Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles. Patricia Terry
LANCELOT AND THE LORD
OF THE DISTANT ISLES
LANCELOT AND THE LORD
OF THE DISTANT ISLES
or, THE BOOK OF GALEHAUT RETOLD
by Patricia Terry and Samuel N. Rosenberg
with wood engravings by Judith Jaidinger
David R. Godine, Publisher
Boston
First published in 2006 by
David R. Godine, Publisher
Post Office Box 450
Jaffrey, New Hampshire 03452
Copyright © 2006 by
Patricia Terry and Samuel N. Rosenberg
Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Judith Jaidinger
Published in eBook format by David R. Godine, Publisher
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief excerpts embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For information contact Permissions, David R. Godine, Publisher, Fifteen Court Square, Suite 320, Boston, Massachusetts, 02108.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Terry, Patricia Ann, 1929–
[Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles] Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles or, The book of Galehaut retold /
by Patricia Terry and Samuel N. Rosenberg ;
with wood engravings by Judith Jaidinger. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
HARDCOVER ISBN 978-1-56792-324-7 (alk. paper)
EBOOK ISBN 978-1-56792-465-7
1.Arthurian romances—Adaptations. 2.Lancelot (Legendary character)—Fiction. 3.Grail—Fiction. I. Rosenberg, Samuel N. II. Jaidinger, Judith, 1941– III. Title. IV. Title: Book of Galehaut.
PS3570.E729L36 2006
813'.54—dc22
2006023168
INTRODUCTION
One of the greatest distinctions of the Arthurian legend is the widespread longing that it be real. If Arthur did, in fact, exist, he was probably the leader of the native people of Britain, at a time when their lands were being invaded and settled by Saxons and other Germanic groups. (These newcomers would later be called “the English.”) Sometime toward the end of the fifth century, the Britons began to fight back. There was a decisive battle, and then, for perhaps half a century, the Saxons were held at bay. The memory of the chieftain responsible for that victory would have lingered long after the Saxons’ ultimate success. There must have been nostalgia for a time when extraordinary valor, combined with a sense of being in the right, had prevailed over formidable, and foreign, opponents. Such was the stuff of legends carried through Wales and across the Channel into Brittany by descendants of the Celtic Britons. Even today, there are autonomy-minded Bretons in France who evoke their lost leader, “the once and future king.” Chroniclers did not give him a name until the ninth century, but long before that he had come to be known as Arthur.
In the early twelfth century, when King Arthur was well established in chronicles, stories, and local traditions, Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote, in Latin, a largely imaginary History of Britain. From this source the most familiar aspects of Arthur’s story were to be gradually elaborated, mainly in French: his birth, contrived by Merlin’s sorcery; the sword Excalibur, forged in Avalon; the Round Table and the knights who had their places at it; Gawain the loyal nephew and Mordred the rebellious son; Kay the seneschal; Guenevere, Arthur’s queen. To Arthur came knights from many countries, forming a company of the elite. Women, Geoffrey wrote, in a suggestion of enormous consequence, would give their hearts only to the brave.
Arthur, in Geoffrey’s telling, is a great monarch. He conquers Saxons, Scots, Picts, in his own island, often with great cruelty, then makes war on Gaul, and finally attacks even Rome. His preferred city is Carleon, where he is crowned in an impressive ceremony attended by four kings. Arthur’s armies are formidable, but he himself is always in the foreground, the greatest of warriors, capable of overcoming even a monstrous giant. He attracts worthy men by his reputation for valor, and is also celebrated for his generosity. When he ultimately falls in battle, it is only through the treachery of one of his own, Mordred, and it is suggested that there will be a wondrous healing of his wounds on the mythic isle of Avalon.
Geoffrey’s book, however fanciful, is in the form of a chronicle, purporting to be the translation of an ancient British source. Geoffrey is rightly credited, however, with being the father of Arthurian romance, fiction derived from his work as well as other sources and no longer composed in Latin. Chrétien de Troyes, writing in French verse, developed his own version of Arthur’s court as a setting for plots which reflected contemporary interest in elegance of manners, youth and beauty, ceremonial festivities, the quest for personal glory, and love. This is the modern vision of Camelot, although Chrétien almost always placed the court in Carleon.
Instead of armies in which individual exploits are subordinated to the glory of the king, Chrétien gives center-stage to the knights themselves. They leave the court in search of adventures to test their valor, and often their quest is complicated by the rival demands of love. They work out their destinies alone, sending messages back to let Arthur know their progress. While they pride themselves on being members of his court, the king himself is essentially inactive.
Thanks to the Norman Conquest in 1066, Chrétien knew France and the land beyond the Channel as a reasonably cohesive cultural entity. But King Arthur was British, the symbolic ruler of a race that prevailed before both Normans and Saxons. His knights and vassals, on the other hand, were diverse in origin, and often had lands of their own. Although some have suggested a political motivation for Arthur’s diminished role in Chrétien’s portrayal, that lesser role may simply reflect the need to choose between the past deeds of an already powerful monarch and the present feats of his knights. An individual, riding out on his own, ready to confront whatever challenge may come his way, is the characteristic figure of romance.
Geoffrey was Welsh and spun his tale, in part, from Celtic folk stories imbued with the magic of a pagan mythology. In his History, Arthur has two hundred philosophers who read his future in the stars, and a cleric who can cure any illness through prayers. Above all, Geoffrey created the prophet and magician Merlin, centrally important to the career of King Arthur. Still, he was chary in his relation of what the French would call marvels. Chrétien proves more receptive. He gives us strange fountains, mysterious maidens bearing messages, companionable lions, hints that there exists another realm independent of our own and more powerful. This inheritance from lost Celtic tales is fragmentary in Chrétien’s romances, but becomes more pervasive in the expansive French narratives that dominate vernacular romance in the early decades of the thirteenth century.
Chrétien seems to have been reticent about what later came to be called “courtly love,” a term invented by Gaston Paris in the nineteenth century. There is a faint trace of it in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s statement connecting “the brave” and “the fair,” but it was first elaborated, from yet ill-defined sources, by the lyric poets of southern France, the twelfth-century troubadours. Fundamental, and revolutionary, in this phenomenon is the belief that a man can be ennobled through striving for a woman’s love. A corollary – assumed