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Title: From Ritual to Romance
Author: Jessie L. Weston
Release date: May 1, 2003 [eBook #4090]
Most recently updated: July 15, 2025
Language: English
Credits: Robert Kiesling
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM RITUAL TO ROMANCE ***
From Ritual to Romance
["Weston, Jessie L."]
1919
2025-07-15
Unknown
en
"From Ritual to Romance" by Jessie L. Weston is a scholarly work written in the early 20th century. This book delves into the intricate relationships between ancient rituals, folklore, and the legend of the Holy Grail, positing that the Grail story is deeply rooted in earlier fertility cults and nature worship. Weston's analysis draws predominantly on comparative religious studies, illuminating how various cultural traditions influence the narrative and symbolism found within the Grail romances. At the start of the text, Weston establishes the study's aim of clarifying the origins of the Grail legend, highlighting the conflicting theories about its Christian versus folkloric roots. She reflects on the wealth of prior scholarship while asserting that existing narratives intertwine in complex ways, necessitating a unified approach to understanding the Grail's significance. Weston introduces her research journey, citing influential scholars and outlining her intent to propose a new perspective that reconciles different strands of evidence regarding the legend's origins within ancient rituals. Through this opening, readers are invited into a thorough exploration of how deeply ingrained religious symbols and practices manifest in literary traditions, setting the stage for a comprehensive examination of the Grail and its pivotal role in cultural narratives. (This is an automatically generated summary.)
From Ritual to Romance
by Jessie L. Weston
“Animus ad amplitudinem Mysteriorum pro modulo suo dilatetur, non
Mysteria ad angustias animi constringantur.” (Bacon.)
“Many literary critics seem to think that an hypothesis about obscure
and remote questions of history can be refuted by a simple demand for
the production of more evidence than in fact exists.—But the true test
of an hypothesis, if it cannot be shewn to conflict with known truths,
is the number of facts that it correlaates, and explains.” (Cornford,
_Origins of Attic Comedy_.)
PrefacePreface
In the introductory Chapter the reader will find the aim and object of
these studies set forth at length. In view of the importance and
complexity of the problems involved it seemed better to incorporate
such a statement in the book itself, rather than relegate it to a
Preface which all might not trouble to read. Yet I feel that such a
general statement does not adequately express my full debt of
obligation.
Among the many whose labour has been laid under contribution in the
following pages there are certain scholars whose published work, or
personal advice, has been specially illuminating, and to whom specific
acknowledgment is therefore due. Like many others I owe to Sir J. G.
Frazer the initial inspiration which set me, as I may truly say, on the
road to the Grail Castle. Without the guidance of _The Golden Bough_ I
should probably, as the late M. Gaston Paris happily expressed it,
still be wandering in the forest of Broceliande!
During the Bayreuth Festival of 1911 I had frequent opportunities of
meeting, and discussion with, Professor von Schroeder. I owe to him not
only the introduction to his own work, which I found most helpful, but
references which have been of the greatest assistance; _e.g._ my
knowledge of Cumont’s _Les Religions Orientales_, and Scheftelowitz’s
valuable study on _Fish Symbolism_, both of which have furnished
important links in the chain of evidence, is due to Professor von
Schroeder.
The perusal of Miss J. E. Harrison’s _Themis_ opened my eyes to the
extended importance of these Vegetation rites. In view of the evidence
there adduced I asked myself whether beliefs which had found expression
not only in social institution, and popular custom, but, as set forth
in Sir G. Murray’s study on Greek Dramatic Origins, attached to the
work, also in Drama and Literature, might not reasonably—even
inevitably—be expected to have left their mark on Romance? The one
seemed to me a necessary corollary of the other, and I felt that I had
gained, as the result of Miss Harrison’s work, a wider, and more
assured basis for my own researches. I was no longer engaged merely in
enquiring into the sources of a fascinating legend, but on the
identification of another field of activity for forces whose potency as
agents of evolution we were only now beginning rightly to appreciate.
Finally, a casual reference, in Anrich’s work on the Mysteries, to the
_Naassene Document_, caused me to apply to Mr G. R. S. Mead, of whose
knowledge of the mysterious border-land between Christianity and
Paganism, and willingness to place that knowledge at the disposal of
others, I had, for some years past, had pleasant experience. Mr Mead
referred me to his own translation and analysis of the text in
question, and there, to my satisfaction, I found, not only the final
link that completed the chain of evolution from Pagan Mystery to
Christian Ceremonial, but also proof of that wider significance I was
beginning to apprehend. The problem involved was not one of Folk-lore,
not even one of Literature, but of Comparative Religion in its widest
sense.
Thus, while I trust that my co-workers in the field of Arthurian
research will accept these studies as a permanent contribution to the
elucidation of the Grail problem, I would fain hope that those scholars
who labour in a wider field, and to whose works I owe so much, may find
in the results here set forth elements that may prove of real value in
the study of the evolution of religious belief.
J. L. W.
Paris,
_October_, 1919.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I IntroductoryCHAPTER I
Introductory
Nature of the Grail problem. Unsatisfactory character of results
achieved. Objections to Christian Legendary origin; to Folk-lore
origin. Elements in both theories sound. Solution to be sought in a
direction which will do justice to both. Sir J. G. Frazer’s _Golden
Bough_ indicates possible line of research. Sir W. Ridgeway’s criticism
of _Vegetation_ theory examined. _Dramas and Dramatic Dances_. The
Living and not the Dead King the factor of importance. Impossibility of
proving human origin for Vegetation Deities. Not Death but Resurrection
the essential centre of Ritual. _Muharram_ too late in date and lacks
Resurrection feature. Relation between defunct heroes and special
localities. Sanctity possibly antecedent to connection. _Mana_ not
necessarily a case of relics. Self-acting weapons frequent in Medieval
Romance. Sir J. G. Frazer’s theory holds good. Remarks on method and
design of present Studies.
CHAPTER II The Task of the HeroCHAPTER II
The Task of the Hero
Essential to determine the original nature of the task imposed upon the
hero. Versions examined. The Gawain forms—_Bleheris, Diû Crône_.
Perceval versions—_Gerbert, prose Perceval, Chrétien de Troyes,
Perlesvaus, Manessier, Peredur, Parzival_. Galahad—Queste. Result,
primary task healing of Fisher King and removal of curse of Waste Land.
The two inter-dependent. Illness of King entails misfortune on Land.
Enquiry into nature of King’s disability. _Sone de Nansai_. For
elucidation of problem necessary to bear in mind close connection
between Land and Ruler. Importance of Waste Land _motif_ for criticism.
CHAPTER III The Freeing of the WatersCHAPTER III
The Freeing of the Waters
Enquiry may commence with early Aryan tradition. The _Rig-Veda_.
Extreme importance assigned to Indra’s feat of “Freeing the Waters.”
This also specific achievement of Grail heroes. Extracts from
_Rig-Veda_. Dramatic poems and monologues. Professor von Schroeder’s
theory. _Mysterium und Mimus. Ṛishyaçṛiñga_ drama. Parallels with
_Perceval_ story. Result, the specific task of the Grail hero not a
literary invention but an inheritance of Aryan tradition.
CHAPTER IV
Tammuz and Adonis
General objects to be attained by these Nature Cults. Stimulation of
Fertility, Animal and Vegetable. Principle of Life ultimately conceived
of in anthropomorphic form. This process already advanced in
_Rig-Veda_. Greek Mythology preserves intermediate stage. The _Eniautos
Daimon_. Tammuz—earliest known representative of Dying God. Character
of the worship. Origin of the name. _Lament for Tammuz_. His death
affects not only Vegetable but Animal life. Lack of artistic
representation of Mysteries. Mr Langdon’s suggestion. Ritual possibly
dramatic. Summary of evidence. Adonis—Phoenician-Greek equivalent of
Tammuz. Probably most popular and best known form of Nature Cult.
Mythological tale of Adonis. Enquiry into nature of injury. Importance
of recognizing true nature of these cults and of the ritual observed.
Varying dates of celebration. Adonis probably originally _Eniautos
Daimon_. Principle of Life in general, hence lack of fixity in date.
Details of the ritual. Parallels with the Grail legend examined. Dead
Knight or Disabled King. Consequent misfortunes of Land. The Weeping
Women. The Hairless Maiden. Position of Castle. Summing up. Can
incidents of such remote antiquity be used as criticism for a Medieval
text?
CHAPTER V Medieval and Modern Forms of Nature RitualCHAPTER V
Medieval and Modern Forms of Nature Ritual
Is it possible to establish chain of descent connecting early Aryan and
Babylonian Ritual with Classic, Medieval and Modern forms of Nature
worship? Survival of Adonis cult established. Evidence of Mannhardt and
Frazer. Existing Continental customs recognized as survivals of ancient
beliefs. Instances. ‘Directly related’ to Attis-Adonis cult. Von
Schroeder establishes parallel between existing Fertility procession
and _Rig-Veda_ poem. Identification of Life Principle with King.
Prosperity of land dependent on king as representative of god. Celts.
Greeks. Modern instances, the Shilluk Kings. Parallel between Shilluk
King, Grail King and Vegetation Deity. _Sone de Nansai_ and the _Lament
for Tammuz_. Identity of situation. Plea for unprejudiced criticism.
Impossibility of such parallels being fortuitous; the result of
deliberate intention, not an accident of literary invention. If
identity of central character be admitted his relation to Waste Land
becomes fundamental factor in criticizing versions. Another African
survival.
CHAPTER VI The SymbolsCHAPTER VI
The Symbols
Summary of results of previous enquiry. _The Medieval Stage_. Grail
romances probably contain record of secret ritual of a Fertility cult.
The Symbols of the cult—Cup, Lance, Sword, Stone, or Dish. Plea for
treating Symbols as a related group not as isolated units. Failure to
do so probably cause of unsatisfactory result of long research.
Essential to recognize Grail story as an original whole and to treat it
in its _ensemble_ aspect. We must differentiate between origin and
accretion. Instances. _The Legend of Longinus_. Lance and Cup not
associated in Christian Art. Evidence. The _Spear_ of Eastern Liturgies
only a _Knife. The Bleeding Lance_. Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann.
Correspond as a group with Grail Symbols. Difficulty of equating
Cauldron-Grail. Probably belong to a different line of tradition.
Instances given. Real significance of Lance and Cup. Well known as Life
Symbols. The Samurai. Four Symbols also preserved as Suits of the
Tarot. Origin of Tarot discussed. Probably reached Europe from the
East. Use of the Symbols in Magic. Probable explanation of these
various appearances to be found in fact that associated group were at
one time symbols of a Fertility cult. Further evidence to be examined.
CHAPTER VII The Sword DanceCHAPTER VII
The Sword Dance
Relation of Sword Dance, Morris Dance, and Mumming Play. Their
Ceremonial origin now admitted by scholars. Connected with seasonal
Festivals and Fertility Ritual. Earliest Sword Dancers, the Maruts. Von
Schroeder, _Mysterium und Mimus_. Discussion of their nature and
functions. The Kouretes. Character of their dance. Miss J. E. Harrison,
Themis. The Korybantes. Dance probably sacrificial in origin. The
Salii. Dramatic element in their dance. Mars, as Fertility god.
Mamurius Veturius. Anna Perenna. Character of dance seasonal. Modern
British survivals. The Sword Dance. Mostly preserved in North.
Variants. Mr E. K. Chambers, _The Medieval Stage_. The Mumming Plays.
Description. Characters. Recognized as representing Death and Revival
of Vegetation Deity. Dr Jevons, _Masks and the Origin of the Greek
Drama_. Morris Dances. No dramatic element. Costume of character
significant. Possible survival of theriomorphic origin. Elaborate
character of figures in each group. Symbols employed. The Pentangle.
The Chalice. Present form shows dislocation. Probability that three
groups were once a combined whole and Symbols united. Evidence
strengthens view advanced in last Chapter. Symbols originally a group
connected with lost form of Fertility Ritual. Possible origin of Grail
Knights to be found in Sword Dancers.
CHAPTER VIII The Medicine ManCHAPTER VIII
The Medicine Man
The _rôle_ of the Medicine Man, or Doctor in Fertility Ritual. Its
importance and antiquity. The _Rig-Veda_ poem. Classical evidence, Mr
F. Cornford. Traces of Medicine Man in the Grail romances. Gawain as
Healer. Persistent tradition. Possible survival from pre-literary form.
Evidence of the _Triads_. Peredur as Healer. Evolution of theme. _Le
Dist de l’Erberie_.
CHAPTER IX The Fisher KingCHAPTER IX
The Fisher King
Summary of evidence presented. Need of a ‘test’ element. To be found in
central figure. Mystery of his title. Analysis of variants. _Gawain_
version. _Perceval_ version. Borron alone attempts explanation of
title. _Parzival. Perlesvaus. Queste. Grand Saint Graal_. Comparison
with surviving ritual variants. Original form King dead, and restored
to life. Old Age and Wounding themes. Legitimate variants. Doubling of
character a literary device. Title. Why _Fisher_ King? Examination of
Fish Symbolism. Fish a Life symbol. Examples. Indian—Manu, Vishnu,
Buddha. Fish in Buddhism. Evidence from China. Orpheus. Babylonian
evidence. Tammuz _Lord of the Net_. Jewish Symbolism. The Messianic
Fish-meal. Adopted by Christianity. Evidence of the catacombs. Source
of Borron’s Fish-meals. Mystery tradition not Celtic Folk-tale.
Comparison of version with _Finn_ story. With Messianic tradition.
_Epitaph of Bishop Aberkios. Voyage of Saint Brandan_. Connection of
Fish with goddess Astarte. Cumont. Connection of Fish and Dove. Fish as
Fertility Symbol. Its use in Marriage ceremonies. Summing up of
evidence. Fisher King inexplicable from Christian point of view.
Folk-lore solution unsatisfactory. As a Ritual survival completely in
place. Centre of action, and proof of soundness of theory.
CHAPTER X The Secret of the Grail (1)CHAPTER X
The Secret of the Grail (1)
_The Mysteries_
The Grail regarded as an object of awe. Danger of speaking of Grail or
revealing Its secrets. Passages in illustration. Why, if survival of
Nature cults, popular, and openly performed? A two-fold element in
these cults, _Exoteric, Esoteric_. The Mysteries. Their influence on
Christianity to be sought in the _Hellenized_ rather than the
_Hellenic_ cults. Cumont. Rohde. Radical difference between Greek and
Oriental conceptions. Lack of evidence as regards Mysteries on the
whole. Best attested form that connected with Nature cults.
Attis-Adonis. Popularity of the Phrygian cult in Rome. Evidence as to
Attis Mysteries. Utilized by Neo-Platonists as vehicle for teaching.
Close connection with Mithraism. The Taurobolium. Details of Attis
Mysteries. Parallels with the Grail romances.
CHAPTER XI The Secret of the Grail (2)CHAPTER XI
The Secret of the Grail (2)
_The Naassene Document_
Relations between early Christianity, and pre-Christian cults. Early
Heresies. Hippolytus, and _The Refutation of all Heresies_. Character
of the work. _The Naassene Document_. Mr Mead’s analysis of text. A
synthesis of Mysteries. Identification of Life Principle with the
Logos. Connection between Drama and Mysteries of Attis. Importance of
the Phrygian Mysteries. Naassene claim to be sole Christians.
Significance of evidence. Vegetation cults as vehicle of high spiritual
teaching. Exoteric and Esoteric parallels with the Grail tradition.
Process of evolution sketched. Bleheris. _Perlesvaus_. Borron and the
Mystery tradition. Christian Legendary, and Folk-tale, secondary, not
primary, features.
CHAPTER XII Mithra and AttisCHAPTER XII
Mithra and Attis
Problem of close connection of cults. Their apparent divergence. Nature
of deities examined. Attis. Mithra. The Messianic Feast. Dieterich,
_Eine Mithrasliturgie_. Difference between the two initiations. Link
between Phrygian, Mithraic, and Christian, Mysteries to be found in
their higher, esoteric, teaching. Women not admitted to Mithraic
initiation. Possible survival in Grail text. Joint diffusion through
the Roman Empire. Cumont’s evidence. Traces of cult in British Isles.
Possible explanation of unorthodox character of Grail legend. Evidence
of survival of cult in fifth century. The _Elucidation_ a possible
record of historic facts. Reason for connecting Grail with Arthurian
tradition.
CHAPTER XIII The Perilous ChapelCHAPTER XIII
The Perilous Chapel
The adventure of the Perilous Chapel in Grail romances. _Gawain_ form.
_Perceval_ versions. _Queste. Perlesvaus. Lancelot. Chevalier à Deux
Espées_. Perilous Cemetery. Earliest reference in _Chastel Orguellous.
Âtre Perilleus. Prose Lancelot_. Adventure part of ‘Secret of the
Grail.’ The Chapel of Saint Austin. _Histoire de Fulk Fitz-Warin_.
Genuine record of an initiation. Probable locality North Britain. Site
of remains of Mithra-Attis cults. Traces of Mystery tradition in
Medieval romance. _Owain Miles_. Bousset, _Himmelfahrt der Seele_.
Parallels with romance. Appeal to Celtic scholars. Otherworld journeys
a possible survival of Mystery tradition. The Templars, were they
Naassenes?
CHAPTER XIV The AuthorCHAPTER XIV
The Author
_Provenance_ and authorship of Grail romantic tradition. Evidence
points to Wales, probably Pembrokeshire. Earliest form contained in
group of _Gawain_ poems assigned to Bleheris. Of Welsh origin. Master
Blihis, Blihos, Bliheris, Bréri, Bledhericus. Probably all references
to same person. Conditions of identity. Mr E. Owen, and Bledri ap
Cadivor. Evidence not complete but fulfils conditions of problem
Professor Singer and possible character of Bleheris’ text. Mr Alfred
Nutt. Irish and Welsh parallels. Recapitulation of evolutionary
process. Summary and conclusion.
CHAPTER I IntroductoryCHAPTER I
Introductory
In view of the extensive literature to which the Grail legend has
already given birth it may seem that the addition of another volume to
the already existing _corpus_ calls for some words of apology and
explanation. When the student of the subject contemplates the countless
essays and brochures, the volumes of studies and criticism, which have
been devoted to this fascinating subject, the conflicting character of
their aims, their hopelessly contradictory results, he, or she, may
well hesitate before adding another element to such a veritable
witches’ cauldron of apparently profitless study. And indeed, were I
not convinced that the theory advocated in the following pages contains
in itself the element that will resolve these conflicting ingredients
into one harmonious compound I should hardly feel justified in offering
a further contribution to the subject.
But it is precisely because upwards of thirty years’ steady and
persevering study of the Grail texts has brought me gradually and
inevitably to certain very definite conclusions, has placed me in
possession of evidence hitherto ignored, or unsuspected, that I venture
to offer the result in these studies, trusting that they may be
accepted as, what I believe them to be, a genuine _Elucidation_ of the
Grail problem.
My fellow-workers in this field know all too well the essential
elements of that problem; I do not need here to go over already
well-trodden ground; it will be sufficient to point out certain salient
features of the position.
The main difficulty of our research lies in the fact that the Grail
legend consists of a congeries of widely differing elements—elements
which at first sight appear hopelessly incongruous, if not completely
contradictory, yet at the same time are present to an extent, and in a
form, which no honest critic can afford to ignore.
Thus it has been perfectly possible for one group of scholars, relying
upon the undeniably Christian-Legendary elements, preponderant in
certain versions, to maintain the thesis that the Grail legend is _ab
initio_ a Christian, and ecclesiastical, legend, and to analyse the
literature on that basis alone.
Another group, with equal reason, have pointed to the strongly marked
Folk-lore features preserved in the tale, to its kinship with other
themes, mainly of Celtic _provenance_, and have argued that, while the
later versions of the cycle have been worked over by ecclesiastical
writers in the interests of edification, the story itself is
non-Christian, and Folk-lore in origin.
Both groups have a basis of truth for their arguments: the features
upon which they rely are, in each case, undeniably present, yet at the
same time each line of argument is faced with certain insuperable
difficulties, fatal to the claims advanced.
Thus, the theory of Christian origin breaks down when faced with the
awkward fact that there is no Christian legend concerning Joseph of
Arimathea and the Grail. Neither in Legendary, nor in Art, is there any
trace of the story; it has no existence outside the Grail literature,
it is the creation of romance, and no genuine tradition.
On this very ground it was severely criticized by the Dutch writer
Jacob van Maerlant, in 1260. In his _Merlin_ he denounces the whole
Grail history as lies, asserting that the Church knows nothing of
it—which is true.
