Chapter XI: Part II: I. the Runic Crosses of Northumbria (2)

This "good knight" was, of course, Sir Galahad. Meanwhile, "Sir Lancelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony Cross which departed two ways in waste land, and by the Cross was a stone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Lancelot might not wit what it was. Then Sir Lancelot looked by him, and saw an old chapel, and there he wend to have found people. And Sir Lancelot tied his horse till a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung it upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found it waste and broken. And within he found a fair altar full richly arrayed with cloth of clean silk, and there stood a fair clean candlestick which bare six great candles, and the candlestick was of silver. And when Sir Lancelot saw this light he had great will for to enter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might enter; then was he passing heavy and dismayed. Then he returned and came to his horse, and did off his saddle and bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield tofore the Cross. And so he fell on sleep, and half waking and half sleeping he saw, come by him, two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a litter, therein lying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the Cross he there abode still. All this Sir Lancelot saw and beheld, for he slept not verily, and he heard him say: Oh sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for little trespass. And thus a great while complained the knight, and always Sir Lancelot heard it. With that Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers come before the Cross, but he could see nobody that brought it. And then came a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sancgreall, the which Sir Lancelot had seen tofore. And there withal the sick knight set him upright and held up both his hands and said: Fair, sweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel, take heed to me that I may be whole of this great malady. And therewith, upon his hands and upon his knees, he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it. And anon he was whole, and then he said:--Lord God, I thank thee for I am healed of this malady. So when the holy vessel had been there a great while, it went unto the chapel again with the candlestick and the light, so that Sir Lancelot wist not where it became, for he was overtaken with sin that he had no power to arise against the holy vessel. Wherefore afterwards many men said of him shame. But he took repentance afterwards.

"Then the sick knight dressed him upright and kissed the Cross. Then anon his squire brought his arms, and asked his lord how he did. Certes, said he, I thank God right well through the holy vessel I am healed. But I have great marvel of this sleeping knight which hath neither had grace nor power to awake during the time that this holy vessel hath been here present. I dare it right well say, said the squire, that this knight is defouled with some manner of deadly sin, whereof he was never confessed. By my faith, said the knight, whatsoever he be, he is unhappy, for, as I deem, he is of the noble fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of the Sancgreall. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought you all your arms save your helm and your sword, and therefore, by mine assent now may ye take this knight's helm and his sword, and so he did. And when he was clean armed he took Sir Lancelot's horse, for he was better than his own, and so they departed from the Cross.

"Then anon Sir Lancelot awaked and sat himself upright, and bethought him what he had there seen, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard he a voice that said, Sir Lancelot, more harder than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the leaf of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place. And when Sir Lancelot heard this he was passing heavy and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have had worship more. For those words went to his heart till that he knew wherefore he was called so.

"Then Sir Lancelot went to the Cross, and found his helm, his sword, and his horse taken away. And then he called himself a very wretch, and most unhappy of all knights. And there he said, My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great dishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires I ever achieved them, and had the better in every place, and never was I discomfited in no quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take upon me the adventure of holy things, and now I see and understand that mine old sin hindreth me and shameth me, so that I had no power to stir nor to speak when the holy blood appeared afore me. So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls of the air sing. Then was he somewhat comforted, and departed from the Cross on foot in a wild forest, and there he found a hermitage, and a hermit therein that was going to Mass. And then Sir Lancelot kneeled down on both his knees, and cried our Lord mercy for his wicked works that he had done. When Mass was done, Sir Lancelot called the hermit to him and prayed him for charity to hear his life. With a good will, said the good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King Arthur's court, and of the fellowship of the Round Table? Yea, forsooth, and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake that hath been right well said of, and now my good fortune is changed, for I am the most wretched and caitiff of the world.

"Then the hermit beheld him, and had great marvel how he was so sore abashed. Sir, said the good man, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath caused you to have more worldly worship than any, and for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in His presence where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you ye might not see it with your worldly eyes. For He will not appear where such sinners be, but it be unto their great hurt and shame. And there is no knight living now that ought to give unto God so great thank as ye. For He hath given to you beauty, seemliness, and great strength above all other knights, and, therefore, ye are the more beholden to God than any man, to love Him and to dread Him; for your strength and manhood will little avail you, and God be against you."

Then Lancelot makes his confession to the hermit as we have already related, is assoiled, and repents him greatly. He remained three days with the hermit, and being then newly provided with a horse, helmet, and sword, he took his leave and rode away. After this occurs the episode at the Cross, and his receiving the hair shirt. On the morrow he jousted with many knights, and for the first time was thrown and overcome, all which he endured patiently as penance for his sins. That night he laid himself down to sleep under an apple-tree and dreamed a strange dream. At dawn he arose, armed himself and went on his way. He next came to a chapel "where was a recluse which had a window that she might look up to the altar, and all aloud she called Sir Lancelot, and asked him whence he came, what he was, and what he went to seek." He told her all his dreams and visions, which she expounded, and gave him pious counsel, but told him that he was " of evil faith and poor belief."

