stars, and was attended by
one hundred and twenty bards to write down his
prophecies. Never was such a confusion of traditions
and fancies, never were so many deluding
will-o’-the-wisps to lead astray whosoever would
strive to investigate the truth of Merlin’s story.
That story with its abundance of suggestion makes
us think of the apt words of John Addington<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
Symonds, who said that the examination of these
mysterious narratives was like opening a sealed
jar of precious wine. “Its fragrance spreads
abroad through all the palace of the soul, and the
noble vintage upon being tasted courses through
the blood and brain with the matured elixir of
stored-up summers.” One needs some such consolation
as this for the vexation of finding seemingly
inextricable confusion.</p>

<p>Warrior though he was, and all-powerful by
reason of his supernatural gifts, Merlin is yet
represented as being a peace-maker and as paying
allegiance to a “master.” He ended the great
battle between Arthur and the eleven kings, when
the horses went in blood up to the fetlocks, and
out of three-score thousand men but fifteen thousand
were left alive. Of this sanguinary battle
of Bedgraine, Merlin gave an account to his
master Blaise, or Bleys, journeying to Northumberland
specially to do so and to get the master
to write down the record; all Arthur’s battles did
Blaise chronicle from Merlin’s reports. Attempts
have been made to identify Blaise (the Wolf) with
St. Lupus, Bishop of Troyes. The more impressive
part which Merlin plays in the Arthurian
drama is as prophet and necromancer. His sudden
comings and goings, his disguises, his solemn
warnings, his potent interventions, all these combine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
to strengthen the idea of unequalled influence
and of awesome personality. He figures prominently
in the story of Sir Balin le Savage, and
it was his hand which wrote the fitting memorial
of the two noble brothers. Merlin it was again
who counselled the king to marry, and who
brought Guinevere to London from Cameliard,
darkly predicting at the same time that through
the queen Arthur should come to his doom.</p>

<p>An ancient Cornish song, to be found in the
original dialect, but in reality a Breton incantation
which has come down to us from the far ages out
of the abundance of Armoric lore, describes Merlin
the Diviner attended by a black dog and
searching at early day for</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The red egg of the marine serpent,</div>
<div class="verse">By the seaside in the hollow of the stone.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Asked whither he is going he responds:</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“I am going to seek in the valley</div>
<div class="verse">The green watercress and the golden grass,</div>
<div class="verse">And the top branch of the oak,</div>
<div class="verse">In the wood by the side of the fountain.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">A warning voice bids him turn back and not to
seek the forbidden knowledge. The cress, the
golden grass, the oak branch, and the red egg of
the marine serpent are not for him. “Merlin!
Merlin!” cries the voice,</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Retrace thy steps,</div>
<div class="verse">There is no diviner but God.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">It is like a moral message from Goethe’s <i>Faust</i>.</p>

<p>There is no doubt that Merlin’s death, which is
no death, but a blind grovelling and eternal uselessness,
was the mark of scorn put upon the
magician who might have been prepotent, but
who prostituted his powers&mdash;a feebleness and a
degradation which were intolerable to the sturdy
race who prized courage above all other qualities,
and were incapable of realising the meaning of
defeat or despair. That the counsellor should
himself turn fool, and that the man of supernatural
gifts should be prone to the weakness of
nature, would be obnoxious to the Celtic imagination,
and have its sequel in ribald allusion and
endless taunts. The disaster which overtakes
Merlin is one fitting for the coward or the buffoon,
and is a fate altogether foreign to the ancient idea
of that which was fitting for the hero, the bard,
or the sage. It is noticeable that all the former
services of Merlin are forgotten in judging him
upon the closing despicable episode in his career
and consigning him to timeless indolence and
impotence. Shorn of his strength, a prisoner,
living but “lost to use and fame,” Mage Merlin
in his cave, victim to his own folly and a woman’s
wiles, awaits the last doom.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />
OF TINTAGEL</h2>

<div class="ch">

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“There is a place within</div>
<div class="verse i2">The winding Severne sea,</div>
<div class="verse">On mids of rock, about whose foote</div>
<div class="verse i2">The tydes turn, keeping play,</div>
<div class="verse">A tower-y toppèd castle here,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Wide blazeth over all,</div>
<div class="verse">Which Corineus’ ancient broode</div>
<div class="verse i2">Tintagel Castle call.”&mdash;<i>Camden.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Thou seest dark Cornwall’s rifted shore,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Old Arthur’s stern and rugged keep,</div>
<div class="verse">There, where proud billows dash and roar,</div>
<div class="verse i2">His haughty turret guards the deep.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“And mark yon bird of sable wing,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Talons and beak all red with blood,</div>
<div class="verse">The spirit of the long-lost king</div>
<div class="verse i2">Passed in that shape from Camlan’s flood.”</div>

<p class="right"><i>R. S. Hawker.</i></p>
</div></div></div>

</div>


<p>Cornwall, the horn-shaped land, far removed
from the great centres of progress and industry,
the land of giants, of a separate people who until
the last century spoke its own language;<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
land of holy wells and saints, of hut circles, dolmens,
and earthwork forts, memorials of extreme
antiquity; the land of many stone crosses indicating
the early influence of Christianity; the land
of so-called giants’ quoits, chairs, spoons, punch-bowls,
and mounds, sometimes the work of primitive
man, sometimes the work of fantastic Nature&mdash;this
is the land in which romance lingers and
in which superstition thrives, the land upon which
seems to rest unmoving the shadow of the past.
Olden customs survive, the old fashion is not departed
from. The quaintness, the simplicity, the
quietude, the charm of a bygone age may be
found yet in that part which Taylor, the water
poet, described as “the compleate and repleate
Home of Abundance, noted for high churlish hills,
and affable courteous People.”</p>

<p>A tour through the land which romance has
marked out for her own, and where the fords,
bridges, hills, and rocks are called after Arthur
or associated by tradition with his exploits,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
becomes easier every year by the development of
railways, little known in the wilder parts until a
decade or so ago. It must be sorrowfully confessed
that the visit to Tintagel, despite its charm,
results in a certain amount of disillusion. It contains
no relic, nothing that can verily be imagined
a relic, of the old, old times when the flower of
chivalry ruled. As one walks down the solitary
street and glances around he sees that Tintagel is
an antique, picturesque little place with its quaint
post-office of yore&mdash;battered by time, the roof
fallen, and the stonework disjointed&mdash;with its
stunted cottages, its typical village shop and
hostelry, and its lonely church on the cliffs. Tintagel,
as it is, is unique, but it is not Arthurian
unless we go direct to those parts where Nature
is not and never has been molested. The Pentargon
heights, the great gorges, the weird bays
and caves, the rock-strewn valleys, the imposing
waterfalls&mdash;from these may be constructed the
scenery for the drama of the warlike king and his
adventurous knights. The huge bank of earth
enclosing an oblong space, with its remnant of
stone-lining found near St. Breavard, is fitly
called King Arthur’s Hall. Such relics as are
found in and near Tintagel are posterior to King
Arthur’s era. There is a Saxon cross to be seen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
erected to the memory of one Ælnat, a Saxon. A
sybstel, or family pillar, with Saxon inscription,
found in Lanteglos Church, near Camelford, and
a Roman stone discovered in Tintagel churchyard,
are ancient memorials of the highest interest.
Relics of the bronze age have been discovered
also, though the influence of the
Phœnician tin-traders did not seemingly extend
to this mid part of Cornwall.</p>

<p>Tintagel, as the first locality mentioned in the
romance, has a special claim to attention: “It
befell in the days of the noble Uther Pendragon,
when he was King of all England, and so reigned,
that there was a mighty and a noble Duke in
Cornwalle that held long time wars against him;
and the Duke was named the Duke of Tintagil.”
So run the opening lines, introducing us at once
to the western territory and to the rocky stronghold
indissolubly linked with Arthur’s fame.
Strange to say, however, the place is absolutely
ignored in the later half of the history, despite
the fact that Cornwall was the scene of some of
the most important concluding events. Tintagel
was apparently forgotten by the chroniclers after
the story of Tristram was related, and the last
mention of it as King Mark’s Castle, where
treachery was followed by bloodshed, where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
allegiance of the knights began to decline, and
where folly, wantonness, and shame served as
omens of coming disaster and of the impending
shock to the realm which Arthur had made. The
history of Tintagel begins in a tale of shame,
though King Uther’s deceit of Igraine appears to
have been regarded less as dishonour to himself
than as a sign of his own and Merlin’s strategy
and venturesomeness.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Uther, having compassed
the death of Gorlois, had no further difficulty in
persuading Igraine to become his wife, and their
son was Arthur, who at his birth was delivered
to Sir Ector, “a lord of faire livelyhood,” to be
nourished as one of his own family. The death
of Uther while his son was yet an infant left the
succession in some doubt, and in order to prove
Arthur’s right to the crown the familiar device<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
was adopted of drawing a sword from a stone.
The scene of the contest in which Arthur, now
assumed by the chroniclers to be a goodly youth,
and Sir Ector’s son took part, is vaguely described
as being “the churchyard of the greatest
church in London”; and it is needless to say
that only Arthur proved equal to the feat of pulling
the sword from the marble and the steel anvil
in which it stood. The letters of gold on the
sword declared that “whoso pulleth out this
sword of this stone and anvile, is rightwise king
borne of England,” and Sir Ector and Sir Kay,
his defeated son and Arthur’s foster-brother, were
the first to kneel to Arthur as their lord when they
saw Excalibur in his hand. Before the lords and
commons Arthur again proved his right and
royalty at the feast of Pentecost, and with the
help of Merlin he proceeded immediately to establish
his kingdom, which, during Uther’s illness and
after his death, had stood “in great jeopardie.”</p>

<p>Gorlois, the husband of Igraine, had been the
possessor of two castles, Tintagel and Terabyl (or
Damaliock), which may be judged to have been
at no great distance from one another. Terabyl
is untraceable, though it has been suggested that
while Tintagel Castle was solely upon the peninsula
(Barras Head) which juts into the sea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
Terabyl was the castle upon the mainland. This
theory is untenable. It is only in comparatively
recent times, with the widening of the chasm between
the peninsula and the mainland, that a
division of any importance can be noticed; and it
is safe to assume that there was never more than
one castle at Tintagel. The rent in the rocks was
spanned by a huge bridge, as the crenellated walls
now reaching to the edge on either side and in a
direct line with each other plainly attest. Terabyl,
in which the Duke entrenched himself when
Uther Pendragon brought his hosts against him,
was evidently further inland than Tintagel, and
the latter, distinctly avowed to be “ten miles
hence,” was selected as the refuge for Igraine.
Uther, marching southward from Camelot,
reached Terabyl first and laid siege to it; to reach
Igraine at Tintagel he had still to ride some distance.
“The Duke of Tintagil espied how the
king rode from the siege of Terrabil, and, therefore,
that night he issued out of the castle at a
posterne”&mdash;(Terabyl was noted for its “many
issues and pasternes out”)&mdash;“for to have distressed
the king’s host. And so, through his
own issue, the Duke himself was slain or ever the
king came at the castle of Tintagil.” Geoffrey
of Monmouth calls Terabyl “castellum Dimilioc,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>”
but under this name it is no less a mystery. As it
receives incidental mention only twice afterwards
we may well be content to rank Terabyl among
the cities of romance, the names of which alone
existed. It may have been as unsubstantial
as the enchanted cities created by mysterious
maidens for their courteous and faithful lovers,
which cities vanished in a night if vows were
broken or false words uttered.</p>

<p>It is said in some of the romances that twice
a year the Castle of Tintagel became invisible to
the eyes of the common people. To-day it is only
in imagination that we can perceive the real
castle of Arthur, for whatever British fortress
may ever have risen on these heights has long
since vanished&mdash;crumbled away into dust which
is as nothingness. Authentic history takes us
back only to the time of the Norman Conquest,
when Tintagel was entered in Domesday Book
as Dunchine, or Chain Castle. It is the firm
opinion of archæologists that the Romans entrenched
themselves here and left signs of their
occupation, and there are the strongest reasons
for believing that Tintagel was a British place of
defence before the Roman invasion. Nature had
marked out the rocky height as a stronghold, and
a race like the Britons could scarcely have failed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
to avail themselves of all the advantages it
offered. But when we first read of Tintagel
Castle apart from the romances we find it in the
occupation of English princes, notably of Richard,
Earl of Cornwall, otherwise known as the King of
the Romans, who in 1245 gave noble entertainment
to his nephew, Prince of Wales, then carrying
on a desperate war for freedom against the
English king. The use of Tintagel as a prison
from which escape was almost impossible was
recognised from early times until the reign of
Elizabeth, at which era it began to fall into decay;
and it was within the loneliest and most exposed
portion of the island that John Northampton,
Lord Mayor of London, who had abused his
office, was immured for life by order of Richard
II. A sculptured moorstone, now moss-covered
and illegible, commonly called the altar-stone of
King Arthur’s Chapel, is believed in reality to be
a monument of John Northampton’s own carving,
wrought to pass away the dreary days in his
dungeon, and now marking the place of his tomb.
What is known as King Arthur’s Chapel is a
spacious chamber fifty-four feet long and twelve
feet wide, the outline of which is barely traceable. It
is supposed to have been dedicated to Saint Uliane.</p>

<p>In Leland’s time Tintagel Castle was “sore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
wether-beten an yn ruine,” and whether it was
ever the stronghold of Arthur history does not
determine. The name was formerly Dundagil,
meaning “the impregnable fortress,” and Geoffrey
of Monmouth did not exaggerate when he
wrote of it: “It is situated upon the sea, and on
every side surrounded by it, and there is but one
entrance into it, and that through a straight rock,
which three men shall be able to defend against
the whole of the kingdom.” Leland, less interested
in the matter, testified that “the castelle
hath bene a marvelus strong and notable forteres,
and a large thinge.... Without the isle rennith
alonly a gate-house, a walle, and a fals braye
dyged and walled. In this isle remayne old
walles, and in the est part of the same, the ground
beying lower, remaynith a walle embateled, and
men abyve saw thereyn a postern dore of yren.”
The chronicler and antiquary Carew supplies
further evidence of the strength of the structure.
“The cyment,” he says, “wherewith the stones
were laid, resisteth the fretting furie of the
weather better than the stones themselves,” a
fact which is strongly commented on also by
Norden, who thought that “neither time nor force
of hands could sever one from the other.” “Half
the buildings,” continues Carew, “were raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
on the continent (the mainland) and the other
halfe on an island, continued together by a drawbridge,
but now divorced by the downfalne steepe
cliffes on the further side.” There is a consensus
of opinion as to this drawbridge, Camden and
other trustworthy historians all confirming the
report as to its existence, and this further proves
that there were not two castles at Tintagel.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>
The gigantic impression of a foot is pointed out
to credulous pilgrims; it is the print left by King
Arthur’s foot when he strode across the chasm&mdash;backwards.
This is as much to be relied upon
as the fact that the basins worn by the winds
and waves in the rocks were King Arthur’s cups
and saucers, and that a dizzy dip of the heights
over the sea constituted his chair. It is surprising
that the immense and awe-inspiring
caverns have escaped the fate of being called
King Arthur’s drinking-bowls. Yet all these conceits
have their value as proof of the deep-rooted
belief in the king’s might as a monarch and his
stupendous stature as a man. The hero is rapidly
passing into the myth when such attributes are
ascribed to him.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG96" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_096fp.jpg" width="600" height="393" alt="" />
<div class="caption">

<p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>KING ARTHUR’S CASTLE, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 96</i></p></div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>

<p>Tintagel must have been even more impressive
a scene a few centuries ago than it is to-day,
despite its wild sublimity in ruin. One more witness
of old time may be called forth to give his
evidence of what it was before the walls had been
so buffeted and brought so low.</p>

<p>“A statelye and impregnable seate,” is Norden’s
testimony, “now rent and rugged by force
of time and tempests; her ruines testifye her
pristine worth, the view whereof, and due observation
of her situation, shape, and condition
in all partes, may move commiseration that such
a statelye pile should perish for want of honourable
presence. Nature hath fortified, and art dyd
once beautifie it, in such sorte as it leaveth unto
this age wonder and imitation.” Tintagel is to be
visited rather than described, though our most
luxuriant poets have painted it with lavish richness
of words, and artists have depicted some of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
its natural beauties in the most radiant of colours.
From many a rocky verge can be seen the dark
remnants of Arthur’s fortress, inaccessible on all
sides but one; from the deep base the ocean
spreads out without bound, surging and boiling
and casting up steam-like fountains of hissing
foam. Only a few arches and rude flights of
steps, surmounted by a frail-looking wooden
door, now remain, with some fallen walls which
imperfectly outline the shape of what were once
spacious royal chambers. On a carpet of turf
wander the small mountain sheep, and pick their
way about the narrow precipitous paths which
wind around the jagged sides of the cliffs. The
fortifications are in ruin, and the battlemented
walls which encompassed the massive steeps are
now nothing but disconnected strips over which
the curious traveller looks into the angry waters
grinding and regurgitating far below. The noble
bridge which once stretched across the yawning
chasm dividing the two promontories must alone
be imagined, though its beginnings on each side
may be traced by the line of low stone arches
reaching, and stopping abruptly at, the edge.
The hills “that first see bared the morning’s
breast,” the heights “the sun last yearns to
from the west,” as Swinburne has sung, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
eternal, but Arthur’s castle has gone, and Tintagel,
“half in sea and high on land, a crown of
towers,” is even called by the dwellers no more
by its old inspiring name.</p>

<p>The very mention of Cornish seas has an alluring
sound, and one already feels in the realm of
romance when he descries in the mellow light of
an afternoon in late summer that smallest of villages
perched upon a rock overlooking the bluest
of seas with its perpetual fringe of powdery foam.
Here at the edge of the Atlantic is a most beguiling
stretch of water, filling innumerable bays&mdash;water
so clear and calm and deep-hued far away
that it is hard to realise that it makes a cruel and
treacherous sea in which only on the gentlest of
days dare a swimmer plunge and feel his way
among the underlying rocks, or upon the roaring
waves of which dare a hardy sailor venture his
boat. In storm this sea is terrible. The waves
upheave themselves like solid hillocks of water,
black at the base, and hurl themselves with appalling
force against the huge rocks, which have
already been worn and broken by them into a
thousand fantastic shapes. Here and there the
propelling force of the incoming tide, working
like a gigantic engine, sends with torrent-force
along narrow open passages a seething stream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
which beats its way upward and dashes headlong
over the barriers of wood and stone; and the great
smoke-coloured waves beyond rear themselves
heavily, topple, and crash down into the abyss
with thunderous roaring. On they come, nearer
and nearer, louder and louder, those hard, rising,
climbing, dissolving bodies of incalculable
strength, dashing themselves furiously over every
obstacle, sweeping with a hiss across the tracts
of sand, and obliterating the tall rocks which can
be toilsomely climbed when the waters retreat.
Beneath this raging, battering sea lies a fabled
domain with all its fair cities and towers, and
every watcher of those stupendous, merciless billows
can realise their potentiality to tear away the
land and drag it into the unseen deeps. Storm
at Tintagel or Trebarwith is both revelation and
conviction: it is a manifestation of remorselessness,
a suggestion of irreparable ruin, desolation,
and loss. Easy indeed is it to imagine that the
treacherous and cruel waves driving rapaciously
landward have already had their victory and are
savagely seeking to extend their conquest, and
that hereabout lie “the sad sea-sounding wastes
of Lyonnesse.”</p>

<p>No one has described this wildly beautiful sea
with greater charm and realism than Swinburne,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
who has watched it in all moods, seen it in the
blueness of calm, seen it strive and shiver “like
spread wings of angels blown by the sun’s
breath,” seen it when the glad exhilarated
swimmer feels</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The sharp sweet minute’s kiss</div>
<div class="verse">Given of the wave’s lip, for a breath’s space curled</div>
<div class="verse">And pure as at the daytime of the world,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">&mdash;seen it again when the east wind made the
water thrill, and the soft light went out of all its
face, and the green hardened into iron blue. A
walk from Camelford to Tintagel, passing Trebarwith,
and on from Tintagel to Boscastle,
passing Bossiney and many a smaller cove on the
way, reveals the most wonderful and alluring of
all changeful sea-pictures, and displays most
vividly the marvel and magic of the rugged coast.
The towering rocks have been wrought by time
and carved by wind and wave into grotesque
images, broken at the base into sunless caves,
worn at the heights into sharp and gleaming
pinnacles, fretted and cut, rounded and cracked,
sundered and cast down, the massive blocks made
veritably the sport of the elements, so that the
beholder may easily believe himself in the realm
of enchantment. All the sounding shores of
Bude and Boss are legend-haunted. The mariner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
hears the chime and toll of the lost bells of Bottreaux
when he comes within sight of the “silent
tower,” which stands white and grim upon the
headland. The wail of lured voyagers and the
despairing lament of the smugglers who brought
them with false lights to their doom are listened
to in awe on stormy nights, and there are visions
of good ships that went down among the rocks in
the tragic desperate days of which so many
ghastly tales are told. The last of the Cornish
wreckers, for whom, when he lay dying, a ship
with red sails came in a tremendous sea and bore
him shrieking away, looms as an apparition on
the darkest nights, and the cries of tormented
spirits mingle with the blast. Merlin, with flowing
beard, is said to pace the shore, and Arthur
and his knights to revisit the scenes of their exploits.
The spirit of the king hovers about sea
and land in the form of the almost sacred chough,
reverenced and preserved by the inhabitants that
they may not unwittingly injure their hero.
Further north at Bude Haven the long Atlantic
breakers roll, and perhaps there is no more imposing
spectacle than the coil of waves coming
in upon the far-extending and rock-strewn sands.
The undulations, miles long, seem to rise and curl
far out at sea at short regular distances from each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
other, and mass upon mass they break with
thunder-sound and cataract upon the shore. The
most brilliant of sunsets glow in the perfect summer
weather when day dies slowly over these
“far-rolling, westward-smiling seas,” and they
leave the night still radiant. The whole land is
sweet and bright with flowers: on one side lies
the glittering surf lacing itself in white foam
about the boulders, and on the other side rises the
circle of hills topped by the massy brown summits
of Row Tor and Brown Willy. Sometimes the
deserted quarries give a spectral look to the landscape,
and when the rain spatters and darkens
the piles of rough slate the aspect is weird and
gloomy indeed. But given a day of sunshine
when the sea is a sparkling emerald or the deepest
of blues, when the sky is clear or only softened
with diaphanous rings of cirrus-cloud, when the
moss glistens on the rocks and the expanse of
meadowland is a vivid carpet of green, when the
winding hilly lanes flanked by tall hedges are
white and shadowless, and the little tinkling
runlets are silver gleams, and then this tract of
Arthur’s Cornwall is almost the land of faerie
which poets have sung.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;">
<img id="IMG102" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_102fp.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption">

<p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>THE ELEPHANT ROCK, BOSSINEY COVE</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 102</i></p>
</div></div>

<p>What more fitting than that the grave of Tristram
and Iseult should have been at Tintagel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
where the sea they loved came with its strong
and awful tides, and now</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“Sweeps above their coffined bones</div>
<div class="verse">In the wrecked chancel by the shivered shrine”?</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">The deep sea guards them and engirds them, and
no man shall say where the lovers lie in their last
sleep. King Mark buried the two in one grave,
and planted over it a rose-bush and vine, the
branches of which so intermingled that they became
inseparable. Arnold, Swinburne, and Tennyson
have best told the whole story in our language
in modern times. But it is no slight task
to trace the literary history and development of
the beautiful theme. A German minnesänger of
the twelfth century, Gotfrit of Strasburg, is the
first to whom the romance is ascribed, though
Scott and others have claimed for Thomas of
Ercildoune (Thomas the Rhymer) the best poetic
version, only one copy of which is extant. A
thirteenth-century manuscript, which contains a
French metrical version of the romance, has been
noted by Lockhart as citing the authority of
Thomas the Rhymer for the story of Tristram
and Iseult; but Thomas’s version was totally
different from the prose romances. Great efforts
have been made at one time and another to prove
the story to be of English, French, and German<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
origin, but at least this much is assured&mdash;the
principal scenes are English, and the leading
events in the history of Tristram, the nephew of
King Mark of Cornwall, occur at Tintagel. He
journeyed to Ireland to bring back the daughter
of the queen of that country, and he journeyed to
Brittany to bring back his own wife, that Iseult
of the White Hand who failed to win his love.
His adventures as a Knight of the Round Table
took him, as was usual, over much territory and
to foreign lands; but it is to Cornwall that the
interest always returns, and in which it is concentrated.
Among the “wind-hollowed heights
and gusty bays” of Tintagel, and within the
“towers washed round with rolling foam,” the
knight and the damsel wedded to King Mark,
who had saved him from torture and death, lived
their lives of forbidden love. The Minstrel-knight
suited his voice to the mellow chords of his harp,
and wandered about the woods and beside the
sea in the May-time of his happiness with Iseult
the Queen. And when the knight had wedded
another Iseult, it was at Tintagel that Mark’s
wife, with her passionate thoughts, her sorrow,
and her despair, sat alone in a casement and
heard the night speak and thunder on the sea
“ravening aloud for ruin of lives.” Such words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
can be easily comprehended by those who have
seen Tintagel in storm, the wind roaring, the seas
flashing white, a blinding mist of rain between
the heavy sky and the weltering waves. The
rage of the elements, the vehemence of the warring
tide, the dash and the recoil at the castle-base,
have only their parallel in the human passion
which was too strong for life itself to withstand,
when deserted Iseult saw before her the corpse
of her lover. Tristram, ill-fated from birth, was
doomed to die by treachery. He was wounded,
and learnt that he could only be healed by the
magic art of the woman he loved, of her who had
cured him before. He sent for Iseult to cross the
sea in order to save him, and commanded the
messenger to hoist a white sail if she consented
and was on her way. The white sail was hoisted,
but the other Iseult, the faithful but neglected
wife, could not resist saying what jealousy
prompted&mdash;that the sail was black. Sir Tristram
immediately expired. Malory’s romance declares
that the knight met his death at the hands of King
Mark, who slew him “as he sat harping afore
his lady La Beale Isoud, with a trenchant glaive,
for whose death was much bewailing of every
knight that ever were in King Arthur’s days.”</p>