In the same way the advocate of a Folk-lore origin is met with the
objection that the section of the cycle for which such a source can be
definitely proved, _i.e._, the _Perceval_ story, has originally nothing
whatever to do with the Grail; and that, while parallels can be found
for this or that feature of the legend, such parallels are isolated in
character and involve the breaking up of the tale into a composite of
mutually independent themes. A prototype, containing the main features
of the Grail story—the Waste Land, the Fisher King, the Hidden Castle
with its solemn Feast, and mysterious Feeding Vessel, the Bleeding
Lance and Cup—does not, so far as we know, exist. None of the great
collections of Folk-tales, due to the industry of a Cosquin, a
Hartland, or a Campbell, has preserved specimens of such a type; it is
not such a story as, _e.g._, _The Three Days Tournament_, examples of
which are found all over the world. Yet neither the advocate of a
Christian origin, nor the Folk-lorist, can afford to ignore the
arguments, and evidence of the opposing school, and while the result of
half a century of patient investigation has been to show that the
origin of the Grail story must be sought elsewhere than in
ecclesiastical legend, or popular tale, I hold that the result has
equally been to demonstrate that neither of these solutions should be
ignored, but that the ultimate source must be sought for in a direction
which shall do justice to what is sound in the claims of both.
Some years ago, when fresh from the study of Sir J. G. Frazer’s
epoch-making work, _The Golden Bough_, I was struck by the resemblance
existing between certain features of the Grail story, and
characteristic details of the Nature Cults described. The more closely
I analysed the tale, the more striking became the resemblance, and I
finally asked myself whether it were not possible that in this
mysterious legend—mysterious alike in its character, its sudden
appearance, the importance apparently assigned to it, followed by as
sudden and complete a disappearance—we might not have the confused
record of a ritual, once popular, later surviving under conditions of
strict secrecy? This would fully account for the atmosphere of awe and
reverence which even under distinctly non-Christian conditions never
fails to surround the Grail, It may act simply as a feeding vessel, It
is none the less _toute sainte cose;_ and also for the presence in the
tale of distinctly popular, and Folk-lore, elements. Such an
interpretation would also explain features irreconcilable with orthodox
Christianity, which had caused some scholars to postulate a heterodox
origin for the legend, and thus explain its curiously complete
disappearance as a literary theme. In the first volume of my _Perceval_
studies, published in 1906, I hinted at this possible solution of the
problem, a solution worked out more fully in a paper read before the
Folk-lore Society in December of the same year, and published in Volume
XVIII. of the Journal of the Society. By the time my second volume of
studies was ready for publication in 1909, further evidence had come
into my hands; I was then certain that I was upon the right path, and I
felt justified in laying before the public the outlines of a theory of
evolution, alike of the legend, and of the literature, to the main
principles of which I adhere to-day.
But certain links were missing in the chain of evidence, and the work
was not complete. No inconsiderable part of the information at my
disposal depended upon personal testimony, the testimony of those who
knew of the continued existence of such a ritual, and had actually been
initiated into its mysteries—and for such evidence the student of the
letter has little respect. He worships the written word; for the oral,
living, tradition from which the word derives force and vitality he has
little use. Therefore the written word had to be found. It has taken me
some nine or ten years longer to complete the evidence, but the chain
is at last linked up, and we can now prove by printed texts the
parallels existing between each and every feature of the Grail story
and the recorded symbolism of the Mystery cults. Further, we can show
that between these Mystery cults and Christianity there existed at one
time a close and intimate union, such a union as of itself involved the
practical assimilation of the central rite, in each case a
‘Eucharisticc’ Feast, in which the worshippers partook of the Food of
Life from the sacred vessels.
In face of the proofs which will be found in these pages I do not think
any fair-minded critic will be inclined to dispute any longer the
origin of the ‘Holy’ Grail; after all it is as august and ancient an
origin as the most tenacious upholder of Its Christian character could
desire.
But I should wish it clearly to be understood that the aim of these
studies is, as indicated in the title, to determine the _origin_ of the
Grail, not to discuss the _provenance_ and interrelation of the
different versions. I do not believe this latter task can be
satisfactorily achieved unless and until we are of one accord as to the
character of the subject matter. When we have made up our minds as to
what the Grail really was, and what it stood for, we shall be able to
analyse the romances; to decide which of them contains more, which
less, of the original matter, and to group them accordingly. On this
point I believe that the table of descent, printed in Volume II. of my
_Perceval_ studies is in the main correct, but there is still much
analytical work to be done, in particular the establishment of the
original form of the _Perlesvaus_ is highly desirable. But apart from
the primary object of these studies, and the results therein obtained,
I would draw attention to the manner in which the evidence set forth in
the chapters on the Mystery cults, and especially that on _The Naassene
Document_, a text of extraordinary value from more than one point of
view, supports and complements the researches of Sir J. G. Frazer. I
am, of course, familiar with the attacks directed against the
‘Vegetation’ theory, the sarcasms of which it has been the object, and
the criticisms of what is held in some quarters to be the exaggerated
importance attached to these Nature cults. But in view of the use made
of these cults as the medium of imparting high spiritual teaching, a
use which, in face of the document above referred to, can no longer be
ignored or evaded, are we not rather justified in asking if the true
importance of the rites has as yet been recognized? Can we possibly
exaggerate their value as a factor in the evolution of religious
consciousness?
Such a development of his researches naturally lay outside the range of
Sir J. G. Frazer’s work, but posterity will probably decide that, like
many another patient and honest worker, he ‘builded better than he
knew.’
I have carefully read Sir W. Ridgeway’s attack on the school in his
_Dramas and Dramatic Dances_, and while the above remarks explain my
position with regard to the question as a whole, I would here take the
opportunity of stating specifically my grounds for dissenting from
certain of the conclusions at which the learned author arrives. I do
not wish it to be said: “This is all very well, but Miss Weston ignores
the arguments on the other side.” I do not ignore, but I do not admit
their validity. It is perfectly obvious that Sir W. Ridgeway’s theory,
reduced to abstract terms, would result in the conclusion that all
religion is based upon the cult of the Dead, and that men originally
knew no gods but their grandfathers, a theory from which as a student
of religion I absolutely and entirely dissent. I can understand that
such Dead Ancestors can be looked upon as Protectors, or as
Benefactors, but I see no ground for supposing that they have ever been
regarded as Creators, yet it is precisely as vehicle for the most lofty
teaching as to the Cosmic relations existing between God and Man, that
these Vegetation cults were employed. The more closely one studies
pre-Christian Theology, the more strongly one is impressed with the
deeply, and daringly, spiritual character of its speculations, and the
more doubtful it appears that such teaching can depend upon the unaided
processes of human thought, or can have been evolved from such germs as
we find among the supposedly ‘primitive’ peoples, such as _e.g._ the
Australian tribes. Are they really primitive? Or are we dealing, not
with the primary elements of religion, but with the _disjecta membra_
of a vanished civilization? Certain it is that so far as historical
evidence goes our earliest records point to the recognition of a
spiritual, not of a material, origin of the human race; the Sumerian
and Babylonian Psalms were not composed by men who believed themselves
the descendants of ‘witchetty grubs.’ The Folk practices and ceremonies
studied in these pages, the Dances, the rough Dramas, the local and
seasonal celebrations, do not represent the material out of which the
Attis-Adonis cult was formed, but surviving fragments of a worship from
which the higher significance has vanished.
Sir W. Ridgeway is confident that Osiris, Attis, Adonis, were all at
one time human beings, whose tragic fate gripped hold of popular
imagination, and led to their ultimate deification. The first-named
cult stands on a somewhat different basis from the others, the
beneficent activities of Osiris being more widely diffused, more
universal in their operation. I should be inclined to regard the
Egyptian deity primarily as a Culture Hero, rather than a Vegetation
God.
With regard to Attis and Adonis, whatever their original character (and
it seems to me highly improbable that there should have been two youths
each beloved by a goddess, each victim of a similar untimely fate),
long before we have any trace of them both have become so intimately
identified with the processes of Nature that they have ceased to be men
and become gods, and as such alone can we deal with them. It is also
permissible to point out that in the case of Tammuz, Esmun, and Adonis,
the title is not a proper name, but a vague appellative, denoting an
abstract rather than a concrete origin. Proof of this will be found
later. Sir W. Ridgeway overlooks the fact that it is not the tragic
death of Attis-Adonis which is of importance for these cults, but their
subsequent restoration to life, a feature which cannot be postulated of
any ordinary mortal.
And how are we to regard Tammuz, the prototype of all these deities? Is
there any possible ground for maintaining that he was ever a man? Prove
it we cannot, as the records of his cult go back thousands of years
before our era. Here, again, we have the same dominant feature; it is
not merely the untimely death which is lamented, but the restoration to
life which is celebrated.
Throughout the whole study the author fails to discriminate between the
activities of the living, and the dead, king. The Dead king may, as I
have said above, be regarded as the Benefactor, as the Protector, of
his people, but it is the Living king upon whom their actual and
continued prosperity depends. The detail that the ruling sovereign is
sometimes regarded as the re-incarnation of the original founder of the
race strengthens this point—the king never dies—_Le Roi est mort, Vive
le Roi_ is very emphatically the motto of this Faith. It is the
insistence on Life, Life continuous, and ever-renewing, which is the
abiding characteristic of these cults, a characteristic which
differentiates them utterly and entirely from the ancestral worship
with which Sir W. Ridgeway would fain connect them.
Nor are the arguments based upon the memorial rites of definitely
historical heroes, of comparatively late date, such as Hussein and
Hossein, of any value here. It is precisely the death, and not the
resurrection, of the martyr which is of the essence of the Muharram. No
one contends that Hussein rose from the dead, but it is precisely this
point which is of primary importance in the Nature cults; and Sir W.
Ridgeway must surely be aware that Folk-lorists find in this very
Muharram distinct traces of borrowing from the earlier Vegetation
rites.
The author triumphantly asserts that the fact that certain Burmese
heroes and heroines are after death reverenced as tree spirits ‘sets at
rest for ever’ the belief in abstract deities. But how can he be sure
that the process was not the reverse of that which he postulates,
_i.e._, that certain natural objects, trees, rivers, etc., were not
regarded as sacred _before_ the Nats became connected with them? That
the deified human beings were not after death assigned to places
already held in reverence? Such a possibility is obvious to any
Folk-lore student, and local traditions should in each case be
carefully examined before the contrary is definitely asserted.
So far as the origins of Drama are concerned the Ode quoted later from
the Naassene Document is absolute and definite proof of the close
connection existing between the Attis Mystery ritual, and dramatic
performances, _i.e._, Attis regarded in his deified, Creative, ‘Logos,’
aspect, not Attis, the dead youth.
Nor do I think that the idea of ‘Mana’ can be lightly dismissed as ‘an
ordinary case of relics.’ The influence may well be something entirely
apart from the continued existence of the ancestor, an independent
force, assisting him in life, and transferring itself after death to
his successor. A ‘Magic’ Sword or Staff is not necessarily a relic;
Medieval romance supplies numerous instances of self-acting weapons
whose virtue in no wise depends upon their previous owner, as _e.g._
the Sword in _Le Chevalier à l’Épée_, or the Flaming Lance of the
_Chevalier de la Charrette_. Doubtless the cult of Ancestors plays a
large _rôle_ in the beliefs of certain peoples, but it is not a
sufficiently solid foundation to bear the weight of the super-structure
Sir W. Ridgeway would fain rear upon it, while it differs too radically
from the cults he attacks to be used as an argument against them; the
one is based upon Death, the other on Life.
Wherefore, in spite of all the learning and ingenuity brought to bear
against it, I avow myself an impenitent believer in Sir J. G. Frazer’s
main theory, and as I have said above, I hold that theory to be of
greater and more far-reaching importance than has been hitherto
suspected.
I would add a few words as to the form of these studies—they may be
found disconnected. They have been written at intervals of time
extending over several years, and my aim has been to prove the
essentially archaic character of _all_ the elements composing the Grail
story rather than to analyse the story as a connected whole. With this
aim in view I have devoted chapters to features which have now either
dropped out of the existing versions, or only survive in a subordinate
form, e.g. the chapters on _The Medicine Man_, and _The Freeing of the
Waters_. The studies will, I hope, and believe, be accepted as offering
a definite contribution towards establishing the fundamental character
of our material; as stated above, when we are all at one as to what the
Holy Grail really was, and is, we can then proceed with some hope of
success to criticize the manner in which different writers have handled
the inspiring theme, but such success seems to be hopeless so long as
we all start from different, and often utterly irreconcilable,
standpoints and proceed along widely diverging roads. One or another
may, indeed, arrive at the goal, but such unanimity of opinion as will
lend to our criticism authoritative weight is, on such lines,
impossible of achievement.
CHAPTER II The Task of the HeroCHAPTER II
The Task of the Hero
As a first step towards the successful prosecution of an investigation
into the true nature and character of the mysterious object we know as
the Grail it will be well to ask ourselves whether any light may be
thrown upon the subject by examining more closely the details of the
Quest in its varying forms; _i.e._, what was the precise character of
the task undertaken by, or imposed upon, the Grail hero, whether that
hero were Gawain, Perceval, or Galahad, and what the results to be
expected from a successful achievement of the task. We shall find at
once a uniformity which assures us of the essential identity of the
tradition underlying the varying forms, and a diversity indicating that
the tradition has undergone a gradual, but radical, modification in the
process of literary evolution. Taken in their relative order the
versions give the following result.
GAWAIN (_Bleheris_). Here the hero sets out on his journey with no
clear idea of the task before him. He is taking the place of a knight
mysteriously slain in his company, but whither he rides, and why, he
does not know, only that the business is important and pressing. From
the records of his partial success we gather that he ought to have
enquired concerning the nature of the Grail, and that this enquiry
would have resulted in the restoration to fruitfulness of a Waste Land,
the desolation of which is, in some manner, not clearly explained,
connected with the death of a knight whose name and identity are never
disclosed. “Great is the loss that ye lie thus, ’tis even the
destruction of kingdoms, God grant that ye be avenged, so that the folk
be once more joyful and the land repeopled which by ye and this sword
are wasted and made void.”[1] The fact that Gawain does ask concerning
the Lance assures the partial restoration of the land; I would draw
attention to the special terms in which this is described: “for so soon
as Sir Gawain asked of the Lance...the waters flowed again thro’ their
channel, and all the woods were turned to verdure.”[2]
_Diû Crône_. Here the question is more general in character; it affects
the marvels beheld, not the Grail alone; but now the Quester is
prepared, and knows what is expected of him. The result is to break the
spell which retains the Grail King in a semblance of life, and we
learn, by implication, that the land is restored to fruitfulness: “yet
had the land been waste, but by his coming had folk and land alike been
delivered.”[3] Thus in the earliest preserved, the GAWAIN form, the
effect upon the land appears to be the primary result of the Quest.
PERCEVAL. The _Perceval_ versions, which form the bulk of the existing
Grail texts, differ considerably the one from the other, alike in the
task to be achieved, and the effects resulting from the hero’s success,
or failure. The distinctive feature of the _Perceval_ version is the
insistence upon the sickness, and disability of the ruler of the land,
the Fisher King. Regarded first as the direct cause of the wasting of
the land, it gradually assumes overwhelming importance, the task of the
Quester becomes that of healing the King, the restoration of the land
not only falls into the background but the operating cause of its
desolation is changed, and finally it disappears from the story
altogether. One version, alone, the source of which is, at present,
undetermined, links the PERCEVAL with the GAWAIN form; this is the
version preserved in the Gerbert continuation of the _Perceval_ of
Chrétien de Troyes. Here the hero having, like Gawain, partially
achieved the task, but again like Gawain, having failed satisfactorily
to resolder the broken sword, wakes, like the earlier hero, to find
that the Grail Castle has disappeared, and he is alone in a flowery
meadow. He pursues his way through a land fertile, and well-peopled and
marvels much, for the day before it had been a waste desert. Coming to
a castle he is received by a solemn procession, with great rejoicing;
through him the folk have regained the land and goods which they had
lost. The mistress of the castle is more explicit. Perceval had asked
concerning the Grail:
“par coi amendé
Somes, en si faite maniére
Qu’en ceste regne n’avoit riviére
Qui ne fust gaste, ne fontaine.
E la terre gaste et soutaine.”
Like Gawain he has ‘freed the waters’ and thus restored the land.[4]
In the prose _Perceval_ the _motif_ of the Waste Land has disappeared,
the task of the hero consists in asking concerning the Grail, and by so
doing, to restore the Fisher King, who is suffering from extreme old
age, to health, and youth.[5]
“Se tu eusses demandé quel’en on faisoit, que li rois ton aiol fust
gariz de l’enfermetez qu’il a, et fust revenu en sa juventé.”
When the question has been asked: “Le rois péschéor estoit gariz et tot
muez de sa nature.” “Li rois peschiére estoit mués de se nature et
estoit garis de se maladie, et estoit sains comme pissons.”[6] Here we
have the introduction of a new element, the restoration to youth of the
sick King.
In the _Perceval_ of Chrétien de Troyes we find ourselves in presence
of certain definite changes, neither slight, nor unimportant, upon
which it seems to me insufficient stress has hitherto been laid. The
question is changed; the hero no longer asks what the Grail is, but (as
in the prose _Perceval_) whom it serves? a departure from an essential
and primitive simplicity—the motive for which is apparent in Chrétien,
but not in the prose form, where there is no enigmatic personality to
be served apart. A far more important change is that, while the malady
of the Fisher King is antecedent to the hero’s visit, and capable of
cure if the question be asked, the failure to fulfil the prescribed
conditions of itself entails disaster upon the land. Thus the sickness
of the King, and the desolation of the land, are not necessarily
connected as cause and effect, but, a point which seems hitherto
unaccountably to have been overlooked, the latter is directly
attributable to the Quester himself.[7]
“Car se tu demandé l’eusses
Li rice roi qui moult s’esmaie
Fust or tost garis de sa plaie
Et si tenist sa tière en pais
Dont il n’en tenra point jamais,”
but by Perceval’s failure to ask the question he has entailed dire
misfortune upon the land:
“Dames en perdront lor maris,
Tiéres en seront essiliés,
Et pucielles desconselliés
Orfenes, veves, en remanront
Et maint chevalier en morront.”[8]
This idea, that the misfortunes of the land are not antecedent to, but
dependent upon, the hero’s abortive visit to the Grail Castle, is
carried still further by the compiler of the _Perlesvaus_, where the
failure of the predestined hero to ask concerning the office of the
Grail is alone responsible for the illness of the King and the
misfortunes of the country. “Une grans dolors est avenue an terre
novelement par un jeune chevalier qui fu herbergiez an l’ostel au riche
roi Peschéor, si aparut à lui li saintimes Graaus, et la lance de quoi
li fiers seigne par la poignte; ne demanda de quoi ce servoit, ou dont
ce venoit, et por ce qu’il ne demanda sont toutes les terres comméues
an guerre, ne chevalier n’ancontre autre au forest qu’il ne li core
sus, et ocie s’il peut.”[9]
“Li Roi Pecheors de qui est grant dolors, quar il est cheüz en une
douleureuse langour—ceste langour li est venue par celui qui se heberga
an son ostel, à qui li seintimes Graaus s’aparut, por ce que cil ne
vost demander de qu’il an servoit, toutes les terres an furent comméues
en gerre.”[10]
“Je suis cheüz an langour dès cele oure que li chevaliers se herberga
çoianz dont vous avez oï parler; par un soule parole que il déloia a
dire me vint ceste langour.”[11]
From this cause the Fisher King dies before the hero has achieved the
task, and can take his place. “Li bons Rois Peschiéres est morz.”[12]
There is here no cure of the King or restoration of the land, the
specific task of the Grail hero is never accomplished, he comes into
his kingdom as the result of a number of knightly adventures, neither
more nor less significant than those found in non-Grail romances.