About this time he met Sir Galahad, and knew that he was his son. Then, after various adventures, he came as near the Holy Grail as it was given to him to come. As he was kneeling before a closed door in a castle "he heard a voice which sang sweetly, that it seemed none earthly thing. And him thought that the voice said, joy and Honour be to the Father of Heaven. Then Sir Lancelot wist well that there was the Sancgreall in that chamber." Then he prayed.

"And with that the chamber door opened, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was so bright as though all the torches of the world had been there. And anon he would have entered, but a voice said, Flee, Sir Lancelot, and enter not, for and if thou enter thou shalt forethink it. Then he withdrew him aback, and was right heavy in his mind. Then looked he up in the midst of the room and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel covered with red samite, and so many angels about it, whereof one of them held a candle of wax burning, and the other held a Cross and the ornaments of the altar. And before the holy vessel he saw a good man, clothed like a priest, and it seemed that he was at the sacring of the Mass.

"And it seemed unto Sir Lancelot that, above the priest's hands, there were three men, whereof the two put the youngest by likeliness between the priest's hands, and so he lift it upright high, and it seemed to show unto the people. And then Sir Lancelot marvelled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatly charged of the figure that him seemed he should have fallen to the ground; and when he saw none about him, he came to the door a great pace, and said:--

"Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, me take it for no sin, though I help the good man, which hath great need of help. Right so he entered into the chamber, and came toward the table of silver. And when he came nigh he felt a breath that him thought it was intermeddled with fire, which smote him so sore in the visage that him thought it all to brent his visage."

This is the culminating point of Lancelot's quest; he swooned away, and lay as one dead for twenty-four days. Nearer he might not come to the Holy Grail, and the sequel shows why, for after a time he returned to the court and fell into sin again, and forgot his good resolutions:--

"For, as the French book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in his mind set inwardly to the queen, as he was in seeming outward unto God, there had no knight passed him in the quest of the Sancgreall; but ever his thoughts were privily upon the queen."

But soon there arose a bitter quarrel between Lancelot and Guinevere, and she banished him from her sight. During his absence from the court she made a dinner, at which one of the guests, Sir Modor, was poisoned, and the queen accused of the crime. Guinevere was therefore impeached, and so truly did all the Round Table believe in her guilt, that at first no knight would come forward to defend her.

Ultimately, however, the "good Sir Bors," Lancelot's kinsman, was prevailed on to be her champion, provided that at the moment of the contest a better knight did not appear, to answer for her. Of course, when Sir Bors is about to enter the lists in the meadow before Winchester, where there is a great fire and an iron stake, at which Guinevere is to be burned if her champion is overcome, a strange knight appears in unknown armour, and turns out to be Lancelot, fights for the queen, and overthrows her accuser.

Here comes in the exquisite story of Elaine, to which Tennyson has done ample justice.

Soon after the death of the "lily maid of Astolat," Sir Agravaine, moved by jealousy of Arthur's greatest knight, discloses the story of Lancelot's treacherous love for the queen, and extracts from the king a reluctant permission to take the miscreant. But Sir Modred is the real instigator of the plot, working upon Agravaine's weakness, and Tennyson has altered little in the dramatic situation which immediately follows. His description of the parting scene between Lancelot and Guinevere is fine:--

"And then they were agreed upon a night (When the good King should not be there) to meet And part for ever. Passion pale they met And greeted: hands in hands, and eye to eye, Low on the border of her couch they sat Stammering and staring; it was their last hour, A madness of farewells. And Modred brought His creatures to the basement of the tower For testimony; and crying with full voice, 'Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last,' aroused Lancelot, who rushing outward lion-like Leapt on him, and hurled him headlong, and he fell Stunned, and his creatures took and bare him off, And all was still; then she, 'The end is come, And I am shamed forever;' and he said, `Mine be the shame; mine was the sin; but rise, And fly to my strong castle over seas There will I hide thee till my life shall end, There hold thee with my life against the world.' She answered, 'Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so? Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells. Would God that thou coulds't hide me from myself!"

Lancelot will not yield himself up lightly to his enemies; Sir Agravaine and another knight fall in the struggle with him; but it is not now that Guinevere betakes herself to Almesbury, and the whole beautiful scene between her and Arthur, and his most touching farewell to her are weavings of the modern poet's imagination. Beautiful the scene surely is, although wanting in one supreme touch, which a more Catholic-minded poet would have given to it. Guinevere's sin, according to Tennyson, is merely her sin against her husband; according to Malory it is her sin against God, and this is the very essence of the true Guinevere's repentance.

