Whan syr Arthur wyst that syre Gawayne was layd so lowe he went vnto hym, and there the kyng made sorowe oute of mesure, and took sire Gawayne in his armes, and thryes[22] he there swouned. And thenne whan he awaked, he sayd, allas Sir Gawayne my sisters sone, here now thou lyggest[23], the man in the world that I loued moost, and now is my joye gone, for now my neuewe syre Gawayne I will discouer me vnto your persone, in syr Launcelot & you I had moost my joye and myn affyaunce, & now haue I lost my joye of you bothe, wherefor all myn erthely joye is gone from me.[24]
We turn from the death of Sir Gawaine only to witness the mortal blow dealt to King Arthur; to see his famous sword Excalibur, which he had borne so nobly and so long, returned to the Lady of the Lake; and the almost lifeless body of the great king carried away over the water by the fairy queens, disappearing at last beneath the horizon. Guenever would seen to have deserved a harder fate than simply to retire to a nunnery of which she is made the abbess. Sir Launcelot dies a holy man and a monk, saying masses for the souls of his old companions in arms. With his death the old glory of the Round Table passes away forever.
And whan syr Ector herd suche noyse & lyghte in the quyre of joyous Garde, he alyghted and put his hors from hym, and came in to the quyre, & there he sawe men synge the seruyse full lamentably. And alle they knewe syre Ector, but he knewe not them. Thenne went syr Bors to syr Ector, & tolde him how there laye hys broder syr Launcelot dede, and then syr Ector threwe his shelde, hys swerde & helme from hym. And whan he behelde syr Launcelot's vysage, he felle donne in a sowne. And when he awakyd it were harde for any tonge to telle the doleful complayntes that he made for his broder. A, syr Launcelot, he sayd, thou were head of all Crysten knyztes, and now I dare saye, sayd syr Ector, thou syr Launcelot, ther thou lyest, that thou were neuer matched of none erthely knyghtes handes. And thou were the curtoyste knyghte that ever bare shelde. And thou were the truest frend to thy louer that euer bestradde hors, & thou were the truest louer of a synfull man that euer loued woman. And thou were the kyndest man that euer stroke wyth swerde. And thou were the goodelyest persone that euer came among prees of knyghtes. And thou were the mekest man & the gentylest that euer ete in halle amonge ladyes. And thou were the sternest knyghte to thy mortall foo that euer put spere in the reyst. Thenne there was wepyng & dolour oute of mesure.[25]
The literary form of the "Morte d'Arthur" admits of description rather than of criticism. A noble and forcible simplicity of expression pervades the old Norman French in which the romances of chivalry were first written, which is well reflected in the English of Sir Thomas Malory. Of plot there is none. The same vagueness pervades the course of the narrative, which is characteristic of the historical groundwork, the geography, and the time of action. Most of the incidents depend on chance. Life in the Middle Ages was a very serious affair, and in the romances there was almost no attempt at wit or humor. In the "Morte d'Arthur," perhaps the only passage which might have raised a laugh among the early readers of the romance, is that in which King Arthur's fool Dagonet is clad in Sir Mordred's armor, and in that disguise is made to chase before him the coward King Mark. The authors of the romances of chivalry never attempted delineation of character. Their heroes are good knights or bad knights, and in either case possess only the particular qualities which would place them in one of these categories. The female characters are still more slightly drawn, and show no distinct attributes except beauty and a capacity to love.
In laying down the "Morte d'Arthur," and bidding farewell to the Middle Ages with their heroes of chivalry, we come to the end of a most picturesque period of English history,—a period marked by lights and shadows, rather than by distinct forms. There was ferocity, and there was courtesy; there was brilliant show and rude coarseness; there were scenes of blood and scenes of noble chivalry. In the next chapter we shall notice the tendencies which were at work to replace this state of society by a better. But to the Middle Ages will always be traced much that is distinctive of English character, and in the history of fiction we may fairly allow to the knights of romance the legendary charm and fascination which hang about their bright helmets in the long vista of departed years.
[13] Hair.
[14] "Morte d'Arthur." Southey's reprint from Caxton's ed., 1485, chaps. xix and xx. book 4.
[15] "Morte d'Arthur," book 10, chap. xxxix.
[16] Southey's "Morte d'Arthur," vol. 2, p. 11.
[17] "Morte d'Arthur," book 4, chap. ix.
[18] Hit, cut.
[19] Cut not steel.
[20] "Morte d'Arthur," book 6, ch. x.
[21] "Morte d'Arthur," book 8, ch. i.
[22] Thrice.
[23] Liest.
[24] "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. ii.
[25] "Morte d'Arthur," book 22, chap. xiii.
CHAPTER II.
CHAUCER. POPULAR TALES. MORE'S "UTOPIA."
In the history of English intellectual development between the vague ignorance of the Middle Ages and the new growth of learning in the sixteenth century, stands the great figure of Chaucer. The first English writer possessing dramatic power, he is the first also to unite with the art of story-telling, the delineation and study of human character. In his translation of the "Romaunt of the Rose" he belongs to the Middle Ages,—a period of uncontrolled imagination, of unsubstantial creations, of external appearances copied without reflection. In his "Canterbury Tales" he belongs to the present,—when Reason asserts her authority, gives the stamp of individual reality to the characters of fiction, and studies the man himself behind his outward and visible form.