The _Perlesvaus_, in its present form, appears to be a later, and more
fully developed, treatment of the _motif_ noted in Chrétien, _i.e._,
that the misfortunes of King and country are directly due to the
Quester himself, and had no antecedent existence; this, I would submit,
alters the whole character of the story, and we are at a loss to know
what, had the hero put the question on the occasion of his first visit,
could possibly have been the result achieved. It would not have been
the cure of the King: he was, apparently, in perfect health; it would
not have been the restoration to verdure of the Land: the Land was not
Waste; where, as in the case of Gawain, there is a Dead Knight, whose
death is to be avenged, _something_ might have been achieved, in the
case of the overwhelming majority of the _Perceval_ versions, which do
not contain this feature, the dependence of the Curse upon the Quester
reduces the story to incoherence. In one _Perceval_ version alone do we
find a _motif_ analogous to the earlier _Gawain Bleheris_ form. In
Manessier the hero’s task is not restricted to the simple asking of a
question, but he must also slay the enemy whose treachery has caused
the death of the Fisher King’s brother; thereby healing the wound of
the King himself, and removing the woes of the land. What these may be
we are not told, but, apparently, the country is not ‘Waste.’[13]
In _Peredur_ we have a version closely agreeing with that of Chrétien;
the hero fails to enquire the meaning of what he sees in the Castle of
Wonders, and is told in consequence: “Hadst thou done so the King would
have been restored to health, and his dominions to peace, whereas from
henceforth he will have to endure battles and conflicts, and his
knights will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be
left portionless, and all this because of thee.”[14] This certainly
seems to imply that, while the illness of the Fisher King may be
antecedent to, and independent of, the visit and failure of the hero,
the misfortunes which fall on the land have been directly caused
thereby.
The conclusion which states that the Bleeding Head seen by the hero
“was thy cousin’s, and he was killed by the Sorceresses of Gloucester,
who also lamed thine uncle—and there is a prediction that thou art to
avenge these things—” would seem to indicate the presence in the
original of a ‘Vengeance’ theme, such as that referred to above.[15]
In _Parzival_ the stress is laid entirely on the sufferings of the
King; the question has been modified in the interests of this theme,
and here assumes the form “What aileth thee, mine uncle?” The blame
bestowed upon the hero is solely on account of the prolonged sorrow his
silence has inflicted on King and people; of a Land laid Waste, either
through drought, or war, there is no mention.
“Iuch solt’ iur wirt erbarmet hân,
An dem Got wunder hât getân,
Und het gevrâget sîner nôt,
Ir lebet, und sît an saelden tôt.”[16]
“Dô der trûrege vischaere
Saz âne fröude und âne trôst
War umb’ iren niht siufzens hât erlôst.”[17]
The punishment falls on the hero who has failed to put the question,
rather than on the land, which, indeed, appears to be in no way
affected, either by the wound of the King, or the silence of the hero.
The divergence from Chrétien’s version is here very marked, and, so
far, seems to have been neglected by critics. The point is also of
importance in view of the curious parallels which are otherwise to be
found between this version and _Perlesvaus;_ here the two are in marked
contradiction with one another.
The question finally asked, the result is, as indicated in the prose
version, the restoration of the King not merely to health, but also to
youth—
“Swaz der Frânzoys heizet flô’rî’
Der glast kom sinem velle bî,
Parzival’s schoen’ was nu ein wint;
Und Absalôn Dâvîdes kint,
Von Askalûn Vergulaht
Und al den schoene was geslaht,
Und des man Gahmurete jach
Dô man’n in zogen sach
Ze Kanvoleis sô wünneclîch,
Ir dechéines schoen’ was der gelîch,
Die Anfortas ûz siecheit truoc.
Got noch künste kan genuoc.”[18]
GALAHAD. In the final form assumed by the story, that preserved in the
_Queste_, the achievement of the task is not preceded by any failure on
the part of the hero, and the advantages derived therefrom are personal
and spiritual, though we are incidentally told that he heals the Fisher
King’s father, and also the old King, Mordrains, whose life has been
preternaturally prolonged. In the case of this latter it is to be noted
that the mere fact of Galahad’s being the predestined winner suffices,
and the healing takes place _before_ the Quest is definitely achieved.
There is no Waste Land, and the wounding of the two Kings is entirely
unconnected with Galahad. We find hints, in the story of Lambar, of a
knowledge of the earlier form, but for all practical purposes it has
disappeared from the story.[19]
Analysing the above statements we find that the results may be grouped
under certain definite headings:
(_a_) There is a general consensus of evidence to the effect that the
main object of the Quest is the restoration to health and vigour of a
King suffering from infirmity caused by wounds, sickness, or old age;
(_b_) and whose infirmity, for some mysterious and unexplained reason,
reacts disastrously upon his kingdom, either depriving it of
vegetation, or exposing it to the ravages of war.
(_c_) In two cases it is definitely stated that the King will be
restored to youthful vigour and beauty.
(_d_) In both cases where we find Gawain as the hero of the story, and
in one connected with Perceval, the misfortune which has fallen upon
the country is that of a prolonged drought, which has destroyed
vegetation, and left the land Waste; the effect of the hero’s question
is to restore the waters to their channel, and render the land once
more fertile.
(_e_) In three cases the misfortunes and wasting of the land are the
result of war, and directly caused by the hero’s failure to ask the
question; we are not dealing with an antecedent condition. This, in my
opinion, constitutes a marked difference between the two groups, which
has not hitherto received the attention it deserves. One aim of our
present investigation will be to determine which of these two forms
should be considered the elder.
But this much seems certain, the aim of the Grail Quest is two-fold; it
is to benefit (_a_) the King, (_b_) the land. The first of these two is
the more important, as it is the infirmity of the King which entails
misfortune on his land, the condition of the one reacts, for good or
ill, upon the other; how, or why, we are left to discover for
ourselves.
Before proceeding further in our investigation it may be well to
determine the precise nature of the King’s illness, and see whether any
light upon the problem can be thus obtained.
In both the _Gawain_ forms the person upon whom the fertility of the
land depends is dead, though, in the version of _Diû Crône_ he is, to
all appearance, still in life. It should be noted that in the
_Bleheris_ form the king of the castle, who is not referred to as the
Fisher King, is himself hale and sound; the wasting of the land was
brought about by the blow which slew the knight whose body Gawain sees
on the bier.
In both the _Perlesvaus_, and the prose _Perceval_ the King has simply
‘fallen into languishment,’ in the first instance, as noted above, on
account of the failure of the Quester, in the second as the result of
extreme old age.
In Chrétien, Manessier, _Peredur_, and the _Parzival_, the King is
suffering from a wound the nature of which, euphemistically disguised
in the French texts, is quite clearly explained in the German.[20]
But the whole position is made absolutely clear by a passage preserved
in _Sone de Nansai_ and obviously taken over from an earlier poem. This
romance contains a lengthy section dealing with the history of Joseph
‘d’Abarimathie,’ who is represented as the patron Saint of the kingdom
of Norway; his bones, with the sacred relics of which he had the
charge, the Grail and the Lance, are preserved in a monastery on an
island in the interior of that country. In this version Joseph himself
is the Fisher King; ensnared by the beauty of the daughter of the Pagan
King of Norway, whom he has slain, he baptizes her, though she is still
an unbeliever at heart, and makes her his wife, thus drawing the wrath
of Heaven upon himself. God punishes him for his sin:
“Es rains et desous l’afola
De coi grant dolor endura.”[21]
Then, in a remarkable passage, we are told of the direful result
entailed by this punishment upon his land:
“Sa tierre ert a ce jour nommée
Lorgres, ch’est verités prouvée,
Lorgres est uns nons de dolour
Nommés en larmes et en plours,
Bien doit iestre en dolour nommés
Car on n’i seme pois ne blés
Ne enfes d’omme n’i nasqui
Ne puchielle n’i ot mari,
Ne arbres fueille n’i porta
Ne nus prés n’i raverdïa,
Ne nus oysiaus n’i ot naon
Ne se n’i ot beste faon,
Tant que li rois fu mehaigniés
Et qu’il fu fors de ses pechiés,
Car Jesu-Crist fourment pesa
Qu’à la mescréant habita.”[22]
Now there can be no possible doubt here, the condition of the King is
sympathetically reflected on the land, the loss of virility in the one
brings about a suspension of the reproductive processes of Nature on
the other. The same effect would naturally be the result of the death
of the sovereign upon whose vitality these processes depended.
To sum up the result of the analysis, I hold that we have solid grounds
for the belief that the story postulates a close connection between the
vitality of a certain King, and the prosperity of his kingdom; the
forces of the ruler being weakened or destroyed, by wound, sickness,
old age, or death, the land becomes Waste, and the task of the hero is
that of restoration.[23]
It seems to me, then, that, if we desire to elucidate the perplexing
mystery of the Grail romances, and to place the criticism of this
important and singularly fascinating body of literature upon an assured
basis, we shall do so most effectually by pursuing a line of
investigation which will concentrate upon the persistent elements of
the story, the character and significance of the achievement proposed,
rather than upon the varying details, such as Grail and Lance, however
important may be their _rôle_. If we can ascertain, accurately, and
unmistakably, the meaning of the whole, we shall, I think, find less
difficulty in determining the character and office of the parts, in
fact, the question _solvitur ambulando_, the ‘complex’ of the problem
being solved, the constituent elements will reveal their significance.
As a first step I propose to ask whether this ‘Quest of the Grail’
represents an isolated, and unique achievement, or whether the task
allotted to the hero, Gawain, Perceval, or Galahad, is one that has
been undertaken, and carried out by heroes of other ages, and other
lands. In the process of our investigation we must retrace our steps
and turn back to the early traditions of our Aryan forefathers, and see
whether we cannot, even in that remote antiquity, lay our hand upon a
clue, which, like the fabled thread of Ariadne, shall serve as guide
through the mazes of a varying, yet curiously persistent, tradition.
CHAPTER III The Freeing of the WatersCHAPTER III
The Freeing of the Waters
‘To begin at the beginning,’ was the old story-telling formula, and it
was a very sound one, if ‘the beginning’ could only be definitely
ascertained! As our nearest possible approach to it I would draw
attention to certain curious parallels in the earliest literary
monuments of our race. I would at the same time beg those scholars who
may think it ‘a far cry’ from the romances of the twelfth century of
our era to some 1000 years B.C. to suspend their judgment till they
have fairly examined the evidence for a tradition common to the Aryan
race in general, and persisting with extraordinary vitality, and a
marked correspondence of characteristic detail, through all migrations
and modifications of that race, down to the present day.
Turning back to the earliest existing literary evidence, the
_Rig-Veda_, we become aware that, in this vast collection of over 1000
poems (it is commonly known as _The Thousand and One Hymns_ but the
poems contained in it are more than that in number) are certain
parallels with our Grail stories which, if taken by themselves, are
perhaps interesting and suggestive rather than in any way conclusive,
yet which, when they are considered in relation to the entire body of
evidence, assume a curious significance and importance. We must first
note that a very considerable number of the _Rig-Veda_ hymns depend for
their initial inspiration on the actual bodily needs and requirements
of a mainly agricultural population, _i.e._, of a people that depend
upon the fruits of the earth for their subsistence, and to whom the
regular and ordered sequence of the processes of Nature was a vital
necessity.
Their hymns and prayers, and, as we have strong reason to suppose,
their dramatic ritual, were devised for the main purpose of obtaining
from the gods of their worship that which was essential to ensure their
well-being and the fertility of their land—warmth, sunshine, above all,
sufficient water. That this last should, in an Eastern land, under a
tropical sun, become a point of supreme importance, is easily to be
understood. There is consequently small cause for surprise when we
find, throughout the collection, the god who bestows upon them this
much desired boon to be the one to whom by far the greater proportion
of the hymns are addressed. It is not necessary here to enter into a
discussion as to the original conception of Indra, and the place
occupied by him in the early Aryan Pantheon, whether he was originally
regarded as a god of war, or a god of weather; what is important for
our purpose is the fact that it is Indra to whom a disproportionate
number of the hymns of the _Rig-Veda_ are addressed, that it is from
him the much desired boon of rain and abundant water is besought, and
that the feat which above all others redounded to his praise, and is
ceaselessly glorified both by the god himself, and his grateful
worshippers, is precisely the feat by which the Grail heroes, Gawain
and Perceval, rejoiced the hearts of a suffering folk, _i.e._, the
restoration of the rivers to their channels, the ‘Freeing of the
Waters.’ Tradition relates that the seven great rivers of India had
been imprisoned by the evil giant, Vritra, or Ahi, whom Indra slew,
thereby releasing the streams from their captivity.
The _Rig-Veda_ hymns abound in references to this feat; it will only be
necessary to cite a few from among the numerous passages I have noted.
‘Thou hast set loose the seven rivers to flow.’
‘Thou causest water to flow on every side.’
‘Indra set free the waters.’
‘Thou, Indra, hast slain Vritra by thy vigour, thou hast set free the
rivers.’
‘Thou hast slain the slumbering Ahi for the release of the waters, and
hast marked out the channels of the all-delighting rivers.’
‘Indra has filled the rivers, he has inundated the dry land.’
‘Indra has released the imprisoned waters to flow upon the earth.’[1]
It would be easy to fill pages with similar quotations, but these are
sufficient for our purpose.
Among the _Rig-Veda_ hymns are certain poems in Dialogue form, which
from their curious and elliptic character have been the subject of much
discussion among scholars. Professor Oldenberg, in drawing attention to
their peculiarities, had expressed his opinion that these poems were
the remains of a distinct type of early Indian literature, where verses
forming the central, and illuminating, point of a formal ceremonial
recital had been ‘farced’ with illustrative and explanatory prose
passages; the form of the verses being fixed, that of the prose being
varied at the will of the reciter.[2]
This theory, which is technically known as the ‘Âkhyâna’ theory (as it
derived its starting point from the discussion of the Suparnâkhyâna
text), won considerable support, but was contested by M. Sylvain Lévi,
who asserted that, in these hymns, we had the remains of the earliest,
and oldest, Indian dramatic creations, the beginning of the Indian
Drama; and that the fragments could only be satisfactorily interpreted
from the point of view that they were intended to be spoken, not by a
solitary reciter, but by two or more _dramatis personae_.[3]
J. Hertel (_Der Ursprung des Indischen Dramas und Epos_) went still
further, and while accepting, and demonstrating, the justice of this
interpretation of the ‘Dialogue’ poems, suggested a similar origin for
certain ‘Monologues’ found in the same collection.[4]
Professor Leopold von Schroeder, in his extremely interesting volume,
_Mysterium und Mimus im Rig-Veda_,[5] has given a popular and practical
form to the results of these researches, by translating and publishing,
with an explanatory study, a selection of these early ‘Culture’ Dramas,
explaining the speeches, and placing them in the mouth of the
respective actors to whom they were, presumably, assigned. Professor
von Schroeder holds the entire group to be linked together by one
common intention, _viz_., the purpose of stimulating the processes of
Nature, and of obtaining, as a result of what may be called a Ritual
Culture Drama, an abundant return of the fruits of the earth. The whole
book is rich in parallels drawn from ancient and modern sources, and is
of extraordinary interest to the Folk-lore student.
In the light thrown by Professor von Schroeder’s researches, following
as they do upon the illuminating studies of Mannhardt, and Frazer, we
become strikingly aware of the curious vitality and persistence of
certain popular customs and beliefs; and while the two last-named
writers have rendered inestimable service to the study of Comparative
Religion by linking the practices of Classical and Medieval times with
the Folk-customs of to-day, we recognize, through von Schroeder’s work,
that the root of such belief and custom is imbedded in a deeper stratum
of Folk-tradition than we had hitherto realized, that it is, in fact, a
heritage from the far-off past of the Aryan peoples.
For the purposes of our especial line of research _Mysterium und Mimus_
offers much of value and interest. As noted above, the main object of
these primitive Dramas was that of encouraging, we may say, ensuring,
the fertility of the Earth; thus it is not surprising that more than
one deals with the theme of which we are treating, the Freeing of the
Waters, only that whereas, in the quotations given above, the
worshippers praise Indra for his beneficent action, here Indra himself,
_in propria persona_ appears, and vaunts his feat.
“Ich schlug den Vritra mit der Kraft des Indra!
Durch eignen Grimm war ich so stark geworden!
Ich machte für die Menschen frei die Wasser”[6]
And the impersonated rivers speak for themselves.
“Indra, den Blitz im Arm, brach uns die Bahnen,
Er schlug den Vritra, die Ströme einschloss.”[7]
There is no need to insist further on the point that the task of the
Grail hero is in this special respect no mere literary invention, but a
heritage from the achievements of the prehistoric heroes of the Aryan
race.
But the poems selected by Professor von Schroeder for discussion offer
us a further, and more curious, parallel with the Grail romances.
In Section VIII. of the work referred to the author discusses the story
of Ṛishyaçṛiñga, as the _Mahâbhârata_ names the hero; here we find a
young Brahmin brought up by his father, Vibhândaka, in a lonely forest
hermitage[8] absolutely ignorant of the outside world, and even of the
very existence of beings other than his father and himself. He has
never seen a woman, and does not know that such a creature exists.
A drought falls upon a neighbouring kingdom, and the inhabitants are
reduced to great straits for lack of food. The King, seeking to know by
what means the sufferings of his people may be relieved, learns that so
long as Ṛishyaçṛiñga continues chaste so long will the drought endure.
An old woman, who has a fair daughter of irregular life, undertakes the
seduction of the hero. The King has a ship, or raft (both versions are
given), fitted out with all possible luxury, and an apparent Hermit’s
cell erected upon it. The old woman, her daughter and companions,
embark; and the river carries them to a point not far from the young
Brahmin’s hermitage.
Taking advantage of the absence of his father, the girl visits
Ṛishyaçṛiñga in his forest cell, giving him to understand that she is a
Hermit, like himself, which the boy, in his innocence, believes. He is
so fascinated by her appearance and caresses that, on her leaving him,
he, deep in thought of the lovely visitor, forgets, for the first time,
his religious duties.
On his father’s return he innocently relates what has happened, and the
father warns him that fiends in this fair disguise strive to tempt
hermits to their undoing. The next time the father is absent the
temptress, watching her opportunity, returns, and persuades the boy to
accompany her to her ‘Hermitage’ which she assures him, is far more
beautiful than his own. So soon as Ṛishyaçṛiñga is safely on board the
ship sails, the lad is carried to the capital of the rainless land, the
King gives him his daughter as wife, and so soon as the marriage is
consummated the spell is broken, and rain falls in abundance.
Professor von Schroeder points out that there is little doubt that, in
certain earlier versions of the tale, the King’s daughter herself
played the _rôle_ of temptress.
There is no doubt that a ceremonial ‘marriage’ very frequently formed a
part of the ‘Fertility’ ritual, and was supposed to be specially
efficacious in bringing about the effect desired.[9] The practice
subsists in Indian ritual to this hour, and the surviving traces in
European Folk-custom have been noted in full by Mannhardt in his
exhaustive work on _Wald und Feld-Kulte;_ its existence in Classic
times is well known, and it is certainly one of the living Folk-customs
for which a well-attested chain of descent can be cited. Professor von
Schroeder remarks that the efficacy of the rite appears to be enhanced
by the previous strict observance of the rule of chastity by the
officiant.[10]
What, however, is of more immediate interest for our purpose is the
fact that the Ṛishyaçṛiñga story does, in effect, possess certain
curious points of contact with the Grail tradition.
Thus, the lonely upbringing of the youth in a forest, far from the
haunts of men, his absolute ignorance of the existence of human beings
other than his parent and himself, present a close parallel to the
accounts of Perceval’s youth and woodland life, as related in the Grail
romances.[11]
In Gerbert’s continuation we are told that the marriage of the hero is
an indispensable condition of achieving the Quest, a detail which must
have been taken over from an earlier version, as Gerbert proceeds to
stultify himself by describing the solemnities of the marriage, and the
ceremonial blessing of the nuptial couch, after which hero and heroine
simultaneously agree to live a life of strict chastity, and are
rewarded by the promise that the Swan Knight shall be their
descendant—a tissue of contradictions which can only be explained by
the _mal-à-droit_ blending of two versions, one of which knew the hero
as wedded, the other, as celibate. There can be no doubt that the
original _Perceval_ story included the marriage of the hero.[12]
The circumstances under which Ṛishyaçṛiñga is lured from his Hermitage
are curiously paralleled by the account, found in the _Queste_ and
Manessier, of Perceval’s temptation by a fiend, in the form of a fair
maiden, who comes to him by water in a vessel hung with black silk, and
with great riches on board.[13]
In pointing out these parallels I wish to make my position perfectly
clear; I do not claim that either in the _Rig-Veda_, or in any other
early Aryan literary monument, we can hope to discover the direct
sources of the Grail legend, but what I would urge upon scholars is the
fact that, in adopting the hypothesis of a Nature Cult as a possible
origin, and examining the history of these Cults, their evolution, and
their variant forms, we do, in effect, find at every period and stage
of development undoubted points of contact, which, though taken
separately, might be regarded as accidental, in their _ensemble_ can
hardly be thus considered. When every parallel to our Grail story is
found within the circle of a well-defined, and carefully studied,
sequence of belief and practice, when each and all form part of a
well-recognized body of tradition the descent of which has been
abundantly demonstrated, then I submit such parallels stand on a sound
basis, and it is not unreasonable to conclude that the body of
tradition containing them belongs to the same family and is to be
interpreted on the same principles as the closely analogous rites and
ceremonies.