What really happens is this: Lancelot takes counsel with Sir Bors and his other friends, as to how he may save the queen, and it is decided that if on the morrow she is brought to the fire to be burned, Lancelot and all his kinsmen shall rescue her.

Accordingly, Arthur's nephews, Gawayn, Gahers, and Gareth, lead Guinevere forth "without Caerleyell, and there she was despoiled unto her smock, and so then her ghostly father was brought to her to be shriven of her misdeeds." But Lancelot's messenger gives the alarm duly, and Lancelot appears with all his friends. There is much fighting and bloodshed, and Sir Gahers and Sir Gareth are slain.

"Then Sir Lancelot rode straight unto the queen, and made a kirtle and a gown to be cast upon her, and then he made her to be set behind him, and rode with her unto his castle of joyous Garde, and there he kept her as a noble knight should, and many lords and kings send Sir Lancelot many good knights. When it was known openly that King Arthur and Sir Lancelot were at debate, many knights were glad of their debate, and many knights were sorry. But King Arthur sorrowed for pure sorrow, and said, Alas, that ever I bare any crown upon my head."

Gawayn, mourning the death of his brothers, incites the king to besiege Lancelot in Joyous Garde, and at length, reluctantly, Arthur consents to make war.

"Of this war was noise throughout all Christendom. And at last it was noised before the Pope, and he, considering the great goodness of King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, which was called the most noble knight of the world, wherefore the Pope called unto him a noble clerk that at that time there was present the French book saith it was the Bishop of Rochester. And the Pope gave him Bulls under lead, unto King Arthur of England, charging him upon pain of interdiction of all England, that he take his queen, Dame Guinevere, to him again, and accord with Sir Lancelot."

Arthur would have made peace at once, but at first Gawayn prevented him. Then the bishop went to Lancelot and charged him to bring back the queen:--

"And the bishop had of the king his great seal and assurance, as he was a true anointed king, that Sir Lancelot should go safe and come safe, and that the queen should not be reproved of the king nor of none other, for nothing done before time past."

To Lancelot the bishop ended his exhortation in these words:--

"Wit ye well, the Pope must be obeyed."

And Lancelot answered that it was never in his thoughts to withhold the queen from his lord, King Arthur, "but in so much as she should have been dead for my sake, me seemeth it was my part to save her life, and put her from that danger till better recover might come. And now I thank God that the Pope hath made her peace, for God knoweth I would be a thousandfold more gladder to bring her again than I was of her taking away."

So he brought Guinevere to the king, and when they had both knelt before him, he said:--

"My most redoubted lord ye shall understand that, by the Pope's commandment and by yours, I have brought unto you my lady the queen, as right requireth." Then King Arthur and all the other kings kneeled down and gave thankings and louings (praises) to God and to his Blessed Mother.

But Gawayn would not be reconciled to Lancelot, who in vain offered to do penance for the death of Gahers and Gareth. In vain he said:--

"This much shall I offer you if it may please the king's good grace, and you my lord Sir Gawayn. And first I shall begin at Sandwich, and there I shall go in my shirt and barefoot, and at every ten miles' end I will found and cause to make a house of religion, of what order ye will assign me, with a whole convent, to sing and to read day and night, in especial for Sir Gareth's sake and Sir Gahers; and this shall I perform from Sandwich unto Caerleyell. And this, Sir Gawayn, me thinketh, were more fairer and better unto their souls than that my most noble lord Arthur and you should war on me, for thereby ye shall get none avail."

But Gawayn answered him with hard words ending thus:--

"And if it were not for the Pope's commandment I should do battle with my body against thy body, and prove it unto thee that thou hast been false unto mine uncle, King Arthur, and to me both, and that shall I prove upon thy body, when thou art departed from hence, wheresoever I find thee. Then all the knights and ladies that were there wept as they had been mad, and the tears fell upon King Arthur's cheeks. Then Sir Lancelot kissed the queen before them all, took his leave, and departed with all the knights of his kin."

He went to his estates over the sea; but Gawayn gave Arthur no rest till he had made ready an army and crossed the sea to make war on him. Modred, in Arthur's absence, seized the kingdom, and would have wedded the queen by force, had not the Archbishop of Canterbury threatened to curse him with bell, book, and candle. When Modred defied him, the archbishop departed, and "did the curse in the most orgulous wise that might be done."

But Arthur, receiving tidings of Modred's conduct, returned to Dover, where the usurper met him, and "there was much slaughter of gentle knights." Here Sir Gawayn was mortally wounded, and Arthur " made great sorrow and moan." Two hours before his death, Gawayn wrote a letter to Lancelot, telling him of Modred's crime and beseeching him, "the most noblest knight," to come back to the realm:--

"And so at the hour of None, Sir Gawayn betook himself into the hands of our Lord God, after that he had received his Saviour. And then the king let bury him within a chapel within the castle of Dover, and there, yet to this day, all men may see the skull of Sir Gawayn, and the same wound is seen that Sir Lancelot gave him in battle."