<p>The literary history and the variations of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
extremely ancient and supremely sorrowful story
can only be adequately treated in such a volume
as that of M. Losseth, who has given an account
of twenty-four manuscripts containing Tristram’s
history, of six works in the French National
Library, of Malory’s version, and of one Italian,
two Danish, and one German translation or
original rendering. Some have attributed the
authorship to Cormac of Ireland in the third
century; others believe the Welsh bards first sang
it; the French claimed it for their <i>trovères</i>, but
have now admitted its British origin. Yet it is
remarkable how French, Cornish, and Irish
histories intermingle in the romance, and how the
magic element occasionally enters, spoiling it as
history but enriching it as a legend. The story
is one of such pathos that the predominating influence
of the Celt in suggesting and shaping it
must instantly be recognised. But so many have
worked on the theme, early and late&mdash;none perhaps
with such superb effect as Wagner&mdash;that the
primitive conception is apt to be forgotten or
ignored; it has been overlaid with details
gathered from many lands, and embellished by
the poetic fancies of many races. The story has
become European; Beroul, Christian of Troyes,
Thomas of Brittany, Robert the northern monk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
Eilhard of Oberge, Gottfrid and the other early
Germans, the Provençal minstrels&mdash;all these
have altered and added to the tale of the knight
who slew the sea-monster, the Morhout, saved
the Cornish maidens from shame and death, was
wounded by a poisoned arrow, healed by Iseult
the Beautiful, and both of whom, drinking of a
magic love-potion intended for Iseult’s destined
husband, afterwards experienced all the joys and
pangs of an unhallowed love which Dante himself
could not refrain from celebrating and condoning.
The story abounds in mystic symbolism, or,
rather, that symbolism has been found in it; and
the inevitable Sun-god myth has been perceived
in its details.</p>

<p>Tintagel, a picture in the waters, is at its best
when the sky becomes a rose above it, and the
sun dipping into a golden bath leaves a track
gleaming like pearl across the shoaling sea. The
waves as they rise and fall make emerald and
purple lines in moments of magic change, and
their crests of foam sparkle jewel-like with a
thousand instantaneous lights. Then “all the
rippling green grows royal gold” as the sun, like
a splendid bubble, floats on the water’s edge.
Round the pointed brown rocks are fringes of
white foam ever widening and contracting; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
oncoming waters with an exultant bound sometimes
spring high in fountains and then sink
slowly and gently as if fairy spires were dissolving
in thinnest powder. Again, with a roar and
an access of strength, the waves return impetuously,
raging and grinding, churned as by some
mighty hidden wheel into yeasty foam. Vista-like
the long bright track, now a deep red band,
leads back to the inner chambers of the sun, and
the sea draws the orb into its dark, mysterious
depths. The waves lace themselves around the
pinky-green islets, and the verdant headlands,
succeeding each other in almost interminable
series till the eye catches the gleam of the Lizard
lights, begin to soften mistily away behind the
twilight veil. A little ship, far off, skims over
the sea-rim and disappears; a tiny cloud floats
up like a loose silken sail, silvery white. The
seagulls and the choughs flit about the broken
arches of the castle, and shadows fall long and
deep across the deep ravinous path leading inland
from the precipitous heights.</p>

<p>At such time Tintagel is telling its own story,
weaving its own romance; and words seem vain
when those shattered columns, those fallen walls,
that unbridged chasm, are there to make the tale.
Of the after-history of the place what matters it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
We would fain have the story end, as it began,
with Arthur and Guinevere, King Mark, Mage
Merlin, and Tristram and Iseult. Every roll of
the breakers is a voice from the past, and every
crumbling chamber a chapter in that history
which only the true poet transcribes. Yet even
while such thoughts are forcing themselves upon
the mind of the beholder of a typical August sunset
over Tintagel, the end of the day will be near.
The arc of the sun blazes upon the sea-line, an
edge of fiery carmine, and a fleecy train of cirrus-cloud
crimsons with the last rays. Slowly and
yet perceptibly the light dies away and leaves the
heaving sea mystically dusk and the world full
of shadows. Darkness looms over Tintagel. The
overhanging crags look as if they might crack,
break off, and thunder down into the open-mouthed
sea below. The black chough wheels
about the ruins&mdash;the spirit of Arthur, say the
people, revisiting the scene of his glory.
Arcturus, the star of Arthur, glistens in the blue
sky right over the castle height, and Arthur’s
Harp shapes itself more dimly further east&mdash;for
the constellations themselves were named after the
puissant king. The tide is at its height and has
flooded the little stony beach to which a steep
path leads; the caves are full; on the horizon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
night-clouds come up and shape themselves into
fantastic forms of towers, and the real which are
near, and the imagined which are far, scarce can
be distinguished.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG110" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_110fp.jpg" width="600" height="349" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>BARRAS HEAD, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 110</i></p></div>
</div>

<p>Lytton seems to have had Tintagel, or a very
similar place in the north, in his mind when he
described the arrival of the Cymrian King, pursued
by the Saxons, at a beach of far resounding
seas where wave-hollowed caves arched, and</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Column and vault, and seaweed-dripping domes</div>
<div class="verse i2">Long vistas opening through the streets of dark,</div>
<div class="verse">Seem’d like a city’s skeleton, the homes</div>
<div class="verse i2">Of giant races vanish’d.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">This tract of land around Tintagel is crowded
with memorials and with relics about which
superstition has cast its web. The caer-camp at
Trenail Bury, and the huge stone monuments
which lie embedded in the earth, take us back to
British times. The pools, looking black and
weird among the hills, all have their legends, and
the wells commemorate a multitude of saints
known only to Cornwall. Castle-an-Dinas looms
majestically at a height of nearly eight hundred
feet against the horizon: here was King Arthur’s
hunting ground, and the remains of the structure
cresting the summit was his palace. The scenes
of some of his hard-fought battles are the wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
valleys closed in by the shadowy hills, and the
crags dashed by the tumultuous sea. You may
wander at will for miles in any direction still
keeping in sight the sturdy granite church standing
exposed on the highest bit of the coast; you
will hear no sound but the whimpering cry of the
gulls; and you will be free to reconstruct here in
imagination the vanished realm of King Arthur,
while the words of the old priest, Joseph Iscarus
of Exeter, ring in your ears&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“From this blest place immortal Arthur sprung</div>
<div class="verse">Whose wondrous deeds shall be for ever sung,</div>
<div class="verse">Sweet music to the ear, sweet honey to the tongue.</div>
<div class="verse">The only prince that hears the just applause,</div>
<div class="verse">Greatest that e’er shall be, and best that ever was.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>


<div class="chapter"> </div>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />
OF CAERLEON-UPON-USK</h2>

<div class="ch">

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Caerleon, now step in with stately style,</div>
<div class="verse">No feeble phrase may serve to set thee forth;</div>
<div class="verse">Thy famous town was spoke of many a myle,</div>
<div class="verse">Thou hast been great, though now but little worth:</div>
<div class="verse">Thy noble bounds hath reacht beyond them all,</div>
<div class="verse">In thee hath been King Arthur’s golden hall,</div>
<div class="verse">In thee the wise and worthies did repose.”&mdash;<i>Old Poet.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Slow sets the summer sun,</div>
<div class="verse">Slow fall the mists, and, closing, droop the flowers,</div>
<div class="verse">Faint in the gloaming dies the vesper bell,</div>
<div class="verse">And dreamland sleeps round golden Carduel.”&mdash;<i>Lytton.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“When Arthur first in court began,</div>
<div class="verse">And was approvèd King,</div>
<div class="verse">By force of armes great victoreys wanne,</div>
<div class="verse">And conquest home did bring.”&mdash;<i>Percy Reliques.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

</div>


<p>“Old Caerleon-upon-Usk” is the enchanted
capital of the kingdom called Romance. Its
domes of fretted gold, its countless pinnacles, its
seventy churches, its gorgeous palace, and its
giant tower&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“From whose high crest, they say,</div>
<div class="verse">Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,</div>
<div class="verse">And white sails flying on the yellow sea,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>

<p class="uni">by the wonder-working art of poets and old-time
chroniclers have a reality for us to-day, though
they may never have been visible. But the city
of the Hero-King is a city seen through a veil.
The glittering spires show through the mists of
time; in a half-shadow we discern the lofty
turrets, and mark the lanceolate windows with
their shining diamond-panes; a dreamy brightness
reveals the gilded roofs and the “magic casements”
where Guinevere and her maidens stood
and watched the tourneying knights, and glanced
their loves and hopes upon the combatants. The
name of Arthur conjures up the scene, and fancy
releases the city from its spell of slumber and ruin
and fashions it again in splendour. It is said
that this city of Legions was once the rival of
Rome in grandeur. When the all-conquering
king had subdued thirty kingdoms, he could find
no more suitable place than Caerleon for holding
a magnificent court to place the crown upon
his head, and to invite the kings and dukes under
his subjection to the ceremony. When he had
communicated his designs to the familiar friends,
he pitched upon Caerleon as a proper place for his
purpose; for, besides its great wealth above the
other cities, its situation was most pleasant and
fit for so great a solemnity. For on one side it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
was washed by that noble river (the Usk), so that
the kings and princes from the countries beyond
the seas might have the convenience of sailing up
to it. On the other side was the beauty of
meadows and groves, and the magnificence of the
royal palaces. Besides, there was a college of
two hundred philosophers, who, being learned in
astronomy and the other arts, were diligent in
observing the courses of the arts, and gave
King Arthur the predictions of the events that
would happen at that time. So runs Geoffrey’s
chronicle, and he reports that at the festival there
were present numerous kings, princes, prelates,
and consuls, all named; and no prince of any
consideration on this side Spain forbore attending.
The ceremony of the coronation, as described
by Geoffrey, was a stupendous event. The
archbishops, headed by Dubritius, were conducted
to the royal palace to place the crown upon the
monarch’s head. Arthur was invested with his
imperial habiliments, and conducted in great pomp
to the Metropolitan Church, supported by the
bishops and four kings, who bore golden swords
before him. The queen, “dressed out in her
richest ornaments,” and attended by bishops and
four queens, bearing before her four white doves,
joined the procession; and the people of Caerleon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
in their tens of thousands “made all imaginable
demonstrations of joy.” Then transporting music
was played, both in the churches and the streets
all day, and was so beautiful that the knights
knew not which of the many orchestras to prefer.
After the service the king and queen retired to
their separate palaces, “for the Britons still observed
the ancient custom of Troy, by which men
and women used to celebrate their festivals apart.”
One thousand young noblemen, clothed in ermine,
served the banquet at the king’s table; and in the
queen’s palace innumerable servitors, dressed with
a variety of ornaments, performed their offices.
The knights, in best apparel, were in full attendance,
and the ladies, celebrated for their wit, encouraged
them in their tourneys. No man, says
Geoffrey, was worthy of a woman’s love until he
had given proof of his valour in three separate
battles; “thus was the valour of the men an
encouragement for the women’s chastity, and the
love of the women a spur to the soldiers’ bravery.”
The victors in the jousts at Caerleon that day
were rewarded by Arthur in person, and the
capital was a blaze of splendour and a scene of
unequalled exploits.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
<p>We get further pictures of Caerleon from other
of the early historians. Giraldus Cambriensis recorded
in the twelfth century that at Caerleon
might be seen many vestiges of its former glory,
“immense palaces ornamented with gilded roofs,
in imitation of Roman magnificence, a tower of
prodigious size, and relics of temples.” Three
centuries before Cæsar’s invasion, Belin Mawr
laid the city’s foundations; and in the sixth
century&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Cymri’s dragon, from the Roman’s hold,</div>
<div class="verse">Spread with calm wing o’er Carduel’s domes of gold.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">In the “Mabinogion” we also get a casual
glimpse of King Arthur’s royal state at Caerleon:
“Arthur was accustomed to hold his court at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
Caerleon-upon-Usk. And there he held it seven
Easters and five Christmases. And once upon a
time he held his court there at Whitsuntide. For
Caerleon was the place most easy of access in
his dominions, both by sea and land. And there
were assembled nine crowned kings, who were
his tributaries, and likewise earls and barons.
For they were his invited guests at all the high
festivals, unless they were prevented by any great
hindrance. And when he was at Caerleon holding
his court, thirteen churches were set apart
for mass.” But the scene at the coronation of
Arthur was never excelled; and if Geoffrey of
Monmouth could be believed, such a noble assembly,
such a display of magnificence, such prodigality
of sport and hospitality were never before
or afterward seen in Britain; and the historian
adds that at that time King Arthur’s country had
arrived at “such a pitch of grandeur, that in
abundance of riches, luxury, ornaments, and
politeness of inhabitants it far surpassed all other
countries.”</p>

<p>But what is Caerleon now? Late on an August
afternoon, when the sky was stricken with the
first shadowy pallor of evening, a white, sandy,
deserted lane led me past a few scattered houses
and a small church to the riverside. The tide was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
out and the waters had shrunk almost into silence.
An old tower, thickly overgrown with trailing
weeds, stands on the bank, and tells of other
times. The fields stretching away from the right
bank of the Usk are irregularly divided by the
remnant of an old Roman wall, rising about
twelve feet, and supposed to have been originally
four miles long, connecting Caerleon with the
outposts. Antiquaries differ in opinion as to
whence the stone was obtained; those marvel-working
Romans who came over with Julius
Frontinus in the first century, and made Caerleon
the head-quarters of the second Augustan Legion,
left the secret buried in the monument they raised.
The wall passes by, and beyond, the Priory and
the Round Table Field, where a deep indentation
probably marks the site of a Roman amphitheatre.
This supposition derives circumstantial confirmation
from the fact that a contiguous field has
borne from time out of record the name of the
Bearhouse Field&mdash;the site of the house in which
wild beasts were kept for gladiatorial contests.
But legend floats about the scene and fantastically
shapes itself into a marvellous tale, that here
King Arthur with his knights sits entranced in a
subterranean chamber, and there will remain until
Britain in her hour of peril calls him forth to new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
and greater conquests. The Welsh bards have
sung how&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“He first ordained the circled board;</div>
<div class="verse">The knights whose martial deeds far-famed that Table Round,</div>
<div class="verse">Which truest in their loves, which most in arms renowned,</div>
<div class="verse">The laws which long upheld that Order, they report:</div>
<div class="verse">The Pentecosts prepar’d at Caerleon in her Court,</div>
<div class="verse">That Table’s ancient seat.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>While we wander about the green hillocks
which compose that mysterious circle our minds
can feel the inspiration of the scene and sport
with the phantoms of the unreal world. It is on
such occasions that we feel the touch of other
times and seem to hear the echo of voices stilled.
The flame of romance kindles a thousand images;
half the present fades away, and in its place appears
what has vanished or has never been. The
long procession of the dead troops by, and the
tale of bygone days is recalled. Here, once, were
the sounds of tumult; the king’s pavilion was
set, and the tourney was “let cry.” Then were
heard the clatter of the steeds, the rush to arms,
the clang of sword and spear, the shattering of
hauberk and shield; then through the streets
resounded the trumpet-call to arms and the proclamation
of the king; then gathered and dispersed
the noble order of knights and the flower<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
of chivalry, setting forth upon noble quests or
returning to relate their deeds to Arthur and to
lay their spoils at the feet of Guinevere. Along
these lanes rode Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad, Sir
Gawain, and Sir Kaye. Here came kings from
north, south, and west to do homage to Arthur.
Here,</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“Among the myriad-room’d</div>
<div class="verse">And many-corridor’d perplexities</div>
<div class="verse">Of Arthur’s palace,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">the drama of pain and shame was acted by the
queen and Arthur’s greatest knight, a man “not
after Arthur’s heart.” Here, where the bee hums
and the moth alights, were knightly jousts and
stubborn contests. Steel grappled with steel,
and the hard ground trembled under the shock
of mounted warriors. Here, where the grass
grows long and the daisy and primrose brighten
out among the green, were mailed men and mirthful
maidens; here they feasted and sang and dedicated
their days to love and chivalry. But the
wind roves over the open plain; and scarcely a
stone, a tottering arch, or a fallen tower, has
escaped the iconoclasm of time’s remorseless
hand. The massive walls which defied the
siege of the all-conquering Roman have been
thrown down, and the regal palaces which never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
yielded to the pagan have sunk and disappeared
in the dust. Their very foundations cannot be
traced. But beneath the ruins sleeps romance,
and in the pervading silence is closed the last
song of ancient chivalry. The dust of the heroes
is scattered, and</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The attributes of those high days</div>
<div class="verse">Now only live in minstrel-lays.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Everything is past but the names of men and
places&mdash;names that we have and ideals that we
make. A ford with Arthur’s name, a stone associated
with his deeds, a city where his temples
were reared! Tranquilly flows the river and
washes the unfrequented banks; and Caerleon-upon-Usk,
like a wave that has been spent and
dies upon the shore, has ebbed into the quietude
of tideless time and has been lost. Yet, to him
who goes with open mind and simple faith, Caerleon
is even now a wonderland, and fragments
of its marvellous story are scattered on the roadside,
in the undulating meadows, and along the
banks of the wide brown river. Everywhere we
find remnants of a remarkable past; and though
the city has dwindled to a hamlet and is sequestered
from the busy toiling world, it seems like the
city of fable which slept until the promised prince
came and released it from the fetters of enchantment.
So may Caerleon one day be awakened.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>

<p>The healing sun-god, Belenus (from whose
name our modern Billingsgate is derived), was
the Celtic Apollo, and to him is ascribed the foundation
of Caerleon. Others, with better reason,
ascribe it to Lleon, an ancient British king. The
Romans, about the year 70 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span>, made it one of
their chief stations in Britannia Secunda, and the
city in their time is reputed to have been nine
miles in area. Akeman Street went from it to
Cirencester, and the maritime Julian Way passed
through it from Bath to Neath, while the mountain
Julian Way connected it with Abergavenny.
Fragments of a Roman fortress 12 feet thick and
1,800 yards in circuit have been found, and the
Roman amphitheatre, 16 feet high and 222 feet
by 192 feet in extent, is popularly known as the
festival scene of King Arthur and his knights.
Some of the Roman bricks and tiles are to be
found in the modern structures, and part of the
old Roman wall twelve feet high is still visible. In
the days of Hadrian the best part of the city was
Caerleon <i>ultra pontem</i>&mdash;that part lying beyond
the wooden movable bridge, which is now replaced
by one of stone.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> The local museum is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
crowded with memorials of antiquity&mdash;tesselated
pavements, Roman stones and inscriptions, baths,
altars, sculpture, Roman lamps (found in a road
cutting), glass vessels, bronze ornaments, harness
buckles, keys, coins, and stone facings of the
rooms in the Castle Villa. Most curious and
valuable of all, perhaps, is a boundary stone showing
that the sea-walls were the work of the third-century
Romans and made by their soldiery. But
the sea has receded from Caerleon and is now
quite two miles away, and Newport has arisen
where once the ships of Caerleon sailed. All the
Roman temples which King Arthur found in the
city he is said to have converted into Christian
churches, St. Dubric, the most famous of the
ecclesiastics of antiquity, being appointed the
archbishop. On the other hand, the archbishopric
is said to date from 182, and to have lasted until
521. But the remarkable and significant fact is
that while relics in abundance of the early Romans
can be found, nothing has been preserved of the
later British or Saxon times, and not a trace can
be discovered of the surpassing glory of the
Arthurian capital. Tradition avers that for four
hundred years before the Christian era Caerleon
was a royal residence and the burial place of
British kings; but tradition dispenses with proofs.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
<p>King Arthur’s ninth great battle against the
Saxons took place at Caerleon, and he had previously
encountered them at the most celebrated
of the city’s outposts, Caerwent. The latter place
has a history little inferior to that of Caerleon itself,
and has strong claims to consideration both
as a Roman settlement and as a reputed Arthurian
stronghold. It is uninviting in aspect to-day, but
the fragments of stately piles and the innumerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
coins and medals that have been unearthed
attest its former consequence. Caerwent is
situated on the Via Julia, or military road, and
Leland bore witness to the many evidences of its
ancient importance, with its massive walls and
gates. It is even affirmed that Caerwent was
originally the capital of the Silures, but that afterwards
it was a “dependence” on Caerleon, with
which it communicated by a subterranean passage.
The entrance to that passage was from a
lane which still retains the name of Arthur.</p>

<p>Some fifty years ago a stranger went to Caerleon,
and without giving his name or stating his
errand, took up his abode at the Hanbury Arms,
one of the oldest hostelries in the kingdom. The
Hanbury Arms is a white, quaintly-built house,
facing the Usk, and originally stood at a point in
the road commanding three approaches to the
city. But the change of time has given a new
entrance to Caerleon, and travellers will now find
the Hanbury Arms on the remote side. Its low-browed
windows, with the stone mullions of unusual
thickness, and the square hooded dripstones
above, indicate that the house dates from
the fourteenth or fifteenth century. To this place
the stranger made his way, his advent being
almost unnoticed and his purpose unknown. A
local chronicler wrote: “Quiet and unobtrusive to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
a degree, he soon attracted attention from his
very reserved and seclusive habits. Day after
day passed, and his figure was seldom seen. Frequently
he would leave the house early in the
morning, and go no one knew whither, and on his
return retire to his room until next morning. It
was soon recognised that the stranger was fond
of long walks, and there was not a hill in the
neighbourhood up whose sides he did not climb.
For a time no companion or friend seemed to
notice him, but occasionally a letter arriving at
the post office was delivered to him. At first the
name attracted no attention, but at length ‘Alfred
Tennyson,’ inscribed on successive missives,
seemed to have a special interest for the local
postmaster. He repeated the name until its
familiarity led him to suspect that the stranger
was no other than the Poet Laureate, and this
ultimately proved correct. On the fact becoming
generally known that Tennyson was staying at
Caerleon, visitors frequently called upon him, but
he endeavoured to maintain his seclusion to the
last.... In 1859 the result of Tennyson’s sojourn
at ‘Caerwysg’ was seen, when he produced to the
world his <cite>Idylls of the King</cite>. Some few of the
inhabitants still remember the poet.” Tennyson’s
half-dozen allusions to Caerleon are slight, but
they do not lack distinctness; the most striking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
are those semi-descriptive references in <cite>Geraint
and Enid</cite>, and in <cite>Balin and Balan</cite>, neither of
which could have been so written had not the poet
visited the spot.</p>

<p>The Caerleon of fancy, not of reality, is described
at much greater length and with much
higher charm by Lytton. If Tennyson was content
with a sweeping reference to the palace and
its chambers, Lytton could only be satisfied with
a detailed account of the High Council Hall in
which was set the king’s ivory throne, and around
which gathered “the Deathless Twelve of the
Heroic King,” the Knights of the Round Table.
He tells how the dragon of the Cymri “spread
with calm wing o’er Carduel’s domes of gold,”
and how the city lay in a vale, sheltered by the
dark forests which mantled the environing hills,
while his picture of the daily customs of the
people of the city was revealed in the words:&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Some plied in lusty race the glist’ning oar;</div>
<div class="verse i2">Some noiseless snared the silver-scaléd prey;</div>
<div class="verse">Some wreathed the dance along the level shore;</div>
<div class="verse i2">And each was happy in his chosen way.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>But this was purely the city of vision. The
faint light which history throws upon the dark
period of the British occupation shows us that
Caerleon was continually given over to warfare of
the wildest character. It is associated also in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
Fabliaux with the darkest event in Arthur’s
personal history&mdash;an event in which Mordred
eventually acted as Nemesis.</p>

<p>Were all the romances written which have Caerleon
as their background of scenery, the long
stories of the ill-fated brethren Balin and Balan,
of Geraint and Enid, of many a knightly quest
and adventure, and of many a great undertaking
by the “fair beginners of a nobler time,” would
have to be related anew. The half-historic, half-fabulous
histories of Dubritius the archbishop, of
Taliesin the chief of bards, of Talhairan, the
father of poetry&mdash;all men of Caerleon&mdash;would likewise
have to be recounted, but the complete narratives
must be sought in the chronicles, the triads,
and the “Mabinogion.” Yet some of the dust
under which lies the golden-domed city, and some
of the ruins beneath which sleeps slain romance,
mingle with the dust and ruins of history; and a
little of that history may be deciphered still in
the Isca Silurum of the Romans, where Caractacus
held his court, where the Præter deposited the
eagles, where justice was dealt out in the name of
Cæsar, where Saxons and Britons met in one of
their last deadly struggles, and where the dragon
of the Cymry ultimately prevailed, and Arthur
Pendragon rose and had his name set “high on
all the hills and in the signs of heaven.”</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />
OF THE ROUND TABLE AND KING ARTHUR’S
BATTLES</h2>

<div class="ch">

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Ah, Minstrels! when the Table Round</div>
<div class="verse">Arose, with all its warriors crown’d,</div>
<div class="verse">There was a theme for bards to sound</div>
<div class="verse i4">In triumph to their string!”&mdash;<i>Scott.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“A Knight of Arthur, working out his will</div>
<div class="verse">To cleanse the world.”&mdash;<i>Tennyson.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Full fifteen years, and more, were sped;</div>
<div class="verse">Each brought new wreaths to Arthur’s head.</div>
<div class="verse">Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought,</div>
<div class="verse">The Saxons to subjection brought;</div>
<div class="verse">Rython, the mighty giant slain</div>
<div class="verse">By his good brand, relieved Bretagne:</div>
<div class="verse">The Pictish Gillamore in fight,</div>
<div class="verse">And Roman Lucius, own’d his might;</div>
<div class="verse">And wide were through the world renown’d</div>
<div class="verse">The glories of his Table Round.”&mdash;<i>Scott.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

