FROM "KING ARTHUR."

by EDWARD, LORD LYTTON.


Completed 27 January 2002.
Last modified.
© Introduction Copyright 2002 Michael Wild

I can be reached at:- dagonet_uk 'at' yahoo.co,uk


Introduction

Born in 1803 as Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer, the author of this piece was an immensly industrious and successful Victorian author who also pursued a political career. However, his marriage failed on the rocks of his succewssful career. Despite his popularity, his works never impressed literary critics. In 1843 he assumed his mother's family name of Lytton and was created Baron Lytton of Knebworth in 1866. The opus "King Arthur" was published in 1848 and has since, unlike the Arthurian poems of his fellow undergaduate Tennyson, faded into oblivion. An American critic wrote of his lordship's poetry: -

"Whatever he did in poetry was the result of deliberate intellectual culture; the fire was not in him, and his measures do not give out light and heat."

Today Lord Lytton is forgotten as a literary figure. Though dictionary freaks may know that the tradename 'Bovril' ® derives from the word vrilya. This word was coined by Lord Lytton to describe an ambrosial food in his exercise in futurology __ 'The Coming Race.' The only novel of Lord Lytton's that seems to have survived beyond the nineteenth century is 'The Last Days of Pompeii.' The novel that was most popular in Victorian times, 'Eugene Aram', has departed into oblivion despite having been based on a celebrated eighteenth century murder.

The extract below provided a interpolated incident of comic relief to the dramatic story that involved King Arthur, Marlin, Lancelot, Carados, Genevra with her father Earl Harold and Genevieve with her father King Crida. Throughout the poem Gawain is treated as a lightweight figure who is more concerned with his own comforts than the attainment of Arthur's quest, but is put into situations where he suffers humiliation and discomfort. The incident below is of interest as it is the only ocassion when Lord Lytton used an Arthurian tale, albeit introducing his own distortions. The tale is known as 'The Knight with the Sword' and is a short tale that does not appear in Malory. One distortion was introduced by Lord Lytton to conform to Victorian notions of propriety; Gawain and the maiden were hastily married before they shared a bed!


                    BOOK I.

                     xxxi.

At dawn from Carduel passed the chosen knight;
  Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale,
Rung lively horns, and in the morning light
  Flashed the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail,
The welcome guests of War's blithe festival..
 Keen for the feast, and summoned to the hall.


                     xxxii.

Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay,
  And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind,
Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way ? "�
  Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;"
As noon came on, such sights and comments cease,
Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace.


                     xxxiii.

Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine�
  The bird went first in most indecent glee,
New soared from sight, now gambolled back again�
  Now munched a beetle, and now chaced a bee�
Now plucked the wool from meditative lamb,
Now picked a quarrel with a lusty ram.


                    xxiv.

Sharp through his vizor, Gawaine watched the thing,
  With dire misgivings at that impish mirth:
Day waxed�day waned�and still the dusky wing
  Seemed not to find one resting place on earth.
"Saints," groaned Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner,
And move that demon�just to stop for dinner!


                      xxxv.

The bird turns round, as if it understood,
  Halts on the wing, and seems awhile to muse;
Then dives at once into a dismal wood,
  And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues,
To hear, and, hearing, hope once more revives,
Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives.


                      xxxvi.

An opening glade a pleasant group displays;
  Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast;
Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze;
  To earth leaps Gawaine�" I shall dine at least."
His casque he doffs�" Good knights and ladies fair,
Vouchsafe a famished man your feast to share."


                     xxxvii.

Loud laughed a big, hroad-shouldered, burly host;
  On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he;
"Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost�
  Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me."
" Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretched his platter,
"I'll first the pie discuss and then the matter."


                     xxxviii.

The ladies looked upon the comely knight,
  His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found;
The men admired that vasty appetite,
  Meet to do honour to the Table Round;
The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn:
Brimmed with pure drinks distilled from barley corn.


                    xxxix.

Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead,
  But long familiar to Milesian lays,
So huge that draught, it had despatched with speed
  Ten Irish chiefs in these degenerate days:
Sir Gawaine drained it, and Sir Gawaine laught, 
"Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught;


                     xl.

"But, pray you pardon, (sir, a slice of boar,)
  Judged by your accents, mantles, beards, and wine, __ 
If wine this be�ye come from Erin's shore,
  To aid no doubt our kindred Celtic line;
Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at night
And march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?"


                     xli.

"Stranger," replied the host," your guess is wrong,
  And shows your lack of history and reflexion;
Erin with Cymri is allied too long,
  We come, my friend, to sever the connexion:
But first, (your bees are wonderful for honey,)
Yield us your hives�in plainer words your money."


                     xlii.

"Friend," Said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought
  Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours."
"True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought!
  But shall Milesians waste in work their powers?
Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking."
"Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking."


                     xliii.

Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire�
  Upsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted;
High rose the din, than all the din rose higher 
  The croak of that cursed raven quite delighted;
Sir Gawaine finished his last slice of boar,
And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar.


                     xliv.

"If you want peace�shake hands, and peace, I say,
  If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight,"
"Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay�
  The two conditions." �" Host, you're in the right,
To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth;
I choose the first." �" Your word is bound to both:


                     xlv.

"Me first engaged, if conquered you are�dead,
  And then alone your honour is acquitted;
But conquer me, and then you must be wed; 
  You ate!�the contract in that act admitted."
Host," cried the knight, half stunned by all the clatter,
"I only said I would discuss the matter.


                    xlvi.

"But if your faith upon my word reposed,
  That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind."
Few moments more, and host and guest had closed�
  For blows come quick when folks are so inclined:
They foined, they fenced, changed play, and hacked and hewed�
Paused, panted, eyed each other, and renewed


                      xlvii.

At length a dexterous and back-handed blow,
  Clove the host's casque and bowed him to his knee.
"Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe;
  "But for thy dinner, wolves should dine on thee
Yield�thou bleed'st badly�yield and ask thy life."
Content," the host replied�" embrace thy wife."


                      xlviii.

"0 cursëd bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan,
  "Into what trap has thou betrayed my life;
Happy the man to whom was given a stone
  When he asked bread; I have received a wife.
Take warning, youths, and never dine with hosts
Who make their daughters adjuncts to their roasts."


                      xlix.

While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain.
  Mourned the lost knight, the host his daughter led,
Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine�
  "Joy be with both!" �the bridegroom shook his head
"I have a castle which I won by force�
Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course:


                      l.

"Page, bind my scalp�to broken scalps we're used.
  Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit;
No man alive has Erin's maids accused,
  And least that maiden, of a want of spirit;
She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir,
When out of hand, just try your hand on her."


                      li.

Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes,
  To mark the bride by partial father praised,
But mounts his steed�the gleesome raven flies
  Before; beside him rides the maid amazed:
"Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice,
"I hope your musings do not blame your choice?"


                      lii.

"Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue,
  As with some effort he replied at all,
"Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung,
  My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall;
Much irks it me, lest, vowed to toil and strife,
I doom a widow where I make a wife.


                      liii.

"And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms
  Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius,
To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms;
  Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious�
Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever,
Till my return."�" Return! that may be never:


                      liv.

"What if you fall,�since thus you tempt the fates�
  The yew will flourish where the lily fades;
The laidliest widows find consoling mates
  With far less trouble than the comeliest maids;
Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind,
Whate'er may chance your wife will be resigned."


                      lv.

That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet,
  But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear,
But while devising still some vile retreat,
  The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near;
Just as the witching night begins to fall
They pass the gates and enter in the hall.


                      lvi.

Soon in those times prim�val came the hour 
  When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair,
They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower,
  Unbraced his mail and left him with the fair;
Then first, demurely seated side by side,
The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.


                      lvii.

No iron heart had he of golden tongue,
  To beauty none by nature were politer;
The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young,
  And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter�
"'For worse, for better,' runs the sacred Verse,
Sith now no better�let me brave the worse."


                      lviii.

With that he took and kissed the lady's hand,
  The lady smiled and Gawaine's heart grew bolder,
When from the roof by some unseen command
  Flashed down a sword and smote him on the shoulder�
The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke,
While from the lattice cawed the merriest croak


                      lix.

Aghast he gazed�the sword within the roof
  Again had vanished; nought was to be seen�
He felt his shoulder, and remained aloof.
"Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean."
The bride replied not, hid her face and wept;
Moved, to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept.


                      lx.

"Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch�no more,"
  He bent to kiss the dewdrops from his rose,
When presto down the glaive enchanted shore�
  Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose.
"Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then,
"I hoped at least thou wert content with ten!


                      lxi.

"Ten what?" said Gawaine,�"Gallant knights like thee,
  Who fought and conquered my deceitful sire;
Married, as thou, to miserable me,
  And doomed, as thou, beneath the sword to expire�
By this device he gains their arms and steeds,
So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds."


                     lxii

Foul felon host, "the wrathful knight exclaims,
  "Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him!
Have they no dread lest all good knights and dames
  Save fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb?
But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner,
Thou keep the couch, and I�you farthest corner!


                      lxiii.

This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing
  Went from his bride as far as ho could go,
Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling;
  Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow�
So watched Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept,
Percht on the lattice-sill the raven slept.


                      lxiv.

The knight takes heart as the sun smiles again,
  Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door�
"Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain,
  Amazed to see that living guest once more�
"Did you sleep well?"�" Why, yes," replied the knight,
"One gnat, indeed;�but gnats were made to bite.


                      lxv.

