But the aversion to this world takes a stronger form in the Queste, and one which is the vital conception of the work, in the insistence upon the need for physical chastity. To rightly understand the author’s position we must glance at the state of manners revealed by the romances, and in especial at the sex-relations as they were conceived of by the most refined and civilised men and women of the day. The French romances are, as a rule, too entirely narrative to enable a clear realisation of what these were. Wolfram, with his keener and more sympathetic eye for individual character—Wolfram, who loves to analyse the sentiments and to depict the outward manifestations of feeling of his personages—is our best guide here. The manners and customs of the day can be found in the French romances; the feelings which underlie them must be sought for in the German poet.
The marked feature of the sex-relations in the days of chivalry was the institution of minnedienst (love-service). The knight bound himself to serve a particular lady, matron or maid. To approve himself brave, hardy, daring, patient, and discreet was his part of the bargain, and when fulfilled the lady must fulfil hers and pay her servant. The relation must not for one moment be looked upon as platonic; the last favours were in every case exacted, or rather were freely granted, as the lady, whether maid or wedded wife, thought it no wrong thus to reward her knight. It would have been “bad form” to deny payment when the service had been rendered, and the offender guilty of such conduct would have been scouted by her fellow-women as well as by all men. Nothing is more instructive in this connection than the delightfully told episode of Gawain and Orgueilleuse. The latter is unwedded, a great and noble lady, but she has already had several favoured lovers, as indeed she frankly tells Gawain. He proffers his service, which she hardly accepts, but heaps upon him all manner of indignity and insult, which he bears with the patient and resourceful courtesy, his characteristic in mediæval romance. Whilst the time of probation lasts, no harsh word, no impatient gesture, escapes him. But when he has accomplished the feat of the Ford Perillous he feels that he has done enough, and taking his lady-love to task he lectures her, as a grave middle-aged man might some headstrong girl, upon the duties of a well-bred woman and upon the wrong she has done knighthood in his person. To point the moral he winds up, at mid-day in the open forest, with a proposition which the repentant scornful one can only parry by the naïve remark, “Seldom she had found it warm in the embrace of a mail-clad arm.” Not only was it the lady’s duty to yield after a proper delay, but at times she might even make the first advances and be none the worse thought of. Blanchefleur comes to Perceval’s bed with scarce an apology.[150] Orgueilleuse, overcome with admiration at the Red Knight’s prowess, offers him her love. True, she has doubts as to the propriety of her conduct, but when she submits them to Gawain, the favoured lover for the time being, he unhesitatingly approves her—Perceval’s fame was such that had he accepted her proffered love she could have suffered naught in honour.
Customs such as these, and a state of feelings such as they imply, are so remote from us, that it is difficult to realise them, particularly in view of the many false statements respecting the nature of chivalrous love which have obtained currency. But we must bear in mind that the age was pre-eminently one of individual prowess. The warlike virtues were all in all. That a man should be brave, hardy, and skilful in the use of his weapons was the essential in a time when the single hero was almost of as much account as in the days of Achilles, Siegfried, or Cuchullain. That minnedienst tended to this end, as did other institutions of the day which we find equally blamable, is its historical excuse. Even then many felt its evils and perceived its anti-social character. Some, too, there were who saw how deeply it degraded the ideal of love.
A protest against this morality was indeed desirable. Such a one the Queste does supply. But it is not enough to protest in a matter so profoundly affecting mankind as the moral ideas which govern the sex-relations. Not only must the protest be made in a right spirit, and on the right lines, but a truer and loftier ideal must be set up in place of the one attacked. In how far the Queste fulfils these conditions we shall see. Meanwhile, as a sample of the feelings with which many Englishmen have regarded it, and as an attempt to explain its historical and ethical raison d’être, I cannot do better than quote Mr. Furnivall’s enthusiastic words: “What is the lesson of it all? Is the example of Galahad and his unwavering pursuit of the highest spiritual object set before him, nothing to us? Is that of Perceval, pure and tempted, on the point of yielding, yet saved by the sight of the symbol of his Faith, to be of no avail to us? Is the tale of Bohors, who has once sinned, but by a faithful life ... at last tasting spiritual food, and returning to devote his days to God and Good—is this no lesson to us?... On another point, too, this whole Arthur story may teach us. Monkish, to some extent, the exaltation of bodily chastity above almost every other earthly virtue is; but the feeling is a true one; it is founded on a deep reverence for woman, which is the most refining and one of the noblest sentiments of man’s nature, one which no man can break through without suffering harm to his spiritual life.”