</div>

<p>Lovers of the Arthurian legend might feel a
sense of disappointment if they were told that
King Arthur never founded a Round Table, and
that all tradition on that subject was belied. But
the closest students of the ancient story are compelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
to come to the conclusion that, even granting
King Arthur “made a realm and reign’d,”
his Round Table existed only in the imagination
of later chroniclers and the weavers of the
romances. The evidence in favour of the Round
Table is of no substantial character, despite the
veritable relic which exists at Winchester and is
proudly pointed to as the original and genuine
article. When Geoffrey of Monmouth pieced together
the fragments of history, the fables, and
the traditions of the last of the British heroes,
and produced that wonderful narrative which has
served as a basis upon which to rear the elaborate
and complicated structure called by Malory the
“noble hystorye of King Arthur,” he found nothing
whatever in those sources of information
either of the Round Table or of the Holy Grail.
It was in 1155, when the “flower of Kings” had
five centuries of dust upon his tomb, that Wace
in the <cite>Brut</cite> gave the first intimation of the existence
of the idea.&mdash;“Fist Artus la ronde table,
dont Breton dient mainte fable;” from which we
are led to infer that the tradition was of Breton
origin. Others have assumed that the story of
the Round Table established by King Arthur for
the accommodation of twelve favourite knights
who met in perfect equality was but a variation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
of that told of Charlemagne and his peers, though
the foremost scholars now assure us that the two
ideas were separate and distinct. The outstanding
fact remains, however, that the earliest histories
of Arthur are silent on the subject which
is so impressive and memorable a feature of the
later histories. Whence the idea was derived,
and how it came to be imported into this narration,
none can tell; but of its fitness of character
there is no question. It is in thorough keeping
with the Arthurian story, supplies an appropriate
illustration of his character and methods, and enforces
the leading doctrine of knightly fellowship
and the unity of the chivalrous band whose primary
object was “deeds of worship.”</p>

<p>It is absolutely impossible to reconcile the many
conflicting accounts of how King Arthur’s Round
Table was obtained. One report is that it was
made by Merlin for Uther Pendragon; that Uther
gave it to King Leodegraunce of Cameliard; and
that Leodegraunce gave it as a wedding gift to
Arthur when he married his daughter, Guinevere.
Malory confirmed this in his <cite>Book of the Round
Table and the Three Quests</cite>, when he put these
words into the mouth of the king&mdash;“I love Guinevere,
the King’s daughter, Leodegraunce, of the
land of Cameliard, which holdeth in his house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
the Table Round, that ye told he had of my
father, Uther.” And Leodegraunce, when he
heard of the projected marriage, said: “He hath
lands enough, he needeth none; but I shall send
him a gift that shall please him much more, for
I shall give him the Table Round, the which
Uther Pendragon gave me; and, when it is full
complete, there is a hundred knights and fifty;
and as for a hundred good knights, I have myself,
but I lack fifty, for so many have been slain
in my days.” King Arthur received the Table
Round and the hundred knights, “which,”
he said, “please me more than right great
wishes.”</p>

<p>In the <cite>Book of Sir Galahad</cite> we find that King
Arthur “would wit how many had taken the quest
of the Sancgreal, and to account them he prayed
them all. Then found they by tale an hundred
and fifty, and all were knights of the Round
Table.” But obviously this Round Table which
seated a hundred and fifty knights and left a
space for the Holy Grail, was not the special
Round Table for King Arthur and the favoured
twelve knights of his selection; though it may
have been the Round Table which in the <cite>Book of
Sir Percivale</cite> we are told Merlin made “in token
of the roundness of the world: for by the Round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
Table is the world signified by right. For all the
world, Christian and heathen, resort unto the
Round Table, and when they are chosen to be of
the fellowship of the Round Table, they think
them more blessed, and more in worship, than if
they had gotten half the world.” So said the
Queen of the Waste Lands to Sir Percivale. Yet
in regard to this great institution there exists
the bolder idea of its astronomical derivation, and
considering to what extent astrology has entered
into the Arthurian story the theory that the Round
Table was suggested by the movement round the
Pole of the Great Bear&mdash;“the seven clear stars of
Arthur’s Table Round”&mdash;must not be overlooked.
Each age of chivalry has had some such institution,
and the Round Table continued to exist in
this country until the time of the Third Edward.
Yet the actual era remains unverified</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i2">“When first the question rose</div>
<div class="verse">About the founding of a Table Round,</div>
<div class="verse">That was to be, for love of God and men</div>
<div class="verse">And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Nor were the repeated efforts of English monarchs
to keep alive the institution conspicuously
successful. The original standard could not be
maintained, and the tendency of these later times
when the romances were being enriched and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
elaborated, when Arthur and his knights were regarded
as models, and when tournaments were
held in imitation of the ancient jousts, was in
reality a downward tendency. The ideal which
men strove to realise did not correspond with
the spirit of the former age. “People had become
more worldly,” writes Ten Brink, “and
were generally anxious to protect the real interest
of life from the unwarrantable interference
of romantic aspirations. The spirit of
chivalry no longer formed a fundamental element,
but only an ornament of life&mdash;an ornament, indeed,
which was made much of, and was looked
upon with a sentiment partaking of enthusiasm.
But now chivalry was no longer the simple outflow
of a dominant idea, but rather the product
of a pleasant self-conscious reflection. Minds
ideally constituted strove to fill the traditional
moulds and formulas with a really ethical substance,
and by trying in their own way to transpose
these ancient poems into action, developed
a really tender and humane disposition. The
majority of people rejoiced merely in the splendour,
and in the festive, dignified existence that
raised them above the commonplace and distinguished
them from the vulgar crowd. But
in every case there was the intermixture of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
incongruous element.” The lapse to Quixotism
was inevitable, and with the lashings of the follies
of the undiscriminating imitator of the knights of
chivalry, the old custom passed away in derision.
Cervantes did well and did evil by his destructive
satire: in cutting away the parasite, the false and
foolish chivalry which had fastened itself upon
the wise and the true, he cut also to the roots of
the goodly tree which deserved to fall more nobly,
if fall it must. Renan reminds us that it was not
Arthur the King who has been adopted by all
peoples, but Arthur who charmed the world as
the head of an order of equality in which all sat
at the same table, and in which a man’s worth
depended upon his valour and his natural gifts.
The fate of an unknown peninsula mattered nothing
to the world&mdash;“what enchanted it was the
ideal court presided over by Guinevere, where
around the monarchical unity the flower of heroes
was gathered together, where ladies, as chaste as
they were beautiful, loved according to the laws
of chivalry, and where the time was passed in
listening to stories, and learning civility and
beautiful manners.”</p>

<p>The fashion set by Cervantes was followed in
later times by John Hookham Frere, whose projected
<cite>National Work</cite> comprising the “most interesting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
particulars relating to King Arthur and
his Round Table” is a brilliant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">jeu d’esprit</i>; and
by Mr. Clemens (“Mark Twain”) whose <cite>Yankee
at the Court of King Arthur</cite> scarcely ranks either
among his witty or his memorable productions.
The greater number of modern writers, having
neither the provocation nor the excuse of Cervantes,
have selected for treatment the worthier
and purer side of chivalry,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> but their idealisation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
had led to confusion also. Such sober history as
exists proves conclusively that the knights of the
most chivalrous age lacked those attributes upon
which so much stress has been laid, to the glory
of poetry but to the obscuring of fact. It is not
within my scope, however, to dwell longer upon
this subject, but to call attention to the Round
Table either as its reputed existence or as the use
of its name may be regarded as an indication of
the extent of King Arthur’s realm. But here,
perhaps, we reach the most doubtful ground of
all. Wherever we step we touch a crumbling
footway or find ourselves utterly lost in a region
of superstitions. The advance along this illusive
track would therefore be unprofitable, but that
it enables us to perceive how Arthurian traditions
permeate the land, how tenaciously the
supposititious links with him and his age
are cherished, and how the crudest facts are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
turned to account in order that some claim may
be popularly justified to association with his
fame.</p>

<p>Of the multitude of places in Britain claiming
to possess King Arthur’s Round Table, the
ancient capital of Winchester ranks first. Caxton
in his famous Prologue provides a list of proofs
of Arthur’s actual existence&mdash;“In the castel of
Dover ye may see Gauwayne’s skulle, and Cradok’s
mantel; at Wynchester, the rounde table;
in other places, Launcelottes sworde, and many
other thynges.” Tradition ascribes the foundation
of Winchester Castle to King Arthur in the
year 523, and the large oaken table there hanging
in the Chapel of St. Stephen, carved with the
figure of the king and the names of the knights,
is affirmed to be the identical board at which he
and his knights assembled. King Henry VIII
exhibited it as such to the Emperor Charles, but
alas for romance! the researches of modern antiquaries
have caused it to be ascribed to the time
of Stephen, thus disposing once and for all of
Drayton’s proud contention&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“And so great Arthur’s seat ould Winchester prefers,</div>
<div class="verse">Whose ould round table yet she vaunteth to be hers,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">and equally falsifying Warton’s declaration&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“High hung remains, the pride of former years,</div>
<div class="verse">Old Arthur’s board: on the capacious round</div>
<div class="verse">Some British pen has sketched the names renown’d,</div>
<div class="verse">In marks obscure of his immortal peers.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>The great antiquity of Winchester would make
its possession of such a relic, if genuine, quite
possible. The ancient capital of England was
possessed by the Romans, who erected the massive
walls and temples of which it justly boasts. Some
authorities declare that the first Christian church
was erected in Winchester about the year 169,
three centuries or more before King Arthur’s
time, and that it was converted into a temple of
Dagon, or Woden, by the Saxons late in the fifth
century. Portion of Winchester was called by
the Romans “Gwent,” or the Hollow, and this
name being confused with the Gwent in Monmouthshire
probably led to the transference of
the scenes of the Arthurian legend to the famous
capital. This class of error, as has been already
pointed out, has not been infrequently met with
in old chronicles. It was owing to some such
confusion of ideas in the mind of King Henry VII
that he named his son, born in Winchester Castle,
after the Arthur of romance. Winchester, in
fact, plays no mean part in the Arthurian drama.
It was at times confused with Camelot, and given
as the alternative name of that place. But there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
is no substance in the claim that the Round Table
now to be seen in Winchester is really Arthurian.
Even Defoe in his eighteenth-century chronicle of
a journey from London to Land’s End talks contemptuously
of the pretence to pass off the relic
as “a piece of antiquity to the tune of twelve
hundred years,” and he threw absolute discredit
upon the whole story.</p>

<p>Caerleon-on-Usk, the historic capital of King
Arthur’s realm, claims (as we have related) also
to possess the Round Table, but in this instance
the visitor is taken to a field, still bearing the
name of the Round Table Field, in which a circular
cavity probably marks the site of a Roman
encampment. The local legend is that beneath
this field King Arthur and his knights sleep entranced,
and await the summons to come forth
and save England from peril. On the top of
Cadbury Hill, Somerset, at a spot known as Cadbury
Camp, a vast artificial circle, which is doubtless
also of Roman origin, is designated the
Round Table; and about half a mile from Penrith
in Scotland a circular intrenchment, eighty-seven
feet in diameter, is popularly known by the same
name. Scott mentions “Penrith’s Table Round”
in his <cite>Bridal of Triermain</cite>, and one of Lockhart’s
notes explains that the circle within the ditch is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
about one hundred and sixty paces in circumference,
with openings, or approaches, directly opposite
each other. “As the ditch is on the inner
side it could not be intended for the purpose of
defence, and it has been reasonably conjectured
that the enclosure was designed for the solemn
exercise of feats of chivalry, and the embankment
around for the convenience of spectators.”
This Scotch reference has a significance of its
own, but, standing alone, and combated by other
claims, it cannot be deemed of very high importance.</p>

<p>Sir Walter Scott quotes the lines of the poet
David Lindsay&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Adew, fair Snawdon, with thy towris hie,</div>
<div class="verse">Thy chapell-royall, park, and Tabyll Round,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">which removes the relic, natural or artificial, to
North Wales; but Anglesey also claims that what
others call a Roman camp overlooking Redwharf
Bay is the “Burdd Arthur,” or Arthur’s Round
Table. Leland’s Itinerary contains the announcement
that near Denbigh “there is, in the Paroch
of Llansannen in the Side of a Stony Hille, a
Place wher there be twenty-four Holes or Places
in a Roundel for Men to sitte in, but sum lesse,
and some bigger, cutte out of the mayne Rock
by Mannes Hand; and there Children and Young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
Men cumming to seke their Catelle use to sitte
and play. Sum caulle it the Rounde Table.
Kiddes use their communely to play and skip from
Sete to Sete.” No conclusion can be drawn, and
no satisfaction can be gained, from this medley
of conflicting claims: we learn only that the tradition
was widely diffused and that either in a spirit
of contention to claim possession of the relic, or
with the desire to ensure the survival of the recollection
by symbols, the name came to be indiscriminately
bestowed upon artificial imitations or
natural resemblances of the original. George
Borrow, however, favoured the Welsh localities
as truly Arthurian.</p>

<p>If we turn to the question of the number of the
knights supposed to range themselves at the
Table Round we find similar diversity both of
record and opinion, and equal preposterousness in
rival claims. The Table at Winchester had
“sieges” for twenty-five, including the king.
The Table mentioned by Malory had “sieges”
for one hundred and fifty: one hundred were sent
by Leodegraunce, Merlin found twenty-eight more,
King Arthur chose Sir Gawaine and Sir Tor, and
the remaining twenty were left for those who
proved themselves worthy. Yet the old frontispiece
to Malory’s History showed only thirty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
knights seated at the Table; Scott, in his <cite>Triermain</cite>,
mentions only sixteen; and the old ballad
on Arthur specifies the number of “good and able
knights” as fifty. To leave such details, let it
suffice to learn from Malory that “by the noble
fellowship of the Table Round was King Arthur
borne up”; or let us agree with Drayton, for the
sake of poetical justice, that Arthur’s and Charlemagne’s
knights were of exactly the same
number&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Who bear the bow were knights in Arthur’s reign,</div>
<div class="verse">Twelve they, and twelve the knights of Charlemagne.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Among the many remarkable traditions concerning
the Round Table is that which survives
in Wales that Arthur assembled his followers on
the heights of the Brecknockshire Beacons, and
there made known his design to establish a
knighthood and to found a Table Round. On
the summit of Pen-y-Van may yet be seen huge
stones and rock fragments which the superstitious
regard as the broken relics of the Table, to the
real existence of which far more attention has
been given than to its allegorical significance.
The Round Table is, in fact, purely symbolical
throughout the romance, an idea conveyed by the
customary means of a simple figure, a parable.
It is illustrative of the equality and the unity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
the order of chivalry, and of the singleness of
purpose and ambition of the Arthurian warriors
and adventure-seekers. The breaking up of the
Table Round is the sign of the falling away in
allegiance of the knights and of the approaching
disintegration of Arthur’s kingdom. When the
fellowship of the knights is strongest and the
complement is complete, the king is at the height
of his power; when there are vacant seats at the
Table, there are indications of a decline; when
only a remnant of the knights meets once more at
the monarch’s call, the kingdom is half-lost;
when the fellowship is broken and the Round
Table has disappeared, the end of Arthur’s reign
is come, and his power is shattered for ever.
“We all understand,” said Sir Lancelot, “in this
realm will be now no quiet, but ever strife and
debate, now the fellowship of the Round Table
is broken; for by the noble fellowship of the
Round Table was King Arthur upborne, and by
their nobleness the King and all his realm was in
quiet and in rest.”</p>

<p>By the deftness of the chroniclers the symbolism
of the Round Table becomes slightly intermixed
with the symbolism of the Grail quest, Sir
Galahad, the perfect knight who could sit in the
Siege Perilous, being the only knight who could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
be blessed with the vision of the Holy Grail. It
was those alone of the fellowship of the Round
Table who entered upon the quest, and it was the
one pure hero, the man of most worship, who
achieved that quest. Two seats in the Round
Table were left vacant by Merlin. One was filled
by King Pellinore when he had proved his worthiness;
“but in the Siege Perilous,” said Merlin,
“there shall no man sit therein but one, and if
there be any so hardy to do it he shall be destroyed,
and he that shall sit there shall have no
fellow.” The double prophecy was fulfilled. The
unworthy knight who attempted to occupy the
siege was carried away in a flame that burst forth
instantaneously, and Merlin’s own fate is by some
ascribed to his inadvertence in sitting in that
mysterious chair, strangely carven and lettered.
But for Galahad there was no such fear. Long did
the Siege Perilous remain vacant, for while
Arthur and his knights were building up the kingdom
Lancelot’s son was unborn. But at the
assembling of the fellowship one Whitsuntide a
hermit predicted to the king that that same year
one should be born who would sit in the Siege
Perilous and win the Sangreal. Henceforth the
two ideas are found constantly united. At Camelot
all the seats at the Table were found newly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
written with gold letters, and upon the Siege
Perilous were the mystic words: “Four hundred
winters and fifty-four accomplished after the passion
of our Lord Jesu Christ ought this Siege to
be fulfilled.” The knights were filled with wonderment,
and they awaited the coming of the worshipful
man who could sit there and not be
harmed. Only miracles were wrought that day;
the air and sky were full of omens, and Lancelot
said: “I will that ye wit that this same day will
the adventures of the Sangreal begin.” “A good
old man, and an ancient,” clothed in white,
entered the palace, bringing with him a young
knight without arms. No one knew whence they
came, but they listened in awe to the reverend
stranger, who declared that the youth by his side
was the long-expected knight, of the king’s
lineage, of the kindred of Saint Joseph, destined
to sit in the Siege Perilous and to achieve the
Grail quest. It was Galahad, Sir Lancelot’s own
son, having for his mother Elaine, the daughter
of King Pelles, who was “cousin nigh unto
Joseph of Arimathie,” and the possessor of the
Holy Vessel. In the mysterious seat the young
knight sat unfearing, and the knights beholding
this whispered to each other, “This is he by
whom the Sangreal shall be achieved.” It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
the virgin knight who could alone draw out the
sword from the stone, and who again proved
himself the greatest, after which he began with
religious ardour his appointed task.</p>

<p>Galahad’s story was a late addendum to the
Arthurian legend, and it is very difficult to suppose
that he was an historic figure. Yet his prototype
is said to have existed in the person of
Catwg the wise (Cadog), the second principal of
Llancarfan College, where he was the successor
of the renowned Bishop Dubois. In his youth
Catwg had been a soldier, later he joined the
Christian Church, and the neophyte had the advantage
of receiving personal instruction from
the aged master, the foremost divine of Arthur’s
time. But the suggestion that Cadog was Galahad
is scarcely open to serious consideration, and
Walter Map, the first to relate the history of the
virgin knight, was not likely to have had any
such prototype in his mind. His conception
seems to have been mainly poetic. The story is
crowded with mysteries, superstitions, and idealisms.
Galahad is scarcely human in any of his
attributes, and he is so invested with marvels that
we may safely set him down as an imaginary
type or the most shadowy of traditional figures.</p>

<p>In discussing the real Arthur, as distinct from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
the Arthur of romance, we have to bear in mind
that he was primarily the warrior, the representative
of a cause which necessitated the constant
display of his power in battle. As such he was first
celebrated by the bards, and it was around the
warrior and chief that the romance grew. From
being simply a military leader, he became a type
of hero about whom gathered many legends, and
in course of time he was made the central figure
in all the stories of marvellous adventure current
in the early days. That there was an Arthur
leading a forlorn hope, chief of a people slow to
yield and hard to subdue, need scarcely be questioned.
He is the original hero, the last and
greatest of a conquered race; he is the giant-figure
standing behind the mythical Arthur of
fable and romance. Born when his land was attacked
by the invader and his people were fearing
extinction, he valorously met the foe, and for a
while stemmed the victorious current of the Saxon
and the Roman arms. Defeated at last, he became,
as was inevitable, a type of hero&mdash;a later
Odin, a demi-god&mdash;and in the romances and
songs we read rather of aims than accomplishments,
of desires than of deeds. More and more
as time cast its glamour about him, King Arthur
became the embodiment of a national aspiration,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
and the vanquished race revenged its defeat in
songs of defiance, songs which vaunted of victory
and were matched to triumphant strains, songs
which relieved the thought of present disaster
and recalled only the olden triumphs or prompted
dreams of future glory. These songs took their
rise in prophecies and sprang forth into golden
promise of power and success. Speedily the ideal
replaced the real. Poet after poet, chronicler
after chronicler, added attributes to the hero; and
ultimately from one strong man waging desperate
war against outnumbering foes, the Arthur of
romance was evolved, the Arthur whose conquests
were an unbroken series and whose territory was
limitless, the Arthur with his invincible knighthood,
the Arthur who could never die, but who,
in Merlin’s words, “like the dawn will arise from
his mysterious retreat.” The legends supply one
more proof that a nation with a voice, with the
power of utterance, is invincible in spirit; captive
and conquered though it may be, it remains unsubdued
and free in impulse and thought. We
can conceive how bold and defiant the spirit of
the Cymri remained when in the eyes of the race
the defeated king was still visible as the master
of all kings, and the vanquished people could
boast that he who fell under the Roman yoke&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“Swept the dust of ruin’d Rome</div>
<div class="verse">From off the threshold of the realm, and crushed</div>
<div class="verse">The Idolaters, and made the people free.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG150" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_150fp.jpg" width="600" height="355" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>THE ROCKY VALLEY, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 150</i></p></div>
</div>

<p>To this race Caerleon and Camelot became
cities of magic splendour and magnificence, and
the courts and camps of Arthur surpassed in
strength and riches the luxurious home of Cæsar.
The land was strewn with relics of Arthur’s
power; the downs and plains were the scenes of
his momentous victories; the hills were his chairs
and footstools; the old encampments were the
scenes of famous tourneys; the dark woods suggested
the scenes of strange adventures for the
knights; the holy wells, the rivers, and the places
where Nature was brightest and most beautiful,
were all associated with leading events and enterprises
in the history of the king and his noble
retinue. Particularly did the Cymri insist upon
the successive and overwhelming defeats by
Arthur of the Saxons, their traditional and most
hated foe. And in their vauntings they gave
Arthur the mastery of half Europe, claimed that
the Roman Emperor became his vassal, and that
upon his head the Pope himself placed a crown.</p>

<p>Arthur fought twelve great battles against the
Saxons, the dates varying from 457 to 604.<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
names have been mixed, or the chroniclers have
monstrously departed from fact, or else we must
conclude that the British warrior was actually
king of the greater part of England, Wales, and
Scotland, for his victories extend from Cornwall
to Lincoln, and from Caerleon in Wales to the
Scotch Lowlands. The twelfth and greatest of
his victories was at Mount Badon, where “in one
bout,” we are told, “Arthur vanquished eight
hundred and forty-one,” and “no man overthrew
them but himself alone.” The identity of Mount
Badon, where “our good Arthur broke once more
the Pagan” has long been a matter of dispute.
It has been contended that Bath was none other
than Mons Badonicus, and that the actual battlefield
was a spot known as Banner Down; but the
claim has almost entirely been abandoned now
that so much evidence is forthcoming in favour
of another site. Bath seems to have been fixed
upon as a likely place not only on account of its
veritable antiquity and its early occupation by the
Romans, but because it appeared to be a sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
translation or corruption of the word Badon. But
this is an etymological blunder, for, as has been
pointed out, a sixth century word cannot be
elucidated in this free manner with the help of a
word which had no existence until the tenth
century. The authorities are now fairly well
agreed that Badon must be identified with Badbury
Rings, but again a difficulty arises, for there
are two places called Badbury, not very far from
each other, one in Wiltshire and the other in
Dorset. There is also a Caer Badon in Berkshire
which at least two historians have favoured
as the scene of Arthur’s crucial contest with
Cerdic. Our knowledge of the battle comes from
the Welsh bards who celebrated it in vaunting
songs, and from Gildas and Bede, but none of
them assists us to establish where Badon was,
or, for the matter of that, at what date the battle
was fought. Lady Charlotte Guest reminds us
that Gildas, who bore the name of Badonicus
from being born in the year in which the battle
was fought,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> described Badon as being at the
mouth of the Severn, but this passage has been
declared an interpolation. Mr. Freeman, Mr.
Stokes, and other modern historians give their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
vote for Badbury in Dorset, but without mentioning
their reasons. The Badbury in Wiltshire
seems to me to be the more likely place if for no
other reason than that King Arthur is often mentioned
as travelling through that county, and as
being in the vicinity of Salisbury and Stonehenge,
whereas Dorset seems to have been outside the
sphere of his visits and operations. The Wiltshire
Badbury is only a few miles from the
gigantic and mysterious megalithic structure
which had actually been attributed by Geoffrey of
Monmouth and others to Aurelius Ambrosius, or
Arthur. One tradition ran that it was a monument
erected by the Britons on the spot where the
massacre of the British nobles took place by order
of Hengist. But in the light of science we learn
that Stonehenge was an antiquity in the time of
the Celts, and that its origin must have been as
much a mystery to the contemporaries of King
Arthur as it is to us of to-day. Stonehenge is
not mentioned by the old chroniclers, but, remarkable
to say, neither is Badon; but Salisbury
is the subject of Merlin’s fateful prophecy of
Arthur’s doom in the battle with Mordred. Mr.
Joseph Ritson went exhaustively into the subject
of Mons Badonicus, and after citing all that was
recorded of it by Archbishop Usher, Matthew of
Westminster, Gildas, Geoffrey, Sir John Prise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
and many others, he still left the issue uncertain.
What alone seems to be established is that the
battle was a decisive triumph for the British
against the Saxons under Cerdic, and that Arthur
personally performed prodigies of valour. Tennyson
has represented him charging at the head of
his knights, and standing high on a heap of the
slain watching the flying foe; and Drayton has
sung&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i2">“How he himself at Badon bore that day,</div>
<div class="verse">When at the glorious gole his British scepter lay;</div>
<div class="verse">Two daies together how the battel tronglie tood:</div>
<div class="verse">Pendragon’s worthie son, who waded there in blood,</div>
<div class="verse">Three hundred Saxons slew with his own valiant hand.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>It is a truly marvellous account which is given
of Arthur’s valorous conduct at the battle of
Badon. Wearing his breastplate, his gold helmet
with the dragon device upon it, and taking his
sword Excalibur, his spear Ron, and his shield
Pridwen, he first received a blessing from the
Bishop Dubritius and then headed his force
against the Saxons, who received the attack in a
wedge-formation, as was their custom. The issue
of the battle long remained in doubt. The fighting
was of the most desperate character on both
sides, and at the close of day the Saxons had the
advantage. Next morning the contest was resumed,
Arthur storming the mount and being at a
disadvantage by having the lower position. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
personal example, however, fired his troops with
courage. Drawing his sword and uttering the
name of St. Mary he rushed among the enemy
and dealt such strokes that a man fell each time.
In all 470 Saxons lay dead as the result of that
terrific onslaught, and the Britons rushing in at
the right moment completed the Saxon rout.
This was the end of a long campaign which had
taken Arthur through Lincolnshire, Staffordshire,
and Somerset. The date of the battle, as is usual
with Arthurian dates, cannot be fixed. It is given
by different chroniclers as 493, 511, as 516 in the
<cite>Annales Cambriæ</cite>, and as 520.</p>

