THE PASSING OF KING ARTHUR.
Whether there ever was a real King Arthur, or whether he lived only in the imagination of story-tellers and song writers, no one can tell. This much is true, however, that the history of his exploits and those of his Knights of the Round Table has existed in poetry and song for now almost a thousand years.
Long before there were any English books worth speaking of, the story of King Arthur was sung and recited by wandering bards to delighted listeners in the halls and castles of Old England. In the course of time it was written down in poetry and in prose; it was turned into French, and from the French back into English again; other stories were added to it, and it became the most popular romance ever composed. In 1470, a knight whose name was Sir Thomas Malory made a version of it in what was then good English prose, taking it, as he said, “out of a certain book of French.” This version has ever since been the one book to which all who would know the story of King Arthur have turned; it is the mine from which later writers have derived materials for their works. It is written in a style which, although old-fashioned and quaint, is wonderfully simple and beautiful.
One of the most touching passages in the story is that which tells how King Arthur, having fought his last battle, lay wounded upon the ground; and how, being deserted by all the knights except Sir Bedivere, he waited for the coming of fairy messengers to bear him away to the island valley of Avilion. Here is the passage, not in the exact words of Sir Thomas Malory, but repeated, somewhat after his manner, in words of modern usage.
“My hour is near at hand,” said the king to Sir Bedivere. “Therefore, take thou my good sword Excalibur, and go with it to yonder water side; and when thou comest there, I charge thee throw it in that water, and then come and tell me what thou hast seen.”
“My lord,” said Sir Bedivere, “your bidding shall be done, and I will come quickly and bring you word.”
So Sir Bedivere departed, and as he went he looked at that noble sword, and saw that the hilt and guard were covered with precious stones; and then he said to himself, “If I throw this rich sword into the water, no good shall ever come of it, but only harm and loss.”
Then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree. And as soon as he might, he came again unto the king, and said he had been at the water side, and had thrown the sword into the water.
“What sawest thou there?” said the king.
“Sir, I saw nothing but waves and winds.”