In the "Passing of Arthur" Tennyson has kept mainly to the original, though he omits Arthur's command to Sir Bedevere to pray for his soul.

The king, overcome by his enemies, receives his deadly wound, and sails away in the barge, with the three queens, to the island valley of Avilion. But, according to Malory, Sir Bedevere finds him on the morrow, lying dead in a little chapel on a rock:--

"And when Queen Guinevere understood that her lord King Arthur was slain, and all the noble knights, Sir Modred and all the remnant, she stole away, and five ladies with her, and so she went to Almesbury, and there she let make herself a nun, and wore white clothes and black, and great penance she took as ever did sinful lady in this land, and never creature could make her merry, but lived in fastings, prayers, and alms-deeds, that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed. Now leave we Queen Guinevere in Almesbury, a nun in white clothes and black, and there she was abbess and ruler as reason would, and turn me from her and speak me of Sir Lancelot du Lake."

Meanwhile, Sir Lancelot had returned to England to avenge King Arthur's death:--

"Then the people told him how that he was slain, and Sir Modred and a hundred thousand died on a day, and how Sir Modred gave King Arthur there the first battle at his landing, and there was good Sir Gawayn slain, and on the morn Sir Modred fought with the king upon Barham Down, and there the king put Sir Modred to the worse. Alas, said Sir Lancelot, this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me. Now fair Sirs, said Sir Lancelot, shew me the tomb of Sir Gawayn. And then certain people of the town brought him into the castle of Dover and showed him the tomb. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down and wept and prayed heartily for his soul. And that night he made a dole, and all they that would come had as much flesh, fish, wine, and ale as they would, and every man and woman had twelve pence come who would. Thus with his own hand dealt he his money in a mourning gown; and ever he wept, and prayed them to pray for the soul of Sir Gawayn. And on the morn all the priests and clerks that might be gotten in the country were there and sung Mass of Requiem. And there offered first Sir Lancelot, and he offered an hundred pound, and then the seven kings offered forty pound apiece, and also there was a thousand knights, and each of them offered a pound, and the offering dured from morn till night. And Sir Lancelot lay two nights on his tomb in prayers and in weeping. Then on the third day Sir Lancelot called the kings, dukes, earls, barons, and knights, and said thus:--

My fair lords, I thank you all of your coming into this country with me: but we come too late, and that shall repent me while I live, but against death may no man rebel. But sithen it is so, said Sir Lancelot, I will myself ride and seek my lady Queen Guinevere, for as I hear say she hath great pain and much disease, and I heard say that she is fled into the west country, therefore ye all abide me here, and but if I come not again within fifteen days, then take your ships and your fellowship, and depart into your country.

"Then came Sir Bors de Ganis, and said, My lord Sir Lancelot, what think ye for to do, now to ride in this realm? wit thou well ye shall find few friends. Be as it may, said Sir Lancelot, keep you still here, for I will forth on my journey, and no man nor child shall go with me. So it was no boot to strive, but he departed and rode westerly and sought seven or eight days, and at the last he came to a nunnery. And then was Queen Guinevere ware of Sir Lancelot as he walked in the cloister. And when she saw him there she swooned thrice, that all the ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the Queen up. So when she might speak she called the ladies and gentlewomen to her and said, Ye marvel, fair ladies, why I make this cheer. Truly, she said, it is for the sight of yonder knight which yonder standeth, wherefore I pray you all call him to me. And when Sir Lancelot was brought unto her she said, through this knight and me all these wars been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world. For through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, wit ye well, Sir Lancelot, I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God's grace after my death to have a sight of the blessed face of Christ, and at the dreadful day of doom to sit on His right side, for as sinful creatures as ever was I are saints in heaven. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more in the visage. And furthermore I command thee on God's behalf right straightly that thou forsake my company, and to thy kingdom thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee, mine heart will not serve me to see thee; for both through me and thee is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, go to thy realm, and there take thee a wife, and live with her in joy and bliss, and I pray thee heartily pray for me to our Lord, that I may amend my mis-living.

"Now, sweet madam, said Sir Lancelot, would ye that I should return again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do: for I shall never be so false to you of that I have promised, but the same destiny that ye have taken you unto, I will take me unto, for to please God and specially to pray for you.

"If thou wilt do so, said the Queen, hold thy promise. But I may not believe but that thou wilt turn to the world again.