<p>It is surprising that Badon<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> should remain
vague and undefined, when the sites of some of
the other and less important battles are in most
cases not dubious and are easily ascertained. We
know, for example, that Barham Down, or Barendowne,
the scene of one of the last encounters
with Mordred, was near Canterbury; and the fact
that thereabouts was an Anglo-Saxon cemetery
may either be testimony to the fact, or may have
suggested to the chroniclers the likelihood of its
being an ancient battlefield. Mr. Ritson traced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
the localities of the other Arthurian struggles to
the banks of the Glen in Lincolnshire and of the
Duglas in Lancashire; he thought Bassas might
be Bashford in Staffordshire, though others
favour Boston in Lincolnshire; Cathbregion was
in Somersetshire, and so forth. Of these battles
we have no details in Malory. On the other hand,
we have a long account of the expedition to Italy
undertaken by Arthur against the Emperor of
Rome after the latter had presumed to demand
tribute from him. His complete humiliation of
the Emperor’s subjects is, of course, insisted
upon. Prisoners were taken in large numbers and
compelled to become Christians; a duchess besought
him to spare the women and children, and
Arthur thereupon issued magnanimous orders;
the keys of cities were brought to him by young
men, and his march through northern Italy was
one continuous triumph. “Then he rideth into
Tuscany,” says Malory in his most laconic style,
“and winneth towns and castles, and wasted all
in his way that to him will not obey.” Finally
the senators offered him allegiance, and the
noblest cardinals in Rome came voluntarily to
him and “prayed him peace.” Arthur accepted
their gifts, and decided to hold his Table Round,
“with my knights as we liketh,” in Rome at
Christmas. Then, having been crowned by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
Pope “with all the royalty that could be made,”
he apportioned the realms among his knights and
servants, and returned to England, landing at
Sandwich,<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> where the queen and a large company
were waiting to receive him. King Arthur, his
knighthood, his undefeated warriors, and his
almost miraculous battles, are perhaps more a
theme for the poet than for the historian. Such
lines as Lytton’s accord with the romance, and
realise the aspirations of the unsubjugated tribe
and of those who sang its fame and prophesied
its future triumph.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Rings Owaine’s shout,&mdash;rings Geraint’s thunder-cry,</div>
<div class="verse i2">The Saxon’s death knell in a hundred wars;</div>
<div class="verse">And Cador’s laugh of triumph:&mdash;through the sky</div>
<div class="verse i2">Rush tossing banderolls swift as shooting stars,</div>
<div class="verse">Trystan’s white lion&mdash;Lancelot’s cross of red,</div>
<div class="verse">And Tudor’s standard with the Saxon’s head.</div>
<div class="verse">And high o’er all, its sealèd splendour rears</div>
<div class="verse i2">The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings.</div>
<div class="verse">Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears;</div>
<div class="verse i2">Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings,</div>
<div class="verse">While through the ranks its barbèd knighthood clave,</div>
<div class="verse">All Carduel follows with its roaring wave.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />
OF CAMELOT AND ALMESBURY</h2>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“With tabor blithe and bugle sound,</div>
<div class="verse">Unto King Arthur’s Table Round,</div>
<div class="verse i5">Right valiant hearts I wot,</div>
<div class="verse">Drink, in thy spirit’s lusty glee,</div>
<div class="verse">And pledge with fullest jollity</div>
<div class="verse i5">These knights of Camelot.”&mdash;<i>Richard Hengist Horne.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“King Arthur at Camelot kept his Court Royall</div>
<div class="verse i5">With his faire Queene, Dame Guiniver the gay:</div>
<div class="verse">And many bold barons sitting in hall,</div>
<div class="verse">With ladies attired in purple and pall:</div>
<div class="verse i5">And heraults with hewkes hooting on high,</div>
<div class="verse i5">Cryed ‘Largesse! Largesse! Chevaliers très-hardies!’”&mdash;<i>Percy Reliques.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“God’s holy name was on his tongue,</div>
<div class="verse i5">Thine in his heart&mdash;Queen Guinevere.”&mdash;<i>Paton.</i></div>
</div></div></div>


<p>Those who press the question, where is many-tower’d
Camelot, where is the royal mount rising
between the forest and the field, where is the
flashing city of the marvellous gate, may be
referred by the veracious historian to a village in
France, or by the unromantic antiquary to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
hamlet in Scotland. Time has razed the real
city, wherever it was, and the poet can invest it
with charms and environ it with wonders which
it never possessed. The simple lover of the
legend will be content to find King Arthur’s
favourite haunt in the fair domain of England,
amid the sleepy vales and the undisturbed hills of
restful Somerset. On the Mendips, within sight
of a long range of wooded verdant hills, many a
tower and steeple dotting the vale which sweeps
away until lost in the bluish haze of distance, here
and there a bright homestead twinkling on the
heights or nestling in the bowery hollows, there
is a deserted place called Cadbury Camp. A
stone wall winds round an ancient encampment
and marks its bounds, and just across the open
land looking towards Portishead lie the widening
waters of the Bristol Channel. The hills around
show every variety of green as they stretch
further and further from the shore, and one would
think that the region had been unvisited for a
thousand years. And if tradition be true, this
was Camelot, Camelot where King Arthur sought
repose; Camelot where Sir Lancelot brought the
daughter of King Leodegraunce of the land of
Cameliard, “the gentilest and fairest lady”;
Camelot where the king was wedded “unto dame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
Guenever in the church of St. Stevens with great
solemnitie.” It was at Camelot, on the occasion
of this ceremony, that Merlin bade the knights of
the Round Table (the gift of Leodegraunce to
King Arthur) to sit still while he showed them
“a strange and marvellous adventure.” As they
sat waiting and expectant, a white hart ran into
the hall, followed by a white brachet (or scenting
hound) and by thirty couple of black running
hounds “with a great crie”; and the hart,
wounded by the brachet, overthrew one of the
knights, and led Sir Gawaine, accompanied by Sir
Gaheris, upon a wonderful quest, in which he
fought against great odds, slew a lady in a castle
by misadventure, learnt that “a knight without
mercy is without worshippe,” and returning to
Camelot, saddened and disgraced, was bidden by
the king and queen henceforth to “be with al
ladyes and to fight for their quarrels.”</p>

<p>It is worthy of note that Gawaine not only
plays a most important part in the romance, but
that, like Sir Kay, his character is variously described
and at times unnecessarily assailed by the
chroniclers. By laborious efforts his intentions
are perverted and contempt thrown upon his
actions, and the episode of the “foule and shameful”
slaying of the lady enabled the chroniclers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
to dwell upon his “vilanous” deed and his mercilessness,
while at the same time they were able
to explain his subsequent acts of courtesy as the
result of the duty put upon him by the king.
Gawaine was Arthur’s nephew, the son of Morgan
le Fay, and Malory presents him to us alternately
as the soul of chivalry and the type of faithlessness.
This accounts for Tennyson’s query,
“Art thou not he whom men call light-of-love?”
and for the poet’s assertion that his courtesy had
“a touch of traitor in it.” Gawaine is frequently
made the subject of reproof in the romance,
though he came out nobly in the end when he
vowed to be revenged on sinful Lancelot, fought
him valorously, and died like a great hero. According
to the original Welsh story, it must be
remembered, Gawaine was called the Golden-Tongued,
owing to his powers of persuasion,
none being able to resist him what he asked. In
the Triads he is addressed by Arthur as “Gwalchmai,
of faultless answers,” and revolting Tristram,
who dared the king to nine hundred combats,
listened to Gawaine and yielded to his
solicitation. The tomb of Gawaine, according to
William of Malmesbury, was discovered in the
time of William the Conqueror in Wales, county
Pembroke, where Lady Charlotte Guest tells us
there is a district called Castell Gwalchmai.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
Gawaine’s courtesy was proverbial in Chaucer’s
time, and the Welsh historians impute to him
great scientific learning&mdash;“there was nothing of
which he did not know the elements and the
material essence.” Hence Scott’s reference to
“the gentle Gawain’s courteous lore.”<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> All this
is inconsistent with the levity and harshness attributed
to him by Malory, though his wanton
betrayal of Sir Pelleas and his guilty relations
with Ettarde exposed him to the charge of infamy
and caused him to lose grace in the sight of those
chroniclers who had begun to give a spiritual
significance to the tales of Arthur’s Court, and to
find in the recital opportunities for preaching
purity.</p>

<p>Pelleas’s hopeless love for the scornful maiden
is one of the saddest stories which form part of
the Arthurian records. In his despair at being
rejected by the “sovereign lady” for whom he
had fought and prevailed, he sought the help of
Sir Gawaine&mdash;“And, Sir Knight, sith ye are so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
nigh a cousin unto King Arthur, and a king’s
son, therefore I pray thee, betray me not, but
help me, for I may never come by her but by the
help of some good knight; for she is in a strong
castle here fast by, within this four miles, and
over all this country she is lady of.” Gawaine
vowed to serve him, and declared that he would
ride to the castle, taking with him Pelleas’s horse
and armour, and tell her that he had slain her
lover: “and so shall I come within to her, and
then shall I do my true part, and ye shall not fail
to have her love.” But instead of winning Ettarde
for Pelleas, he won her for himself, declaring
that he had slain Pelleas and had come for
her love. They went out of the castle and dwelt
with each other for two days in a pavilion. The
rest of the pitiful story is best told in Malory’s
own words. “And on the third day, in the morning
early, Sir Pelleas armed him, for he had not
slept sith that Sir Gawaine departed from him;
for Sir Gawaine had promised him by the faith of
his body to come unto him to his pavilion by the
priory within the space of a day and a night.
Then Sir Pelleas mounted on horsebacke, and
came to the pavilion that stood without the castle....
Then hee went to the third pavilion and
found Sir Gawaine with his lady Ettarde; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
when he saw that, his heart almost brast with
sorrow, and he said: ‘Alas, that ever a knight
should bee found so false.’ And then he tooke
his horse and might no longer abide for sorrow.
And when hee had ridden nigh halfe a mile, he
turned againe and thought to sley them both, and
when he saw them lye so fast sleeping, unneth
(scarcely) hee might hold him on horseback for
sorrow, and said thus to himselfe, ‘Though this
knight be never so false, I will not sley him sleeping,
for I will never destroy the high order of
knighthood.’ ... And when he came to the
pavilions (a third time) he tied his horse to a tree,
and pulled out his sword naked in his hand, and
went straight to them where as they lay together,
and yet he thought that it were great shame for
him to sley them sleeping, and laid the naked
sword overthwart both their throats, and then hee
tooke his horse, and rod foorth his way, making
great and wofull lamentation.” Such is the
story of Sir Gawaine and Sir Pelleas, knights of
Camelot.</p>

<p>At Camelot, at the vigil of Pentecost, the
knights gathered, Sir Gawaine among them, and
his falseness began to bring upon him retribution.
All the seats at the Round Table were filled, save
the Siege Perilous, though the time had now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
come, “four hundred winters, and four and fifty
being accomplished, after the passion of our Lord
Jesus Christ,” that the place should be no longer
vacant. The king wished, according to custom,
to see an adventure before sitting down to meat,
and tidings were brought him of a marvellous
stone floating in the river, and a sword sticking
in it. Lancelot warned the knights not to touch
the sword: “Who assayeth for to take that
sword, and faileth of it, he shall receive a wound
by that sword.” Nevertheless, Gawaine, obeying
the command of the king, took the sword by the
handle, but failed to move it; and Gawaine next
day vowed to set forth upon the quest of the
Grail, the vision of which had appeared unto the
assembly when they returned from “Camelot’s
minster.” His quest was unavailing. Through
the streets of Camelot the knights sallied forth,
“and there was weeping of the rich and poor, and
the king returned away, and might not speak for
weeping.” Of all who failed, Gawaine failed
most signally. The monk of the abbey where he
sought refuge condemned his wickedness, and
the good men at the hermitage of whom he asked
harbour for charity, reproached him with his mischievous
life of many winters, and sternly bade
him do penance. If Sir Gawaine redeemed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
reputation as the champion of the injured king,
it scarcely sufficed to atone for the evil he wrought
when the days were fair at Camelot.</p>

<p>In the <cite>Prologue</cite> by Caxton we are told that
record of King Arthur was to be found in “the
toune of Camelot, the grete stones and mervayllous
werkys of yron lying under the grounde, and
ryal vautes, which dyvers now lyving hath seen.”
These relics have vanished, and Camelot is nothing
but a waste. But there is just a chance
that Caxton had some other Camelot than South
Cadbury in his mind, for he speaks of it as in
Wales, while in the story of the burial of Balin
and Balan by Merlin we read that “Balin’s sword
was put in marble stone, standing upright as
great as a milstone, and the stone hoved alwayes
above the water, and did many yeares, and so by
adventure it swam downe the streame to the citie
of Camelot, that is in English, Winchester.”<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>
This confusion is easily explained. Putting aside
the fact that there is little coherence or consistency
in the geography of the romance, we have
already suggested a reason for the chronicler’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
statement that Camelot was Winchester. In Monmouthshire
is Caer-went, a resort of King Arthur,
and Winchester was known as Caer-wynt, a
sufficiently close resemblance to lead the old
chroniclers astray. Obviously there must have
been more than one Camelot, if we are to
pay any heed to the situation, distance, and
characteristics mentioned in Malory’s chapters.
Caer-went has a history dating back to the fifth
century, when a school or college was founded
there by Ynyr Gwent, king of the district called
Gwent, and the husband of Vortimer’s daughter,
Madrun. At Caer-went was fought one of the
last British battles with the Saxons just as they
were reaching the gates of Caerleon itself. The
town is situated on the Via Julia, or military road,
made by Julius Frontius in the year 80, and traces
of it remained at the beginning of last century.
Leland speaks of its four great gates which “yet
appear,” and an enthusiastic pilgrim in 1802 wrote
that the place, despite its present uninviting and
desolate aspect, deserved “every attention that
can be bestowed by the antiquarian or lover of
those scites memorable for having been the scenes
of magnificence, genius, and heroism. Roman
greatness has at this place shone with a splendour
little inferior to any other part of the kingdom.”
By some Caer-went is supposed to have been the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
capital of the Silures, before Caerleon, and to
have had a population of ten thousand. Leland
describes it as “a sumtyme fair and large cyte.”
As a British camp it may figure under various
names in the romances.</p>

<p>We associate Camelot with the more peaceful
part of Arthur’s life, and with the brighter and
more hopeful history of his followers, though sad
and tragic episodes in that history are by no
means lacking. Up the soft velvety sward came
the knights in armour ready to tourney for the
prize of ladies’ smiles, and where the bee buzzes
and the pheasant runs was heard the clash of
arms or the caracolling of many steeds. Here,
too, and we tell now a more certain truth, came
the Roman with his legions; here met contending
forces, and the repose of the land was broken
with the tumult of war. Time has swept away
every vestige of the power and glory of old, and
left the open field, the trench, and the broken gray
wall, as the sole mementoes of Camelot, but
about all has retained the glamour of one heroic
name. The rabbit and the mole burrow to the
foundations of Arthur’s royal town, and the
centuries have laid moss and leaf upon the unfrequented
paths and the vanishing signs of former
occupation. Yet no one can spend an hour at
Cadbury Camp without feeling that “the dust we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
tread once breathed.” The Severn sparkles in
the distance, and was probably the “river of
Camelot,” where Merlin set the “peron” or
tombstone, and where Sir Tristram appointed his
meeting with Palamides.</p>

<p>No description of Camelot, with its courts and
towers, its knights and people, could be more entrancing
than Tennyson’s. He told of the mighty
hall built by Merlin, with its mystic symbols in
sculpture and statuary; and he said that it was
reached by the “sacred mount”&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“And all the dim, rich city, roof by roof,</div>
<div class="verse">Tower after tower, spire by spire,</div>
<div class="verse">By grove and garden-lawn, and rushing brook.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Arthur’s statue had been moulded with a crown,
and “peaked wings pointing to the Northern
Star,” and this representation again calls attention
to the astronomical significance of the history
of the king whose name is preserved in Arcturus,
the star of first magnitude, above which is set
“Arthur’s chair,” Ursa Major.</p>

<p>There may not be much to warrant the various
traditions of Camelot, and there remains nothing
to verify them. South Cadbury, or Cadbury
Camp, silent and deserted as it now is, undoubtedly
has a curious history. It was anciently
known as Camallate and Camellek, and was early<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
associated with King Arthur; it was a hill-fort of
that strange, strong race of warriors, the Belgæ,
who overran the southern counties and were dislodged
from their strongholds with the greatest
difficulty by the Romans. This camp was as the
rallying-point in the British and Christian dominion
of Gladerhaf, or Somerset. Some have supposed it
was the Cathbrigion where Arthur routed the
Saxons in a great battle, and so linked his name
indissolubly with the locality. Leland in his
Itinerary described it as “sometime a famous
town or castle, upon a very torre or hill, wonderfully
enstrengthened of nature”; and John Selden,
in his notes to the <cite>Polyolbion</cite> of Drayton, definitely
described it as “a hill of a mile compass at
the top, four trenches encircling it, and twixt
every one of them an earthen wall; the contents
of it, within about twenty acres, full of ruins and
relics of old buildings.” It has yielded various
ancient weapons, Roman coins, a silver horseshoe,
and articles of camp equipage. The four
concentric deep ditches and the ramparts, forty-five
feet apart, can still be traced, and the camp
seems to have been originally connected with an
extensive intrenchment on the opposite summit of
the hill to the north-west. From its position Cadbury
must have been an important station commanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
the military road which ran from Bower
Walls on the Avon to the neighbouring heights
of Clevedon&mdash;the little town which gave birth to
Arthur Henry Hallam, whose ancestral abode,
Clevedon Court, is sheltered by the fir-trees which
are seen grouped in gloom from Cadbury’s height.
At Clevedon also dwelt Coleridge for a time, as
several of his poems, written in celebration of
the surrounding scenes, will for ever remind us.
From Cadbury can be discerned the pretty village
of Wrington, where is cherished the memory of
the Rev. W. Leeves, who fashioned for “Auld
Robin Gray” a fitting melody. It is easy to
perceive that the possessor of a stronghold on
Cadbury would be able to hold in subjection the
entire district, and the name of the place appears
to bear witness that a decisive battle once raged
there, for <i>cad</i> is the Cornish and Cymrian word
for battle, and <i>bury</i> for hill or brow.</p>

<p>But it is Arthur, and Arthur only, who is commemorated
at Cadbury Camp to-day. There may
be seen his Round Table, and the local superstition
runs that within the charmed circle the
king may be seen sitting with his knights behind
barred golden gates. The great intrenchment is
called the site of King Arthur’s Palace; in the
field below is King Arthur’s Hunting Causeway;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
and it is King Arthur’s Well which springs from
the hillside and bubbles up in the fourth ditch.
These recall the wondrous past, the golden days,
when the fame and splendour of Arthur’s Court
were on all tongues, and the poet could long
afterwards ask&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Like Camelot what place was ever yet renown’d,</div>
<div class="verse">Where, as at Caerleon, oft he kept the Table Round,</div>
<div class="verse">Most famous for the sports at Pentecost so long,</div>
<div class="verse">From whence all knightly deeds and brave achievements sprong.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>It was at Camelot that, when Arthur “let make
a crie” the lords, knights, and gentlemen of arms
gathered, and “there the King would let make a
counsoile generall, and a great justes.” It was
to Camelot that Sir Pellinore came “passing
sore” and told his saddest of stories; and it was
to Camelot that King Arthur turned after wearying
combat and hot adventure, certain there to
enjoy rest and to find his queen and the barons
“right glad of his comming.” “What tidings at
Camelot?” asked one knight of another whom
he encountered. “By my head,” said the other,
“there have I beene, and espied the court of King
Arthur, and there is such a fellowship that they
may never be brok, and wel nigh al the world
holdeth with King Arthur, for there is the flower
of chivalry.” Such was the renown of Camelot.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>

<p>To Camelot the knights sent their prisoners to
do homage to King Arthur and confess his greatness.
The church of St. Stephen’s, often called
the Minster, was the place where the king and
his followers assembled to hear the Archbishop’s
blessing upon their enterprises, and in the adjoining
grounds the principal men slain in battle were
buried with all honour. The twelve kings who
fell in war with King Lot “were buried in the
church of Saint Stephen’s, in Camelot, and the
remnant of knights and of other were buried in
a great rock,” so one of the records runs. By
the side of Lanceor’s tomb, made by Merlin,
Tristram and Lancelot encountered each other and
“fought together unknown,” and “either wounded
other wonderly sore, that the blood ran out upon
the grass”; then, discovering that they were
friends, they yielded up their swords, “either
kissed other an hundred times,” and rode back to
Camelot. Elaine, the mother of Galahad, came to
Camelot richly attired, and put Lancelot to shame,
and it was at Camelot that the last sad scenes in
their tragic drama were enacted. The quest for
the Sancgreal began there, and King Arthur, full
of forebodings, took a last review of his knights
and caused them to assemble for a last tournament
in Camelot’s meadows, “that after your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
death men may speak of it, that such good
knights were wholly together such a day.” The
queen and her ladies beheld the noble gathering
from her tower, and saw Sir Galahad, the perfect
knight, break the spears of all who came against
him save that of his father, Sir Lancelot, and
that of his compeer Sir Percivale. When next
we read of Camelot, Arthur is regretting the loss
of half his noble company; and when the worst
had come to pass, and the king discovered the
wrong done to him by Lancelot and Guinevere, it
was of lonely Camelot he thought with tenderest
regret. Tennyson has seized upon this idea, and
put into the mouth of the king the mournful
soliloquy as he muses on his faithless wife&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“How sad it were to live</div>
<div class="verse">And sit once more within the lonely hall,</div>
<div class="verse">And miss the wonted number of my knights,</div>

<div class="verse stars">*****</div>

<div class="verse">And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk</div>
<div class="verse">Thy shadow still would glide from room to room,</div>
<div class="verse">And I should evermore be vexed with thee</div>
<div class="verse">In hanging robe or vacant ornament</div>
<div class="verse">Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">This was when the time was come that Arthur
should see Camelot no more&mdash;when he had gone
forth to his last fight, and Guinevere had taken
the nun’s habit and immured herself in Almesbury.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>

<p>Renan has very finely remarked that in Celtic
literature woman is more tenderly and delicately
portrayed than in the writings and songs of any
other race. Love is “a mystery, a kind of intoxication,
a madness, a giddiness,” and woman
is superbly idealised until she seems in our eyes
an ethereal, radiant, half-spiritual or even angelic
creature. The romances are “dewy with feminine
sentiment,” and the chivalric conception of the
heroine is so pure and beautiful that Percivale’s
sister, or Geraint’s wife, appears “as a sort of
vague vision intermediate between man and the
supernatural world.” Even faithless Guinevere&mdash;is
she not so rarely beautiful, are not her spell
and witchery so strong, that, while hating her
sin, we hesitate to join in her condemnation, and
have no heart to approve such passionate denunciation
as was spoken by the king in his hour of
gloom?<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> The vision of Guinevere flashes upon us
as she was when Lancelot led her from Cameliard
to the king’s court at Camelot, when she went
a-Maying with her maidens, and when she was
the cynosure of all eyes among the spectators of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
the tournament. There was something daring on
the part of the old chroniclers in making King
Arthur’s danger issue from the best of knights
and the most lovely of women&mdash;the two nearest
to him, and bound to him by the most sacred ties
of love and honour. Still more strange is it that,
deep as their sinning was, we have so little blame&mdash;or
rather, let us say, resentment&mdash;for Lancelot
and Guinevere. This is not because Arthur has
not the strongest claim upon our sympathy, or
because for one moment he fails to win our admiration;
it is only because Lancelot and Guinevere
also have strong human claims upon us, and
so far have won our regard that we cannot withhold
our compassion also. Were not the knights
themselves reluctant to condemn? The romance
brings out the fact conspicuously that it was not
the noblest, but the meanest, of the knights who
revealed the wrong to the king; nor was it the
gallant men who willed that Guinevere should die
at the stake for her infidelity. And in the end
do we not pity mournful and repentant Lancelot
in his lonely castle, or when paying that noblest
of tributes to his dead master? And does not
even a deeper feeling extend to the desolate
woman who wore out her life in the Almesbury
convent?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>

<p>What ingredient of historic fact there may be
in the record that the Ambresbyrig of the Saxons,
and the Caer Emrys of the “Mabinogion” was
the queen’s retreat, the faithful alone must decide.
All that impartial and not too credulous
historians can do is to pronounce the place as not
unlikely, not impossible, and not unfitting as her
abode and as the scene of her last acts of restitution
and repentance. Almesbury is a British
earthwork of forty acres, the stronghold of Ambrosius
Aurelianus, Dux Britanniarum, of Roman
lineage, but the champion of the Britons against
the Saxon horde. Religious associations both
early and late cling to this ancient place, and
long after Guinevere was dust a Benedictine
monastery, founded by Queen Elfrida, continued
the religious traditions of the earlier era; and the
fact that Almesbury was the customary retreat of
royal ladies who wished to withdraw from the
world confirms the character of the place as depicted
in Malory’s chronicle. Guinevere gave herself
up to lamentation among the nuns, “and
never creature could make her merry”; Sir Lancelot’s
visit only strengthened her resolution to
make amends for the past, and prompted him also
to seek, too late, perfection in righteous living.
While in a hermitage himself there came to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
the vision of the queen’s end, and taking her
corpse to Glastonbury, he performed for it the
last rites, and then delivered himself over to death.
His resting-place was Joyous Gard, which, in his
grief he had called Dolorous Gard; the queen was
laid by her husband’s side in the island-valley.
But at Llanilterne, near Cardiff, a huge quoin
stone may be seen with an almost undecipherable
<i>Hic jacet</i>, and popular tradition declares that this
is Guinevere’s monument. “Through this knight
and me,” said the queen, when Sir Lancelot and
she met in the Almesbury convent, “all the wars
were wrought, and the death of the most noble
knights of the world: for through our love that
we have loved together is my most noble lord
slain; therefore, wit thou well, Sir Lancelot, I
am in such a plight to get my soul’s health; and
yet I trust, through God’s grace, that after my
death for to have the sight of the blessed face of
Jesu Christ, and at the dreadful day of doom to
sit on his right side: for as sinful creatures as
ever was I are saints in heaven.” When next
the “falsely true” knight saw the queen he was
in his monk’s habit and she was “wrapped in
seared cloths of reins, from the top to the toe, in
thirty fold”; then, on foot, he followed her to
her tomb, recalling “her beauty, her bounty, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
her nobleness.” The next scene is at Joyous
Gard itself, with Sir Lancelot smiling as he lies
dead, and a hundred torches burning about him;
while Sir Ector de Maris delivers the noblest of
tributes to the courtliest knight, the truest friend,
the meekest man, the sternest foe, and “the truest
lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman.”</p>