I suspend the notice and discussion of other poems contained in Prof.
von Schroeder’s collection till we have reached a later stage of the
tradition, when their correspondence will be recognized as even more
striking and suggestive.
CHAPTER IV Tammuz and Adonis PART I. TAMMUZCHAPTER IV
Tammuz and Adonis
PART I. TAMMUZ
In the previous chapter we considered certain aspects of the attitude
assumed by our Aryan forefathers towards the great processes of Nature
in their ordered sequence of Birth, Growth, and Decay. We saw that
while on one hand they, by prayer and supplication, threw themselves
upon the mercy of the Divinity, who, in their belief, was responsible
for the granting, or withholding, of the water, whether of rain, or
river, the constant supply of which was an essential condition of such
ordered sequence, they, on the other hand, believed that, by their own
actions, they could stimulate and assist the Divine activity. Hence the
dramatic representations to which I have referred, the performance, for
instance, of such a drama as the _Ṛishyaçṛiñga_, the ceremonial
‘marriages,’ and other exercises of what we now call sympathetic magic.
To quote a well-known passage from Sir J. G. Frazer: “They commonly
believed that the tie between the animal and vegetable world was even
closer than it really is—to them the principle of life and fertility,
whether animal or vegetable, was one and indivisible. Hence actions
that induced fertility in the animal world were held to be equally
efficacious in stimulating the reproductive energies of the
vegetable.”[1] How deeply this idea was rooted in the minds of our
ancestors we, their descendants, may learn from its survival to our own
day.
The ultimate, and what we may in a general sense term the classical,
form in which this sense of the community of the Life principle found
expression was that which endowed the vivifying force of Nature with a
distinct personality, divine, or semi-divine, whose experiences, in
virtue of his close kinship with humanity, might be expressed in terms
of ordinary life.
At this stage the progress of the seasons, the birth of vegetation in
spring, or its revival after the autumn rains, its glorious fruition in
early summer, its decline and death under the maleficent influence
either of the scorching sun, or the bitter winter cold, symbolically
represented the corresponding stages in the life of this
anthropomorphically conceived Being, whose annual progress from birth
to death, from death to a renewed life, was celebrated with a solemn
ritual of corresponding alternations of rejoicing and lamentation.
Recent research has provided us with abundant material for the study of
the varying forms of this Nature Cult, the extraordinary importance of
which as an evolutionary factor in what we may term the concrete
expression of human thought and feeling is only gradually becoming
realized.[2]
Before turning our attention to this, the most important, section of
our investigation, it may be well to consider one characteristic
difference between the Nature ritual of the _Rig-Veda_, and that
preserved to us in the later monuments of Greek antiquity.
In the _Rig-Veda_, early as it is, we find the process of religious
evolution already far advanced; the god has separated himself from his
worshippers, and assumed an anthropomorphic form. Indra, while still
retaining traces of his ‘weather’ origin, is no longer, to borrow Miss
Harrison’s descriptive phrase, ‘an automatic explosive thunder-storm,’
he wields the thunderbolt certainly, but he appears in heroic form to
receive the offerings made to him, and to celebrate his victory in a
solemn ritual dance. In Greek art and literature, on the other hand,
where we might expect to find an even more advanced conception, we are
faced with one seemingly more primitive and inchoate, _i.e._, the idea
of a constantly recurring cycle of Birth, Death, and Resurrection, or
Re-Birth, of all things in Nature, this cycle depending upon the
activities of an entity at first vaguely conceived of as the ‘Luck of
the Year,’ the _Eniautos Daimon_. This Being, at one stage of evolution
theriomorphic—he might assume the form of a bull, a goat, or a snake
(the latter, probably from the close connection of the reptile with the
earth, being the more general form)—only gradually, and by distinctly
traceable stages, assumed an anthropomorphic shape.[3] This gives to
the study of Greek antiquity a special and peculiar value, since in
regard to the body of religious belief and observance with which we are
here immediately concerned, neither in what we may not improperly term
its ultimate (early Aryan), nor in what has been generally considered
its proximate (Syro-Phoenician), source, have these intermediate stages
been preserved; in each case the ritual remains are illustrative of a
highly developed cult, distinctly anthropomorphic in conception. I
offer no opinion as to the critical significance of this fact, but I
would draw the attention of scholars to its existence.
That the process of evolution was complete at a very early date has
been proved by recent researches into the Sumerian-Babylonian
civilization. We know now that the cult of the god Tammuz, who, if not
the direct original of the Phoenician-Greek Adonis, is at least
representative of a common parent deity, may be traced back to 3000
B.C., while it persisted among the Sabeans at Harran into the Middle
Ages.[4]
While much relating to the god and his precise position in the
Sumerian-Babylonian Pantheon still remains obscure, fragmentary
cuneiform texts connected with the religious services of the period
have been discovered, and to a considerable extent deciphered, and we
are thus in a position to judge, from the prayers and invocations
addressed to the deity, what were the powers attributed to, and the
benefits besought from, him. These texts are of a uniform character;
they are all ‘Lamentations,’ or ‘Wailings,’ having for their exciting
cause the disappearance of Tammuz from this upper earth, and the
disastrous effects produced upon animal and vegetable life by his
absence. The woes of the land and the folk are set forth in poignant
detail, and Tammuz is passionately invoked to have pity upon his
worshippers, and to end their sufferings by a speedy return. This
return, we find from other texts, was effected by the action of a
goddess, the mother, sister, or paramour, of Tammuz, who, descending
into the nether world, induced the youthful deity to return with her to
earth. It is perfectly clear from the texts which have been deciphered
that Tammuz is not to be regarded merely as representing the Spirit of
Vegetation; his influence is operative, not only in the vernal
processes of Nature, as a Spring god, but in all its reproductive
energies, without distinction or limitation, he may be considered as an
embodiment of the Life principle, and his cult as a Life Cult.
Mr Stephen Langdon inclines to believe that the original Tammuz
typified the vivifying waters; he writes: “Since, in Babylonia as in
Egypt, the fertility of the soil depended upon irrigation, it is but
natural to expect that the youthful god who represents the birth and
death of nature, would represent the beneficent waters which flooded
the valleys of the Tigris and Euphrates in the late winter, and which
ebbed away, and nearly disappeared, in the canals and rivers in the
period of Summer drought. We find therefore that the theologians
regarded this youthful divinity as belonging to the cult of Eridu,
centre of the worship of Ea, lord of the nether sea.”[5] In a note to
this passage Mr Langdon adds: “He appears in the great theological list
as _Dami-zi, ab-zu_, ‘Tammuz of the nether sea,’ _i.e._, ‘the faithful
son of the fresh waters which come from the earth.’”[6]
This presents us with an interesting analogy to the citations given in
the previous chapter from the _Rig-Veda;_ the Tammuz cult is specially
valuable as providing us with evidence of the gradual evolution of the
Life Cult from the early conception of the vivifying power of the
waters, to the wider recognition of a common principle underlying all
manifestations of Life.
This is very clearly brought out in the beautiful Lament for Tammuz,
published by Mr Langdon in _Tammuz and Ishtar_, and also in _Sumerian
and Babylonian Psalms_.[7]
“In Eanna, high and low, there is weeping,
Wailing for the house of the lord they raise.
The wailing is for the plants; the first lament is ‘they grow not.’
The wailing is for the barley; the ears grow not.
For the habitations and flocks it is; they produce not.
For the perishing wedded ones, for perishing children it is; the
dark-headed people create not.
The wailing is for the great river; it brings the flood no more.
The wailing is for the fields of men; the gunu grows no more.
The wailing is for the fish-ponds; the dasuhur fish spawn not.
The wailing is for the cane-brake; the fallen stalks grow not.
The wailing is for the forests; the tamarisks grow not.
The wailing is for the highlands; the masgam trees grow not.
The wailing is for the garden store-house; honey and wine are produced
not.
The wailing is for the meadows; the bounty of the garden, the sihtu
plants grow not.
The wailing is for the palace; life unto distant days is not.”
Can anything be more expressive of the community of life animating the
whole of Nature than this poignantly worded lament?
A point which differentiates the worship of Tammuz from the kindred,
and better known, cult of Adonis, is the fact that we have no
liturgical record of the celebration of the resurrection of the deity;
it certainly took place, for the effects are referred to:
“Where grass was not, there grass is eaten,
Where water was not, water is drunk,
Where the cattle sheds were not, cattle sheds are built.”[8]
While this distinctly implies the revival of vegetable and animal life,
those features (_i.e._, resurrection and sacred marriage), which made
the Adonis ritual one of rejoicing as much as of lamentation, are
absent from liturgical remains of the Tammuz cult.[9]
A detail which has attracted the attention of scholars is the lack of
any artistic representation of this ritual, a lack which is the more
striking in view of the important position which these ‘Wailings for
Tammuz’ occupy in the extant remains of Babylonian liturgies. On this
point Mr Langdon makes an interesting suggestion: “It is probable that
the service of wailing for the dying god, the descent of the mother,
and the resurrection, were attended by mysterious rituals. The actual
mysteries may have been performed in a secret chamber, and consequently
the scenes were forbidden in Art. This would account for the surprising
dearth of archaeological evidence concerning a cult upon which the very
life of mankind was supposed to depend.”[10]
In view of the fact that my suggestion as to the possible later
development of these Life Cults as Mysteries has aroused considerable
opposition, it is well to bear in mind that such development is held by
those best acquainted with the earliest forms of the ritual to have
been not merely possible, but to have actually taken place, and that at
a very remote date. Mr Langdon quotes a passage referring to “Kings who
in their day played the _rôle_ of Tammuz in the mystery of this cult”;
he considers that here we have to do with kings who, by a symbolic act,
escaped the final penalty of sacrifice as representative of the Dying
God.[11]
The full importance of the evidence above set forth will become more
clearly apparent as we proceed with our investigation; here I would
simply draw attention to the fact that we now possess definite proof
that, at a period of some 3000 years B.C., the idea of a Being upon
whose life and reproductive activities the very existence of Nature and
its corresponding energies was held to depend, yet who was himself
subject to the vicissitudes of declining powers and death, like an
ordinary mortal, had already assumed a fixed, and practically final,
form; further, that this form was specially crystallized in ritual
observances. In our study of the later manifestations of this cult we
shall find that this central idea is always, and unalterably, the same,
and is, moreover, frequently accompanied by a remarkable correspondence
of detail. The chain of evidence is already strong, and we may justly
claim that the links added by further research strengthen, while they
lengthen, that chain.
PART II. ADONISPART II. ADONIS
While it is only of comparatively recent date that information as to
the exact character of the worship directed to Tammuz has been
available and the material we at present possess is but fragmentary in
character, the corresponding cult of the Phoenician-Greek divinity we
know as Adonis has for some years been the subject of scholarly
research. Not only have the details of the ritual been examined and
discussed, and the surviving artistic evidence described and
illustrated, but from the anthropological side attention has been
forcibly directed to its importance as a factor in the elucidation of
certain widespread Folk-beliefs and practices.[12]
We know now that the worship of Adonis, which enjoyed among the Greeks
a popularity extending to our own day, was originally of Phoenician
origin, its principal centres being the cities of Byblos, and Aphaka.
From Phoenicia it spread to the Greek islands, the earliest evidence of
the worship being found in Cyprus, and from thence to the mainland,
where it established itself firmly. The records of the cult go back to
700 B.C., but it may quite possibly be of much earlier date. Mr Langdon
suggests that the worship of the divinity we know as Adonis, may, under
another name, reach back to an antiquity equal with that we can now
ascribe to the cult of Tammuz. In its fully evolved classical form the
cult of Adonis offers, as it were, a halfway house, between the
fragmentary relics of Aryan and Babylonian antiquity, and the wealth of
Medieval and Modern survivals to which the ingenuity and patience of
contemporary scholars have directed our attention.
We all know the mythological tale popularly attached to the name of
Adonis; that he was a fair youth, beloved of Aphrodite, who, wounded in
the thigh by a wild boar, died of his wound. The goddess, in despair at
his death, by her prayers won from Zeus the boon that Adonis be allowed
to return to earth for a portion of each year, and henceforward the
youthful god divides his time between the goddess of Hades, Persephone,
and Aphrodite. But the importance assumed by the story, the elaborate
ceremonial with which the death of Adonis was mourned, and his
restoration to life fêted, the date and character of the celebrations,
all leave no doubt that the personage with whom we are dealing was no
mere favourite of a goddess, but one with whose life and well-being the
ordinary processes of Nature, whether animal or vegetable, were closely
and intimately concerned. In fact the central figure of these rites, by
whatever name he may be called, is the somewhat elusive and impersonal
entity, who represents in anthropomorphic form the principle of animate
Nature, upon whose preservation, and unimpaired energies, the life of
man, directly, and indirectly, depends.[13]
Before proceeding to examine these rites there is one point, to which I
have alluded earlier, in another connection, upon which our minds must
be quite clear, _i.e._, the nature of the injury suffered. Writers upon
the subject are of one accord in considering the usual account to be
but a euphemistic veiling of the truth, while the close relation
between the stories of Adonis and Attis, and the practices associated
with the cult, place beyond any shadow of a doubt the fact that the
true reason for this universal mourning was the cessation, or
suspension, by injury or death, of the reproductive energy of the god
upon whose virile activity vegetable life directly, and human life
indirectly, depended.[14] What we have need to seize and to insist upon
is the overpowering influence which the sense of Life, the need for
Life, the essential Sanctity of the Life-giving faculty, exercised upon
primitive religions. Vellay puts this well when he says: “En réalité
c’est sur la conception de la vie physique, considérée dans son
origine, et dans son action, et dans le double principe qui l’anime,
que repose tout le cycle religieux des peuples Orientaux de
l’Antiquité.”[15]
Professor von Schroeder says even more precisely and emphatically: “In
der Religion der Arischen Urzeit ist Alles auf Lebensbejahung
gerichtet, Mann kann den Phallus als ihr Beherrschendes Symbol
betrachten.”[16] And in spite of the strong opposition to this cult
manifested in Indian literature, beginning with the _Rig-Veda_, and
ripening to fruition in the _Upanishads_, in spite of the rise of
Buddhism, with its opposing dictum of renunciation, the ‘Life-Cult’
asserted its essential vitality against all opposition, and under
modified forms represents the ‘popular’ religion of India to this day.
Each and all of the ritual dramas, reconstructed in the pages of
_Mysterium und Mimus_ bear, more or less distinctly, the stamp of their
‘Fertility’ origin,[17] while outside India the pages of Frazer and
Mannhardt, and numerous other writers on Folk-lore and Ethnology,
record the widespread, and persistent, survival of these rites, and
their successful defiance of the spread of civilization.
It is to this special group of belief and practice that the Adonis (and
more especially its Phrygian counterpart the Attis) worship belong, and
even when transplanted to the more restrained and cultured environment
of the Greek mainland, they still retained their primitive character.
Farnell, in his _Cults of the Greek States_, refers to the worship of
Adonis as “a ritual that the more austere State religion of Greece
probably failed to purify, the saner minds, bred in a religious
atmosphere that was, on the whole, genial, and temperate, revolted from
the din of cymbals and drums, the meaningless ecstasies of sorrow and
joy, that marked the new religion.”[18]
It is, I submit, indispensable for the purposes of our investigation
that the essential character and significance of the cults with which
we are dealing should not be evaded or ignored, but faced, frankly
admitted and held in mind during the progress of our enquiry.
Having now determined the general character of the ritual, what were
the specific details?
The date of the feast seems to have varied in different countries; thus
in Greece it was celebrated in the Spring, the moment of the birth of
Vegetation; according to Saint Jerome, in Palestine the celebration
fell in June, when plant life was in its first full luxuriance. In
Cyprus, at the autumnal equinox, _i.e._, the beginning of the year in
the Syro-Macedonian calendar, the death of Adonis falling on the 23rd
of September, his resurrection on the 1st of October, the beginning of
a New Year. This would seem to indicate that here Adonis was
considered, as Vellay suggests, less as the god of Vegetation than as
the superior and nameless Lord of Life (Adonis=Syriac _Adôn_, Lord),
under whose protection the year was placed.[19] He is the _Eniautos
Daimon_.
In the same way as the dates varied, so, also, did the order of the
ritual; generally speaking the elaborate ceremonies of mourning for the
dead god, and committing his effigy to the waves, preceded the joyous
celebration of his resurrection, but in Alexandria the sequence was
otherwise; the feast began with the solemn and joyous celebration of
the nuptials of Adonis and Aphrodite, at the conclusion of which a
Head, of papyrus, representing the god, was, with every show of
mourning, committed to the waves, and borne within seven days by a
current (always to be counted upon at that season of the year) to
Byblos, where it was received and welcomed with popular rejoicing.[20]
The duration of the feast varied from two days, as at Alexandria, to
seven or eight.
Connected with the longer period of the feast were the so-called
‘Gardens of Adonis,’ baskets, or pans, planted with quick growing
seeds, which speedily come to fruition, and as speedily wither. In the
modern survivals of the cult three days form the general term for the
flowering of these gardens.[21]
The most noticeable feature of the ritual was the prominence assigned
to women; “ce sont les femmes qui le pleurent, et qui l’accompagnent à
sa tombe. Elles sanglotent éperdument pendant les nuits,—c’est leur
dieu plus que tout autre, et seules elles veulent pleurer sa mort, et
chanter sa résurrection.”[22]
Thus in the tenth century the festival received the Arabic name of
_El-Bûgat_, or ‘The Festival of the Weeping Women.’[23]
One very curious practice during these celebrations was that of cutting
off the hair in honour of the god; women who hesitated to make this
sacrifice must offer themselves to strangers, either in the temple, or
on the market-place, the gold received as the price of their favours
being offered to the goddess. This obligation only lasted for one
day.[24] It was also customary for the priests of Adonis to mutilate
themselves in imitation of the god, a distinct proof, if one were
needed, of the traditional cause of his death.[25]
Turning from a consideration of the Adonis ritual, its details, and
significance, to an examination of the Grail romances, we find that
their _mise-en-scène_ provides a striking series of parallels with the
Classical celebrations, parallels, which instead of vanishing, as
parallels have occasionally an awkward habit of doing, before closer
investigation, rather gain in force the more closely they are studied.
Thus the central figure is either a dead knight on a bier (as in the
_Gawain_ versions), or a wounded king on a litter; when wounded the
injury corresponds with that suffered by Adonis and Attis.[26]
Closely connected with the wounding of the king is the destruction
which has fallen on the land, which will be removed when the king is
healed. The version of _Sone de Nansai_ is here of extreme interest;
the position is stated with so much clearness and precision that the
conclusion cannot be evaded—we are face to face with the dreaded
calamity which it was the aim of the Adonis ritual to avert, the
temporary suspension of all the reproductive energies of Nature.[27]
While the condition of the king is the cause of general and vociferous
lamentation, a special feature, never satisfactorily accounted for, is
the presence of a weeping woman, or several weeping women. Thus in the
interpolated visit of Gawain to the Grail castle, found in the C group
of _Perceval_ MSS., the Grail-bearer weeps piteously, as she does also
in _Diû Crône_.[28]
In the version of the prose _Lancelot_ Gawain, during the night, sees
twelve maidens come to the door of the chamber where the Grail is kept,
kneel down, and weep bitterly, in fact behave precisely as did the
classical mourners for Adonis—“Elles sanglotent éperdument pendant la
nuit.”[29]—behaviour for which the text, as it now stands, provides no
shadow of explanation or excuse. The Grail is here the most revered of
Christian relics, the dwellers in the castle of Corbenic have all that
heart can desire, with the additional prestige of being the guardians
of the Grail; if the feature be not a belated survival, which has lost
its meaning, it defies any explanation whatsoever.