"Ye say well, said he, yet wish ye me never false of my promise, and God defend but that I should forsake the world like as ye have done. For in the quest of the Sancgreall I had forsaken the vanities of the world had not your lord been. And if I had done so at that time, with my heart, will, and thought, I had passed all the knights that were in the Sancgreall, except Sir Galahad, my son. And therefore, lady, sithen ye have taken you to perfection, I must needs take me unto perfection of right. For I take record of God, in you have I had mine earthly joy, and if I had found you so disposed, I had cast me for to have had you into mine own realm. But sithen I find you thus disposed, I ensure you faithfully that I will take me to penance, and pray while my life lasteth, if that I may find any hermit, either grey or white, that will receive me. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me once and never more.

"Nay, said the Queen, that shall I never do, but abstain you from such works. And they departed. But there was never so hard a hearted man but he would have wept to see the dolour that they made. For there was lamentation as though they had been stung with spears, and many times they swooned. And the ladies bare the Queen to her chamber. And Sir Lancelot awoke, and went, and took his horse, and rode all that day and all that night in a forest, weeping. And at the last he was ware of an hermitage, and a chapel stood betwixt two cliffs; and then he heard a little bell ring to Mass, and thither he rode and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard Mass. So he that sang the Mass was the Bishop of Canterbury. There was also Sir Bedevere, and both the bishop and Sir Bedevere knew Sir Lancelot, and they spoke together after Mass. But when Sir Bedevere had told his tale all whole, Sir Lancelot's heart almost braste for sorrow, and Sir Lancelot threw his arms abroad and said, Alas, who may trust this world! And then he kneeled down on his knees, and prayed the bishop to shrive him and assoil him. And then he besought the bishop that he might be his brother. Then the bishop said, I will gladly, and there he put an habit upon Sir Lancelot, and there he served God day and night with prayers and fastings."

Bedevere followed Lancelot's example, and within half a year seven other knights joined themselves to these two and endured in great penance six year, and then Sir Lancelot took the habit of priesthood, and in twelve months he sang Mass. And there was none of these other knights but they read in books and holp to sing Mass, and rang bells, and did lowly all manner of service. And so their horses went where they would for they took no regard of no worldly riches. For when they saw Sir Lancelot endure such penance, in prayers and fasting, they took no force what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean. And thus upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot, and charged him in remission of his sins, to haste him unto Almesbury--and by then thou come there, thou shalt find Queen Guinevere dead, and therefore take thy fellows with thee, and purvey thee of an horse-bier, and fetch thou the corpse of her, and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur. So this vision came to Lancelot thrice in one night.

"Then Sir Lancelot rose upon day and told the hermit. It were well done, said the hermit, that ye make you ready, and that ye disobey not the vision. Then Sir Lancelot took his seven fellows with him, and on foot they went from Glastonbury to Almesbury, the which is little more than thirty miles. And thither they came within two days, for they were weak and feeble to go.

"And when Sir Lancelot was come to Almesbury, within the nunnery, Queen Guinevere died but half an hour before. And the ladies told Sir Lancelot that Queen Guinevere told them all ere she passed, that Sir Lancelot had been priest near a twelvemonth. And hither he cometh as fast as he may to fetch my corpse, and beside my lord King Arthur he shall bury me. Wherefore the Queen said, in hearing of them all, I beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Lancelot with my worldly eyes. And this, said all the ladies was ever her prayer these two days till she was dead. Then Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the Dirige, and on the morn he sang Mass. And there was ordained an horse-bier, and so with an hundred torches ever burning about the corpse of the Queen, and ever Sir Lancelot with his eight fellows went about the horse-bier singing and reading many an holy orison, and frankincense upon the corpse incensed. Thus Sir Lancelot and his eight fellows went on foot from Almesbury unto Glastonbury, and when they were come to the chapel and the hermitage, there she had a Dirige with great devotion. And on the morn the hermit that was sometime Bishop of Canterbury, sang the Mass of Requiem with great devotion; and Sir Lancelot was the first that offered, and then all his eight fellows. And then she was wrapped in cered cloth of Raines, from the top to the toe in thirty-fold, and after she was put in a web of lead, and then in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth, Sir Lancelot swooned, and lay long still, while the hermit came out, and awaked him and said, Ye be to blame, for ye displease God with such manner of sorrow-making. Truly, said Sir Lancelot, I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth mine intent, for my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never end. For when I remember of her beauty and of her noblesse that was both with her king and with her, so when I saw his corpse and her corpse so lie together, truly mine heart would not serve to sustain my careful body. Also when I remember me, how by my default, mine orgule, my pride, that they were both laid full low that were peerless that ever was living of Christian people, wit you well, said Sir Lancelot, this remembered of their kindness and mine unkindness, sank so to my heart that I might not sustain myself."

Not long after the death of Guinevere, Lancelot "began to wax sick, and for evermore, day and night he prayed; but needfully, as nature required, sometimes he slumbered a broken sleep. And within six weeks he lay in his bed and called the bishop and said, Sir Bishop, I pray you that ye will give me all my rights that belongeth unto a Christian man." Then Malory goes on to say that "when he was houseled and eneled, and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the bishop that his fellows might bear his body unto joyous Garde."