It would be hard to find a more striking instance of how the “editorial idol” may override perception and judgment. He who draws such lofty and noble teachings from the Queste del Saint Graal, must first bring them himself. He must read modern religion, modern morality into the mediæval allegory, and on one point he must entirely falsify the mediæval conception. Whether this is desirable is a question we can have no hesitation in deciding negatively. It is better to find out what the author really meant than to interpret his symbolism in our own fashion.
The author of the Queste places the object and conditions of his mystic quest wholly outside the sphere of human action or interest; in a similar spirit he insists, as an indispensable requirement in the successful quester, upon a qualification necessarily denied to the vast majority of mankind. His work is a glorification of physical chastity. “Blessed are the pure—in body—for they shall inherit the Kingdom of Heaven,” is the text upon which he preaches. In such a case everything depends upon the spirit of the preacher, and good intent is not enough to win praise. His conception, says Mr. Furnivall, is founded upon a deep reverence for woman. This is, indeed, such a precious thing that had the mediæval ascetic really felt it we could have forgiven the stupidity which ignores all that constitutes the special dignity and pathos of womanhood. But he felt nothing of the kind. Woman is for him the means whereby sin came into the world, the arch stumbling-block, the tool the devil finds readiest to his hands when he would overcome man. Only in favour of the Virgin Mother, and of those who like her are vowed to mystical maidenhood, does the author pardon woman at all. One single instance will suffice to characterize the mediæval standpoint. When the Quest of the Holy Grail was first proclaimed in Arthur’s Court there was great commotion, and the ladies would fain have joined therein, “car cascune dame ou damoiselle (qui) fust espousée ou amie, dist à son chiualer qu’ele yroit od lui en la queste.” But a hermit comes forward to forbid this; “No dame or damsel is to accompany her knight lest he fall into deadly sin.” Wife or leman, it was all one for the author of the Queste; woman could not but be an occasion for deadly sin, and the sin, though in the one case less in degree (and even this is uncertain), was the same in kind. Fully one-half of the romance is one long exemplification of the essential vileness of the sex-relation, worked out with the minute and ingenious nastiness of a Jesuit moral theologian. The author was of his time; it was natural he should think and write as he did, and it would be uncritical to blame him for his degrading view of womanhood or for his narrow and sickly view of life. But when we are bidden to seek example of him, it is well to state the facts as they are.[151]
If his transformation of the story has been rudely effected without regard to its inherent possibilities, if the spirit of his ideal proves to be miserably ascetic and narrow, what then remains to the Queste, and how may we account for its popularity in its own day, and for the abiding influence which its version of the legend has exercised over posterity. Its literary qualities are at times great; certain scenes, especially such as set forth the sacramental nature of the Grail, are touched with a mystical fervour which haunts the imagination. It has given some of the most picturesque features to this most picturesque of legends. But I see in the idea of the mystic quest proclaimed to and shared in by the whole Table Round the real secret of the writer’s success. This has struck the imagination of so many generations and given the Queste an undeserved fame. In truth the conception of Arthur’s court, laying aside ordinary cares and joys, given wholly up to one overmastering spiritual aim, is a noble one. It is, I think, only in a slight degree the outcome of definite thought and intent but was dictated to the writer by the form into which he had recast the story. Galahad had supplanted Perceval, but the latter could not be suppressed entirely. The achievement of the quest involved the passing away out of this world of the chief heroes, hence a third less perfect one is joined to them to bring back tidings to earth of the marvels he had witnessed. Lancelot, to whom are assigned so many of Perceval’s adventures, cannot be denied a share in the quest; it is the same with Gawain, whose character in the older romance fits him, moreover, excellently for the rôle of “dreadful example.” By this time the Arthurian legend was fully grown, and the mention of these Knights called up the names of others with whom they were invariably connected by the romance writers. Well nigh every hero of importance was thus drawn into the magic circle, and the mystic Quest assumed, almost inevitably, the shape it did.