In _Diû Crône_ alone, where the Grail-bearer and her maidens are the
sole living beings in an abode of the Dead, is any explanation of the
‘Weeping Women’ attempted, but an interpolated passage in the Heralds’
College MS. of the _Perceval_ states that when the Quest is achieved,
the hero shall learn the cause of the maiden’s grief, and also the
explanation of the Dead Knight upon the bier:
“del graal q’vient aprés
E purquei plure tut adés
La pucele qui le sustient
De la biere qu’aprés vient
Savera la vérité adonques
Ceo que nul ne pot saveir onques
Pur nule rien qui avenist.”
fo. 180vo-181.
Of course in the _Perceval_ there is neither a Weeping Maiden, nor a
Bier, and the passage must therefore be either an unintelligent
addition by a scribe familiar with the _Gawain_ versions, or an
interpolation from a source which did contain the features in question.
So far as the texts at our disposal are concerned, both features belong
exclusively to the _Gawain_, and not to the _Perceval_ Quest. The
interpolation is significant as it indicates a surviving sense of the
importance of this feature.
In the _Perlesvaus_ we have the curious detail of a maiden who has lost
her hair as a result of the hero’s failure to ask the question, and the
consequent sickness of the Fisher King. The occurrence of this detail
may be purely fortuitous, but at the same time it is admissible to
point out that the Adonis cults do provide us with a parallel in the
enforced loss of hair by the women taking part in these rites, while no
explanation of this curious feature has so far as I am aware been
suggested by critics of the text.[30]
We may also note the fact that the Grail castle is always situated in
the close vicinity of water, either on or near the sea, or on the banks
of an important river. In two cases the final home of the Grail is in a
monastery situated upon an island. The presence of water, either sea,
or river, is an important feature in the Adonis cult, the effigy of the
dead god being, not buried in the earth, but thrown into the water.[31]
It will thus be seen that, in suggesting a form of Nature worship,
analogous to this well-known cult, as the possible ultimate source from
which the incidents and _mise-en-scène_ of the Grail stories were
derived, we are relying not upon an isolated parallel, but upon a group
of parallels, which alike in incident and intention offer, not merely a
resemblance to, but also an explanation of, the perplexing problems of
the Grail literature. We must now consider the question whether
incidents so remote in time may fairly and justly be utilized in this
manner.
CHAPTER V Medieval and Modern Forms of Nature RitualCHAPTER V
Medieval and Modern Forms of Nature Ritual
Readers of the foregoing pages may, not improbably, object that, while
we have instanced certain curious and isolated parallels from early
Aryan literature and tradition, and, what, from the point of view of
declared intention, appears to be a kindred group of religious belief
and practice in pre-Historic and Classical times, the two, so far, show
no direct signs of affiliation, while both may be held to be far
removed, in point of date, alike from one another, and from the
romantic literature of the twelfth century.
This objection is sound in itself, but if we can show by modern
parallels that the ideas which took form and shape in early Aryan
Drama, and Babylonian and Classic Ritual, not only survive to our day,
but are found in combination with features corresponding minutely with
details recorded in early Aryan literature, we may hold the gulf to be
bridged, and the common origin, and close relationship, of the
different stages to be an ascertained fact. At the outset, and before
examining the evidence collected by scholars, I would remind my readers
that the modern Greeks have retained, in many instances under changed
names, no inconsiderable portion of their ancient mythological beliefs,
among them the ‘Adonis’ celebrations; the ‘Gardens of Adonis’ blossom
and fade to-day, as they did many centuries ago, and I have myself
spoken with a scholar who has seen ‘women, at the door of their houses,
weeping for Adonis.’[1]
For evidence of the widespread character of Medieval and Modern
survivals we have only to consult the epoch-making works of Mannhardt,
_Wald und Feld-Kulte_, and Frazer, _The Golden Bough;_[2] in the pages
of these volumes we shall find more than sufficient for our purpose.
From the wealth of illustration with which these works abound I have
selected merely such instances as seem to apply more directly to the
subject of our investigation.[3]
Thus, in many places, it is still the custom to carry a figure
representing the Vegetation Spirit on a bier, attended by mourning
women, and either bury the figure, throw it into water (as a rain
charm), or, after a mock death, carry the revivified Deity, with
rejoicing, back to the town. Thus in the Lechrain a man in black
women’s clothes is borne on a bier, followed by men dressed as
professional women mourners making lamentation, thrown on the village
dung-heap, drenched with water, and buried in straw.[4]
In Russia the Vegetation or Year Spirit is known as Yarilo,[5] and is
represented by a doll with phallic attributes, which is enclosed in a
coffin, and carried through the streets to the accompaniment of
lamentation by women whose emotions have been excited by drink.
Mannhardt gives the lament as follows: “Wessen war Er schuldig? Er war
so gut! Er wird nicht mehr aufstehen! O! Wie sollen wir uns von Dir
trennen? Was ist das Leben wenn Du nicht mehr da bist? Erhebe Dich,
wenn auch nur auf ein Stündchen! Aber Er steht nicht auf, Er steht
nicht auf!”[6]
In other forms of the ritual, we find distinct traces of the
resuscitation of the Vegetation Deity, occasionally accompanied by
evidence of rejuvenation. Thus, in Lausitz, on Laetare Sunday (the 4th
Sunday in Lent), women with mourning veils carry a straw figure,
dressed in a man’s shirt, to the bounds of the next village, where they
tear the effigy to pieces, hang the shirt on a young and flourishing
tree, “schöne Wald-Baum,” which they proceed to cut down, and carry
home with every sign of rejoicing. Here evidently the young tree is
regarded as a rejuvenation of the person represented in the first
instance by the straw figure.[7]
In many parts of Europe to-day the corresponding ceremonies, very
generally held at Whitsuntide, include the mock execution of the
individual representing the Vegetation Spirit, frequently known as the
King of the May. In Bohemia the person playing the _rôle_ of the King
is, with his attendants, dressed in bark, and decked with garlands of
flowers; at the conclusion of the ceremonies the King is allowed a
short start, and is then pursued by the armed attendants. If he is not
overtaken he holds office for a year, but if overtaken, he suffers a
mock decapitation, head-dress, or crown, being struck off, and the
pretended corpse is then borne on a bier to the next village.[8]
Mannhardt, discussing this point, remarks that in the mock execution we
must recognize “Ein verbreiteter und jedenfalls uralter Gebrauch.” He
enumerates the various modes of death, shooting, stabbing (in the
latter case a bladder filled with blood, and concealed under the
clothes, is pierced); in Bohemia, decapitation, occasionally drowning
(which primarily represents a rain charm), is the form adopted.[9] He
then goes on to remark that this ceremonial death must have been
generally followed by resuscitation, as in Thuringia, where the ‘Wild
Man,’ as the central figure is there named, is brought to life again by
the Doctor, while the survival, in the more elaborate Spring
processions of this latter character, even where he plays no special
_rôle_, points to the fact that his part in the proceedings was
originally a more important one.
That Mannhardt was not mistaken is proved by the evidence of the
kindred Dances, a subject we shall consider later; there we shall find
the Doctor playing his old-time _rôle_, and restoring to life the slain
representative of the Vegetation Spirit.[10] The character of the
Doctor, or Medicine Man, formed, as I believe, at one time, no
unimportant link in the chain which connects these practices with the
Grail tradition.
The signification of the resuscitation ceremony is obscured in cases
where the same figure undergoes death and revival without any
corresponding change of form. This point did not escape Mannhardt’s
acute critical eye; he remarks that, in cases where, _e.g._, in Swabia,
the ‘King’ is described as “ein armer alter Mann,” who has lived seven
years in the woods (the seven winter months), a scene of rejuvenation
should follow—“diese scheint meistenteils verloren gegangen; doch
vielleicht _scheint_ es nur so.” He goes on to draw attention to the
practice in Reideberg, bei Halle, where, after burying a straw figure,
called the Old Man, the villagers dance round the May-Pole, and he
suggests that the ‘Old Man’ represents the defunct Vegetation Spirit,
the May Tree, that Spirit resuscitated, and refers in this connection
to the “durchaus verwandten Asiatischen Gebrauchen des Attis, und
Adonis-Kultus.”[11]
The foregoing evidence offers, I think, sufficient proof of the, now
generally admitted, relationship between Classical, Medieval, and
Modern forms of Nature ritual.
But what of the relation to early Aryan practice? Can that, also, be
proved?
In this connection I would draw attention to Chapter 17 of _Mysterium
und Mimus_, entitled, _Ein Volkstümlicher Umzug beim Soma-Fest_. Here
Professor von Schroeder discusses the real meaning and significance of
a very curious little poem (Rig-Veda, 9. 112); the title by which it is
generally known, _Alles lauft nach Geld_, does not, at first sight, fit
the content of the verse, and the suggestion of scholars who have seen
in it a humorous enumeration of different trades and handicrafts does
not explain the fact that the Frog and the Horse appear in it.
To Professor von Schroeder belongs the credit of having discovered that
the _personnel_ of the poem corresponds with extraordinary exactitude
to the Figures of the Spring and Summer ‘Fertility-exciting’
processions, described with such fulness of detail by Mannhardt.
Especially is this the case with the Whitsuntide procession at
Värdegötzen, in Hanover, where we find the group of phallic and
fertility demons, who, on Prof. von Schroeder’s hypothesis, figure in
the song, in concrete, and actual form.[12] The Vegetation Spirit
appears in the song as an Old Man, while his female counterpart, an Old
Woman, is described as ‘filling the hand-mill.’ Prof. von Schroeder
points out that in some parts of Russia the ‘Baba-jaga’ as the Corn
Mother is called, is an Old Woman, who flies through the air in a
hand-mill. The Doctor, to whom we have referred above, is mentioned
twice in the four verses composing the song; he was evidently regarded
as an important figure; while the whole is put into the mouth of a
‘Singer’ evidently the Spokesman of the party, who proclaims their
object, “Verschiednes könnend suchen wir Gute Dinge,” _i.e._, gifts in
money and kind, as such folk processions do to-day.
The whole study is of extraordinary interest for Folk-lore students,
and so far as our especial investigation is concerned it seems to me to
supply the necessary proof of the identity, and persistence, of Aryan
folk-custom and tradition.
A very important modification of the root idea, and one which appears
to have a direct bearing on the sources of the Grail tradition, was
that by which, among certain peoples, the _rôle_ of the god, his
responsibility for providing the requisite rain upon which the
fertility of the land, and the life of the folk, depended, was combined
with that of the King.
This was the case among the Celts; McCulloch, in _The Religion of the
Celts_, discussing the question of the early Irish _geasa_ or taboo,
explains the _geasa_ of the Irish kings as designed to promote the
welfare of the tribe, the making of rain and sunshine on which their
prosperity depended. “Their observance made the earth fruitful,
produced abundance and prosperity, and kept both the king and his land
from misfortune. The Kings were divinities on whom depended
fruitfulness and plenty, and who must therefore submit to obey their
‘_geasa_.’[13]
The same idea seems to have prevailed in early Greece; Mr A. B. Cook,
in his studies on _The European Sky-God_, remarks that the king in
early Greece was regarded as the representative of Zeus: his duties
could be satisfactorily discharged only by a man who was perfect, and
without blemish, _i.e._, by a man in the prime of life, suffering from
no defect of body, or mind; he quotes in illustration the speech of
Odysseus (_Od_. 19. 109 ff.). “‘Even as a king without blemish, who
ruleth god-fearing over many mighty men, and maintaineth justice, while
the black earth beareth wheat and barley, and the trees are laden with
fruit, and the flocks bring forth without fail, and the sea yieldeth
fish by reason of his good rule, and the folk prosper beneath him.’ The
king who is without blemish has a flourishing kingdom, the king who is
maimed has a kingdom diseased like himself, thus the Spartans were
warned by an oracle to beware of a ‘lame reign.’”[14]
A most remarkable modern survival of this idea is recorded by Dr Frazer
in the latest edition of _The Golden Bough_,[15] and is so complete and
suggestive that I make no apology for transcribing it at some length.
The Shilluk, an African tribe, inhabit the banks of the White Nile,
their territory extending on the west bank from Kaka in the north, to
Lake No in the south, on the east bank from Fashoda to Taufikia, and
some 35 miles up the Sohat river. Numbering some 40,000 in all, they
are a pastoral people, their wealth consisting in flocks and herds,
grain and millet. The King resides at Fashoda, and is regarded with
extreme reverence, as being a re-incarnation of Nyakang, the
semi-divine hero who settled the tribe in their present territory.
Nyakang is the rain-giver, on whom their life and prosperity depend;
there are several shrines in which sacred Spears, now kept for
sacrificial purposes, are preserved, the originals, which were the
property of Nyakang, having disappeared.
The King, though regarded with reverence, must not be allowed to become
old or feeble, lest, with the diminishing vigour of the ruler, the
cattle should sicken, and fail to bear increase, the crops should rot
in the field and men die in ever growing numbers. One of the signs of
failing energy is the King’s inability to fulfil the desires of his
wives, of whom he has a large number. When this occurs the wives report
the fact to the chiefs, who condemn the King to death forthwith,
communicating the sentence to him by spreading a white cloth over his
face and knees during his mid-day slumber. Formerly the King was
starved to death in a hut, in company with a young maiden but (in
consequence, it is said, of the great vitality and protracted suffering
of one King) this is no longer done; the precise manner of death is
difficult to ascertain; Dr Seligmann, who was Sir J. G. Frazer’s
authority, thinks that he is now strangled in a hut, especially erected
for that purpose.
At one time he might be attacked and slain by a rival, either of his
own family, or of that of one of the previous Kings, of whom there are
many, but this has long been superseded by the ceremonial slaying of
the monarch who after his death is revered as Nyakang.[16]
This survival is of extraordinary interest; it presents us with a
curiously close parallel to the situation which, on the evidence of the
texts, we have postulated as forming the basic idea of the Grail
tradition—the position of a people whose prosperity, and the fertility
of their land, are closely bound up with the life and virility of their
King, who is not a mere man, but a Divine re-incarnation. If he ‘falls
into languishment,’ as does the Fisher King in _Perlesvaus_, the land
and its inhabitants will suffer correspondingly; not only will the
country suffer from drought, “_Nus près n’i raverdia_,” but the men
will die in numbers:
“Dames en perdront lor maris”
we may say; the cattle will cease to bear increase:
“Ne se n’i ot beste faon,”
and the people take drastic steps to bring about a rejuvenation; the
old King dies, to be replaced by a young and vigorous successor, even
as Brons was replaced by Perceval.
Let us now turn back to the preceding chapter, and compare the position
of the people of the Shilluk tribe, and the subjects of the Grail King,
with that of the ancient Babylonians, as set forth in their
Lamentations for Tammuz.
There we find that the absence of the Life-giving deity was followed by
precisely the same disastrous consequences;
Vegetation fails—
“The wailing is for the plants; the first lament is they grow not.
The wailing is for the barley; the ears grow not.”
The reproductive energies of the animal kingdom are suspended—
“For the habitation of flocks it is; they produce not.
For the perishing wedded ones, for perishing children it is; the
dark-headed people create not.”
Nor can we evade the full force of the parallel by objecting that we
are here dealing with a god, not with a man; we possess the recorded
names of ‘kings who played the _rôle_ of Tammuz,’ thus even for that
early period the commingling of the two conceptions, god and king, is
definitely established.
Now in face of this group of parallels, whose close correspondence, if
we consider their separation in point of time (3000 B.C.; 1200 A.D.;
and the present day), is nothing short of astonishing, is it not
absolutely and utterly unreasonable to admit (as scholars no longer
hesitate to do) the relationship between the first and last, and
exclude, as a mere literary invention, the intermediate parallel?
The ground for such a denial may be mere prejudice, a reluctance to
renounce a long cherished critical prepossession, but in the face of
this new evidence does it not come perilously close to scientific
dishonesty, to a disregard for that respect for truth in research the
imperative duty of which has been so finely expressed by the late M.
Gaston Paris.—“Je professe absolument et sans réserve cette doctrine,
que la science n’a d’autre objet que la vérité, et la vérité pour
elle-même, sans aucun souci des conséquences, bonnes ou mauvaises,
regrettables ou heureuses, que cette vérité pourrait avoir dans la
pratique.”[17] When we further consider that behind these three main
parallels, linking them together, there lies a continuous chain of
evidence, expressed alike in classical literature, and surviving Folk
practice, I would submit that there is no longer any shadow of a doubt
that in the Grail King we have a romantic literary version of that
strange mysterious figure whose presence hovers in the shadowy
background of the history of our Aryan race; the figure of a divine or
semi-divine ruler, at once god and king, upon whose life, and
unimpaired vitality, the existence of his land and people directly
depends.
And if we once grant this initial fact, and resolve that we will no
longer, in the interests of an outworn critical tradition, deny the
weight of scientific evidence in determining the real significance of
the story, does it not inevitably follow, as a logical sequence, that
such versions as fail to connect the misfortunes of the land directly
with the disability of the king, but make them dependent upon the
failure of the Quester, are, by that very fact, stamped as secondary
versions. That by this one detail, of capital importance, they approve
themselves as literary treatments of a traditional theme, the true
meaning of which was unknown to the author?
Let us for a moment consider what the opposite view would entail; that
a story which was originally the outcome of pure literary invention
should in the course of re-modelling have been accidentally brought
into close and detailed correspondence with a deeply rooted sequence of
popular faith and practice is simply inconceivable, the re-modelling,
if re-modelling there were, must have been intentional, the men whose
handiwork it was were in possession of the requisite knowledge.
But how did they possess that knowledge, and why should they undertake
such a task? Surely not from the point of view of antiquarian interest,
as might be done to-day; they were no twelfth century Frazers and
Mannhardts; the subject must have had for them a more living, a more
intimate, interest. And if, in face of the evidence we now possess, we
feel bound to admit the existence of such knowledge, is it not more
reasonable to suppose that the men who first told the story were the
men who _knew_, and that the confusion was due to those who, with more
literary skill, but less first-hand information, re-modelled the
original theme?
In view of the present facts I would submit that the problem posed in
our first chapter may be held to be solved; that we accept as a _fait
acquis_ the conclusion that the woes of the land are directly dependent
upon the sickness, or maiming, of the King, and in no wise caused by
the failure of the Quester. The ‘Wasting of the land’ must be held to
have been antecedent to that failure, and the _Gawain_ versions in
which we find this condition fulfilled are, therefore, prior in origin
to the _Perceval_, in which the ‘Wasting’ is brought about by the
action of the hero; in some versions, indeed, has altogether
disappeared from the story.
Thus the position assigned in the versions to this feature of the Waste
Land becomes one of capital importance as a critical factor. This is a
point which has hitherto escaped the attention of scholars; the
misfortunes of the land have been treated rather as an accident, than
as an essential, of the Grail story, entirely subordinate in interest
to the _dramatis personae_ of the tale, or the objects, Lance and
Grail, round which the action revolves. As a matter of fact I believe
that the ‘Waste Land’ is really the very heart of our problem; a
rightful appreciation of its position and significance will place us in
possession of the clue which will lead us safely through the most
bewildering mazes of the fully developed tale.
Since the above pages were written Dr Frazer has notified the discovery
of a second African parallel, equally complete, and striking. In
_Folk-Lore_ (Vol. XXVI.) he prints, under the title _A Priest-King in
Nigeria_, a communication received from Mr P. A. Talbot, District
Commissioner in S. Nigeria. The writer states that the dominant Ju-Ju
of Elele, a town in the N.W. of the Degema district, is a Priest-King,
elected for a term of seven years. “The whole prosperity of the town,
especially the fruitfulness of farm, byre, and marriage-bed, was linked
with his life. Should he fall sick it entailed famine and grave
disaster upon the inhabitants.” So soon as a successor is appointed the
former holder of the dignity is reported to ‘die for himself.’ Previous
to the introduction of ordered government it is admitted that at any
time during his seven years’ term of office the Priest might be put to
death by any man sufficiently strong and resourceful, consequently it
is only on the rarest occasions (in fact only one such is recorded)
that the Ju-Ju ventures to leave his compound. At the same time the
riches derived from the offerings of the people are so considerable
that there is never a lack of candidates for the office.
From this and the evidence cited above it would appear that the
institution was widely spread in Africa, and at the same time it
affords a striking proof in support of the essential soundness of Dr
Frazer’s interpretation of the Priest of Nemi, an interpretation which
has been violently attacked in certain quarters, very largely on the
ground that no one would be found willing to accept an office involving
such direct danger to life. The above evidence shows clearly that not
only does such an office exist, but that it is by no means an unpopular
post.