That night the bishop dreamed he saw Sir Lancelot with two angels, "and he saw the angels heave up Sir Lancelot towards heaven, and the gates of heaven opened against him. And then they went to Sir Lancelot's bed, and there they found him dead, and he lay as he had smiled; and the sweetest savour about him that ever they felt."

III. FOXE'S BOOK OF ERRORS

To take the Acts and Monuments, and as far as it might be possible after upwards of three hundred years, test the accuracy of each circumstance which Foxe proposes for the edification of his readers, would necessitate a work as voluminous as his own immense undertaking. To sift the chaff from the wheat, and to bind up the latter into one acceptable whole would perhaps result in a book not larger than one of his own eight thick octavo and closely printed volumes. All that can be done here is to indicate some of the most flagrant instances of the unfair and uncritical spirit in which he has written, of the carelessness, wilful misrepresentation, and neglect to rectify errors pointed out to him, by which the martyrologist has exposed his book to everlasting reproach. On the death of Foxe's last descendant the greater part of his MSS. were either given to the annalist, Strype, or were allowed to remain in his hands till his death in 1737, when many of them were purchased by Lord Oxford for the Harleian collection now in the British Museum. A few of them found a refuge in the Lansdowne Library, and these also are now in the possession of the nation. They include a mass of heterogeneous documents of the most unequal value and interest--such as the stories, often palpably coloured, of persons who profess to have been eye-witnesses of the scenes depicted, minutes of the examinations of prisoners, apparently taken down on the spot, wild statements written with the obvious purpose of pandering to Puritan intolerance and prejudice, and fantastic tales of the martyrologist's supposed judgments of God upon those who persecuted the followers of the reformed doctrines. They include also several counter-statements sent to Foxe for the express purpose of giving him an opportunity to correct portions of his work, but of which, although he preserved them, he never made any use. Some of these latter have been utilised by Gough in his Narratives of the Days of the Reformation.

In his preface to this book, Gough admits,* as indeed he was obliged to admit that, "as a general history of the Church in its earlier ages, Foxes work has been shown to be partial and prejudiced in spirit, imperfect and inaccurate in execution," and Leach** asserts that, while its compiler had recourse to some early documents, even here he depended largely on printed works, such as Crespin's Actiones et Monuments Martyrum, which was published at Geneva in 1560. He notes, moreover, that Foxes chapter on the Waldenses is nothing but a translation of the untrustworthy Catalogus Testium Veritatis, published at Basle by Illyricus in 1556, although Foxe himself does not acknowledge Illyricus as his authority, but claims to have consulted "parchment documents," which he only knew from the transcriptions in that book. "It has been conclusively shown," says Mr. Sidney Lee in the Dictionary of National Biography, "that his chapter on the Waldenses is directly translated from the Catalogus of Illyricus, although Illyricus is not mentioned by Foxe among the authorities whom he acknowledges to have consulted . . . . This indicates a loose notion of literary morality which justifies some of the harshest judgments passed on Foxe."

* P. 23, edited by the Camden Society.

** Sir George Croke's Reports, edited by Thomas Leach, ii. 91. London, 1790-92.

Matthias Flach-Franconitz, better known as Flacius Illyricus, from the place of his birth (in Istria, a part of Illyria) was a voluminous writer on most of the controverted doctrines in the sixteenth century. Having become a disciple of Luther he was for ever raising fresh disputes on religious subjects, and was noted for the violence and exaggeration he brought into their discussion, so that, according to a German historian, "he seemed to have been created for an ecclesiastical Procurator General." On his death in 1575, Jacques Andreas, one of his friends, admitted that, taken altogether, his Illyricus was the devil's Illyricus, and that, in the opinion of Andreas, he was then "supping with devils."*

* Hoefer, Nouvelle Biogaphie Generale, Art, Flach-Franconitz Matthias.

Such then being Foxe's authority, although unacknowledged, for his Waldensian chapter, we can scarcely expect him to be more conscientious in his evidence concerning matters closely connected with the passions, prejudices, and burning questions of his own day.