<p>From Camelot to Almesbury is a far journey,
and that journey marks the two extremes of
Arthurian history from the happiest to the saddest,
from the height of power and the plenitude
of peace to the final desolation and unavailing
regret. The bridge which connects Camelot with
Almesbury is made up of the greatest achievements
and the deepest tragedies of Arthur’s reign.
It is a bridge of ascent and descent, its highest
point marked by the puissance of the Table
Round and Galahad’s achievement of the quest
of the Grail, its lowest part dipping into the
eternal gloom which followed the last battle in
the west&mdash;a gloom from which the Britons were
destined never to emerge. That gloom falls over
Almesbury, but Camelot is still left in the light.</p>

<p>Never was, and never can be, such a fairyland
as “many-tower’d Camelot.” Its crystal dykes,
its slope street, its weird white gate, and its
spires and turrets without number, are a poet’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
dream. It was the city of enchanters, built by
fairy kings, a city which had no beginning,
was raised by no human hands, and can have no
end&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i5">“A city of shadowy palaces,</div>
<div class="verse">And stately, rich in emblem and the work</div>
<div class="verse">Of ancient Kings who did their days in stone,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">a city of pure delights, of calm and innocence, of
splendour and contentment.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Out of bower and casement shyly glanced</div>
<div class="verse">Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of love;</div>
<div class="verse">And all about a healthful people stept</div>
<div class="verse">As in the presence of a gracious king.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Where, indeed, could be this new Eden save in
the imagination of the romancer who conceived a
fitting scene for King Arthur’s Court? It is like
the fairy gold which vanishes whenever a hand
reaches out to touch it. The “Camaletic Mount”
is one of Nature’s hallowed places, a place of
wondrous stillness and magic charm, a place to
regard as the stronghold of romance, and yet not
the place that poets have sung. One can easily
imagine the Lady of Shalott prisoned here in her
bower, and seeing all the moving world as
shadows in a mirror; and one can deem the scene
appropriate for the meeting of Lancelot and the
Lily-maid who lifted up her eyes and lov’d him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
with that love which was her doom. It is not
well to inquire more deeply and more closely into
the past of Camelot, but to heed the poet’s
warning&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Never seek to behold</div>
<div class="verse">Where the crystal streams ran in the City of Gold.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Better to people it with the phantoms of Arthur’s
Court than to discover that the cavemen of the
Mendips made it an abode. “The people can
telle nothing ther, but that they have hard say
that Arture much resorted to Camalot,” wrote
Leland, and that suffices. Camelot is purely
ideal, and it is enough to find a real Camelot
which faintly recalls the place which Arthur’s
eulogists deemed fitting for his Court. Such
cities, which had no beginning, have no end, and
Camelot will last as long, and prove as indestructible,
as Fairyland itself.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The thrushes sang in the lone garden there&mdash;</div>
<div class="verse">Clanging of arms about pavilion fair,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Mixed with the knights’ laughs; there, as I well know,</div>
<div class="verse">Rode Lancelot, the king of all the band,</div>
<div class="verse i2">And scowling Gawaine, like the night in day,</div>
<div class="verse">And handsome Gareth, with his great white hand</div>
<div class="verse i2">Curl’d round the helm-crest, ere he join’d the fray.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />
OF ST. KNIGHTON’S KIEVE AND THE HOLY GRAIL</h2>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The war-worn champion quits the world&mdash;to hide</div>
<div class="verse">His thin autumnal locks where monks abide</div>
<div class="verse">In cloistered privacy.”&mdash;<i>Wordsworth.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Hither came Joseph of Arimathy,</div>
<div class="verse">Who brought with him the Holy Grayle (they say),</div>
<div class="verse">And preacht the truth: but since it greatly did decay.”</div>

<p class="right"><i>Spenser.</i></p>
</div></div></div>


<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
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.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 393px;">
<img id="IMG184" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_184fp.jpg" width="393" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>ST. KNIGHTON’S KIEVE, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 184</i></p></div>
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Following</div>
<div class="verse">That holy Vision, Galahad, go on.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">To this very spot, too, if legend be true, the
knights who had failed returned.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
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&mdash;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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
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”&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Whate’er one’s wishes did command,</div>
<div class="verse">That found he ready to his hand.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
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.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
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&mdash;“the fairest fellowship and the
truest of knighthood that ever were seen together
in any realm of the world&mdash;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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
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.”</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;">
<img id="IMG192" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_192fp.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>ST. KNIGHTON’S GLEN</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 192</i></p></div>
</div>


<p>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.</p>

<p>With what feelings is one likely to read his
<cite>Holy Grail</cite>, 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?</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />
OF CAMELFORD AND THE LAST BATTLE</h2>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“O’er Cornwall’s cliffs the tempest roar’d,</div>
<div class="verse">High the screaming sea-mew soar’d;</div>
<div class="verse">On Tintagel’s topmost tower</div>
<div class="verse">Darksome fell the sheeting shower;</div>
<div class="verse">Round the rough Castle shrilly sung</div>
<div class="verse">The whirling blast, and wildly flung</div>
<div class="verse">On each tall rampart’s thundering side</div>
<div class="verse">The surges of the tumbling tide:</div>
<div class="verse">When Arthur ranged his red cross ranks</div>
<div class="verse">On conscious Camlan’s crimson banks.”</div>

<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Wharton</span>, <cite>The Grave of King Arthur</cite>.</p>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne</div>
<div class="verse i2">This sore battayle was doomed to be;</div>
<div class="verse">Where many a knight cry’d ‘Well-a-waye!’</div>
<div class="verse i2">Alacke, it was the more pittie.”</div>

<p class="right"><i>Percy Reliques.</i></p>
</div></div></div>


<p>Sheer over the bleak Cornish hills, fifteen miles
from Launceston, lies a small white-looking town
with a precipitous highway along which the principal
houses and one or two poor-looking public
buildings are ranged. It is a town without a
church, and, except on market day, without the
signs of stirring life and business; a remote and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
isolated little place which nevertheless once had
its own Parliamentary representative and not unfittingly
chose “Ossian” Macpherson as its member.
This is Camelford, and the ride by coach
from Launceston is not uninteresting or uninstructive.
The desolate aspect of the land, the
poverty-stricken appearance of the few tiny
villages passed on the way, the barrenness of the
hills, the scantness of the population, all serve to
reveal the history, past and present, of this
portion of England where only the hardiest of the
race could live, and live somewhat precariously.
The land itself yields little; there are no rivers
upon which a boat could be used, and the line of
rough hills which form the spine of the county
pent the people as within a prison. Even now,
Camelford and half a score of like places seem
shut out of the world. The stream of life is sluggish,
luxuries are scarcely known, the habits of
the villagers are primitive, and yet the Cornishmen
retain that rugged independence for which they
have at all times been noted. In old times the
county produced a race of heroes and giants who
preserved their liberties and were among the last
to be subdued by English rulers. Both modern
and ancient history, legends and facts, bear testimony
to the constant struggle which prevailed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
this part, and had there been no “giants” in
Cornwall, neither its traditions nor its history
would be what they are. Queen Elizabeth said
that the further she travelled west in her dominions
the more convinced she was that the wise men
came from the east. In a sense this was grossly
unjust, for the Cornishmen, though they may have
seemed a little uncouth, were by no means an
uncultured race, and their literature proves how
early they had their thinkers and their scholars,
their bards and their chroniclers. Taciturnity on
the part of this people need not be taken as a
sign of unintelligence; rather is it proof to the
contrary, for the Cornishman thinks for himself;
he has his own opinions, and sturdily maintains
them. A certain aloofness is discernible,
and this is characteristic of a race which has so
many claims to a distinct record of its own. In
the character, bearing, and habits of the men of
to-day may be found considerable corroboration
of the truth which underlies the myths and legends
of antiquity. If Camelford is now commonplace,
with its market, its commercial inn, its linen-drapers’,
ironmongers’, and greengrocers’ shops,
there may yet be found within and around it much
to charm and much to kindle the enthusiasm of
the lover of romance. Here and there are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
relics over which the antiquary gloats, and now
and then a name is heard or seen which at once
revives olden memories, or suggests with more
or less distinctness a real connection with the last
of the British race. It is not a little remarkable
that while not a trace of the fourteenth century
Charity Chapel remains, the sites of camps and
the scenes of battles of much remoter date are still
to be found. Signs of British occupation are not
lacking, and one entrenchment known as Arthur’s
Hill takes us right back to the time of the great
king. Mere names may, however, in most cases
count for nought, and the fact that hills, tarns,
and fords bear the classic designation and are
reputed to have had connection with Arthurian
deeds is not equivalent to tangible proof of the
truth of the stories. Camelford is chiefly noted
to-day for being the principal town within access
of the slate quarries, and of being within easy and
convenient distance of some of the most imposing
and enchanting scenery of the north Cornwall
coast. From a few points of vantage a glimpse
of the sea may be caught, and the lanes branch
off to famed Pentargon Bay, Trebarwith Strand,
Black Pit, St. Knighton’s Kieve, and Tintagel&mdash;all
Arthurian haunts.</p>

<p>At the bottom of the hilly highway, beyond<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
which stretch the meadows, one catches the first
glimpse of the shallow little river, more properly
called a brook, which, small and insignificant as
it is, has become so prominently identified with
the concluding scenes in King Arthur’s history.
This is the river which gives its name to the town,
the Alan Camel, or Camlan (from <i>Crum hayle</i>,
meaning “crooked river”), by the side of which
the last battle is said to have been fought. It is
a shallow stream and it has to find its way to the
sea by a tortuous course between the hills which
extend to the coast, a fact which the poet has not
failed to turn to account, for Drayton wrote&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Let Camel of her course and curious windings boast,</div>
<div class="verse stars">.........</div>
<div class="verse"><span class="stars">...</span>Her proper course that loosely doth neglect,</div>
<div class="verse">As frantic, ever since her British Arthur’s blood,</div>
<div class="verse">By Mordred’s murtherous hand was mingled with her flood.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">No one can look upon the Camel, and trace its
rippling course between low banks until it passes
beneath the dark stone arch of Slaughter Bridge,
a mile or so distant, and feel that it is quite
worthy of its fame. It is scarcely picturesque,
and it needed a very daring and imaginative poet
to speak of it as “frantic” or to make reference
to its “flood.” At its deepest one could wade<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
across it and not be wet above the ankles, but in
most places there is no need to get wet at all, for
a single stride would suffice to carry one from
bank to bank. Nor does the little stream in its
course pass through that part of the land which
appeals most strongly to the imagination of the
pilgrim. It runs sluggishly and muddily beneath
the heavy-looking bridge, much too large for it,
bearing an almost grotesquely terrible name in
commemoration of the fearful battle which took
place thereabout between King Arthur and his
rebellious nephew. Where Slaughter Bridge&mdash;not
by any means an ancient structure, by the way&mdash;crosses
the Camlan Arthur is said to have received
his death-wound, and to have given a fatal blow
to Mordred. If we could only believe one-half
that is told of Slaughter Bridge it would be veritably
one of the most fascinating spots in all England,
a Mecca for pilgrims and students, poets
and romancists. But alas! Slaughter Bridge,
despite its awe-inspiring name, is the greatest of
illusions, and the most striking of proofs that the
real land of King Arthur is lost or changed beyond
all recognition. Never can we believe that this
most insipid scene in all north Cornwall was the
portion of Lyonnesse where the last great battle in
the west was fought, where Arthur met his doom,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
where the knights perished, and of all the great
and noble company on either side only two knights
survived to carry out their master’s last behests.</p>

<p>But the tradition remains. Mordred had set his
heart on the kingdom, and Arthur foresaw the
end. “Never,” says the chronicler, “was there
seen a more dolefuller battle in no Christian land:
for there was but rushing and riding, foining and
striking, and many a grim word was there spoken
either to other, and many a deadly stroke. But
alway King Arthur rode throughout the battle of
Sir Mordred many times, and did there right
nobly as a noble King should do; and at all times
he never fainted. And Sir Mordred that day ...
put him in great peril, and thus they fought all
the long day, and never stinted till the noble
knights were laid to the cold ground. And ever
they fought still till it was nigh night, and by that
time was there a hundred thousand laid dead upon
the down.... ‘Jesu mercy,’ said King Arthur,
‘where are all my noble knights become? Alas,
that ever I should see this doleful day; for now,’
said King Arthur, ‘I am come unto mine end.’
Then was King Arthur aware where Sir Mordred
leaned upon his sword among a great heap of
dead men. ‘Now give me my spear,’ said King
Arthur, ‘for yonder I have spied the traitor which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
hath wrought all this woe.... Betide me death,
betide me life,’ said the King, ‘now I see him
yonder alone, he shall never escape my hands.’
Then King Arthur gat his spear in both his hands,
and ran towards Sir Mordred, crying, ‘Traitor,
now is thy death-day come!’ And when Sir Mordred
heard King Arthur he ran unto him with his
sword drawn in his hand, and there King Arthur
smote Sir Mordred under the shield, with a foin
of his spear, throughout the body more than a
fathom. And when Sir Mordred felt that he had
his death-wound, he thrust himself with all the
might that he had, up to the end of King Arthur’s
spear with his sword, that he held in both his
hands, on the side of the head, that the sword
pierced the helmet and the brain. And therewith
Sir Mordred fell down stark dead to the earth,
and the noble King Arthur fell down in a swoon
to the earth. And Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere
often-times heaved him up, and so weakly they
laid him between them both, unto a little chapel,
not far from the seaside.” Historians differ
widely as to the date of this event, but most are
agreed that the time was winter&mdash;some say Christmas
Day.</p>

<p>Mordred, Arthur’s great opponent and eventual
vanquisher, is the dark and sinister character, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
man of mysterious origin and of blighting influence,
moving gloomily through the drama. By
some said to be Arthur’s own son, a child of sin
and crime, and by others said to be the son of
King Lot and Arthur’s sister, his life was miraculously
preserved when the king ordered the slaying
of all children born on May-day, in the hope
of removing the infant who, as Merlin had prophesied
to him, “shall destroy you and all the
knights of your realm”; and thereafter he played
a malignant part in the drama. If ill-news were
to be borne to the king, Mordred bore it; were
trust to be violated, Mordred violated it; were
knights to be betrayed, Mordred was the spy and
informer. Left to rule the land in Arthur’s
absence, he usurped the throne; left to guard
Guinevere, he carried her away and attempted to
force her in marriage; an outcast, he became
Arthur’s deadliest rival and fulfilled Merlin’s prediction.
It was he, and not the racial antagonist,
who was destined to give the final blow to the
Order that the king had established. Tennyson,
following the suggestion of the chroniclers, has
sharply contrasted Mordred with Lancelot, whose
enemy he was, not so much because Lancelot was
sinful, as because his sin gave him the opportunity
of striking a blow against Arthur’s favourite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
knight. He was Lancelot’s rival, too, his secret
and cunning rival, for the love of Guinevere. All
the pictures we have of Mordred are adverse; he
is the “passing envious” man who hates all more
successful than himself, the man who “laid his
ear beside the doors,” who was “always sullen”;
the tale-bearer, whose narrow face and thin lips
pictured the petty, spiteful spirit within; the man
whose shield was blank and unblazoned, but who</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Like a subtle beast</div>
<div class="verse">Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,</div>
<div class="verse">Ready to spring, waiting a chance: for this</div>
<div class="verse">He chill’d the popular praises of the King</div>
<div class="verse">With silent smiles of slow disparagement;</div>
<div class="verse">And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse,</div>
<div class="verse">Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought</div>
<div class="verse">To make disruption in the Table Round</div>
<div class="verse">Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds</div>
<div class="verse">Serving his traitorous end; and all his aims</div>
<div class="verse">Were sharpen’d by strong hate for Lancelot.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG202" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_202fp.jpg" width="600" height="353" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="left"><i>Photo: R. Webber, Boscastle</i>]</p>

<p>MOUTH OF ROCKY VALLEY AND LONG ISLAND, TINTAGEL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 202</i></p></div>
</div>


<p>Such is Tennyson’s portraiture of Mordred, and
the depiction is justified by all that the chroniclers
relate of the false knight who by fraud gathered
the knights around him, caused himself to be
crowned at Canterbury, and at Winchester declared
that Guinevere should be his wife. The
chronicle explicitly declares that the queen repelled
his advances, and flying to London, took
refuge in the Tower, which she garnished with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
army. Sir Mordred, “wroth out of measure,”
laid siege to the Tower, defied the Archbishop,
and at length, by spreading evil reports of King
Arthur, drew “much people” to his side. This
defection supplied Malory with a fine opportunity
for moralising on the defaults of Englishmen, who
are seldom satisfied&mdash;“for there may no thing
please us no term.” When King Arthur arrived
off Dover with a great navy of ships, galleys, and
carracks, he found Mordred and his host awaiting
him. Here the first encounter took place, and
Mordred, being worsted, removed to Barham
Down, where he again suffered defeat. But these
skirmishes, desperate as they were, were but preliminaries
to the real battle for which both sides
were preparing. Mordred’s force was drawn from
those “that loved not Lancelot,” and from the
people “of London, Kent, Southsex, Surrey,
Estsex, Southfolk, and Northfolk”; and Arthur,
with his faithful band, moved westward past
Salisbury, and on to the shore. Despite the warning
of Sir Gawaine’s ghost “in no wise to do
battle,” but to make a month’s treaty in order to
profit by the presence of Lancelot, King Arthur
found himself compelled to engage in the contest.
A fair and generous offer had been made to Mordred:
Cornwall and Kent were to be his during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
King Arthur’s lifetime, and on the king’s death
he was to have “all England.” But when the
treaty was made an adder stung a knight’s foot,
and his cry of pain was like a clarion call to
battle. In a moment the swords flashed, the
trumpets were blown, the horns sounded; and at
sunset Mordred was dead, and Arthur had received
his death-wound.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p>

<p>Undeniably the most picturesque and romantic
portion of the river Camlan is about half a mile
away from Slaughter Bridge, towards Tintagel,
where it has worn a way between the grassy hills
and lies half-hidden far below, crossed and re-crossed
scores of times by fallen and inclining
trees. The waters here hurry and chatter about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
the stones, and find their way about the rank
weeds and undergrowth which here and there impede
their journey. It is with some difficulty that
the river is found at all, and with greater difficulty
that it is approached. But those who persevere
will find, where the banks are steepest and the
herbage and weeds thickest, that the brook
washes a huge engraved stone lying flat and half
embedded in the earth. This is King Arthur’s
grave, a secret place, and so near Tintagel that
the poet did not strain facts greatly when he
pointed out that</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“No other place on Britain’s spacious earth</div>
<div class="verse">Were worthy of his end but where he had his birth.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Pilgrims find their way to that lonely spot, and
resting near the huge stone, they may reflect at
will upon the wondrous possibility of there being,
after all, by the side of this stream, a tangible
link with King Arthur. The stone lies in
a nook between two rocks, and three graceful
and luxurious trees watch over it as if they were
the metamorphosed three Queens who received
the wounded king in the magic boat which glided
to Avalon. All around is a profound calm; not a
sound but the occasional buzz of an insect comes
from the long grasses of the meadows above, or
from the ferns and ivy which spring from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
shady channel below. At sunset the scene is delightful.
The high meadows are kindled with
brilliant light, but not a ray comes to that hollow
where, it is said, Arthur was laid. His grave is
in perpetual shadow, and when I last saw it a
long, gaunt, withered branch stretched over it like
a spectral arm. The edacious tooth of time has
bitten away the letters, and moss has overgrown
a portion of the stone, so that the inscription is
barely decipherable, but the words are known to
be&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“<i>Cotin hic jacit filius Magari.</i>”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">The actual history is best given in the words
of the local antiquary Borlase, who in his noted
1769 volume gave an illustration of the relics and
said&mdash;</p>

<p>“This inscribed stone, nine feet nine inches
long, and two feet three inches wide, was formerly
a foot-bridge near the late Lord Falmouth’s seat
of Worthyvale, about a mile and a half from
Camelford. It was called Slaughter Bridge, and
as Tradition says, from a bloody battle fought on
this ground, fatal to the great King Arthur. A
few years since, the late Lady Dowager Falmouth,
shaping a rough kind of hill, about 100 yards off,
into spiral walks, removed this stone from the
place where it served as a bridge, and, building<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
a low piece of masonry for its support, placed it
at the foot of her improvements, where it still lies
in one of the natural grots of the hill. This stone
is taken notice of by Mr. Carew in the following
words: ‘For testimony of the last battle in which
Arthur was killed, the old folks thereabouts (viz.,
round Camelford) show you a stone bearing
Arthur’s name, though now departed to “Atry.”
This inscription has been lately published; but so
incorrectly that it may still be reckoned among
the nondescripts. It is said there, “that this
stone lay at the very place where Arthur received
his mortal wound.” All this about King Arthur
takes its rise from the last five letters of this
Inscription, which are by some thought to be
<i>Maguri</i> (<i>quasi magni Arthuri</i>), and from thence
others will have it, that a son of Arthur was
buried here; but though history, as well as tradition,
affirms that Arthur fought his last battle, in
which he was mortally wounded, near this place,
yet that this Inscription retains anything of his
name is all a mistake. The letters are Roman,
and as follow: <i>Cotin hic jacit filius magari</i>. By
the <i>i</i> in <i>hic</i> being joined to the <i>h</i>, by the <i>h</i> wanting
its cross link, the bad line of the writing, the
distorted leaning of the letters, I conclude, that
the monument cannot be so ancient as the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
of Arthur.’” It seems quite clear that what is
now called King Arthur’s tombstone was originally
called, when in position, Slaughter Bridge, a
name which has been transferred to the modern
structure. That the stone once served actually
as a funeral monument is also pretty obvious, but
whom it commemorates is a mystery. The engraved
letters belong to an era posterior to
Arthur, and there are, as a fact, relics indubitably
of an earlier date in the locality.</p>

<p>“Graves” of King Arthur are so numerous as
to make all claims more or less ridiculous. Even
Camelford, as if fearing that the evidence in one
case may not be strong enough, provides an
alternative, and points out that near at hand is
Warbelow Barrow, an ancient fortification of considerable
extent, in the centre of which is a large
mound reputed also to be King Arthur’s burying-place.
It would be easy to reduce the whole subject
to absurdity by saying that if there were a
doubt that King Arthur ever lived, his numerous
“graves” conclusively prove that he died many
times, despite the tradition, too, that he did not
die at all. The jumble of foolishness and contradictions
does not of course affect the real story;
it is the resultant of popular superstitions and
confusing traditions. Upon the smallest basis of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
ancient fact superstition rears a stupendous
edifice, and these many claims to possess King
Arthur’s “grave” arise from the eagerness of
a people to support the idea of their direct connection
with a lost hero, and from their readiness
to attach his name to those places which
naturally suggest a possible or a poetic connection.
That a very strong and sincere belief exists
that Arthur was buried near Camelford is, however,
not to be questioned, and there is perhaps
a better reason for conceding the point in this
case than in all the others. All traditions agree
that the last battle was fought in the vicinity and
that it was fatal to Arthur, and his burial close at
hand is the most natural of conclusions. Mr.
King, an antiquary, declared that on the bank of
the Camlan could be seen “a fallen maen of the
later British era, having the name of Arthur inscribed
on its lower side,” but this seems to have
been conjecture rather than established proof.
Yet it is flying in the face of the most cherished
of beliefs to admit that any grave of Arthur exists&mdash;to
say nothing of a multitude of them. If he
passed into the land of Faerie, if he did not die
but only awaits a call to “come again,” why do
we expect to find the place of his sepulture?&mdash;why
are tombs discovered?&mdash;why are lovely spots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
called King Arthur’s graves? What said the
ancient triad?&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The grave of March is this, and this is the grave of Gwyther,</div>
<div class="verse">Here is the grave of Gwgawn Gleddyfrudd,</div>
<div class="verse">But unknown is the grave of Arthur.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>The more popular and more befitting tradition
deviates entirely from any commonplace termination
of King Arthur’s career, and gives a magical
end to his miraculous history. The king’s brand,
Excalibur or Calibur, the emblem of his kingship
and the symbol of his power, the sword which he
alone could wield, and by winning which he had
gained his crown, was given to Sir Bedivere by
the dying chief to return unto the Lady of the
Lake. “My time hieth fast,” said the king;
“therefore take thou Excalibur, my good sword,
and go with it unto yonder waterside, and when
thou comest there I charge thee, throw my sword
into that water, and come again and tell me what
thou shalt see.” Twice did Sir Bedivere falteringly
go to dark Dozmare Pool, a melancholy
sheet of water overshadowed by high and dreary
hills which seem to keep gloomy watch over
Camelford. Twice did Sir Bedivere’s heart fail
him, and instead of flinging the wondrous sword
into the depths, supposed to be unfathomable, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
the black lake, he hid it among the many-knotted
waterflags that whistled stiff and dry about the
marge. “Authority forgets a dying King,” said
Arthur to the faithless knight; but for the last
time asserting his power, he threateningly bade
him to fulfil his task; and the knight ran, leapt
down the ridges, and threw the splendid brand
into mid-water.</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm</div>
<div class="verse">Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,</div>
<div class="verse">And caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him</div>
<div class="verse">Three times, and drew him under in the mere.”<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">Poets, in describing this scene, have found it
scarcely possible to do other than follow closely
the words of Malory, which relate the incident with
directness and yet with a charm of picturesqueness
scarcely to be surpassed except by much
elaboration&mdash;and elaboration would be out of place
in such a case, and would destroy the subtle effect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
of the narrative. After telling of the hiding of
the sword by the reluctant knight, and of Arthur’s
indignation at his evasive words and long tarrying,
the chronicler says:&mdash;“Then Sir Bedivere
departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took
it up, and went to the water side, and there he
bound the girdle about the hilts, and then he
threw the sword as far into the water as he might,
and there came an arm and a hand above the
water, and met it, and caught it, and so shook it
thrice and brandished it, and then vanished away
the hand with the sword in the water.” “The
hand that arose from the mere,” says Renan, “is
the hope of the Celtic heroes. It is thus that
weak people, dowered with imagination, revenge
themselves on their conquerors. Feeling themselves
to be strong inwardly and weak outwardly,
they protest, they exult, and such a strife unloosing
their might renders them capable of miracles.”</p>