CHAPTER VI The SymbolsCHAPTER VI
The Symbols
In the previous chapters we have discussed the Grail Legend from a
general, rather than a specific, point of view; _i.e._, we have
endeavoured to ascertain what was the real character of the task
imposed upon the hero, and what the nature and value of his
achievement.
We have been led to the conclusion that that achievement was, in the
first instance, of an altruistic character—it was no question of
advantages, temporal or spiritual, which should accrue to the Quester
himself, but rather of definite benefits to be won for others, the
freeing of a ruler and his land from the dire results of a punishment
which, falling upon the King, was fraught with the most disastrous
consequences for his kingdom.
We have found, further, that this close relation between the ruler and
his land, which resulted in the ill of one becoming the calamity of
all, is no mere literary invention, proceeding from the fertile
imagination of a twelfth century court poet, but a deeply rooted
popular belief, of practically immemorial antiquity and inexhaustible
vitality; we can trace it back thousands of years before the Christian
era, we find it fraught with decisions of life and death to-day.
Further, we find in that belief a tendency to express itself in certain
ceremonial practices, which retain in a greater or less degree the
character of the ritual observances of which they are the survival. Mr
E. K. Chambers, in _The Mediaeval Stage_, remarks: “If the comparative
study of Religion proves anything it is, that the traditional beliefs
and customs of the mediaeval or modern peasant are in nine cases out of
ten but the _detritus_ of heathen mythology and heathen worship,
enduring with but little external change in the shadow of a hostile
faith. This is notably true of the village festivals and their _ludi_.
Their full significance only appears when they are regarded as
fragments of forgotten cults, the naïve cults addressed by a primitive
folk to the beneficent deities of field and wood and river, or the
shadowy populace of its own dreams.”[1] We may, I think, take it that
we have established at least the possibility that in the Grail romances
we possess, in literary form, an example of the _detritus_ above
referred to, the fragmentary record of the secret ritual of a Fertility
cult.
Having reached this hypothetical conclusion, our next step must be to
examine the Symbols of this cult, the group of mysterious objects which
forms the central point of the action, a true understanding of the
nature of these objects being as essential for our success as
interpreters of the story as it was for the success of the Quester in
days of old. We must ask whether these objects, the Grail itself,
whether Cup or Dish; the Lance; the Sword; the Stone—one and all
invested with a certain atmosphere of awe, credited with strange
virtues, with sanctity itself, will harmonize with the proposed
solution, will range themselves fitly and fairly within the framework
of this hypothetical ritual.
That they should do so is a matter of capital importance; were it
otherwise the theory advanced might well, as some of my critics have
maintained, ‘never get beyond the region of ingenious speculation,’ but
it is precisely upon the fact that this theory of origin, and so far as
criticism has gone, this theory alone, does permit of a natural and
unforced interpretation of these related symbols that I rely as one of
the most convincing proofs of the correctness of my hypothesis.
Before commencing the investigation there is one point which I would
desire to emphasize, _viz._, the imperative necessity for treating the
Symbols or Talismans, call them what we will, on the same principle as
we have treated the incidents of the story, _i.e._, as a connected
whole. That they be not separated the one _from_ the other, and made
the subject of independent treatment, but that they be regarded in
their relation the one _to_ the other, and that no theory of origin be
held admissible which does not allow for that relation as a primitive
and indispensable factor. It may be the modern tendency to specialize
which is apt to blind scholars to the essential importance of regarding
their object of study as a whole, that fosters in them a habit of
focussing their attention upon that one point or incident of the story
which lends itself to treatment in their special line of study, and
which induces them to minimize, or ignore, those elements which lie
outside their particular range. But, whatever the cause, it is
indubitable that this method of ‘criticism by isolation’ has been, and
is, one of the main factors which have operated in retarding the
solution of the Grail problem.
So long as critics of the story will insist on pulling it into little
pieces, selecting one detail here, another there, for study and
elucidation, so long will the _ensemble_ result be chaotic and
unsatisfactory. We shall continue to have a number of monographs, more
or less scholarly in treatment—one dealing with the Grail as a
Food-providing talisman, and that alone; another with the Grail as a
vehicle of spiritual sustenance. One that treats of the Lance as a
Pagan weapon, and nothing more; another that regards it as a Christian
relic, and nothing less. At one moment the object of the study will be
the Fisher King, without any relation to the symbols he guards, or the
land he rules; at the next it will be the relation of the Quester to
the Fisher King, without any explanation of the tasks assigned to him
by the story. The result obtained is always quite satisfactory to the
writer, often plausible, sometimes in a measure sound, but it would
defy the skill of the most synthetic genius to co-ordinate the results
thus obtained, and combine them in one harmonious whole. They are like
pieces of a puzzle, each of which has been symmetrically cut and
trimmed, till they lie side by side, un-fitting, and un-related.
And we have been pursuing this method for over fifty years, and are
still, apparently, content to go on, each devoting attention to the
symmetrical perfection of his own little section of the puzzle, quite
indifferent to the fact that our neighbour is in possession of an
equally neatly trimmed fragment, which entirely refuses to fit in with
our own!
Is it not time that we should frankly admit the unsatisfactory results
of these years of labour, and honestly face the fact that while we now
have at our disposal an immense mass of interesting and suggestive
material often of high value, we have failed, so far, to formulate a
conclusion which, by embracing and satisfying the manifold conditions
of the problem, will command general acceptance? And if this failure be
admitted, may not its cause be sought in the faulty method which has
failed to recognize in the Grail story an original whole, in which the
parts—the action, the actors, the Symbols, the result to be obtained,
incident, and intention—stood from the very first in intimate relation
the one to the other? That while in process of utilization as a
literary theme these various parts have suffered modification and
accretion from this, or that, side, the problem of the _ultimate_
source remains thereby unaffected?
Such a reversal of method as I suggest will, I submit, not only provide
us with a critical solution capable of general acceptance, but it will
also enable us to utilize, and appreciate at their due value, the
result of researches which at the present moment appear to be mutually
destructive the one of the other. Thus, while the purely Folk-lore
interpretation of the Grail and Lance excludes the Christian origin,
and the theory of the exclusively Christian origin negatives the
Folk-lore, the pre-existence of these symbols in a popular ritual
setting would admit, indeed would invite, later accretion alike from
folk belief and ecclesiastical legend.
We are the gainers by any light that can possibly be thrown upon the
process of development of the story, but studies of the separate
symbols while they may, and do, afford valuable _data_ for determining
the character and period of certain accretions, should not be regarded
as supplying proof of the origin of the related group.
Reference to some recent studies in the Legend will make my meaning
clear. A reviewer of my small _Quest of the Holy Grail_ volume remarked
that I appeared to be ignorant of Miss Peebles’s study _The Legend of
Longinus_ “which materially strengthens the evidence for the Christian
origin.”[2] Now this is precisely what, in my view, the study in
question, which I knew and possessed, does not do. As evidence for the
fact that the Grail legend has taken over certain features derived from
the popular ‘Longinus’ story (which, incidentally, no one disputed),
the essay is, I hold, sound, and valuable; as affording material for
determining the source of the Grail story, it is, on the other hand,
entirely without value.
On the principle laid down above no theory which purports to be
explanatory of the source of one symbol can be held satisfactory in a
case where that symbol does not stand alone. We cannot accept for the
Grail story a theory of origin which concerns itself with the Lance, as
independent of the Grail. In the study referred to the author has been
at immense pains to examine the different versions of the ‘Longinus’
legend, and to trace its development in literature; in no single
instance do we find Longinus and his Lance associated with a Cup or
Vase, receptacle of the Sacred Blood.
The plain fact is that in Christian art and tradition Lance and Cup are
not associated symbols. The Lance or Spear, as an instrument of the
Passion, is found in conjunction with the Cross, Nails, Sponge, and
Crown of Thorns, (anyone familiar with the wayside Crosses of Catholic
Europe will recognize this), not with the Chalice of the Mass.[3] This
latter is associated with the Host, or _Agnus Dei_. Still less is the
Spear to be found in connection with the Grail in its Food-providing
form of a Dish.
No doubt to this, critics who share the views of Golther and Burdach
will object, “but what of the Byzantine Mass? Do we not there find a
Spear connected with the Chalice?”[4]
I very much doubt whether we do—the so-called ‘Holy Spear’ of the
Byzantine, and present Greek, liturgy is simply a small silver
spear-shaped knife, nor can I discover that it was ever anything else.
I have made careful enquiries of liturgical scholars, and consulted
editions of Oriental liturgies, but I can find no evidence that the
knife (the use of which is to divide the Loaf which, in the Oriental
rite, corresponds to the Wafer of the Occidental, in a manner
symbolically corresponding to the Wounds actually inflicted on the
Divine Victim) was ever other than what it is to-day. It seems obvious,
from the method of employment, that an actual Spear could hardly have
been used, it would have been an impossibly unwieldy instrument for the
purpose.
Nor is the ‘procession’ in which the elements are carried from the
Chapel of the Prothesis to the Sanctuary of a public character
comparable with that of the Grail castle; the actual ceremony of the
Greek Mass takes place, of course, behind a veil. A point of
considerable interest, however, is, what caused this difference in the
Byzantine liturgy? What were the influences which led to the
introduction of a feature unknown to the Western rite? If, as the
result of the evidence set forth in these pages, the ultimate origin of
the Grail story be finally accepted as deriving from a prehistoric
ritual possessing elements of extraordinary persistence and vitality,
then the _mise-en-scène_ of that story is older than the Byzantine
ritual. Students of the subject are well aware that the tradition of
ancient pre-Christian rites and ceremonies lingered on in the East long
after they had been banished by the more practical genius of the West.
It may well prove that so far from the Grail story being a reminiscence
of the Byzantine rite, that rite itself has been affected by a ritual
of which the Grail legend preserves a fragmentary record.
In my view a Christian origin for Lance and Cup, as associated symbols,
has not been made out; still less can it be postulated for Lance and
Cup as members of an extended group, including Dish, Sword, and Stone.
On this point Professor Brown’s attempt to find in Irish tradition the
origin of the Grail symbols is distinctly more satisfactory.[5]
I cannot accept as decisive the solution proposed, which seems to me to
be open to much the same criticism as that which would find in the
Lance the Lance of Longinus—both are occupied with details, rather than
with _ensemble;_ both would find their justification as offering
evidence of accretion, rather than of origin; neither can provide us
with the required _mise-en-scène_.
But Professor Brown’s theory is the more sound in that he is really
dealing with a group of associated symbols; in his view Lance and Grail
alike belong to the treasures of the Tuatha de Danann (that legendary
race of Irish ancestors, who were at once gods and kings), and
therefore _ab initio_ belong together. But while I should, on the
whole, accept the affiliation of the two groups, and believe that the
treasures of the Tuatha de Danann really correspond to the symbols
displayed in the hall of the Grail castle, I cannot consider that the
one is the origin of the other. There is one very fundamental
difference, the importance of which I cannot ignore, but which, I
believe, has hitherto escaped Professor Brown’s attention.
The object corresponding to the Grail itself is the cauldron of the
Dagda, “No company ever went from it unthankful” (or ‘unsatisfied’).[6]
Now this can in no sense be considered as a Cup, or Vase, nor is it the
true parallel to a Dish. The connection with the Grail is to be found
solely and exclusively in the food-providing properties ascribed to
both. But even here the position is radically different; the impression
we derive from the Irish text and its analogous parallels is that of
size (it is also called a ‘tub’), and inexhaustible content, it is a
cauldron of plenty.[7] Now, neither of these qualities can be
postulated of the Grail; whatever its form, Cup or Dish, it can easily
be borne (in uplifted hands, _entre ses mains hautement porte_) by a
maiden, which certainly could not be postulated of a cauldron! Nor is
there any proof that the Vessel itself contained the food with which
the folk of the Grail castle were regaled; the texts rather point to
the conclusion that the appearance of the Grail synchronized with a
mysterious supply of food of a choice and varied character. There is
never any hint that the folk feed _from the Grail;_ the only suggestion
of such feeding is in the ‘Oiste,’ by which the father of the Fisher
King (or the King himself) is nourished.
In certain texts the separation of the two is clearly brought out; in
_Joseph of Arimathea_, for instance, the Fish caught by Brons is to be
placed at one end of the table, the Grail at the other. In Gawain’s
adventure at the Grail castle, in the prose _Lancelot_, as the Grail is
carried through the hall “forthwith were the tables replenished with
the choicest meats in the world,” but the table before Gawain remains
void and bare.[8] I submit that while the Grail is in certain phases a
food-supplying talisman it is not one of the same character as the
cauldrons of plenty; also while the food supply of these latter has the
marked characteristic of _quantity_, that of the Grail is remarkable
rather for _quality_, its choice character is always insisted upon.
The perusal of Professor Brown’s subsequent study, _Notes on Celtic
Cauldrons of Plenty and The Land-Beneath-the-Waves_, has confirmed me
in my view that these special objects belong to another line of
tradition altogether; that which deals with an inexhaustible submarine
source of life, examples of which will be found in the ‘Sampo’ of the
Finnish _Kalewala_, and the ever-grinding mills of popular
folk-tale.[9] The fundamental idea here seems to be that of the origin
of all Life from Water, a very ancient idea, but one which, though akin
to the Grail tradition, is yet quite distinct therefrom. The study of
this special theme would, I believe, produce valuable results.[10]
On the whole, I am of the opinion that the treasures of the Tuatha de
Danann and the symbols of the Grail castle go back to a common
original, but that they have developed on different lines; in the
process of this development one ‘Life’ symbol has been exchanged for
another.
But Lance and Cup (or Vase) were in truth connected together in a
symbolic relation long ages before the institution of Christianity, or
the birth of Celtic tradition. They are sex symbols of immemorial
antiquity and world-wide diffusion, the Lance, or Spear, representing
the Male, the Cup, or Vase, the Female, reproductive energy.[12]
Found in juxtaposition, the Spear upright in the Vase, as in the
_Bleheris_ and _Balin_ (both, be it noted, _Gawain_) forms, their
signification is admitted by all familiar with ‘Life’ symbolism, and
they are absolutely in place as forming part of a ritual dealing with
the processes of life and reproductive vitality.[13]
A most remarkable and significant use of these symbols is found in the
ceremonies of the Samurai, the noble warrior caste of Japan. The
aspirant was (I am told still is) admitted into the caste at the age of
fourteen, when he was given over to the care of a guardian at least
fifteen years his senior, to whom he took an oath of obedience, which
was sworn upon the Spear. He remained celibate during the period
covered by the oath. When the Samurai was held to have attained the
degree of responsibility which would fit him for the full duties of a
citizen, a second solemn ceremony was held, at which he was released
from his previous vows, and presented with the Cup; he was henceforth
free to marry, but intercourse with women previous to this ceremony was
at one time punishable with death.[14]
That Lance and Cup are, _outside_ the Grail story, ‘Life’ symbols, and
have been such from time immemorial, is a fact; why, then should they
not retain that character _inside_ the framework of that story? An
acceptance of this interpretation will not only be in harmony with the
general _mise-en-scène_, but it will also explain finally and
satisfactorily, (_a_) the dominant position frequently assigned to the
Lance; (_b_) the fact that, while the Lance is borne in procession by a
youth, the Grail is carried by a maiden—the sex of the bearer
corresponds with the symbol borne.[15]
But Lance and Cup, though the most prominent of the Symbols, do not
always appear alone, but are associated with other objects, the
significance of which is not always apparent. Thus the Dish, which is
sometimes the form assumed by the Grail itself, at other times appears
as a _tailléor_, or carving platter of silver, carried in the same
procession as the Grail; or there may be two small _tailléors;_
finally, a Sword appears in varying _rôles_ in the story.
I have already referred to the fact, first pointed out by the late Mr
Alfred Nutt,[16] that the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danann
correspond generally with the group of symbols found in the Grail
romances; this correspondence becomes the more interesting in view of
the fact that these mysterious Beings are now recognized as alike
Demons of Fertility and Lords of Life. As Mr Nutt subsequently pointed
out, the ‘Treasures’ may well be, Sword and Cauldron certainly are,
‘Life’ symbols.
Of direct connection between these Celtic objects and the Grail story
there is no trace; as remarked above, we have no Irish Folk or Hero
tale at all corresponding to the Legend; the relation must, therefore,
go back beyond the date of formation of these tales, _i.e._, it must be
considered as one of origin rather than of dependence.
But we have further evidence that these four objects do, in fact, form
a special group entirely independent of any appearance in Folk-lore or
Romance. They exist to-day as the four suits of the Tarot.
Students of the Grail texts, whose attention is mainly occupied with
Medieval Literature, may not be familiar with the word Tarot, or aware
of its meaning. It is the name given to a pack of cards, seventy-eight
in number, of which twenty-two are designated as the ‘Keys.’
These cards are divided into four suits, which correspond with those of
the ordinary cards; they are:
Cup (Chalice, or Goblet)—Hearts.
Lance (Wand, or Sceptre)—Diamonds.
Sword—Spades.
Dish (Circles, or Pentangles, the form varies)—Clubs.
To-day the Tarot has fallen somewhat into disrepute, being principally
used for purposes of divination, but its origin, and precise relation
to our present playing-cards, are questions of considerable antiquarian
interest. Were these cards the direct parents of our modern pack, or
are they entirely distinct therefrom?[17]
Some writers are disposed to assign a very high antiquity to the Tarot.
Traditionally, it is said to have been brought from Egypt; there is no
doubt that parallel designs and combinations are to be found in the
surviving decorations of Egyptian temples, notably in the astronomic
designs on the ceiling of one of the halls of the palace of Medinet
Abou, which is supported on twenty-two columns (a number corresponding
to the ‘keys’ of the Tarot), and also repeated in a calendar sculptured
on the southern façade of the same building, under a sovereign of the
XXIII dynasty. This calendar is supposed to have been connected with
the periodic rise and fall of the waters of the Nile.[18]
The Tarot has also been connected with an ancient Chinese monument,
traditionally erected in commemoration of the drying up of the waters
of the Deluge by Yao. The face of this monument is divided up into
small sections corresponding in size and number with the cards of the
Tarot, and bearing characters which have, so far, not been deciphered.
What is certain is that these cards are used to-day by the Gipsies for
purposes of divination, and the opinion of those who have studied the
subject is that there is some real ground for the popular tradition
that they were introduced into Europe by this mysterious people.
In a very interesting article on the subject in _The Journal of the
Gipsy-Lore Society_,[19] Mr De la Hoste Ranking examines closely into
the figures depicted on the various cards, and the names attached to
the suits by the Gipsies. He comes to the conclusion that many of the
words are of Sanskrit, or Hindustani, origin, and sums up the result of
the internal evidence as follows: “The Tarot was introduced by a race
speaking an Indian dialect. The figure known as ‘The Pope’ shows the
influence of the Orthodox Eastern Faith; he is bearded, and carries the
Triple Cross. The card called ‘The King’ represents a figure with the
head-dress of a Russian Grand-Duke, and a shield bearing the Polish
eagle. Thus the people who used the Tarot must have been familiar with
a country where the Orthodox Faith prevailed, and which was ruled by
princes of the status of Grand-Dukes. The general result seems to point
to a genuine basis for the belief that the Tarot was introduced into
Europe from the East.”
As regards the group of symbols in general, Mr W. B. Yeats, whose
practical acquaintance with Medieval and Modern Magic is well known,
writes: “(1) Cup, Lance, Dish, Sword, in slightly varying forms, have
never lost their mystic significance, and are to-day a part of magical
operations. (2) The memory kept by the four suits of the Tarot, Cup,
Lance, Sword, Pentangle (Dish), is an esoterical notation for
fortune-telling purposes.”[20]
But if the connection with the Egyptian and Chinese monuments, referred
to above, is genuine, the original use of the ‘Tarot’ would seem to
have been, not to foretell the Future in general, but to predict the
rise and fall of the waters which brought fertility to the land.
Such use would bring the ‘Suits’ into line with the analogous symbols
of the Grail castle and the treasures of the Tuatha de Danann, both of
which we have seen to be connected with the embodiment of the
reproductive forces of Nature.
If it is difficult to establish a direct connection between these two
latter, it is practically impossible to argue any connection between
either group and the ‘Tarot’; no one has as yet ventured to suggest the
popularity of the works of Chrétien de Troyes among the Gipsies! Yet
the correspondence can hardly be fortuitous. I would suggest that,
while Lance and Cup, in their associated form, are primarily symbols of
Human Life energy, in conjunction with others they formed a group of
‘Fertility’ symbols, connected with a very ancient ritual, of which
fragmentary survivals alone have been preserved to us.