"Man must leave insects to their insect law ;�
  Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all�
Depart I must�the raven gave a caw.
	  "And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall.
"Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife,"
"Sir, hold your tongue�I choose it; I'm your wife."


                      lxvi.

With that the lady took him by the hand,
  And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair;
Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand,
  Brimmed full the goblet nor disdained to share�
The host saith nothing, or to knight or bride;
Forth comes the steed-a palfrey by its side,


                      lxvii.

Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board
  His manchet to a hound with hungry face;
Sprung to his selle, and wished, too late, that sword
  Had closed his miseries with a coup de grace.
They clear the walls, the open road they gain;
The bride rode dauntless�daunted much Gawaine.


                      lxviii.

Gaily the fair discoursed on many things,
  But most on those ten lords�his time before,
Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings,
  Had gone, 'Proiapsoi,' to the Stygian shore;
Then, each described and praised, �she smiled and said,
"But one live dog is worth ten lions dead."


                      lxix.

The knight prepared that proverb to refute,
  When the bird beckoned down a delving lane,
And there the bride provoked a new dispute:
  'That path was frightful-she preferred the plain.'
"Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel�
Take thou the plain�adieu!  I take the dell."


                      lxx.

"Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien
  The lady murmured, and regained his side;
"Little thou know'st�of woman's faith, I ween,
  All paths alike save those that would divide;
Ungrateful knight�too dearly loved."�But then,"
Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same to ten!


                      lxxi.

"Ah no; their deaths alone their lives endeared,
  Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine;"
And while she spoke so lovely she appeared
  The knight did, blissful, tow'rds her check incline�
 But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say,
 A strong hand jerked the palfrey's neck away.


                      lxxii.

Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell
  Had leapt a huge, black-browed, gigantic wight;
Sudden he swung the lady from her selle,
  And seized that kiss defrauded from the knight,
While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he swore
So fair a cheek he ne'er had kissed before!


                      lxxiii.

With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed,
  And, quite forgetful of his wonted parle,
He did at once, without a word, proceed
  To make a ghost of that presuming carle:
The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield,
Took to his club, and made the bride his shield.


                      lxxiv.

"Hold, stay thine hand!" the hapless lady cried,
  As high in air the knight his falchion rears;
The carle his laidly jaws distended wide,
  And�"Ho," he laughed, "for me the sweet one fears,
Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one,
Or yield the prize�by love already won."


                      lxxv.

In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue
  Looked this way, that, uncertain where to smite;
Still as he looked, and turned, the giant swung
  The unknightly buckler round from left to right.
Then said the carle�" What need of steel and strife?
A word in time may often save a life.


                      lxxvi.

"This lady me prefers, or I mistake,
  Most ladies like an honest hearty woer;
Abide the issue, she her choice shall make;
  Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her?
If so, resheathe your sword, remount your steed,
I loose the lady, and retire," �" Agreed."


                      lxxvii.

Sir Gawaine answered�sure of the result,
  And charmed the fair so cheaply to deliver;
But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult,
  Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river.
The carle released the fair, and left her free�
Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree.


                      lxxviii.

A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine,
  No knight more winsome shone in Arthur's court:
The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain,
  As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sport;
The lady looked and mused, and scanned the two,
Then made her choice�the carle had spoken true.


                      lxxlx.

The knight forsaken, rubbed astounded eyes,
  Then touched his steed and slowly rode away�
"Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies,
  "Be peace between us, from this blessëd day;
One single act has made me thine for life,
Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife!"


                      lxxx.

While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents,
  He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries;
He turns, he pales, he groans�" The carle repents!
  No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies!"
Here at his stirrup stands the panting wight�
"The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight."


                      lxxxi.

"The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, "what hound?"
  And then perceived he that the dog he fed,
With grateful steps the kindly guest had found,
  And there stood faithful.�"Friend," Sir Gawaine said,
"What's just is just! the dog must have his due,
The dame had hers, to choose between the two."


                      lxxxii.

The carle demurred; but justice was so clear,
  He'd nought to urge against the equal law;
He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear,
  He nears the hound, the hound expands its jaw;
The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within,
The carle drew back�" Sir knight, I fear you win."


                      lxxxiii.

"My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland,
  "I took thy lesson, in return take mine;
All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand,
  My lot to-day to-morrow may be thine;
But never yet the dog our bounty fed,
Betrayed the kindness or forgot the bread."


                      lxxxiv.

With that the courteous hand he gravely waved,
  Nor deemed it prudent longer to delay;
Tempt not the reflow, from the ebb just saved!
  He spurred his steed and vanished from the way.
Sure of rebuke, and troubled in his mind,
An altered man, the carle his fair rejoined.


                      lxxxv.

That day the raven led the knight to dine
  Where merry monks spread no abstemious board;
Dainty the meat and delicate the wine,
  Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored;
When tow'rds the eve the raven croaked anew,
And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue.

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