<p>Four miles to the east of Camelford is Row
Tor, 1,296 feet high, its sharp spine, broken and
projecting in parts, no doubt suggesting the name
it popularly bears of the Rough Mountain. On
the left is Rame Head, another typical hill, bare
and brown, and it is between these two that Dozmare
Pool, the reputed scene of the incident with
the sword and the magic hand, may be seen dimly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
glittering. It is a weird legend-haunted spot.
The traveller finds himself shut in between the
frowning hills and beside a dark tarn of most
dismal aspect. It has been supposed that the
waters of Dozmare Pool were once tidal, and from
this supposition the name is derived, <i>dos</i> meaning
a drop, and <i>mari</i> the sea. Instead of being unfathomable,
however, the pool is now only a few
feet deep, though its black appearance certainly
suggests a great depth. This and all other superstitions
have probably been suggested by its
gloom and desolation, by its situation among the
dreariest of hills, and by tragic events for which
there is some historic foundation and which occurred
in the vicinity. The wraith of the place
is one Tregeagle, an unjust and tyrannical man
of yore, who in expiation of his many sins is
doomed to visit Dozmare Pool, where amid the
terrific storms on the hills and moors during
winter his piteous howling can be distinctly heard.
His punishment is to empty the pool with a limpet
shell, and it may be due to his labours that the
waters have so considerably diminished in bulk
since the time that they were “unfathomable.”
But Tregeagle loudly mourns because he considers
his task a hopeless one, and then the Evil Power
comes in person and pursues him round and round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
the dismal tarn until at last Tregeagle flies shrieking
to the sanctuary at Roche Rocks, fifteen miles
distant. This is the tale told of the “middle
meer” in which Excalibur was flung and lost to
mortal sight for ever.</p>

<p>Such is Camelford; such are some of the traditions
which make it alluring to the pilgrim.
Leland was convinced that here the “British
Hector” was slain, and Stow in his <cite>Chronicle</cite>
affirmed that “after many encounters in which
Arthur had always the advantage, the two parties
came to a decisive action at Camblan, on the River
Camalan, in Cornwall, near the place of Arthur’s
birth.” These specific details leave no doubt as
to the place meant. But Stow did not believe the
last battle occurred in the winter season. He declares
that Arthur survived his wounds “a few
days,” and died on May 25th, in the year 542, at
Glastonbury, to which shrine the pilgrims should
last repair. From Camelford in Cornwall, therefore,
we pass to the most mysterious region of all,
the legendary and haunted Vale of Avalon.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />
OF GLASTONBURY AND THE PASSING OF ARTHUR</h2>

<div class="ch">

<p>“And so they rowed from the land; and Sir Bedivere
beheld all the ladies go with him. Then Sir Bedivere
cried, Ah my Lord Arthur, what shall become of me now
ye go from me, and leave me here alone among mine
enemies? Comfort thyself, said the King. For I will go
into the vale of Avilon, to heal me of my grievous wound.
And if thou never more hear of me, pray for my soul.”&mdash;<i>Malory.</i></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Whether the Kinge were there or not,</div>
<div class="verse">Hee never knewe, nor ever colde,</div>
<div class="verse">For from that sad and direful daye</div>
<div class="verse">Hee never more was seene on molde.”</div>

<p class="right"><i>Percy Reliques.</i></p>
</div></div></div>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“O, three times favoured isle, where’s the place that might</div>
<div class="verse">Be with thyself compared for glory or delight</div>
<div class="verse">Whilst Glastonbury stood?...</div>
<div class="verse">Not great Arthur’s tomb, nor holy Joseph’s grave,</div>
<div class="verse">From sacrilege had power their sacred bones to save,</div>
<div class="verse">He, who that God in man to his sepulchre brought,</div>
<div class="verse">Or he, which for the faith twelve famous battles fought.”&mdash;<i>Drayton.</i></div>
</div></div></div>

</div>


<p>A quaint old-world look is upon the face of the
city of many legends, King Arthur’s “isle of
rest.” It lies deep in a green well-watered valley,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
and its steep sudden hill, the Tor, rising abruptly
to a height of over five hundred feet and crowned
with a lonely square tower, seems to shelter and
keep watch upon the traditional apple-island.
The orchard lawns are seen everywhere with
their deep-green carpet and the crooked branches
of innumerable fruit-laden trees casting grotesque
shadows upon it. The whole year round the
western airs are balmy, though in spite of hoary
legend and poetic eulogy Glastonbury has felt the
effects of terrific storms, whirlwinds, and earthquakes.
Its history&mdash;a history of marvel and
wonder, inextricably mingled for many centuries
with superstition&mdash;takes us far back into the
misty past when the ancient Britons named the
marshland, often flooded by the water of the
Bristol Channel, Ynyswytryn, or Inis vitrea, the
Glassy Island; either, it has been surmised, on
account of the “glasten” or blue-green colour of
its surface, or from the abundance of “glass”
(or woad) to be found in the vicinity.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> On the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
other hand Professor Freeman believed that Glastonbury
was the abode and perhaps the possession
of one Glæsting, who, on discovering that
his cattle strayed to the rich pastures, settled in
that part, which in the natural order of things
became Glæstingaburgh. That it was veritably
an island admits of no doubt; the circuit of the
water can still be traced; and when the Romans
in turn made discovery of the fruitfulness of the
region enclosed by the waters of the western sea,
they denominated it Insula Avalonia, or Isle of
Apples. This was the “fortunate isle,” celebrated
in the ancient ode of which Camden has given us
a version, “where unforced fruits and willing
comforts meet,” where the fields require “no
rustic hand” but only Nature’s cultivation, where</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The fertile plains with corn and herds are proud,</div>
<div class="verse">And golden apples shine in every wood.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;">
<img id="IMG218" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_218fp.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>ST. MICHAEL’S TOWER, GLASTONBURY</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 218</i><br /></p></div>
</div>


<p>The inflowing of the sea made islands not only
of Glastonbury, but of Athelney, Beckery, and
Meare; and not many centuries ago, when a
tempest raged, the sea-wall was broken down and
the Channel waters swept up the low-lying land
almost as far as Glastonbury Church. The simple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
record of this event reads: “The breach of the
sea-flood was January 20th, 1606.” Again in
1703 was Glastonbury threatened with a deluge,
and the water was five feet deep in its streets;
but as geologists are able to affirm that the sea
is receding from the western coast it is unlikely
that such catastrophes will recur. A little lazy
stream, the Brue, almost engirdles the city, and
thus permits the inhabitants with seeming reasonableness
to retain for Glastonbury the name loved
best&mdash;the Isle of Avalon. That Roman name has
been full of dreamy suggestiveness to the poet’s
mind; and though the poet’s Avalon may often
have been an enchanted city, the “baseless fabric
of a vision,” the Avalon of Somerset, with its
two streets forming a perfect cross, its Abbey
ruins, its antiquities, and its slumbrous aspect,
is assuredly not unworthy of the legends clustering
about it.</p>

<p>Only by devious paths can Glastonbury, once
the remote shrine for devout pilgrims from all
parts of the land, be reached, for it is still somewhat
out of the common track. But to wander
awhile in the apple-country is delightful alike to
the mind and the physical sense&mdash;to drink in its
associations, to inhale its warm, sweet air, to see
the gleam of white blossoms and the crimson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
softening upon the round ripened cheeks of the
pendent fruit, these are the sources of enjoyment
and the elements of the charm. Countless
gardens send forth a rare perfume, and the quiet
of the whole city in the midst of orchards and
streams and showing the relics of by-gone splendour
has a lulling effect upon the traveller who
comes from the roaring town and the busy mart.
When the twin dark towers of Wells Cathedral
are fading shadow-like in the distance the new
strange picture of the island-valley is revealed.
There stretch the long level meadows of deep
emerald, there glooms a forest of trees whose
twisted branches are bright with apple-blossoms.
The high Tor hill looks stern and bare, but cosy
and inviting is the town below with its rows of
irregular houses, many of which date back to long
past days, while others, constituted of stone with
which the architects of Dunstan’s and of Becket’s
time wrought, seem to bear mute tribute to the
famous era when the Abbey was in its glory and
reverend pilgrims from afar came to bring oblations
to that hallowed shrine. To-day the visitor
finds a welcome at the “Inne” built in 1475 for
the devout travellers whom the Abbot could not
accommodate within the walls of the Abbey; and
so few are the changes of time that the lofty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
façade, the parapet and turrets, the wide archway,
the ecclesiastical windows, and the long
corridors, remain almost as they were first designed
and made. Side by side stand “Ye Olde
Pilgrim’s Inne” and the Tribunal, or Court
House, built by Abbot Beere, for the trial of petty
offenders against the law. Unexplored dungeons
are reported to exist underground, together with
subterranean passages communicating with the
Abbey from the “Inne” and the Tribunal. In
the neighbourhood is a conspicuous building once
used for collecting the tithes, called the Abbey
Barn, dating from 1420, in some respects the
best preserved of all the ancient memorials. But
the pride and glory of Glastonbury centre in the
wondrously beautiful remains of the oldest, richest,
and stateliest of English Abbeys&mdash;an Abbey
whose reputed founder was Joseph of Arimathæa,
that Joseph who had seen the face and heard the
voice of the Saviour of mankind. It was the only
church of first rank in England standing as a
monument of British days which escaped the
scath and wreck which followed the storm of
Norman conquest.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 380px;">
<img id="IMG222" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_222fp.jpg" width="380" height="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>THE OLDE PILGRIM’S INN, GLASTONBURY</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 222</i></p></div>
</div>

<p>To what dim epoch the earliest history of Glastonbury
belongs is more or less conjectural,
though the discovery of some sixty low mounds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
by archæologists led to the discovery that a prehistoric
lake-village in remote times occupied the
site. Excavations revealed the remains of human
habitations and of successive occupation by the
same race&mdash;a race which hunted the boar, the
roebuck, and the deer, and whose sole accomplishment
was the making of coarse, rude pottery.
But this people has passed away and not
even a tradition of its existence is extant. It was
at a much later period, though, looking backward,
the time seems far distant, that the first
legend of Glastonbury took root and flowered.
So pure, fragrant, and beautiful is that treasured
blossom that it would seem ruthless to attempt
to pluck it by the roots from the ground, and to
cast it aside as a worthless weed of ignorance
and superstition. It brings to us the memory of
that time when the Son of Man was on earth; it
is a seed blown from that land which His presence
sanctified. Nearly two thousand years ago
the crucified Nazarene was watched by agonised
crowds upon Calvary. Joseph of Arimathæa, “a
good man and a just,” begged the dead body
from Pilate and buried it in his own garden,
thereby incurring the fierce resentment of the
Jews. He fled from Palestine, fearing for his
life, and so enraged were his enemies at his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
escape that they expelled his friends also&mdash;Lazarus,
Mary Magdalene, and Philip among others&mdash;putting
them out to sea without oars or sail.
“After tossing about many days,” says one
writer, “they were driven in God’s providence to
Marseilles, and from Marseilles St. Joseph came
to Britain, where he died at a good old age, after
having preached the Gospel of Christ with power
and earnestness for many years.” This was
about <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> 63. “The happy news of the Saviour’s
resurrection, and the offer of the only assured
means of salvation to all who would embrace it”
were welcomed by King Arviragus, who assigned
to St. Joseph the Isle of Avalon as a retreat.
When Joseph and his little Christian band, passing
over Stone Down where stand the two notable
Avalon Oaks, came to the place, weary with
long travelling, they rested on the ridge of a hill,
which in its name of Weary-all Hill (really
Worall) is supposed to commemorate this incident;
and where the saint’s staff touched the sod,
a thorn tree miraculously sprang up, and every
Christmas Day it buds and blossoms as a
memorial of our Lord, and of the first Christian
festival.<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> Another story says that the saint was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
met by a boisterous mob of the heathen, and that,
planting his pilgrim’s staff in the earth, he knelt
down to pray; and as he prayed, the hard, dry
staff began to bud and give forth fragrance, and
became a living tree. Then said Joseph, “Our
God is with us,” and the heathen, transfixed by
the miracle, were convinced and pacified. So
runs the earliest Christian legend in England,
and as a fitting sequel we learn that not long
after Joseph’s mission had begun the first Christian
chapel was built, and occupied part of the
site on which the most beautiful of holy houses
was afterwards reared&mdash;Glastonbury Abbey. St.
Joseph’s Chapel, magnificent in ruin, is one of
those hallowed places in which one might spend
hours in silent contemplation. Through many
centuries the legend of the Holy Thorn has been
preserved, and Glastonbury has remained distinguished
by the fact that there the “winter thorn”
has blossomed every Christmas “mindful of our
Lord,” or, as a pupil of Caxton’s wrote in 1520&mdash;</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The hawthornes also that groweth in Werall</div>
<div class="verse">Do burge and bere green leaves at Christmas</div>
<div class="verse">As fresh as other in May.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">The tree was regarded with great awe and superstition
by the inhabitants, and when the change
in the calendar was made they looked to the
“sacra spina” for confirmation of the righteousness
of what had been done. Many people refused
to celebrate the new-style Christmas Day
because the Thorn showed no blossoms, and when
the white flowers appeared on January 5th, the
old-style Christmas was held to have been divinely
sanctioned. A trunk of the tree was cut down
by a Puritan soldier, though his sacrilege caused
him to be severely wounded by a piece of the
dismembered tree striking him; but when the
Thorn was cast into the river as dead and worthless
it miraculously took root again. The spot
where it grew is marked by a monumental stone
bearing the inscription:&mdash;I. A. A.D. XXXI.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG224" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_224fp.jpg" width="600" height="410" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>ST. JOSEPH’S CHAPEL, GLASTONBURY ABBEY</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 224</i></p></div>
</div>

<p>A Somerset historian likewise records that in
addition to the Holy Thorn there grew in the
Abbey churchyard a miraculous walnut tree, which
never budded forth before the feast of St. Barnabas,
namely, the 11th of June, and “on that day
shot forth leaves and flourished like its usual
species.” This tree is gone, but another “of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
commonplace sort” stands in its place. “It is
strange,” we read, “to say how much this tree
was sought after by the credulous; and though
not an uncommon walnut, Queen Anne, King
James, and many of the nobility of the realm,
even when the times of monkish superstition had
ceased, gave large sums of money for small cuttings
from the original.” The walnut tree, however,
never vied with the Holy Thorn in popularity.
The “Athenian Oracle” (1690) wriggled
out of the difficulties attending a belief in the
budding of the hawthorn tree with characteristic
ingenuity, and supplied an example that most of
us would gladly imitate. To an inquirer who
asked for information and an opinion, the
“Oracle” replied (none too grammatically), “All
that Mr. Camden says of it is, that if any one
may be believed in matters of this nature, this
has been affirmed to him to be true by several
credible persons; it was not in Glastonbury itself,
but in Wirral Park, hard by it; however,
this superstitious tree, true or false, was cut
down in the last reforming age, though it seems
they did not make such root and branch work
with it but that some stumps remained, at least
some branches or grafts out of it were saved, and
still growing in the same country; though whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
they have the same virtue with the former, or that
had any more than any other hawthorn, we don’t
pretend to determine any more than the forementioned
historian.” The belief in the tree and
the knowledge of its peculiar properties were so
wide-spread that Sedley’s verse on Cornelia, who
“bloomed in the winter of her days like Glastonbury
Thorn” was easily understood. Bishop Goodman,
writing to the Lord General Oliver Cromwell
in 1652, said he could “find no naturall cause”
either in the soil or other circumstances for the extraordinary
character of the tree. “This I know,”
said the prelate, “that God first appeared to Moses
in a bramble bush; and that Aaron’s rod, being
dried and withered, did budde; and these were
God’s actions, and His first actions; and, truly,
Glastonbury was a place noted for holiness, and
the first religious foundation in England, and, in
effect, was the first dissolved; and therein, was
such a barbarous inhumanity as Egypt never
heard the like. It may well be that this White
Thorne did then spring up, and began to blossome
on Christmas day, to give a testimony to religion,
and that it doth flourish in persecution,” and so
forth. Infinite meanings and significances could
be extracted from the legend, that fantastic casket
of man’s art and devising which is made to enshrine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
the small pure pearl of truth. If this were
the place for sermons it might be pointed out that
the vitality of the Thorn is an emblem of the
vitality of the religion it commemorates; but our
duty is to trace its connection with history. The
legend has been somewhat altered in form in
order to bring it into direct association with the
building of the Abbey. This new version of the
miracle is that Joseph of Arimathæa was commanded
to build a church in honour of the Virgin
Mary, but finding that the natives were distrustful
of him and his mission he prayed, like Gideon,
for a miracle. Forthwith his staff began to shoot
forth leaves and blossoms, and the unwithered
Thorn took root. Be that as it may, the first
Christians built a chapel of twisted alder, in the
form of a parallelogram, 60 feet long and 26 feet
broad (to come to details), and having “a window
at the west end and one at the east; on each
side were three windows, and near the western
angle was a door each side.” A representation
of the first building for Christian worship erected
in this country is found on an old document now
in the British Museum, and it is said to have
been copied from a plate of brass which had been
affixed to an adjoining pillar. The chapel is
variously referred to in ancient records as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
“Lignea Basilica,” “Vetusta Ecclesia,” and the
“Ealdechirche,” and with its walls of wattles and
its roof of rushes it must long have been an object
of revered contemplation. Joseph built and
preached in “the little lonely church,” “built with
wattles from the marsh,” journeying from thence
across the plain to the Mendips, where he found
other half barbarous Britons to listen to the story
of the Redemption. He laid the foundations of a
bishopric at Wells, which was afterwards to be
the rival of Glastonbury Abbey itself, and to the
end of a long and fruitful life continued his
ministry to the people.</p>

<p>Chalice Hill revives by its name and associations
another reminiscence of our Lord even more
amazing. St. Joseph was the bringer to this
country of two precious relics&mdash;one&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“The Cup itself from which our Lord</div>
<div class="verse">Drank at the last sad supper with His own,”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">the other, some of the blood which oozed from
the crucified Saviour’s body. The chalice, or
sacred cup, was buried by Joseph at the spot
where a perpetual spring of water bubbles&mdash;the
“Blood Spring,” which supplies the Holy Well,
scene of many miraculous cures in times past.
That the waters are medicinal admits of no doubt;
that it issues from the Cup is a matter of faith,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
especially as the Holy Grail is claimed to be now
in safe keeping by more than one far-distant
Abbey.<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> As for the second relic, it is said that
St. Joseph confided the memorial to his nephew
Isaac, who sealed up the blood in two vials and
secreted them from the invading Roman pagans.
When danger menaced him, he hid the phials in
an ancient fig-tree, which he then cast into the
sea. Carried by the waves to Gaul, the fig-tree
was cast up at the spot which now forms Fécamp
harbour; and there a few centuries later it was
found with the two phials secure. Fearless Duke
Richard of Normandy was so impressed by the
discovery that he built an Abbey in which fitly to
enshrine the Precious Blood, and Fécamp Abbey
bears witness alike to his faith and his devotion.
It was upon the story of the Grail that chroniclers
seized with avidity after Borron had once shown
its capabilities&mdash;a story now believed by many to
be almost wholly of Celtic origin, the Sancgreal
being none other than Fionn’s healing cup. Mr.
Nutt, to whose exhaustive work on the subject
reference has previously been made, has told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
us of every form, rudimentary and developed,
in which the Grail legend has appeared, and of
every explanation advanced as to its meaning.
Whether the legend is based upon Christian
canonical or uncanonical writings, or whether it
is an ancient saga into which a Christian element
was imported, whether it was extant in any
definite form before the time of Robert de Borron,
or whether it was a fabrication of the era to
which many monkish fables have been traced, are
points which to discuss in detail would require,
and have had, volumes devoted to them. Within
fifty years (1180-1225) there were eight versions
of the story in which the idea of the Grail was
elaborated, and we know how the idea has been
developed and enriched and idealised until our
own time. “The vanished Vase of Heaven that
held like Christ’s own Heart an Hin of Blood,”
has been a marvellously fecund seed of inspiration
to romancist and poet. Percival and Galahad are
the highest human conceptions of purity, and their
quest is the most exalting and ennobling upon
which heroes can set forth. Yet, as we have
already seen, the conclusion cannot be resisted
that the story had its root in paganism, and that
the history of the Grail is nothing but the history
of the gradual transformation of old Celtic folk-tales<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
into a poem charged with Christian symbolism
and mysticism. “This transformation, at
first the inevitable outcome of its pre-Christian
development, was hastened later by the perception
that it was a fitting vehicle for certain moral and
spiritual ideas.” Avalon, lying not far from the
western sea beyond which tradition said were the
happy isles of the blessed dead, was the Cymric
equivalent for the Celtic paradise, and thus did
Glastonbury become associated with the glorious
legends which have made it in the eyes of the
romancists the most sacred and wondrous city of
earth. So may Glastonbury truly be said to
gather round it “all the noblest memories alike of
the older and the newer dwellers in the land.”
Nor is it surprising that in a place of so much
reputation modern marvels should be reported to
occur or wonderful discoveries be made. An
elixir was found in the ruins of the Abbey in 1586,
one grain of which, being dropped upon an ounce
and a quarter of mercury, was found to transmute
the mercury into an ounce of pure gold. Another
grain of it, dropped upon a piece of metal cut out
of a warming-pan, turned the metal into silver,
and this with the warming-pan was sent to Queen
Elizabeth that she might “fit the piece with the
place where it was cut out.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
<p>Such facts are worthy of being related at some
length not only on account of any curious interest
they possess in themselves, but because they enable
us to understand a number of allusions in the
Arthurian story, and help to account for the
selection of Glastonbury as the scene of the most
solemn episodes in the career of the British king
and his knights. The poet Spenser, in recording
that Sir Lucius was the first to receive “the
sacred pledge of Christ’s evangely,” hastens to recall
the Glastonbury legend, and to explain that&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Long before that day</div>
<div class="verse">Hither came Joseph of Arithmathy,</div>
<div class="verse">Who brought with him the Holy Grayle, they say,</div>
<div class="verse">And preacht the truth.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">All the chief points in the old beliefs and the
myths and traditions are caught up in Malory’s
history. The account of Joseph and his coming
to England may be read in the Book of Sir Galahad,
for the story was told by the stainless knight
who bore the marvellous shield&mdash;</p>

<div class="bq">

<p>“Sir,” said Sir Galahad, “by this shield beene full many
mervailes.” “Sir,” said the knight, “it befell after the
passion of our Lord Jesu Christ thirtie yeare, that Joseph
of Aramathy, the gentle knight, that tooke downe our
Lord from the crosse, and at that time hee departed from
Jerusalem with a great part of the kindred with him, and
so they laboured till they came to a citie that hight Sarras.
And at that same houre that Joseph came unto Sarras<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
there was a king that hight Evelake, that had great warre
against the Sarasins, and in especial against one Sarasin,
the which was King Evelake’s cosin, a rich king and a
mighty, the which marched nigh this land, and his name
was called Tollome le Feintes. So, upon a day these two
met to doe battaile. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of
Aramathy, went unto King Evelake, and told him that he
would be discomfited and slaine but if he left his beleeve of
the ould law and beleeve upon the new law. And then he
shewed him the right beleeve of the Holy Trinity, the which
he agreed with al his hart, and ther this shield was made
for King Evelake, in the name of him that died upon the
crosse; and then through his good beleeve hee had the
better of King Tollome. For when King Evelake was in
the battaile, there was a cloath set afore the shield, and
when hee was in the greatest perill hee let put away the
cloath, and then anon his enemies saw a figure of a man
upon the crosse, where through they were discomforted.
And so it befell that a man of King Evelake’s had his hand
smitten off, and beare his hand in his other hand, and
Joseph called that man unto him, and bad him goe with
good devotion and touch the crosse; and as soon as that
man had touched the crosse with his hand, it was as whole
as ever it was before. Then soone after there fell a great
mervaile, that the crosse of the shield at one time vanished
away that no man wist where it became. And there was
King Evelake baptised, and for the most part all the people
of that cittie. So soone after Joseph would depart, and
King Evelake would go with him whether he would go or
not; and so by fortune they came into this land, which at
that time was called Great Brittaine, and there they found
a great felon panim that put Joseph in prison. And so by
fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondrames,
and hee assembled all his people, for the great
renown that he had hard of Joseph; and so he came into
the land of Great Brittaine, and disherited the felon panim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
and consumed him, and therewith delivered Joseph out of
prison. And after that, all the people were turned to the
Christian faith.”</p>
</div>