This view will, I believe, receive support from the evidence of the
ceremonial Dances which formed so important a part of ‘Fertility’
ritual, and which survive in so many places to this day. If we find
these symbols reappearing as a part of these dances, their real
significance can hardly be disputed.
CHAPTER VII The Sword DanceCHAPTER VII
The Sword Dance
The subject we are now about to consider is one which of late years has
attracted considerable attention, and much acute criticism has been
expended on the question of its origin and significance. Valuable
material has been collected, but the studies, so far, have been
individual, and independent, the much needed _travail d’ensemble_ has
not yet appeared.
One definite result has, however, been obtained; it is now generally
admitted that the so-called Sword Dances, with the closely related
Morris Dances, and Mumming Plays, are not mere survivals of martial
exercises, an inherited tradition from our warrior ancestors, but were
solemn, ceremonial (in some cases there is reason to believe,
Initiatory) dances, performed at stated seasons of the year, and
directly and intimately connected with the ritual of which we have
treated in previous chapters, a ritual designed to preserve and promote
the regular and ordered sequence of the processes of Nature. And here,
again, our enquiry must begin with the very earliest records of our
race, with the traditions of our Aryan forefathers.
The earliest recorded Sword Dancers are undoubtedly the Maruts, those
swift-footed youths in gleaming armour who are the faithful attendants
on the great god, Indra. Professor von Schroeder, in _Mysterium und
Mimus_, describes them thus:[1] they are a group of youths of equal age
and identical parentage, they are always depicted as attired in the
same manner, “Sie sind reich und prächtig geschmückt, mit Goldschmuck
auf der Brust, mit Spangen an den Händen, Hirschfelle tragen sie auf
den Schultern. Vor allem aber sind sie kriegerisch gerüstet, funkelnde
Speere tragen sie in den Händen, oder auch goldene Äxte. Goldene
Harnische oder Mäntel umhüllen sie, goldene Helme schimmern auf ihren
Häuptern. Nie erscheinen sie ohne Wehr und Waffen. Es scheint dass
diese ganz und gar zu ihren Wesen gehören.”
The writer goes on to remark that when such a band of armed youths, all
of the same age, always closely associated with each other, are
represented as Dancers, and always as Dancers—“dann haben wir
unabweislich das Bild eines Waffentanzes vor unseren Augen”—and
Professor von Schroeder is undoubtedly right.
Constantly throughout the _Rig-Veda_ the Maruts are referred to as
Dancers, “gold-bedecked Dancers,” “with songs of praise they danced
round the spring,” “When ye Maruts spear-armed dance, they (_i.e._, the
Heavens) stream together like waves of water.”[2]
And a special moment for the dance of these glorious youths “ever young
brothers of whom none is elder, none younger”[3] is that of the
ceremonial sacrifice, “sie tanzen auf ihren himmlischen Bahnen, sie
springen und tanzen auch bei den Opferfesten der Menschen.”[4]
The Maruts, as said above, were conceived of as the companions of
Indra, and helpers in his fight against his monstrous adversaries; thus
they were included in the sacrifices offered in honour of that Deity.
One of the most striking of the ritual Dramas reconstructed by
Professor von Schroeder is that which represents Indra as indignantly
rejecting the claim of the Maruts to share in such a sacrifice; they
had failed to support him in his conflict with the dragon, Vritra, when
by his might he loosed the waters, ‘neither to-day, nor to-morrow’ will
he accept a sacrifice of which they share the honour; it requires all
the tact of the Offerer, Agastya, and of the leader of the Maruts to
soothe the offended Deity.[5]
Here I would draw attention to the significant fact that the feat
celebrated is that to which I have previously referred as the most
famous of all the deeds attributed to Indra, the ‘Freeing of the
Waters,’ and here the Maruts are associated with the god.
But they were also the objects of independent worship. They were
specially honoured at the Câturmâsya, the feasts which heralded the
commencement of the three seasons of four months each into which the
Indian year was divided, a division corresponding respectively to the
hot, the cool, and the wet, season. The advantages to be derived from
the worship of the Maruts may be deduced from the following extracts
from the _Rig-Veda_, which devotes more than thirty hymns to their
praise. “The adorable Maruts, armed with bright lances, and cuirassed
with golden breastplates, enjoy vigorous existence; may the cars of the
quick-moving Maruts arrive for our good.” “Bringers of rain and
fertility, shedding water, augmenting food.” “Givers of abundant food.”
“Your milchkine are never dry.” “We invoke the food-laden chariots of
the Maruts.”[6] Nothing can be clearer than this; the Maruts are
‘daimons’ of fertility, the worship of whom will secure the necessary
supply of the fruits of the earth.
The close association of the Maruts with Indra, the great Nature god,
has led some scholars to regard them as personifications of a special
manifestation of Nature, as Wind-gods. Professor von Schroeder points
out that their father was the god Rudra, later known as Çiva, the god
of departed souls, and of fruitfulness, _i.e._, a Chthonian deity, and
suggests that the Maruts represent the “in Wind und Sturm dahinjagende
Seelenschar.”[7] He points out that the belief in a troop of departed
souls is an integral part of Aryan tradition, and classifies such
belief under four main headings.
1. Under the form of a spectral Hunt, the Wild Huntsman well known in
European Folk-lore. He equates this with Dionysus Zagreus, and the Hunt
of Artemis-Hekate.
2. That of a spectral Army, the souls of warriors slain in fight. The
Northern _Einherier_ belong to this class, and the many traditions of
spectral combats, and ghostly battles, heard, but not seen.
3. The conception of a host of women in a condition of ecstatic
exaltation bordering on madness, who appear girdled with snakes, or
hissing like snakes, tear living animals to pieces, and devour the
flesh. The classic examples here are the Greek Maenads, and the Indian
Senâs, who accompany Rudra.
4. The conception of a train of theriomorphic, phallic, demons of
fertility, with their companion group of fair women. Such are the
Satyrs and Nymphs of Greek, the Gandharvas and Apsaras of Indian,
Mythology.
To these four main groups may be added the belief among Germanic
peoples, also among the Letts, in a troop of Child Souls.
These four groups, in more or less modified forms, appear closely
connected with the dominant Spirit of Vegetation, by whatever name that
spirit may be known.
According to von Schroeder there was, among the Aryan peoples
generally, a tendency to regard the dead as assuming the character of
daimons of fertility. This view the learned Professor considers to be
at the root of the annual celebrations in honour of the Departed, the
‘Feast of Souls,’ which characterized the commencement of the winter
season, and is retained in the Catholic conception of November as the
month of the Dead.[8]
In any case we may safely conclude that the Maruts, represented as
armed youths, were worshipped as deities of fruitfulness; that their
dances were of a ceremonial character; and that they were, by nature
and origin, closely connected with spirits of fertility of a lower
order, such as the Gandharvas. It also appears probable that, if the
Dramas of which traces have been preserved in the _Rig-Veda_, were, as
scholars are now of opinion, once actually represented, the
mythological conception of the Maruts must have found its embodiment in
youths, most probably of the priestly caste, who played their _rôle_,
and actually danced the ceremonial Sword Dance. As von Schroeder says,
“Kein Zweifel dass sie dabei von menschlichen, resp. priesterlichen
Personen dargestellt wurden.[9]
When we turn from the early Aryan to the classic Greek period we find
in the Kouretes, and in a minor degree in the Korybantes, a parallel so
extraordinarily complete, alike in action and significance, that an
essential identity of origin appears to be beyond doubt.
The Kouretes were, as their name indicates, a band of armed youths, of
semi-divine origin, “Kureten sind von Haus aus halb-göttlich dämonische
Wesen nicht nur menschliche Priester, oder deren mythische
Vertreter.”[10] Again, they are to be considered as “elementare
Urwesen,” and as such of “Göttliche Abkunft.”[11] Preller regards them
as “Dämonen des Gebirgs,”[12] while a passage from Hesiod, quoted by
Strabo, equates them with nymphs and satyrs, _i.e._, fertility
demons.[13]
When we remember that the Gandharvas are the Indian equivalent of the
Satyrs the close parallel between the Maruts and the Kouretes, both
alike bands of armed youths, of elementary origin, and connected with
beings of a lower grade, is striking.
The home of the Kouretes was in Crete, where they were closely
associated with the worship of the goddess Rhea. The traditional story
held that, in order to preserve the infant Zeus from destruction by his
father Kronos, they danced their famous Sword Dance round the babe,
overpowering his cries by the clash of their weapons.
Their dance was by some writers identified with the Pyrrhic dance,
first performed by Athene, in honour of her victory over the Giants,
and taught by her to the Kouretes. It had however, as we shall see, a
very distinct aim and purpose, and one in no way connected with warlike
ends.
In Miss J. E. Harrison’s deeply interesting volume, _Themis_,[14] she
gives the translation of a fragmentary _Hymn of the Kouretes_,
discovered among the ruins of a temple in Crete, a text which places
beyond all doubt the fact that, however mythical in origin, the
Kouretes, certainly, had actual human representatives, and that while
in the case of the Maruts there may be a question as to whether their
dance actually took place, or not, so far as the Kouretes are concerned
there can be no such doubt.
The following is the text as preserved to us; the slabs on which it is
inscribed are broken, and there are consequent lacunae.
“Io, Kouros most great, I give thee hail, Kronian, lord of all that is
wet and gleaming, thou art come at the head of thy Daimones. To Dikte
for the year, Oh march, and rejoice in the dance and song,
“That we make to thee with harps and pipes mingled together, and sing
as we come to a stand at thy well-fenced altar.
“Io, &c.
“For here the shielded Nurturers took thee, a child immortal, from
Rhea, and with noise of beating feet hid thee away.
“Io, &c.
“And the Horai began to be fruitful year by year, and Dikè to possess
mankind and all wild living things were held about by wealth-loving
Peace.
“Io, &c.
“And the Horai began to be fruitful year by year, and Dikè to possess
mankind and all wild living things were held about by wealth-loving
Peace.
“Io, &c.
“To us also leap for full jars, and leap for fleecy flocks, and leap
for fields of fruit, and for hives to bring increase.
“Io, &c.
“Leap for our cities, and leap for our sea-borne ships, and leap for
our young citizens, and for goodly Themis.”
This hymn is most extraordinarily interesting; it places beyond all
doubt what was the root intention of this ceremonial dance; it was
designed to stimulate the reproductive energies of Nature, to bring
into being fruitful fields, and vineyards, plenteous increase in the
flocks and herds, and to people the cities with youthful citizens; and
the god is entreated not merely to accept the worship offered, but
himself to join in the action which shall produce such fair results, to
leap for full jars, and fleecy flocks, and for youthful citizens.
The importance of movement, notably of what we may call group movement,
as a stimulant to natural energies, is thoroughly recognized among
primitive peoples; with them Dance holds a position equivalent to that
which, in more advanced communities, is assigned to Prayer. Professor
von Schroeder comments on this, “Es ist merkwürdig genug zu sehen wie
das Tanzen nach dem Glauben primitiver Völker eine ähnliche Kraft und
Bedeutung zu haben scheint wie man sie auf höheren Kulturstufen dem
inbrünstigen Gebete zuschreibt.”[15] He cites the case of the
Tarahumara Indians of Central America; while the family as a whole are
labouring in the fields it is the office of one man to dance
uninterruptedly on the dance place of the house; if he fails in his
office the labour of the others will be unsuccessful. The one sin of
which a Tarahumara Indian is conscious is that of not having danced
enough. Miss Harrison, in commenting on the dance of the Kouretes,
remarks that among certain savage tribes when a man is too old to dance
he hands on his dance to another. He then ceases to exist socially;
when he dies his funeral is celebrated with scanty rites; having ‘lost
his dance’ he has ceased to count as a social unit.[16]
With regard to the connection of the Kouretes with the infant Zeus,
Miss Harrison makes the interesting suggestion that we have here a
trace of an Initiation Dance, analogous to those discussed by M. Van
Gennep in his _Rites du Passage_, that the original form was Tităns,
‘White-clay men,’ which later became Titāns, ‘Giants,’ and she draws
attention to the fact that daubing the skin with white clay is a
frequent practice in these primitive rituals. To this I would add that
it is a noteworthy fact that in our modern survivals of these dances
the performers are, as a rule, dressed in white.
The above suggestion is of extreme significance, as it brings out the
possibility that these celebrations were not only concerned with the
prosperity of the community, as a whole, but may also have borne a
special, and individual, aspect, and that the idea of Initiation into
the group is closely connected with the ceremonial exercise of group
functions.
To sum up, there is direct proof that the classic Greeks, in common
with their Aryan forefathers, held the conception of a group of Beings,
of mythic origin, represented under the form of armed youths, who were
noted dancers, and whose activities were closely connected with the
processes of Nature. They recognized a relation between these beings,
and others of a less highly developed aspect, phallic demons, often of
theriomorphic form. Thus the dance of the Kouretes should be considered
as a ceremonial ritual action, rather than as a warlike exercise; it
was designed to promote the fruitfulness of the earth, not to display
the skill of the dancers in the handling of weapons. When we turn to an
analogous group, that of the Korybantes, we find that, while presenting
a general parallel to the Kouretes (with whom they are often coupled in
mythologies), they also possess certain distinct characteristics, which
form a connecting link with other, and later, groups.
The Korybantes were of Phrygian origin, attached to the worship of the
goddess Kybele, and Attis, the well-known Phrygian counterpart to the
Phoenician Adonis, and originally the most important embodiment of the
Vegetation Spirit. Röscher considers them to be of identical origin
with the Kouretes, _i.e._, as elementary ‘daimons,’ but the Korybantes
of Classic art and tradition are undoubtedly human beings. Priests of
Kybele, they appear in surviving bas-reliefs in company with that
goddess, and with Attis.
The dance of the Korybantes is distinguished from that of the Kouretes
by its less restrained, and more orgiastic character; it was a wild and
whirling dance resembling that of the modern Dervishes, accompanied by
self-mutilation and an unrhythmic clashing of weapons, designed, some
writers think, to overpower the cries of the victims.
If this suggestion be correct it would seem to indicate that, if the
Dance of the Kouretes was originally an Initiation Dance, that of the
Korybantes was Sacrificial in character. We shall see later that
certain features in the surviving forms of the Sword Dance also point
in this direction.
The interest of the Korybantes for our investigation lies in the fact
that here again we have the Sword Dance in close and intimate
connection with the worship of the Vegetation Spirit, and there can be
no doubt that here, as elsewhere, it was held to possess a stimulating
virtue.
A noticeable point in the modern survivals of these Dances is that the
Dance proper is combined with a more or less coherent dramatic action.
The Sword Dance originally did not stand alone, but formed part of a
Drama, to the action of which it may be held to have given a cumulative
force.
On this point I would refer the reader to Professor von Schroeder’s
book, where this aspect of the Dance is fully discussed.[17]
We have already spoken of the Maruts, and their dramatic connection
with Indra; the Greek Dancers offer us no direct parallel, though the
connection of the Kouretes with the infant Zeus may quite possibly
indicate the existence in the original form of the Dance, of a more
distinctly dramatic element.
We have, however, in the Roman Salii a connecting link which proves
beyond all doubt that our modern dances, and analogous representations,
are in fact genuine survivals of primitive ceremonies, and in no way a
mere fortuitous combination of originally independent elements.
The Salii formed a college of priests, twelve in number, dedicated to
the service of Mars, who, it is important to remember, was originally a
god of growth and vegetation, a Spring Deity, who bestowed his name on
the vernal month of March; only by degrees did the activities of the
god become specially connected with the domain of War.[18]
There seem to have been two groups of Salii, one having their college
on the Palatine, the other on the Quirinal; the first were the more
important. The Quirinal group shared in the celebrations of the latter
part of the month only.
The first of March was the traditional birthday of Mars, and from that
date, during the whole of the month, the Salii offered sacrifices and
performed dances in his honour. They wore pointed caps, or helmets, on
their head, were girt with swords, and carried on the left arm shields,
copied from the ‘ancilia’ or traditional shield of Mars, fabled to have
fallen from heaven. In their right hand they bore a small lance.
Dionysus of Halicarnassus, in a passage describing the Salii, says,
“they carried in their right hand a spear, or staff, or something of
that sort.” Miss Harrison, quoting this passage, gives a reproduction
of a bas-relief representing the Salii carrying what she says “are
clearly drumsticks.” (As a matter of fact they very closely resemble
the ‘Wands’ which in the Tarot cards sometimes represent the ‘Lance’
suit.)
Miss Harrison suggests that the original shields were made of skins,
stretched upon a frame, and beaten by these ‘drumsticks.’ This may
quite well have been the case, and it would bear out my contention that
the original contact of weapon and shield was designed rather as a
rhythmic accompaniment to the Dance, than as a display of skill in
handling sword and lance, _i.e._, that these dances were not primarily
warlike exercises.
At the conclusion of their songs the Salii invoked Mamurius Veturius,
the smith who was fabled to have executed the copies of the original
shield, while on the 14th of March, a man, dressed in skins, and
supposed to represent the aforesaid smith, was led through the streets,
beaten by the Salii with rods, and thrust out of the city.
The following day, the 15th, was the feast of Anna Perenna, fabled to
be an old woman, to whom Mars had confided the tale of his love for
Nerio, and who, disguising herself as the maiden, had gone through the
ceremony of marriage with the god. This feast was held outside the
gates. On the 23rd the combined feast of Mars and Nerio was held with
great rejoicing throughout the city. Modern scholars have unanimously
recognized in Mamurius Veturius and Anna Perenna the representatives of
the Old Year, the Vegetation Spirit, and his female counterpart, who,
grown old, must yield place to the young god and his correspondingly
youthful bride. Reference to Chapter 5, where the medieval and modern
forms of this Nature ritual are discussed, and instances of the
carrying out of Winter, and ceremonial bringing in of Spring, are
given, will suffice to show how vital and enduring an element in
Folk-lore is this idea of driving out the Old Year, while celebrating
the birth of the New. Here then, again, we have a ritual Sword Dance
closely associated with the practice of a Nature cult; there can, I
think, be no doubt that _ab initio_ the two were connected with each
other.
But the dance of the Salii with its dramatic Folk-play features forms
an interesting link between the classic Dance of the Kouretes, and the
modern English survivals, in which the dramatic element is strongly
marked. These English forms may be divided into three related groups,
the Sword Dance, the Morris Dance, and the Mumming Play. Of these the
Morris Dance stands somewhat apart; of identical origin, it has
discarded the dramatic element, and now survives simply as a Dance,
whereas the Sword Dance is always dramatic in form, and the Mumming
Play, acted by characters appearing also in the Sword Dance, invariably
contains a more or less elaborate fight.[19]
The Sword Dance proper appears to have been preserved mostly in the
North of England, and in Scotland. Mr Cecil Sharp has found four
distinct varieties in Yorkshire alone. At one time there existed a
special variant known as the _Giants’ Dance_, in which the leading
characters were known by the names of Wotan, and Frau Frigg; one figure
of this dance consisted in making a ring of swords round the neck of a
lad, without wounding him.
Mr E. K. Chambers has commented on this as the survival of a
sacrificial origin.[20] The remarks of this writer on the Sword Dance
in its dramatic aspect are so much to the point that I quote them here.
“The Sword Dance makes its appearance, not like heroic poetry in
general, as part of the minstrel repertory, but as a purely popular
thing at the agricultural festivals. To these festivals we may
therefore suppose it to have originally belonged.” Mr Chambers goes on
to remark that the dance of the Salii discussed above, was clearly
agricultural, “and belongs to Mars not as War god, but in his more
primitive quality of a fertilization Spirit.”
In an Appendix to his most valuable book the same writer gives a full
description, with text, of the most famous surviving form of the Sword
Dance, that of Papa Stour (old Norwegian _Pâpey in Stôra_), one of the
Shetland Islands.
The dance was performed at Christmas (Yule-tide). The dancers, seven in
number, represented the seven champions of Christendom; the leader,
Saint George, after an introductory speech, performed a solo dance, to
the music of an accompanying minstrel. He then presented his comrades,
one by one, each in turn going through the same performance. Finally
the seven together performed an elaborate dance. The complete text of
the speeches is given in the Appendix referred to.[21]
The close connection between the English Sword Dance, and the Mumming
Play, is indicated by the fact that the chief character in these plays
is, generally speaking, Saint George. (The title has in some cases
become corrupted into _King_ George.) In Professor von Schroeder’s
opinion this is due to Saint George’s legendary _rôle_ as Dragon
slayer, and he sees in the importance assigned to this hero an argument
in favour of his theory that the “Slaying of the Dragon” was the
earliest Aryan Folk-Drama.