This conception, to which, if I am right, the author of the Queste was led half unconsciously, seems to us the most admirable thing in his work. It was, however, his ideal of virginity which struck the idea of his contemporaries, and which left its mark upon after versions. An age with such a gross ideal of love may have needed an equally gross ideal of purity. Physical chastity plays henceforth the leading part in the moral development of the cycle. With Robert de Borron it is the sin of the flesh which brings down upon the Grail host the wrath of Heaven, and necessitates the display of the Grail’s wondrous power. Here may be noted the struggle of the new conception with the older form of the story. Alain, the virgin knight, would rather be flayed than marry, and yet he does marry in obedience to the original model. Robert is consistent in all that relates to the symbolism of the Grail, but in other respects, as we have already seen, he is easily thrown off his guard. In the Didot-Perceval, written as a sequel to Robert’s poem, the same struggle between old and new continues, and the reconciling spirit goes to work in naïve and unskilful style. The incidents of the Conte du Graal are kept, although they accord but ill with the hero’s ascetic spirit. In the portion of the Conte du Graal itself which goes under Manessier’s name, along with adventures taken direct from Chrestien’s model, and far less Christianised than in the earlier poet’s work, many occur which are simply transferred from the Queste. No attempt is made at reconciling these jarring elements, and the effect of the contrast is at times almost comic. In two of the later romances of the cycle the fusion has been more complete, and the result is, in consequence, more interesting. The prose Perceval le Gallois keeps the original hero of the Quest as far as name and kinship are concerned, but it gives him the aggressive virginity and the proselytising zeal of Galahad. Gerbert’s finish to the Conte du Graal is, perhaps, the strangest outcome of the double set of influences to which the later writers were exposed. Without doubt his model differed from the version used by Gautier and Manessier. It is more Celtic in tone, and is curiously akin to the hypothetical lost source of Wolfram von Eschenbach. The hero’s absence from his lady-love is insisted upon, and the need of returning to her before he can find peace. The genuineness of this feature admits of little doubt. Many folk-tales tell of the severance of lover and beloved, and of their toilful wanderings until they meet again; such a tale easily lends itself to the idea that separation is caused by guilt, and that, whilst severed, one or other lover must suffer misfortune. Often, as in the case of Diarmaid and the Daughter of King Under the Waves (supra, [p. 194]), definite mention is made of the guilt, as a rule an infringed taboo. Such an incident could scarcely fail to assume the ethical shape Gerbert has given it. Thus he had only to listen to his model, to take his incidents as he found them, and he had the matter for a moral conception wholly in harmony with them. The chastity ideal has been too strong for him. His lovers do come together, but only to exemplify the virtue of continence in the repulsive story of their bridal night. After Gerbert the cycle lengthens, but does not develop. The Queste retains its supremacy, and through Malory its dominant conception entered deeply into the consciousness of the English race.
How far the author of the Queste must be credited with the new ideal he brought into the legend is worth enquiry. Like so much else therein, it may have its roots in the folk and hero tales which underlie the romances. The Castle of Talismans visited by Perceval is the Land of Shades. In popular tradition the incident takes the form of entry into the hollow hill-side where the fairy king holds his court and hoards untold riches. Poverty and simplicity are the frequent qualifications of the successful quester; oftener still some mystic birthright, the being a Sunday’s child for instance, or a seventh son; or again freedom from sin is required, and, perhaps, most frequently maidenhood.[152] The stress which so many peoples lay upon virginity in the holy prophetic maidens, who can transport themselves into the otherworld and bring thence the commands of the god, may be noted in the same connection. No Celtic tale I have examined with a view to throwing light upon the Grail romances insists upon this idea, but some version, now lost, may possibly have done so. Celtic tradition gave the romance writers of the Middle Ages material and form for the picture of human love; it may also have given them a hint of the opposing ideal of chastity.[153]
All this time it should be noted that no real progress is made in the symbolical machinery of the legend. The Holy Grail becomes superlatively sacrosanct, but it retains its pristine pagan essence, even in the only version, the Grand St. Graal, which knew of Borron and of his mystical conception.