<p>According to Malory it was “Not long after
that,” that Joseph was “laid in his death bed,”
his last act being to make “a crosse of his owne
blood” upon the shield before giving it to King
Evelake. “Now may yee see a remembrance that
I love you,” he said, “for yee shall never see this
shield but that yee shall thinke on mee, and it
shall be alwayes as fresh as it is now. And never
shall no man beare this shielde about his necke
but hee shall repent it, unto the time that Sir
Galahad the good knight beare it.” It is the
general opinion that Joseph of Arimathæa was
buried in the ground surrounding the church of
his foundation, for a burial ground to contain a
thousand graves had been prepared in his time.
William of Malmesbury wrote that there were
preserved in that consecrated place “the remains
of many saints, nor is there any space in the
building that is free of their ashes. So much so
that the stone pavement, and indeed the sides of
the altar itself, above and below, is crammed with
the multitude of the relics. Rightly, therefore,
it is called the heavenly sanctuary on earth, of so
large a number of saints it is the repository.”
There is no clear record of who immediately succeeded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
Joseph, but his ministry was carried on
by St. Patrick, who was a native of Glastonbury,<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>
by St. David, by Gildas, and by Dunstan. It was
St. Patrick who, returning from his labours in
Ireland in 461, found that the church built with
wattles from the marsh was in a state of decay,
and erected a substantial edifice on Tor Hill, dedicated
to St. Mary and St. Michael. He was
Glastonbury’s first abbot, though this fact is
traditionary rather than historical, and his grave
was near the altar of the original church. An
oratory had previously existed on the site, having
been founded a century after Joseph’s arrival by
two saints, Phaganus and Duruvianus. The
Abbey itself now began to take definite shape, the
eyes of all Christians being drawn to Glastonbury
by reason of its sacred record. In the sixth
century, in King Arthur’s time, it was approaching
its fulness of power and nearing that zenith
of fame and splendour which did not decline for
nearly a thousand years.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG236" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_236fp.jpg" width="600" height="344" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>WELLS CATHEDRAL</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 236</i></p></div>
</div>


<p>According to Professor Freeman, Glastonbury
became, in the year 601, the great sanctuary of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
the British in the place of Ambresbury, which had
but lately fallen. How it grew, how it was ruled
by great leaders in the church, how it became the
largest, the most beautiful, the most wealthy of
all abbeys, how its fall was compassed, and how
the last of its abbots, an aged man, was dragged
to the hill-top and hanged, are historic facts which
belong to a date far later than that with which
we are concerned. We cannot even dwell upon
St. Patrick’s sojourn at Glastonbury, or upon
Dunstan’s retirement to its cloisters in order to
devote himself to study and music. Here it was
that he wrestled with the Evil One in person while
labouring at his forge; here it was that heavenly
visions were vouchsafed to him; here it was that
he began his work of reformation in the Church
and made the Abbey the centre of religious influence
in the kingdom. After the lapse of
centuries we gaze only upon the ruins of the
fabric, and from them learn how majestic the
temple in its prime must have been, comprehending
a little of the truth half revealed and half concealed
in the silent storied places with their
shattered walls, their crumbling archways, their
unroofed chambers, their windows darkened with
trailing weeds, and their floors overgrown with
lank grasses and moss.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>

<p>King Arthur’s connection with Glastonbury cannot
be deemed wholly mythical, though the mysteriously
beautiful narrative which tells of his last
days in Avalon seems too poetical for reality.
There are, however, other links, not so generally
recognised, connecting him with this consecrated
place. Glastonbury was not only his “isle of
rest;” nor was the Abbey known only to him as
a shrine. He claimed, or it was claimed for him,
that he was descended on his mother’s side from
Joseph of Arimathæa, the genealogy being thus
given:&mdash;“Helianis, the nephew of Joseph, begat
Joshua; Joshua begat Aminadab; Aminadab begat
Castellos; Castellos begat Mavael; Mavael
begat Lambord, who begat Igerna of whom Uther
Pendragon begat the famous and noble Arthur.”
Glastonbury, in addition to its celebrity as a
Christian sanctuary, would therefore have a claim
upon King Arthur’s attention for the sake of his
venerated ancestor, though there seems little
reason to doubt that in his day it was the cynosure
of the eyes of all who claimed to be within the
religious fold. Lady Charlotte Guest, in one of
the valuable notes to her translation of the <cite>Mabinogion</cite>,
calls attention to a record of William
of Malmesbury, which proves how much Glastonbury
was in King Arthur’s mind on all occasions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
“It is written in the Acts of the illustrious King
Arthur,” we read, “that at a certain festival of
the Nativity, at Caerleon, that monarch having
conferred military distinction upon a valiant youth
of the name of Ider, the son of King Nuth, in
order to prove him, conducted him to the hill of
Brentenol, for the purpose of fighting three most
atrocious giants. And Ider, going before the
rest of the company, attacked the giants valorously,
and slew them. And when Arthur came
up he found him apparently dead, having fainted
with the immense toil he had undergone, whereupon
he reproached himself with having been the
cause of his death, through his tardiness in coming
to his aid; and <em>arriving at Glastonbury</em>, he
appointed there four-and-twenty monks to say
mass for his soul, and endowed them most amply
with lands, and with gold and silver, chalices,
and other ecclesiastical ornaments.” From this
we might well infer that King Arthur was in the
habit of paying periodical visits to the island-valley.
“The great Lady Lyle of Avelyon,” girt
with a sword which only Balin could draw from
its scabbard, with results afterwards disastrous
to himself, is a link in the associations of Arthur
and his court with the island-valley.</p>

<p>His war with King Melvas, of Somersetshire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
(strongly reminiscent of the last war with Mordred,
as related by Malory), reads like veritable
history. While engaged in subduing the savage
hordes in Wales and Cornwall, and in beating
back the advancing Saxons, he found that the
“Rex Rebellus” Melvas had stolen away his wife
Guinevere, and carried her to Ynyswytryn. King
Arthur gathered a large force, and set out with
his knights to take summary vengeance on the
ravisher, whom he forthwith besieged. A well-known
antiquary has found reason to believe
that Arthur’s force was “a numberless multitude;”
but at all events there is little doubt that
Melvas, who was only an “underlord,” would
have been heavily defeated had a battle ensued.
But conflict was avoided by the intervention of
Gildas, the Abbot, who commanded Melvas to
restore Guinevere to her rightful lord, and then
succeeded in reconciling the two foes. They both
ended by swearing friendship and fidelity to the
Abbot, and the facts go far to show the potentiality
of that dignitary at this period. Thus, by
establishing King Arthur’s connection with Glastonbury,
we increase the likelihood of his choosing
the holy place at Avalon for his last resting-place.
He knew the shrine well and had visited
the fruitful, balmy island-valley in which his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
ancestor’s name was deeply revered; and when
his time drew nigh he could think of no sweeter,
better spot in which to seek for peace. “Comfort
thy selfe,” said the king to weeping Sir
Bedivere after the last battle, “and do as well as
thou maiest, for in mee is no trust for to trust
in; for I wil into the vale of Avilion for to heale
me of my grievous wound; and if thou never
heere more of me, pray for my soule.” And with
the three mourning queens he passed from the
bloody field of Camlan up the waters of the Bristol
Channel to the isle</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,</div>
<div class="verse">Nor ever wind blows loudly.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>“King Arthur, being wounded in battle, was
brought to Glastonbury to be healed of his wounds
by the healing waters of that place,” an old record
runs. But his wound was too grievous; and
though Merlin prophesied that he “cannot die,”
the current tradition is that when he reached the
sacred isle he “came unto his end.” In the time
of the first Plantagenet, when the fame of King
Arthur was revived, search was made at Glastonbury
for the bones of the great British chief.
Henry II. was then on his way to Ireland, and
Henry of Bloys, then Abbot of Glastonbury,
undertook the task, fully intending, no doubt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
that it should be successful. Between two pillars
at a depth of nine feet a stone was found with a
leaden cross inscribed on its under side in Latin,
“Here lies buried the renowned King Arthur, in
the isle of Avalon”; and seven feet lower down
his body was found in an oaken coffin. The
historian Selden gives us an instructive report of
how King Henry was induced to set about the
strange enterprise of discovering the remains of
King Arthur. He tells us that the king in his
expedition towards Ireland was “entertained by
the way in Wales with bardish songs, wherein
he heard it affirmed that in Glastonbury (made
almost an isle by the river’s embracements) Arthur
was buried betwixt two pillars. He therefore
gave commandment to Henri of Blois, then Abbot,
to make search for the corps, which was found in
a wooden coffin (Girald saith oaken, Leland thinks
alder), some sixteen foot deep; but after they had
digged nine foot they found a stone on whose
lower side was fixt a leaden cross (crosses fixt
upon the tombs of old Christians were in all places
ordinary) with his name inscribed, and the letter
side of it turned to the stone. He (King Arthur)
was then honoured with a sumptuous monument,
and afterwards the sculls of him and his wife
Guinevere were taken out (to remain as separate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
relics and spectacles) by Edward Longshanks and
Eleanor.” But notwithstanding the useful and
apposite inscription on the leaden cross, “Hic
jacet sepultus inclytus rex Arthurus in insula
Avalonia”; or as it is otherwise more epigrammatically
given, “Hic jacet Arthurus, Rex quondam,
Rexque futurus”&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“His Epitaph recordeth so certaine</div>
<div class="verse">Here lieth King Arthur that shall raigne againe;”&mdash;</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>it is hardly necessary to add that there is almost
every reason to believe that this extraordinary
“find” could have been nothing but a pious fraud,
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">in majorem monasterii gloriam</i>. If the truth be
not established, however, it has been incorporated
into many chronicles as genuine history. Bale,
in his <cite>Actes of English Votaries</cite>, bears testimony
in these words: “In Avallon, annus 1191, there
found they the fleshe bothe of Arthur and of hys
wyfe Guenever turned all into duste, wythin theyr
coffins of strong oke, the bones only remaynge.
A monke of the same Abbeye, standing and beholding
the fine broydinges of the womman’s
heare as yellow as golde there still to remayne:
as a man ravyshed, or more than halfe from hys
wyttes, he leaped into the graffe, XV fete depe,
to have caughte them sodenlye. But he fayled of
hys purpose. For so soon as they were touched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
they fell all to powder.” The reference to the
depth of the grave reminds us that Stow, in his
<cite>Chronicle</cite>, declares that King Arthur was buried
sixteen feet underground to prevent the Saxons
offering any indignity to his corpse, “which
Almighty God, for the sins of the Britons, afterwards
permitted,” he disappointingly concludes.</p>

<p>Camden’s account of the discovery is in these
words: “When Henry II, King of England, had
learned from the songs of the British bards, that
Arthur, the most noble hero of the Britons, whose
courage had so often shattered the Saxons, was
buried at Glessenbury between two pyramids, he
order’d search to be made for the body; and they
had scarce digg’d seven feet deep, but they light
upon a cross’d stone (cippus) or a stone in the
back part whereof was fastened a rude leaden
cross, something broad. This being pulled out,
appeared to have an inscription upon it, and under
it, almost nine foot deep, deposited the bones of
the famous Arthur. The letters have a sort of
barbarous and Gothic appearance, and are a plain
evidence of the barbarity of the age, which was
involved in a fatal sort of mist, that no one was
found to celebrate the name of King Arthur.”
The most detailed account of all is given in Joseph
Ritson’s scholarly work on King Arthur, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
famous antiquary’s outspoken comments on the
records “and other legendary rhodomontades”
of the monks of Glastonbury can be read with
amusement as well as with profit. It is a sufficiently
remarkable fact that none of the chroniclers
agree in their details, and Matthew Paris distinctly
declares that the letters inscribed upon the
tomb could “in no wise be read on account of too
much barbarism and deformity.” Antiquary Leland
was sceptical as to the coffin, and William
of Malmesbury (1143) said “The sepulchre of
Arthur was never seen”; but, despite all contradictions
and doubts, the discovery seems to
have been generally accepted as genuine, while
for many reasons it was gratifying to the people
of that and subsequent ages. Caxton would have
regarded it as “most execrable infidelity” to have
had a doubt upon the subject. At Glastonbury
we indubitably seem to get nearer the real Arthur
than we are able to do in any of the other localities
mentioned by Geoffrey and the later chroniclers.
Whether he was the monarch described in the
romances or a semi-barbarous chieftain leading
the Britons to a final, though only temporary,
victory against the Saxons, there remains the
same likelihood of his connection with the first
Abbey raised in the land.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>

<p>On the authority of Gildas, we learn that when
the Abbot brought about peace between Arthur
and Melvas, both kings made oath never to violate
the holy place, and both kings gave the Abbot
much territory in token of their gratitude. If,
however, it is hard to reconcile the death of King
Arthur with Merlin’s prophecy, it is harder still
to account for the discovery of his bones and his
grave in face of the ancient triad which declared
his grave to be unknown, and remembering which
Tennyson related&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“His grave should be a mystery</div>
<div class="verse">From all men, like his birth;”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">while the older poet tells how he “raygnes in
faerie.” There was, however, a substantial
reason for the finding of King Arthur’s tomb by
Henry of Blois, for at that time the revenues
brought by pilgrims to the shrine were not sufficient
to provide funds for the building. The contest
between Wells and Glastonbury had also
begun, and the discovery of the bones of a saint
was one of the surest methods of obtaining an
advantage. According to Stow’s <cite>Chronicle</cite>, the
body was found “not enclosed within a tomb of
stone, but within a great tree made hollow like a
trough, the which being digged upon and opened,
therein were found the bones of Arthur, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
were of a marvellous bigness.” This circumstantial
evidence seems almost irresistible, and no
doubt there was a conscientious belief in the discovery
at the time it was reported to have been
made. Stow has further details to give on the
authority of Giraldus Cambriensis, “a learned
man that then lived, who reporteth to have heard
of the Abbot of Glastonbury that the shin-bone of
Arthur being set up by the leg of a very tall man,
came above his knee by three fingers. The skull
of his head was of a wonderful bigness; in which
head there appeared the points of ten wounds,
or more, all which were grown in one seam, except
only that whereof he died, which being
greater than the other, appeared very plain.”
Such, then, are the records of this wondrous
discovery.</p>

<p>Modern Glastonbury has its museum in which
may be seen some pottery from “King Arthur’s
Palace at Wedmore,” and a thirteenth or fourteenth
century representation on the side of a
mirror case of Queen Guinevere deserting with Sir
Lancelot, the only two relics, I believe, which in
any way recall the connection of King Arthur
with the place. There are evidences of the
antiquity of the Abbey in abundance; though
pilgrims’ staffs, leather bottles, palls, grace cups,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
roods, “counters” made by the monks to serve
as coin, and even the reliquary containing a small
piece of bone supposed to be of St. Paulinus, sent
or left by St. Augustine himself for the purpose
of establishing the modified form of the Benedictine
rule, do not quite take us back to the
sixth century. Though the actual date of King
Arthur’s death is not known, and though his age
is variously given from just over fifty to passing
ninety, and though there is no consensus of
opinion as to the length of his reign, we never
hear of him at a later date than 604; and unfortunately
all the Glastonbury relics take us back
at most to the tenth century. Yet enthusiastic
Drayton might well be carried away with the
theme with which Glastonbury supplied him; and
remembering the marvels of its past and the
splendour of its aspect in his own day, he asked
what place was comparable with the “three times
famous isle?”</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“To whom didst thou commit that monument to keep,</div>
<div class="verse">When not great Arthur’s tomb, nor holy Joseph’s grave</div>
<div class="verse">From sacrilege had power their holy bones to save?”</div>
</div></div></div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG248" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_248fp.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>THE ABBEY BARN, GLASTONBURY</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 248</i></p></div>
</div>


<p>This is one of the insoluble mysteries. The remains
of Arthur and Guinevere are stated to have
had noble burial by King Henry’s command in “a
fair tomb of marble,” and the cross of lead bearing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
the original inscription was placed in the
church treasury. At the suppression of the monasteries
it is assumed that all the tombs and
monuments shared one fate. Edward I and his
queen visited Glastonbury in 1278, and after
seeing the shrine, fixed their signets upon the
separate “chests” in which the dust was deposited.
Within the sepulchre they placed a
solemn written record of what they had seen, together
with the names of the principal witnesses.
King Edward is also said to have had Arthur’s
crowns and jewels rendered to him. He and his
queen were satisfied that they had gazed upon
“the bones of the most noble Arthur”; and theirs
were the last eyes to see the remains, false or
true. The historian Speed, in indignant strain,
tells of the doom that befell the Abbey in Henry
VIII.’s days, when “this noble monument, among
the fatal overthrows of infinite more, was altogether
razed by those whose over-hasty actions
and too forward zeal in these behalfs hath left us
the want of many truths, and cause to wish that
some of their employments had been better spent.”
Whatever sign of King Arthur’s tomb, real or
pretended, had existed, thus vanished for ever,
and the prophesied mystery of his grave became
fulfilled.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>

<p>All that now remains in association with his
name, and his final acts, and his uncomprehended
fate, is the Abbey, surpassingly beautiful in ruin,
founded in times faded almost from the recollections
of a race; it is itself half mystery and half
monument. The stateliest of its chambers still
bears the name of St. Joseph’s Chapel, and itself
with its delicate tracery, its exquisitely designed
windows, its carved pillars, is like a fairy tale in
stone. The little church built with wattles from
the marsh became the church triumphant and the
church supremely beautiful in after-time. When
the second Henry visited it the already venerable
Abbey was a pile of architectural wonders and
magnificence, thanks to the labours of Abbot Harlewinus.
It was he who designed and erected
that veritable gem of architecture, gorgeously
ornamented and finished in classic grace, which
serves as memorial to the first Christian saint in
England. “Imagination cannot realise,” says
one chronicler, “how grand and beautiful must
have been the view from St. Joseph’s Chapel
through its long-drawn fretted aisles up to the
high altar with its four corners, symbolising the
Gospel to be spread through the four quarters of
the world.” The matchless temple was over a
hundred feet longer than Westminster Abbey;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
and its spaciousness was only equalled by its
riches. Lofty mullioned windows rose nearly to
the vaulting, richly dight and casting a dim
religious light; and the profuse decorations of
the walls took the form of running patterns of
foliage, while vivid paintings of the sun and stars
gave colour and animation to the cold stone.
Little wonder that the gorgeous Abbey in all its
loveliness and noble proportions was deemed a fitting
resting-place for kings and saints. Claiming
St. Joseph as its founder, it was almost in natural
sequence that it should make claim to be the
shrine of the last and greatest of the Christian
kings, the Arthur whom Geoffrey of Monmouth
had made renowned&mdash;“the most king and knight
of the world, and most loved of the fellowship of
noble knights, and by turn they were all upholden.”
It was to Glastonbury that the “Bishop
of Canterbury” fled, and took his goods, and
“lived in poverty and in holy prayers” when the
war with Mordred broke out. To this hermit
came Sir Bedivere, and found him by a tomb
new-graven. “Sir,” said Sir Bedivere, “what
man is there interred that ye pray so fast for?”
“Fair son,” said the hermit, “I wot not verily,
but by deeming. But this night, at midnight,
here came a number of ladies, and brought hither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
a dead corpse, and prayed me to bury him; and
here they offered an hundred tapers, and gave me
an hundred besants.” “Alas,” said Sir Bedivere,
“that was my lord King Arthur, that here lieth
buried in this chapel!” Then Sir Bedivere
swooned, and when he awoke prayed that he
might abide there henceforth and live with fasting
and prayers. “Far from hence will I never
go,” said he, “by my will, but all the days of my
life to pray for my lord Arthur.”</p>

<p>Glastonbury to-day, amid all its ruin, spoliation
and change, hints everywhere of the glory of its
past. The charm of it lingers though the excellence
of it has vanished. In its stillness and
seclusion it retains an old-world air of beauty
and of simplicity; time which has overthrown so
much has tainted nought. Tower, wall, and roof
mingle their grey and brown and red in the peaceful
valley which the sparkling rivulets water and
entwine as with silver threads. The sheltered
gardens upon which the sunlight falls luxurious
are bounteous as ever they were, and one might
almost expect to see in the shadowy consecrated
places cowled and hooded monks pacing noiselessly,
their eyes intent upon black-letter missals,
or uplifted to behold the magic and splendour of
hill and dale. The winding road has felt the pressure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
of many pilgrims’ feet; at the vesper hour
the weary fervent throng gathered about the
Abbey doors; and through the spacious aisles,
cool and shadowy, or stained with the rich colours
carried by slanting beams through the painted
windows, the holy brothers moved in slow and
solemn procession, their voices subdued in chant,
the air they breathed sweet with incense. Easily
imagined is the hallowed aspect of the lofty
fane when the last rays of the sun shot redly
within, suffused the altar in a crimson haze, and
glowed upon the burnished ornaments and the
carvings of veined marble and whitest stone;
when the darkness gathered hauntingly, and one
by one the tapers were lit, while the people were
hushed and expectant, and the monks bowed
themselves in adoration. Holy relics would show
dimly in their places, rod and crucifix stand out
dark against the walls, the royal tombs be covered
as with a pall, and a mysterious awe descend
upon the worshippers in the temple. Outside the
world would be hushed, even as it is hushed to-day
when the pilgrim stands amid the broken
walls of St. Joseph’s Chapel, or treads the thick
green turf between crumbling vestibule and arch.
Truly Glastonbury was an isle of rest.</p>

<p>King Arthur had fought against the pagan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
horde and “upheld the Christ.” Glastonbury
withstood the heathen, and boasted to the last of
never having fallen into sacrilegious hands. It
was Christian always&mdash;the Church of martyrs like
Indractus, of saints like Cuthbert, Patrick, David,
and Dunstan, and of kings like Ina, Edmund, and
Arthur. The massive walls nobly withstood the
assault of time, and the ruins of to-day are the
work of the iconoclast, due to desecration and
not decay. The remnants are pathetic in their
significance; the scene of mutilated beauty is
mournful beyond expression. Yet the beauty remains,
though it is not the beauty of spirituality
and life, but of the ethereality of death. As we
gaze we are with a bygone age and generation,
and that age seems to imbue our thought and
tinge our reflections. Everywhere may be seen
mementoes; all sounds are like echoes, faint and
far; all sights are dim with haze. Glastonbury
is for retrospection. The air is full of traditions;
its history deals with phantoms and its opening
page is of myths.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img id="IMG254" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:j-cuming-walters-the-lost-land-of-king-arthur-i_254fp.jpg" width="600" height="401" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p>RUINS OF ST. JOSEPH’S CHAPEL, GLASTONBURY</p>

<p class="right">[<i>To face p. 254</i></p></div>
</div>


<p>Take your stand on Wearyall Hill, and brood
awhile upon the surroundings. You thrill to think
that here St. Joseph might have paused; that
here, where lies a stone engraved with J. A., his
withered pilgrim’s staff might have burst into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
bloom. A few young trees are bending to the
wind; down below the old city stretches away
in grey lines, and there are some tumble-down
houses of antique appearance produced by the old
rafters and rough stone of which they are constructed.
Bright and cheerful are many lattice
windows which twinkle out between the heavy
time-scarred mullions wrought long and long ago.
Yonder is Tor Hill, and the great green valley
spreads southward, strewn with trees thickly, and
ending only where the dipping horizon meets it.
The two Glastonbury towers are standing out
boldly, almost as if defiant; the red roofs of the
city cluster below; and, set deeply and immutably
among aged and dark green trees, are the rent
but erect walls of the first Christian Abbey.</p>

<p>Or retrace your steps, and after passing the
Abbey bounds, mount the steep Tor and stand by
the Tower which alone escaped the shattering
force of earthquake. From this summit the view
of the landscape is far and good. Scarcely can
you realise that once the salt waves lapped this
steep eminence, but the sand and shells mixed
and embedded in the soil have graven that event
more legibly than the pen of man could have
inscribed it. It is sunset&mdash;sunset over the Avalonian
isle. The day has been calm and grey, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
the end is to be calm, autumnal, subdued. There
is one long quivering stretch of cardinal in the
west, but elsewhere the sky is wonderfully sombre,
yet exquisitely soft and pearly clear. The furthermost
limit of the vale fast becomes invisible, fading
imperceptibly, apparently merging into the
sky as it becomes a pure deep blue. Here and
there a purple peak of the range of hills running
seaward rises sharply and pierces the thin gauzy
clouds which the wind brings up. The white
road gleams below, wholly deserted, yet fancy
may conjure up spectres gliding at nightfall along
the once hallowed way to the shrine. On this
steep hill, alone, cloud-high, you feel that the
silence is mystical, and wonder if the sleeping city
with its ghosts and traditions is like the fabled
cities of enchanters which rise at night without
foundation and dissolve like mist in the earliest
light of morning.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>

<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2>INDEX</h2>

<div class="ch">
<p class="center">(<i>Mainly of persons and places</i>)</p>
</div>

<ul class="index">

<li class="ifrst">Aberystwyth, relics near, <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>

<li class="indx">Akeman Street, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li>

<li class="indx">Almesbury (Amesbury), <a href="#Page_175">175-80</a></li>

<li class="indx">Alnwick, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ambrosius, <a href="#Page_15">15</a></li>

<li class="indx">Aneurin, his testimony to Arthur, <a href="#Page_9">9</a></li>

<li class="indx">Arderydd, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a></li>

<li class="indx">Arnold, Matthew, quoted, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li>

<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Arthur</span> (Artus, Arcturus), King&mdash;</li>
<li class="isub1">his widespread fame, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">Saxon opponents of, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">an allegorical figure, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">Caxton on his identity, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">bardic chroniclers, <a href="#Page_9">9-18</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">Geoffrey’s history of, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">the elemental hero, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his domain, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46-59</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">Scotch references, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his birth, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his coronation, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his Round Table, <a href="#Page_130">130-58</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">as warrior, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">as national hero, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his battle at Badon, <a href="#Page_155">155-6</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">in Italy, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his marriage, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">at Camelot, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i>;</li>
<li class="isub1">battle at Slaughter Bridge, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his death-wound, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his tomb, <a href="#Page_207">207-9</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">in Avalon, <a href="#Page_238">238-47</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">supposed remains, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li>

<li class="indx">Arviragus, King, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>

<li class="indx">Astolat, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li>

<li class="indx">Aurelius Ambrosius, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li>

<li class="indx">Avalon (Avilion), <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">described <a href="#Page_216">216</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i> <a href="#GLAST"><i>See</i> “Glastonbury”</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Badbury Rings, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li>

<li id="BADON" class="indx">Badon (Mons Badonicus), <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152-6</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bagdemagus, Sir, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li>

<li class="indx">Balin, Sir, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bamborough Castle, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>

<li class="indx">Barham Down, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bath, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li>

<li class="indx">Battles, King Arthur’s, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">the last at Camelford, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200-1</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">with Melvas, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bedivere, Sir, <a href="#Footnote_28_28">205 <i>n.</i></a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li>

<li class="indx">Belenus, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li>

<li class="indx">Blackmore, poet, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>