Nearly, if not quite all the material for that part of the Acts and Monuments which deals with the reign of Mary was collected by others for Foxe and Grindal during their absence from England. Grindal handed over to Foxe the accounts of the various prosecutions for heresy sent to him by his correspondents at home, taking care, however, at the same time to warn the martyrologist against placing too much confidence in them, he himself suspending his judgment "till more satisfactory evidence came from good hands." He advised him for the present, only to print separately the acts of particular persons of whom they had authentic accounts and to wait for a larger and more complete history until they had trustworthy information concerning the "martyrs."* The letters, which Grindal wrote to Foxe on this subject in 1557, were published by the Parker Society, in Grindal's Remains, and show that the future archbishop believed not too implicitly in the truth of all the stories which he passed on to his friend. He constantly urged him to delay writing in order to gain "more certain intelligence." But the careful investigation which he recommended did not fall in with the particular genius and uncritical methods of Foxe, who, perhaps on account of his necessitous condition, worked away with a will on the unsifted tales and reports as they came to hand, so that the book in its Latin form was completed, almost to the end of the reign of Mary, and was published at Basle, before his return to England in 1559. He afterwards made an English translation of the work, but without seeing fit to revise his material. It bore the title Acts and Monuments, but it was at once popularly styled the Book of Martyrs. When he was attacked by Alan Cope (Nicholas Harpsfield) for his inaccuracy, Foxe replied: "I hear what you will say: I should have taken more leisure and done it better. I grant and confess my fault, such is my vice, I cannot sit all the day (Moister Cope) fining and mincing my letters, and combing my head, and smoothing myself all the day at the glass of Cicero. Yet, notwithstanding, doing what I can, and doing my good will, methinks I should not be reprehended, at least not so much be railed of at M. Copes hand."**

* Strype, Life of Archbishop Grindal, p. 25.

** Acts and Monuments, i. 69 1. Edited 1570.

But it is not for his want of scholarly writing that Foxe has been blamed. Father Robert Persons, in his Three Conversions of England,* begins one of his chapters with "a note of more than a hundred and twenty lies uttered by John Foxe, in less than three leaves of his Acts and Monuments," and he proceeds to point them out, beginning with the misstatement concerning John Merbeck and some others, whom Foxe counts among the martyrs, although they were never burned at all. As, in consequence of Father Persons' remarks concerning John Merbeck, Foxe acknowledged the error in his second edition, we may hold him excused thus far, but his delinquencies in this respect were by no means unfrequent, and gave rise to the saying that "many who were burnt in the reign of Queen Mary, drank sack in the reign of Queen Elizabeth."**

* Quoted in Fuller's Worthies, under "Berkshire," p. 92.

*Part iii., p. 412."

Two similar misstatements, which he was in a position to correct and did not, relate to the supposed death by the vengeance of God, of Henry Morgan, Bishop of St. David's, and of one Grimwood, another "notorious Papist."

Anthony a Wood, the famous antiquary and historian, who wrote his History of the Antiquities of Oxford about a hundred years after Foxe had become celebrated as a martyrologist, and who in his youth spoke with people who remembered the days of persecution under Mary, tells us that:--

"Henry Morgan was esteemed a most admirable civilian and canonist; he was for several years the constant Moderator of all those that performed exercise for their degrees in the civil law in the scholar schools, hall and church pertaining to that faculty, situated also in the same parish . . . . He was elected Bishop of St. David's, upon the deprivation of Robert Ferrar . . . . In that see he sate till after Queen Elizabeth came to the Crown, and then being deprived . . . retired among his friends, and died a devoted son to the Church of Rome, on the 23rd of December following (1559) of whose death, hear I pray what John Foxe saith in this manner: Morgan, bishop of St. David's, who sate upon the condemnation of the blessed Martyr and Bishop Ferrar, and unjustly usurped his room, was not long after stricken by God's hand, but after such a strange sort, that his meat would not go down, but rise and pick up again, sometimes at his mouth, sometimes blown out of his nose, most horrible to behold, and so he continued till his death. Thus Foxe, followed by Thomas Beard in his Theatre of God's Judgments. But where or when his death happened, they tell us not, nor any author hitherto, only when, which Bishop Godwin mentions. Now, therefore, be pleased to know that the said Bishop Morgan, retiring after his deprivation to and near Oxen, where he had several relations and acquaintance living, particularly the Owens of Godstow, in the parish of Wolvercote, near to the said city, did spend the little remainder of his life in great devotion at Godstow, but that he died in the condition which Foxe mentions there is no tradition among the inhabitants of Wolvercote. True it is that I have heard some discourse, many years ago, from some of the ancients of that place, that a certain bishop did live for some time, and exercised his charity and religious counsel among them, and there died; but I could never learn anything of them of the manner of his death, which being very miserable, as John Foxe saith, methinks that they should have a tradition of it, as well as of the man himself; but I say there is now none, nor was there any thirty years ago, among the most aged persons then living at that place, and therefore, whether there be anything of truth in it may justly be doubted."

The evidence of this negative tradition is certainly more convincing, than Foxes unsupported allegation of a circumstance, as unlikely to have occurred, as it was likely to be concocted by a man of his propensity and unscrupulousness. If, however, there should be any doubt of Foxes ability to concoct such a story, it will perhaps be removed by the history of the drastic refutation, which befell the similar story of the end of Grimwood. This, Anthony a Wood proceeds to record in a passage immediately after the one above quoted.