<li class="indx">Blaise (Bleys), <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>

<li class="indx">Borron, Robert de, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>

<li class="indx">Borrow, George, quoted, <a href="#Footnote_16_16">90 <i>n.</i></a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bors, Sir, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>

<li class="indx">Boscastle, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bossiney, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brecknock, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brécéliande (Broceliand, Brocelinde), forest of, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brittany, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brue, river, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></li>

<li class="indx">Brythons, the, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li>

<li class="indx">Bude, <a href="#Page_101">101-2</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Cadbury Camp, Somerset, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171-2</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cadwalla, <a href="#Page_5">5</a></li>

<li class="indx">Caerleon, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">described, <a href="#Page_113">113-29</a></li>

<li class="indx">Caerwent, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camden, quoted, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camel, river, <a href="#Page_198">198-9</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camelford, <a href="#Page_55">55-7</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>; described, <a href="#Page_194">194</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i></li>

<li class="indx">Cameliard, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46-9</a></li>

<li class="indx">Camelot, described, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i></li>

<li class="indx">Caractacus, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>

<li class="indx">Carbonek, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

<li class="indx">Carew, historian, <a href="#Page_95">95</a></li>

<li class="indx">Carmarthen, Merlin’s Cave at, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li>

<li class="indx">Carobaise, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>

<li class="indx">Castle Denis, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

<li class="indx">Castle-an-Dinas, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cattraeth, battle of, <a href="#Page_9">9-10</a></li>

<li class="indx">Caxton, his testimony to Arthur, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cefn Bryn, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>

<li class="indx">Celts, the, and their influence on history and legend, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cerdic, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li>

<li class="indx">Chalice Hill, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li>

<li class="indx">Clevedon, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li>

<li class="indx">Constantinople, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li>

<li class="indx">Cormac, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></li>

<li class="indx">Craik, Mrs., <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">David, St., <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dawstane, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dinas Emrys, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Footnote_14_14">76 <i>n.</i></a></li>

<li class="indx">Douarnenez, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dozmare Pool, <a href="#Page_211">211-14</a></li>

<li class="indx">Drayton, quoted, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dryden, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dubric (Dubritius), <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dunchine, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li>

<li class="indx">Dunstan, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Ector, Sir, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li>

<li class="indx">Edinburgh, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>

<li class="indx">Edward I, King, at Glastonbury, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li>

<li class="indx">Eildon Hills, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Emerson, quoted, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ettarde, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li>

<li class="indx">Evelake, King, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></li>

<li class="indx">Excalibur, <a href="#Page_211">211</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Freeman, Professor, quoted, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>

<li class="indx">Frere, J. K., quoted, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Gaisnar, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li>

<li class="indx">Galahad, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gawaine, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his character, <a href="#Page_161">161-3</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li>

<li class="indx">Geoffrey of Monmouth, <a href="#Page_18">18-21</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li>

<li class="indx">Geraint, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gibbon, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gildas the historian, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13-16</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>

<li class="indx">Giraldus Cambriensis, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li>

<li id="GLAST" class="indx">Glastonbury, Gildas at, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">history and description of, <a href="#Page_216">216-56</a></li>

<li class="indx">“Gleam, The,” <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li>

<li class="indx">Glennie, Stuart, quoted, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Footnote_14_14">76 <i>n.</i></a></li>

<li class="indx">Goothe, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gorlois, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a></li>

<li class="indx">Grail, the. <a href="#HOLYG"><i>See</i> “Holy Grail”</a></li>

<li class="indx">Gray, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>

<li class="indx">Guenevere (Guinevere, Gwenhwyvar), Queen, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175-82</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li>

<li class="indx">Guest, Lady Charlotte, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a></li>

<li class="indx">Guildford, <a href="#Page_55">55-7</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Henry II, King, at Glastonbury, <a href="#Page_241">241-4</a></li>

<li class="indx">Henry of Bloys, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li>

<li id="HOLYG" class="indx">Holy Grail, the, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">the quest of, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">legend of, <a href="#Page_187">187-93</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>

<li class="indx">Holy Thorn, in Scotland, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">legend of, <a href="#Page_223">223-28</a></li>

<li class="indx">Hueil (Howel), <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Iceland, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ider, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li>

<li class="indx">Igraine, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></li>

<li class="indx">Inis vitrea (Ynyswytryn). <a href="#GLAST"><i>See</i> “Glastonbury”</a></li>

<li class="indx">Iseult (Isoud). <a href="#TRIST"><i>See</i> “Tristram and Iseult”</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Jagent, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

<li class="indx">Joseph of Arimathæa, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">at Glastonbury, <a href="#Page_221">221-33</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">passim</i></li>

<li class="indx">Joyous Gard, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li>

<li class="indx">Julian Way, the, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Kay (Kaye), Sir, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li>

<li class="indx">Knighton’s (Nectan’s) Kieve, St., <a href="#Page_183">183-93</a></li>

<li class="indx">Knights, the, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>; their Round Table, <a href="#Page_131">131</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i>;</li>
<li class="isub1">adventures at Camelot, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">the last, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li>

<li class="indx">Kynon, <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Lancelot, Sir, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>

<li class="indx">Landerneau, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li>

<li class="indx">Land’s End, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

<li class="indx">Layamon, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li>

<li class="indx">Leland, quoted, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li>

<li class="indx">Leodegraunce, King, <a href="#Page_132">132-3</a></li>

<li class="indx">Llanilterne, Guinevere’s tomb at, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li>

<li class="indx">Llywarch Hên, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>

<li class="indx">Logris, <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lonazep, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lot, King, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lowell, J. R., <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lyonnesse, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li>

<li class="indx">Lytton, Lord, quoted, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Footnote_25_25">163 <i>n.</i></a></li>


<li class="ifrst">“Mabinogion,” the, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mackinnon, Dr., quoted, <a href="#Page_13">13</a></li>

<li class="indx">Malory, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a></li>

<li class="indx">Map (Mapes), Walter, <a href="#Page_22">22-5</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mark (Marc’h), King, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li>

<li class="indx">Melvas, King, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li>

<li class="indx">Merlin, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>; his history, <a href="#Page_67">67-71</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">drama of, <a href="#Page_72">72-5</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his doom, <a href="#Page_75">75-8</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his influence, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">his prophecies, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>

<li class="indx">Milton, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></li>

<li class="indx">Moel Arthur, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mons Badonicus. <a href="#BADON"><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">See</i> “Badon”</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mordred, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200-3</a></li>

<li class="indx">Morris, William, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>

<li class="indx">Mount, St. Michael’s, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

<li class="indx">Myrdin Emrys, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Nantanleod, King, <a href="#Page_4">4</a></li>

<li class="indx">Nennius, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>

<li class="indx">Nimuë (Vivien), <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li>

<li class="indx">Norden, on Tintagel, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>

<li class="indx">Nutt, David, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Odin, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li>

<li class="indx">Olaf, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li>

<li class="indx">Orkneys, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Patrick, St., <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pelleas, <a href="#Page_163">163-5</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188-9</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pellinore, King, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pendragon Castle, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">Penrith, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>

<li class="indx">Pen-y-Van, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>

<li class="indx">Percivale (Parzifal, Perceval), <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li>

<li class="indx">“Perilous, Siege,” <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li>

<li class="indx">Petersaint, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Quoits, Arthur’s, <a href="#Page_48">48-9</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Renan, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ritson, Joseph, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rocky Valley, Tintagel, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li>

<li class="indx">Rome, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li>

<li class="indx">Round Table, the, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">history of, <a href="#Page_130">130-58</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">supposed localities, <a href="#Page_141">141</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">et seq.</i>;</li>
<li class="isub1">its symbolism, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li>

<li class="indx">Row Tor, <a href="#Page_213">213</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Sancgreal, the. <a href="#HOLYG"><i>See</i> “Holy Grail”</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sandwich, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sarras, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li>

<li class="indx">Scilly, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li>

<li class="indx">Scott, Sir Walter, quoted, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a></li>

<li class="indx">Shalott, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></li>

<li class="indx">Silchester, <a href="#Footnote_18_18">116 <i>n.</i></a></li>

<li class="indx">Silures, the, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li>

<li class="indx">Slaughter Bridge, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>

<li class="indx">Snowdon, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li>

<li class="indx">Sommer, Dr., <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li>

<li class="indx">Southey, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li>

<li class="indx">Souvestre, Emile, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Spenser, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li>

<li class="indx">Steep Holm, <a href="#Page_14">14</a></li>

<li class="indx">Stephen’s, St. (Steven’s), Camelot, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>

<li class="indx">Stonehenge, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li>

<li class="indx">Stow’s <cite>Chronicle</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>

<li class="indx">Strachey, Sir E., quoted, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></li>

<li class="indx">Surluse (Surluce), <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>

<li class="indx">Swinburne, quoted, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Talhairan, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>

<li class="indx">Taliesin, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ten Brink, quoted, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tennyson, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">at Caerleon, <a href="#Page_126">126-28</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">description of Camelot, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">on Guinevere, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">the Grail legend, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">on Mordred, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li>

<li class="indx">Terabyl, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li>

<li class="indx">Thierry, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>

<li class="indx">Thomas the Rhymer, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tintagel, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li>
<li class="isub1">described, <a href="#Page_88">88-111</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">passim</i></li>

<li class="indx">Tor, the Glastonbury, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a></li>

<li id="TRIST" class="indx">Tristram and Iseult, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103-6</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>

<li class="indx">Tweed, the, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Urien, <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>

<li class="indx">Usk, river, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li>

<li class="indx">Uther (Uter), King, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a></li>

<li class="indx">Uwaine, Sir, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Veitch, professor, <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li>

<li class="indx">Vellan, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

<li class="indx">Vivien, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>

<li class="indx">Vortigern, <a href="#Footnote_12_12">63 <i>n.</i></a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li>


<li class="ifrst">Wace, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wagner, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></li>

<li class="indx">Warton, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li>

<li class="indx">Waste Lands, the, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

<li class="indx">Weary All (Wirral, Worall) Hill, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wedmore, palace at, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wells Abbey, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wigan, battle at, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>

<li class="indx">William of Newburgh, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li>

<li class="indx">Winchester, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139-41</a> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">passim</i></li>

<li class="indx">Wodensbury, battle at, <a href="#Page_5">5</a></li>

<li class="indx">Wolfram von Ezchenbach, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li>

<li class="ifrst">Ynyswytryn. <a href="#GLAST"><i>See</i> “Glastonbury”</a></li>
</ul>

<hr class="chap" />

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<div class="chapter"> </div>


<h2>NOTES</h2>


<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Aneurin was born about the year 500, and as “a
monarch of bards” was of much repute in Manan Gododin,
a part of Cymric Scotland. The Welsh Britons included
all the Lowlands in their territory, and, as is well known,
the names familiar in Arthurian romance can be traced to
Scotland, the West of England, and France alike, as will
afterwards be shown in these pages. Aneurin’s nationality,
however, is particularly well worth recalling in view
of the theory that Arthur was Scotch.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> A Badon in Linlithgowshire is the reputed site.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Take, for instance, the song in which he expresses the
wish to die while drinking in a tavern,&mdash;“Meum est propositum
in taberna mori.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> William Caxton, “simple person,” as he styled himself,
urged that he undertook the work at the request of
“divers gentlemen of this realm of England.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> It is interesting and somewhat amusing to note the
lament of Charles Waterton, author of <cite>Wanderings in
South America</cite>, who thought England as a field for knightly
adventure had degenerated. “England has long ceased to
be the land of adventures,” said he. “Indeed, when good
King Arthur reappears to claim his crown he will find
things strangely altered here.... It is certain that when
he reigned here all was harmony and joy. The browsing
herds passed from vale to vale, the swains sang from the
bluebell-teeming groves, and nymphs, with eglantine and
roses in their neatly braided hair, went hand in hand to the
flowery meads to weave garlands for their lambkins. If by
chance some rude uncivil fellow dared to molest them, or
attempted to throw thorns in their path, there was sure to
be a knight-errant not far off ready to rush forward in
their defence. But alas, in these degenerate days it is not
so. Shall a harmless cottage-maid wander out of the highway
to pluck a primrose or two in the neighbouring field,
the haughty owner sternly bids her retire; and if a pitying
swain hasten to escort her back, he is perhaps seized by
the gaunt house-dog ere he reach her.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> By some Lyonnesse is identified with Léonnois in Brittany,
but as Mr. Aldis Wright has pointed out, the continuous
references in the romance to “riding” from
Lyonnesse to other parts of Cornwall shows that Lyonnesse
and Cornwall were on the same land.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> A. J. C. Hare’s <cite>North-Western France</cite>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> “Il est donc constant que la chevalerie prit naissance
en Bretagne,” says Emile Souvestre, “et y brilla de tout
son éclat; que les premiers poémes chevaleresques furent
écrits en langue celtique. Les monuments, les traditions,
<em>les noms</em>, les indications des plus anciens auteurs s’accordent
pour faire de la Bretagne la patrie de tout ce monde
chevaleresque et féerique dont, plus tard, le Tasse et
l’Arioste tirèrent tant de parti.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Bamborough Castle, says Professor Burrows, was the
centre of the Kingdom of Bryneck, or Bernicia. “In founding
it the Angles encountered a determined opposition at
the hands of a British chief named Arthur. Whether he is
the same as the Arthur of South-Western Britain, or
whether the exploits of one have been transferred by legend
to the other, is still under dispute.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> According to Villemarqué the name of Lancelot is a
translation of that of the Welsh hero Maël, who exhibits the
fullest analogy with the Lancelot of the French romances.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> “Arthur’s seat” may be but an adaptation of the
Gaelic Ard-na-said, or “the height of the arrows.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Arthur’s career has been thus conveniently summarised:
“At the age of fifteen he succeeded his father as King of
Damnonium. He was born in 452, had three wives, of
whom Guinevere was the second, and was betrayed by the
third during his absence in Armorica. Mordred concluded
a league with Arthur’s great foe, Cedric the Saxon; and at
the age of ninety, after seven years’ continual war, the
famous king was defeated at Camelford in 543.” Fuller
compares him to Hercules in (1) his illegitimate birth, (2) his
arduous life, and (3) his twelve battles. Joseph Ritson,
whose antiquarian researches are noted for their fullness
and originality, came to the conclusion that though there
were “fable and fabrication” in the hero, a real Arthur
lies behind the legendary hero. He appeared when the
affairs of the Britons were at their worst after Vortigern’s
death, checked the ravages of the Romans, and kept the
pillaging Saxons at bay. Professor Montagu Burrows, in
his commentaries on the history of England, argues that
the Cymry of Arthur’s time were a band of Romano-Britons
who produced leaders like Cunedda to take command of the
native forces left by the departing Romans. They remained
more British than Gaelic, but were gradually driven,
with their faces to the foe, into Wales and the Welsh
borderland. “The Arthurian legends,” he continues, “embody
a whole world of facts which have been lost to history
in the lapse of time, and form a poetry far from wholly
fictitious.” Renan declares that few heroes owe less to
reality than Arthur. “Neither Gildas nor Aneurin, his
contemporaries, speaks of him; Bede did not know his
name; Taliesin and Llwarc’h Hên gave him only a secondary
place. In Nennius, on the other hand, who lived about
850, the legend has been fully unfolded. Arthur is already
the exterminator of the Saxons; he has never experienced
defeat; he is the suzerain of an army of kings. Finally,
in Geoffrey of Monmouth, the epic creation culminates.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Ashmole, in his <cite>History of the Order of the Garter</cite>, declares
that, in addition to the dragon, King Arthur placed
the picture of St. George on his banner.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Mr. Glennie thinks the scene is in Carnarvonshire, to
the south of Snowdon, overlooking the lower end of Llyn y
Dinas. Here is Dinas Emrys, a singular isolated rock,
clothed on all sides with wood, containing on the summit
some faint remains of a building defended by ramparts. It
was of this place Drayton wrote&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“And from the top of Brith, so high and wondrous steep</div>
<div class="verse">Where Dinas Emris stood, showed where the serpents fought,</div>
<div class="verse">The White that tore the Red; from whence the prophet wrought</div>
<div class="verse">The Briton’s sad decay then shortly to ensue.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">On the south of Carnarvon Bay is Nant Gwrtheryn, the
Hollow of Vortigern, a precipitous ravine by the sea, said
to be the last resting-place of the usurper, when he fled to
escape the rage of his subjects on finding themselves
betrayed to the Saxons.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> The Cornish language was spoken until 1768. In that
year Daines Barrington met the old fish-wife Dolly Pentreath,
whose name has become memorable as that of the
last person to speak Cornish. The last sermon in Cornish
was preached in 1678 in Landewednack Church. The
slackening of the Saxon advance at the Tamar enabled the
Cornish to preserve their tongue, closely allied to that of
Wales and Brittany, and described as “naughty Englysshe”
in the reign of the eighth Henry.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The following curious little item from R. Hunt’s volume
ought not to be lost sight of:&mdash;“I shall offer a conjecture,
touching the name of Tintagel, which I will not say is
right but only probable. <i>Tin</i> is the same as <i>Din</i>, <i>Dinas</i>,
and <i>Dixeth</i>, deceit; so that Tindixel, turned for easier pronunciation
to Tintagel, Dundagel, etc., signifies Castle of
Deceit, which name might be aptly given to it from the
famous deceit practised here by Uther Pendragon by the help
of Merlin’s enchantment.” George Borrow says: “Tintagel
does not mean the Castle of Guile, but the house in the
gill of the hill, a term admirably descriptive” (<cite>Wild Wales</cite>,
cap. cvii.).</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> It is difficult to understand how a writer like the
late Mrs. Craik could ever have fallen into this error. In
her <cite>Unsentimental Journey through Cornwall</cite> she makes
every effort to prove that the building on the mainland was
the castle of Terabyl, and she insists that there were (and
are) two castles at Tintagel. “One sits in the sea, and the
other is upon the opposite heights of the mainland, with
communication by a narrow causeway. This seems to
confirm the legend, how Igraine’s husband shut himself and
his wife in two castles, he being slain in the one, and she
married to the victorious king Uther in the other.” It is
obvious that the writer of these lines was unacquainted
with Malory.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Silchester, originally a Celtic fortress, and a city of the
size of London, is also reported to have been the scene of
Arthur’s coronation at the age of fifteen by Dubritius.
Modern excavations have proved the importance of the city
as a great centre of life and industry, in Roman and British
times, with its Forum, Basilica, and rows of shops and
houses; and if the <i>Calleva Attrebatum</i> were really Arthur’s
crowning place, its fitness and worth for so imposing an
event cannot be disputed. Although Silchester is not directly
referred to in the Romances, Arthur’s Hampshire connections
are numerous. They centre in Winchester, where his
predecessor and foster-father, Ambrosius Aurelianus, died in
the year 508. It was at Silchester also that the chief men
of the provinces met after Uther Pendragon’s death and
petitioned Dubritius, Archbishop of Caerleon, to consecrate
Arthur the successor to the dead king.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Of this wooden bridge G. W. Manby in his <cite>Guide</cite>
(published 1802) gives an illustration, and says: “As
numerous coins have been found where the piles of the
bridge are now placed, there is no doubt of its being the
original pass. To a person unaccustomed to such a bridge,
the rattling noise whenever any weight is going over
naturally occasions some apprehensions.... The accounts
of the tide rising so high as to cover the bridge are erroneous;
it never has been known yet; but that assertion has
given rise to the idea of the bridge being purposely loose to
prevent its being carried away in such cases. The amazing
floods to which the river is subject would render it not surprising
if accidents did happen.” Tennyson, who obtained
from the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">genius loci</i> both inspiration and enlightment, refers
in <cite>Geraint and Enid</cite> to the rapidity of the turn of the tidal
waters of the Usk:&mdash;
</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i4">“Scarce longer time</div>
<div class="verse">Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk,</div>
<div class="verse">Before the time to fall seaward again,</div>
<div class="verse">Pauses.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>Modern Caerleon, however, with its commonplace railway
station, its porters shouting “Car&mdash;lion,” its new
bridge, its spoilt Norman church, and its street of small
dwelling-houses, is likely at first to disappoint the pilgrim,
who only by searching and waiting can hope to find the
links with the city’s historic past.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Frere’s poem was caustic, but it had a certain value in
showing the unromantic side of Arthurian times. The
following verses, than which far less delicate ones could be
found in the poem, may be taken as a specimen:&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ic">“And certainly they say, for fine behaving</div>
<div class="verse i2">King Arthur’s Court has never had its match;</div>
<div class="verse">True point of honour, without pride or braving,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Strict etiquette for ever on the watch;</div>
<div class="verse">There manners were refined and perfect&mdash;saving</div>
<div class="verse i2">Some modern graces which they could not catch,</div>
<div class="verse">As spitting through the teeth, and driving stages,</div>
<div class="verse">Accomplishments reserved for distant ages.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">They looked a manly, generous generation;</div>
<div class="verse i2">Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad, and square, and thick;</div>
<div class="verse">Their accents firm and loud in conversation,</div>
<div class="verse i2">Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick,</div>
<div class="verse">Showed them prepared on proper provocation,</div>
<div class="verse i2">To give the lie, pull noses, stab, and kick;</div>
<div class="verse">And for that very reason it is said,</div>
<div class="verse">They were so very courteous and well bred.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p class="uni">When we come to consider probabilities, aided by such unsparing
lines as these, we may even accept as truth the old
folk-song which tells that when King Arthur ruled the land
he “ruled it like a swine.” The American poet, the late
Mr. Eugene Field, in his “Lay of Camelot,” has also shown
the humorous aspect of the Arthurian Court. While all
this may be legitimate enough, and provide opportunities
for the wit of the authors, it is not the aspect which we
prefer to contemplate for any length of time, or one which
has any continuous pleasure for the mind.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> The names of, and the leading incidents in, the twelve
“glorious wars,” are enumerated with accuracy by Tennyson
in <cite>Lancelot and Elaine</cite>, the recital coming from Lancelot’s
lips, and having for its purpose the proof that at the
time “there lived no greater leader.” Joseph Ritson’s
curious little volume on King Arthur likewise treats this
subject fully.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Gildas Badonicus, as we have seen in the first chapter,
is also a reputed native of Bath.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Mr. E. W. B. Nicholson, in the <cite>Academy</cite> (1896),
advanced a number of very strong and learned arguments
in favour of the original idea that Mons Badonicus was
Bath.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Sandwich is mentioned several times in the romance,
but the references are unimportant. Ancient as the place is,
there is no reason to connect it with British occupation. At
the time the chronicles were written, however, it was too
important a seaport to escape mention.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Lytton, agreeing with Southey that Gawaine’s character
suffered at the caprice of the poets and that he was “shamefully
calumniated,” speaks of</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i3">“Frank Gawaine,</div>
<div class="verse">Whom mirth for ever, like a fairy child,</div>
<div class="verse">Lock’d from the cares of life.”</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>William Morris, in <cite>The Defence of Guenevere</cite>, makes Gawaine
the accuser of the queen, and he is denounced for treachery.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> As a matter of history it is worth noting that Winchester,
in Hampshire, passed to the Saxons in the year
515, after which time Cardic held it. King Arthur was then
only twenty-three years old, and could not have extended his
territory as far as Hampshire.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> “Compare Guinevere or Iseult with those Scandinavian
furies Gudrun and Chrimhilde, and you will avow that
woman such as chivalry conceived her, an ideal of sweetness
and loveliness set up as the supreme end of life, is a
creation in reality Celtic.”&mdash;<i>Renan.</i></p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> The ancient ballad, discovered, annotated, and to a
slight extent supplemented, by Dr. Percy, follows very exactly
the story of Arthur’s last days as given in the romances
except that it ascribes to Sir Lucan the acts usually credited
to Sir Bedivere. Not a detail is omitted, not a point is
missed. On the morning of Trinity Monday the ghost of
Sir Gawaine is said to have appeared to the king and
warned him not to fight if he prized his life, but to wait
until Sir Lancelot returned from France. The parley which
followed between Arthur and Mordred is next described, but
just as a month’s league had been decided upon the adder’s
sting brought about the “woeful chance As ever was in
Christentie.” When the wounded knight drew his sword
the two hosts immediately “joined battayle,” and fought
until only three men were left alive.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> It is interesting to compare Tennyson’s lines with Longfellow’s
in <cite>The Spanish Student</cite>, the similarity of phrasing
being so marked. Victorian, the student, observes that
it is in vain he throws unto oblivion’s sea the sword [of
love] that pierces him&mdash;</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i6">“For like Excalibur,</div>
<div class="verse">With gemmed and flashing hilt it will not sink.</div>
<div class="verse">There rises from below a hand that grasps it,</div>
<div class="verse">And waves it in the air: and wailing voices</div>
<div class="verse">Are heard along the shore.”</div>
</div></div></div>
</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Glastonbury occupies a former site of Druidical worship,
and Professor Rhys believes the name to be a corruption
of the British word <i>glasten</i>, an oak, the Druids
cultivating both the oak and the apple as foster parents of
their sacred mistletoe. Glestenaburh, says Canon Taylor,
was assimilated by the Saxons to their gentile form Glestinga-burh
or Glæsting-burh, which being supposed by a
false etymology to mean the “shining” or “glassy” town
was mistranslated by the Welsh as Ynys-Widrin, the Island
of Glass.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> William Morris slightly varied the story in his <cite>King
Arthur’s Tomb</cite>, when he represents Lancelot journeying
to “where the Glastonbury glided towers shine” and
relates that</p>

<div class="pcont"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse i7">“Presently</div>
<div class="verse i2">He rode on giddy still, until he reach’d</div>
<div class="verse">A place of apple-trees, by the Thorn-Tree</div>
<div class="verse i2">Wherefrom St. Joseph in the past days preach’d.”</div>
</div></div></div>
</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> The Holy Grail is pointed out in particular at Genoa
Cathedral. “It was brought from Cæsarea in 1101, is a
hexagonal dish of two palms’ width, and was long supposed
to be of real emerald, which it resembles in colour
and brilliancy.”</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Some historians, perhaps with better reason, declare
that he was born in 405 at Kilpatrick, Dumbarton, a little
town at the junction of the Levin and Clyde. He is
variously reported to have died in 493 and 507, some placing
his age at 88, and others at 120.</p></div>
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