"In the very same chapter and leaf concerning the severe punishment upon persecutors of God's People, he hath committed a most egregious falsity in reporting that one Grimwood, of Higham, in Suffolk, died in a miserable manner, for swearing and bearing false witness against one John Cooper, a carpenter of Watsam in the same county, for which he lost his life. The miserable death of the said Grimwood was, as John Foxe saith thus: That WHEN HE WAS IN HIS LABOUR, STAKING UP A GOSSE OF CORN, HAVING HIS HEALTH, AND FEARING NO PERIL, SUDDENLY HIS BOWELS FELL OUT OF HIS BODY, AND IMMEDIATELY MOST MISERABLY HE DIED. Now it so fell out that in the reign of Elizabeth, one Prit* became parson of the parish where the said Grimwood dwelt, and preaching against perjury, being not acquainted with his parishioners, cited the said story of Foxe, and it happened that Grimwood being alive, and in the said church, he brought an action upon the case, against the parson, but Judge Anderson, who sate at the Assizes in the county of Suffolk, did adjudge it not maintainable, because it was not spoken maliciously."**

* Or Prick.

** Anthony d Wood, Athenae Oxoniensis, vol. i., p. 691.

That the action was not maintainable on the ground of malice, as against the parson, may have been true, but Foxe cannot reasonably be acquitted, for although he went into Suffolk professedly to investigate the matter, he never made any alteration in his story in subsequent editions, and the very latest impression of the Acts and Monuments perpetuates the lie and slander.

Thirty years after the death of Sir Thomas More, Foxe undertook to collect all the traditional gossip afloat concerning the Chancellor's alleged treatment of John Tewkesbury and James Bainham, for heresy. Tewkesbury was a leather-seller of London, and Foxe says that he was sent to Sir Thomas Mores house at Chelsea to be examined, and that "there he lay in the porter's lodge, hand, foot, and head in the stocks, six days without release. Then was he carried to Jesus' Tree in his privy garden, where he was whipped, and also twisted in his brows with a small rope, that the blood started out of his eyes, and yet would not accuse no man. Then was he let loose for a day, and his friends thought to have him at liberty the next day. After this he was sent to be racked in the Tower, till he was almost lame, and there promised to recant.*

* Acts and Monuments, vol. iv., p. 689; Pratt's ed.

The truth of the matter was, however, that as Tewkesbury was examined for the first time on the 8th May 1529, and immediately afterwards recanted, the event occurred several months before Sir Thomas More became Lord Chancellor; and therewith falls to the ground the story of Tewkesbury's being tortured in Mores garden, the punishment of heretics being part of the Lord Chancellor's office.

James Bainham was a lawyer, and Foxe declares that he was whipped at the Tree of Truth in Mores garden, and was then sent to the Tower to be racked, "and so he was, Sir Thomas More being present himself, till in a manner he had lamed him." Bainham, like Tewkesbury, recanted, and both of them bewailed and retracted their recantations, first before their friends in a Protestant gathering in Bow Lane, and afterwards in a Catholic Church, in consequence of which, according to Foxe, both were burned. But a part of what Foxe wrote about Tewkesbury in one edition of the Acts and Monuments he omitted in another, patching it on to Bainham's story, thus stultifying himself as regards both stories,* and affording us another signal illustration of the irresponsible and unscrupulous way in which he could deal with evidence.

* Vol. iv., p. 702; and Appendix, p. 769; Pratt's ed.

He further attributed to More the death of John Frith, who suffered death in 1533, a year after Sir Thomas had laid down his office, although in his Apology, the exchancellor referred to Frith as being then in the Tower, not committed by him but by "the King's Grace and his Council."*

* Apology, p. 887.

Foxe might easily, had he been so inclined, have verified these things by reference to the thirty-sixth chapter of the above-mentioned Apology, in which More answered the lies "neither few nor small that many of the blessed brethren have made and daily yet make by me." He goes on to say:--

"Divers of them have said that of such as were in my house while I was chancellor, I used to examine them with torments, causing them to be bound to a tree in my garden, and there piteously beaten. And this tale had some of those brethren so caused to be blown about, that a right worshipful friend of mine did of late, within less than this fortnight, tell unto another near friend of mine that he had of late heard much speaking thereof. What cannot these brethren say that can be so shameless to say thus? For of very truth, albeit that for a great robbery, or a heinous murder, or sacrilege in a church, with carrying away the pix with the Blessed Sacrament, or villainously casting it out, I caused sometimes such things to be done by some officers of the Marshalsea, or of some other prisons, with which ordering of them, and without any great hurt that afterwards should stick by them, I found out and repressed many such desperate wretches, as else had not failed to have gone farther; yet saving the sure keeping of heretics, I never did cause any such thing to be done to any of them in all my life except only twain."