In _Folk-Lore_, Vol. X., a fully illustrated description of the Mumming
Play, as performed at Newbold, a village near Rugby, is given.[22] Here
the characters are Father Christmas, Saint George, a Turkish Knight,
Doctor, Moll Finney (mother of the Knight), Humpty Jack, Beelzebub, and
‘Big-Head-and-Little-Wit.’ These last three have no share in the action
proper, but appear in a kind of Epilogue, accompanying a collection
made by Beelzebub.
The Play is always performed at Christmas time, consequently Father
Christmas appears as stage-manager, and introduces the characters. The
action consists in a general challenge issued by Saint George, and
accepted by the Turkish Knight. A combat follows, in which the Turk is
slain. His mother rushes in, weeps over the body, and demands the
services of a Doctor, who appears accordingly, vaunts his skill in
lines interspersed with unintelligible gibberish, and restores the Turk
to life. In the version which used to be played throughout Scotland at
Hogmanay (New-Year-tide), the characters are Bol Bendo, the King of
France, the King of Spain, Doctor Beelzebub, Golishan, and Sir
Alexander.[23] The fight is between Bol Bendo (who represents the Saint
George of the English version), and Golishan. The latter is killed,
and, on the demand of Sir Alexander (who acts as stage-manager),
revived by the doctor, this character, as in the English version,
interlarding the recital of his feats of healing skill with
unintelligible phrases.[24] There is a general consensus of opinion
among Folk-lore authorities that in this rough drama, which we find
played in slightly modified form all over Europe (in Scandinavia it is
the Julbock, a man dressed in skins, who, after a dramatic dance, is
killed and revived),[25] we have a symbolic representation of the death
and re-birth of the year; a counterpart to those ceremonies of driving
out Winter, and bringing in Spring, which we have already described.
This chapter had already been written when an important article, by Dr
Jevons, entitled _Masks and the Origin of the Greek Drama_ appeared in
_Folk-Lore_ (Vol. XXVII.) The author, having discussed the different
forms of Greek Drama, and the variety of masks employed, decides that
“Greek Comedy originated in Harvest Festivals, in some ceremony in
which the Harvesters went about in procession wearing masks.” This
ceremony he connects directly with the English Mumming Plays,
suggesting that “the characters represented on this occasion were the
Vegetation Spirit, and those who were concerned in bringing about his
revivification—in fine, Greek Comedy and the Mumming Play both sprang
from the rite of revivification.” At a later stage of our enquiry we
shall have occasion to return to this point, and realize its great
importance for our theory.
The Morris Dances differ somewhat from the Sword, and Mumming Dances.
The performances as a rule take place in the Spring, or early Summer,
chiefly May, and Whitsuntide. The dances retain little or no trace of
dramatic action but are dances pure and simple. The performers,
generally six in number, are attired in white elaborately-pleated
shirts, decked with ribbons, white mole-skin trousers, with bells at
the knee, and beaver hats adorned with ribbons and flowers. The leader
carries a sword, on the point of which is generally impaled a cake;
during the dancing slices of this cake are distributed to the lookers
on, who are supposed to make a contribution to the ‘Treasury,’ a
money-box carried by an individual called the Squire, or Clown, dressed
in motley, and bearing in the other hand a stick with a bladder at one
end, and a cow’s tail at the other.
In some forms of the dance there is a ‘Lord’ and a ‘Lady,’ who carry
‘Maces’ of office; these maces are short staves, with a transverse
piece at the top, and a hoop over it. The whole is decorated with
ribbons and flowers, and bears a curious resemblance to the _Crux
Ansata_.[26] In certain figures of the dance the performers carry
handkerchiefs, in others, wands, painted with the colours of the
village to which they belong; the dances are always more or less
elaborate in form.
The costume of the ‘Clown’ (an animal’s skin, or cap of skin with tail
pendant) and the special character assumed by the Maytide celebrations
in certain parts of England, _e.g._, Cornwall and Staffordshire,[27]
would seem to indicate that, while the English Morris Dance has dropped
the dramatic action, the dancers not being designated by name, and
playing no special _rôle_, it has, on the other hand, retained the
theriomorphic features so closely associated with Aryan ritual, which
the Sword Dance, and Mumming Play, on their side, have lost.[28]
A special note of these English survivals, and one to which I would now
draw attention, is the very elaborate character of the figures, and the
existence of a distinct symbolic element. I am informed that the Sword
dancers of to-day always, at the conclusion of a series of elaborate
sword-lacing figures, form the Pentangle; as they hold up the sign they
cry, triumphantly, “_A Nut! A Nut!_” The word _Nut_=_Knot_ (as in the
game of ‘_Nuts_, _i.e._, breast-knots, nosegays, _in May_’). They do
this often even when performing a later form of the Mumming Play.
I have already drawn attention to the fact that in _Gawain and the
Green Knight_ the hero’s badge is the Pentangle (or Pentacle), there
explained as called by the English ‘the Endless Knot.’[29] In the
previous chapter I have noted that the Pentangle frequently in the
Tarot suits replaces the Dish; in Mr Yeats’s remarks, cited above, the
two are held to be interchangeable, one or the other always forms one
of the group of symbols.
In one form of the Morris Dance, that performed in Berkshire, the
leader, or ‘Squire’ of the Morris carries a Chalice! At the same time
he bears a Sword, and a bull’s head at the end of a long pole. This
figure is illustrated in Miss Mary Neal’s _Esperance Morris Book_.[30]
Thus our English survivals of these early Vegetation ceremonies
preserve, in a more or less detached form, the four symbols discussed
in the preceding chapter, Grail, Sword, Lance, and Pentangle, or Dish.
It seems to me that, in view of the evidence thus offered, it is not a
very hazardous, or far-fetched hypothesis to suggest that these
symbols, the exact value of which, as a group, we cannot clearly
determine, but of which we know the two most prominent, Cup and Lance,
to be sex symbols, were originally ‘Fertility’ emblems, and as such
employed in a ritual designed to promote, or restore, the activity of
the reproductive energies of Nature.
As I have pointed out above an obvious dislocation has taken place in
our English survivals. Sword Dance, Mumming Play, and Morris Dance, no
longer form part of one ceremony, but have become separated, and
connected, on the one hand with the Winter, on the other with the early
Summer, Nature celebrations; it is thus not surprising that the symbols
should also have become detached. The fact that the three groups
manifestly form part of an original whole is an argument in favour of
the view that at one moment all the symbols were used together, and the
Grail chalice carried in a ceremony in which Sword, Lance, and
Pentangle, were also displayed.
But there is another point I would suggest. Is it not possible that, in
these armed youths, who were in some cases, notably in that of the
Salii, at once warriors and priests, we have the real origin of the
Grail Knights? We know now, absolutely, and indubitably, that these
Sword Dances formed an important part of the Vegetation ritual; is it
not easily within the bounds of possibility that, as the general
ceremonial became elevated, first to the rank of a Mystery Cult, and
then used as a vehicle for symbolic Christian teaching, the figures of
the attendant warrior-priests underwent a corresponding change? From
Salii to Templars is not after all so ‘far a cry’ as from the
glittering golden-armed Maruts, and the youthful leaping Kouretes, to
the grotesque tatterdemalion personages of the Christmas Mumming Play.
We have learnt to acknowledge the common origin of these two latter
groups; may we not reasonably contemplate a possible relation existing
between the two first named?
CHAPTER VIII The Medicine ManCHAPTER VIII
The Medicine Man
In previous chapters I have referred to the part played by the Doctor
in a large number of the surviving ‘Fertility’ ceremonies, and to the
fact, noted by other writers, that even where an active share is no
longer assigned to the character, he still appears among the _dramatis
personae_ of these Folk-plays and processions.[1] We will now examine
more closely the _rôle_ allotted to this mysterious personage; we shall
find it to be of extreme antiquity and remarkable significance.
In the interesting and important work by Professor von Schroeder, to
which I have already often referred, we find the translation of a
curious poem (_Rig-Veda_, 10. 97), a monologue placed in the mouth of a
Doctor, or Medicine Man, who vaunts the virtue of his herbs, and their
power to cure human ills.[2] From the references made to a special sick
man von Schroeder infers that this poem, like others in the collection,
was intended to be acted, as well as recited, and that the personage to
be healed, evidently present on the scene, was probably represented by
a dummy, as no speeches are allotted to the character.
The entire poem consists of 23 verses of four lines each, and is
divided by the translator into three distinct sections; the first is
devoted to the praise of herbs in general, their power to cure the sick
man before them, and at the same time to bring riches to the Healer—the
opening verses run:
“Die Kräuter alt, entsprossen einst
Drei Alter vor den Göttern noch,
Die braunen will Ich preisen jetzt!
Hundert und sieben Arten sinds.
“Ja, hundert Arten, Mütterlein,
Und tausend Zweige habt ihr auch,
Ihr, die ihr hundert Kräfte habt,
Macht diesen Menschen mir gesund.
“Ihr Kräuter hört, ihr Mütterchen,
Ihr göttlichen, das sag ich euch:
Ross, Rind und Kleid gewänn’ ich gern
Und auch dein Leben, lieber Mann!
.................................
Fürwahr ihr bringt mir Rinder ein,
Wenn ihr ihn rettet diesen Mann.”
He then praises the power of all herbs:
“Vom Himmel kam der Kräuter Schar
Geflogen, und da sprechen sie;
Wen wir noch lebend treffen an
Der Mann soll frei von Schaden sein.”
Finally the speaker singles out one herb as superior to all others:
“Die Kräuter viel in Soma’s Reich
Die hundertfach verständigen,
Von denen bist das beste du
Erfüllst den Wunsch, und heilst das Herz.”
He conjures all other herbs to lend their virtue to this special
remedy:
“Ihr Kräuter all’ in Soma’s Reich
Verbreitet auf der Erde hin,
Ihr, von Brihaspati erzeugt,
Gebt diesem Kraute eure Kraft!
“Nicht nehme Schaden, der euch gräbt,
Noch der, für Welchen Ich euch grub!
Bei uns soll Alles, Mensch, und Vieh,
Gesund und ohne Schaden sein.
“Ihr, die ihr höret dies mein Wort,
Ihr, die ihr in der Ferne seid,
Ihr Pflanzen all’, vereignet euch,
Gebt diesem Kraute eure Kraft!”
And the herbs, taking counsel together with Soma their king, answer:
“Für Wen uns ein Brahmane braucht
Den, König, wollen retten wir,”
a line which throws a light upon the personality of the speaker; he is
obviously a Brahmin, and the Medicine Man here, as elsewhere, unites
the functions of Priest and Healer.
Professor von Schroeder suggests that this Dramatic Monologue formed
part of the ceremonies of a Soma feast, that it is the Soma plant from
which the heavenly drink is brewed which is to be understood as the
first of all herbs and the curer of all ills, and the reference to Soma
as King of the herbs seems to bear out this suggestion.
In a previous chapter[3] I have referred to a curious little poem, also
found in the _Rig-Veda_, and translated by von Schroeder under the
title _A Folk-Procession at a Soma-Feast_, the _dramatis personae_ of
the poem offering, as I pointed out, a most striking and significant
parallel to certain surviving Fertility processions, notably that of
Värdegötzen in Hanover. In this little song which von Schroeder places
in the mouth of the leader of the band of maskers, the Doctor is twice
referred to; in the opening lines we have the Brahmin, the Doctor, the
Carpenter, the Smith, given as men plying different trades, and each
and all in search of gain; in the final verse the speaker announces, “I
am a Poet (or Singer), my father a Doctor.” Thus of the various trades
and personages enumerated the Doctor alone appears twice over, an
indication of the importance attached to this character.
Unfortunately, in view of the fragmentary condition of the survivals of
early Aryan literature, and the lack of explanatory material at our
disposal, it is impossible to decide what was the precise _rôle_
assigned to the ‘Medicine Man’; judging from the general character of
the surviving dramatic fragments and the close parallel which exists
between these fragments and the Medieval and Modern Fertility
ceremonies, it seems extremely probable that his original _rôle_ was
identical with that assigned to his modern counterpart, _i.e._, that of
restoring to life or health the slain, or suffering, representative of
the Vegetation Spirit.
This presumption gains additional support from the fact that it is in
this character that the Doctor appears in Greek Classical Drama. Von
Schroeder refers to the fact that the Doctor was a stock figure in the
Greek ‘Mimus’[4] and in Mr Cornford’s interesting volume entitled _The
Origin of Attic Comedy_, the author reckons the Doctor among the stock
Masks of the early Greek Theatre, and assigns to this character the
precise _rôle_ which later survivals have led us to attribute to him.
The significance of Mr Cornford’s work lies in the fact that, while he
accepts Sir Gilbert Murray’s deeply interesting and suggestive theory
that the origins of Greek Tragedy are to be sought in “the Agon of the
Fertility Spirit, his Pathos, and Theophany,” he contends that a
similar origin may be postulated for Attic Comedy—that the stock Masks
(characters) agree with a theory of derivation of such Comedy from a
ritual performance celebrating the renewal of the seasons.[5] “They
were at first serious, and even awful, figures in a Religious Mystery,
the God who every year is born, and dies, and rises again; his Mother
and his Bride; the Antagonist who kills him; the Medicine Man who
restores him to life.”[6]
I would submit that the presence of such a character in the original
ritual drama of Revival which, on my theory, underlies the romantic
form of the Grail legend, may, in view of the above evidence, and of
that brought forward in the previous chapters, be accepted as at least
a probable hypothesis.
But, it may be objected, granting that the Doctor in these Fertility
processions and dramas represents a genuine survival of a feature of
immemorial antiquity, a survival to be traced alike in Aryan remains,
in Greek literature, and in Medieval ceremony, what is the precise
bearing upon the special subject of our investigations? There is no
Doctor in the Grail legend, although there is certainly abundant scope
for his activities!
There may be no Doctor in the Grail legend to-day, but was there never
such a character? How if this be the key to explain the curious and
persistent attribution of healing skill to so apparently unsuitable a
personage as Sir Gawain? I would draw the attention of my readers to a
passage in the _Perceval_ of Chrétien de Troyes, where Gawain, finding
a wounded knight by the roadside, proceeds to treat him:
“Et Mesire Gauvain savoit
Plus que nuls homs de garir plaie;
Une herbe voit en une haie
Trop bonne pour douleur tolir
De plaie, et il la va cueillir.”[7]
Other MSS. are rather fuller:
“Et Messires Gauvain savoit
Plus que nus hons vivant de plaies,
Unes herbe voit les une haies
Qu’il connoissoit lonc temps avoit
Que son mestre apris li avoit
Enseigniee et bien moustree,
Et il l’avoit bien esgardee
Si l’a molt bien reconneue.”[8]
We find reference to Gawain’s possession of medical knowledge
elsewhere. In the poem entitled _Lancelot et le cerf au pied blanc_,
Gawain, finding his friend desperately wounded, carries him to a
physician whom he instructs as to the proper treatment.[9]
“Ende Walewein wiesde den Ersatere mere
Ene const, die daertoe halp wel sere.”[10]
In the parallel adventure related in _Morien_ Gawain heals Lancelot
without the aid of any physician:[11]
“Doe was Walewein harde blide
Ende bant hem sine wonden ten tide
Met selken crude die daer dochten
Dat si niet bloden mochten.”[12]
They ride to an anchorite’s cell:
“Si waren doe in dire gedochten
Mochten sie daer comen tier stont
Datten Walewein soude maken gesont.”[13]
The Dutch _Lancelot_ has numerous references to Gawain’s skill in
healing. Of course the advocates of the originality of Chrétien de
Troyes will object that these references, though found in poems which
have no connection with Chrétien, and which are translations from lost
French originals of an undetermined date, are one and all loans from
the more famous poem. This, however, can hardly be contended of the
Welsh _Triads;_ there we find Gwalchmai, the Welsh Gawain, cited as one
of the three men “To whom the nature of every object was known,”[14] an
accomplishment exceedingly necessary for a ‘Medicine Man,’ but not at
first sight especially needful for the equipment of a knight.[15] This
persistent attribution of healing skill is not, so far as my
acquaintance with medieval Romance goes, paralleled in the case of any
other knight; even Tristan, who is probably the most accomplished of
heroes of romance, the most thoroughly trained in all branches of
knightly education, is not credited with any such knowledge. No other
knight, save Gawain, has the reputation of a Healer, yet Gawain, the
Maidens’ Knight, the ‘fair Father of Nurture’ is, at first sight,
hardly the personage one might expect to possess such skill. Why he
should be so persistently connected with healing was for long a problem
to me; recently, however, I have begun to suspect that we have in this
apparently motiveless attribution the survival of an early stage of
tradition in which not only did Gawain cure the Grail King, but he did
so, not by means of a question, or by the welding of a broken sword,
but by more obvious and natural means, the administration of a healing
herb. Gawain’s character of Healer belongs to him in his _rôle_ of
Grail Winner.
Some years ago, in the course of my reading, I came across a passage in
which certain knights of Arthur’s court, riding through a forest, come
upon a herb ‘which belonged to the Grail.’ Unfortunately the reference,
at the time I met with it, though it struck me as curious, did not
possess any special significance, and either I omitted to make a note
of it, or entered it in a book which, with sundry others, went
mysteriously astray in the process of moving furniture. In any case,
though I have searched diligently I have failed to recover the passage,
but I note it here in the hope that one of my reader may be more
fortunate.
It is perhaps not without significance that a mention of Peredur
(Perceval) in Welsh poetry may also possibly contain a reference to his
healing office. I refer to the well-known _Song of the Graves_ in the
Black Book of Carmarthen where the grave of Mor, son of Peredur
Penwetic, is referred to. According to Dr G. Evans the word _penwedic_,
or _perfeddyg_, as it may also be read, means _chief Healer_. Peredur,
it is needless to say, is the Welsh equivalent of Perceval, Gawain’s
successor and supplanter in the _rôle_ of Grail hero.
I have no desire to press the point unduly, but it is certainly
significant that, entirely apart from any such theory of the evolution
of the Grail legend as that advanced in these pages, a Welsh scholar
should have suggested a rendering of the title of the Grail hero which
is in complete harmony with that theory; a rendering also which places
him side by side with his compatriot Gwalchmai, even as the completely
evolved Grail story connects him with Gawain. In any case there is food
for reflection in the fact that the possibility of such an origin once
admitted, the most apparently incongruous, and inharmonious, elements
of the story show themselves capable of a natural and unforced
explanation.
In face of the evidence above set forth it seems impossible to deny
that the Doctor, or Medicine Man, did, from the very earliest ages,
play an important part in Dramatic Fertility Ritual, that he still
survives in the modern Folk-play, the rude representative of the early
ritual form, and it is at least possible that the attribution of
healing skill to so romantic and chivalrous a character as Sir Gawain
may depend upon the fact that, at an early, and pre-literary stage of
his story, he played the _rôle_ traditionally assigned to the Doctor,
that of restoring to life and health the dead, or wounded,
representative of the Spirit of Vegetation.
If I am right in my reading of this complicated problem the
_mise-en-scène_ of the Grail story was originally a loan from a ritual
actually performed, and familiar to those who first told the tale. This
ritual, in its earlier stages comparatively simple and objective in
form, under the process of an insistence upon the inner and spiritual
significance, took upon itself a more complex and esoteric character,
the rite became a Mystery, and with this change the _rôle_ of the
principal actors became of heightened significance. That of the Healer
could no longer be adequately fulfilled by the administration of a
medicinal remedy; the relation of Body and Soul became of cardinal
importance for the Drama, the Medicine Man gave place to the Redeemer;
and his task involved more than the administration of the original
Herbal remedy. In fact in the final development of the story the
_Pathos_ is shared alike by the representative of the Vegetation
Spirit, and the Healer, whose task involves a period of stern testing
and probation.
If we wish to understand clearly the evolution of the Grail story we
must realize that the simple Fertility Drama from which it sprung has
undergone a gradual and mysterious change, which has invested it with
elements at once ‘rich and strange,’ and that though Folk-lore may be
the key to unlock the outer portal of the Grail castle it will not
suffice to give us the entrance to its deeper secrets.
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIII
While having no connection with the main subject of our study, the
Grail legend, I should like to draw the attention of students of
Medieval literature to the curious parallel between the _Rig-Veda_ poem
of the _Medicine Man_ or _Kräuter-Lied_ as it is also called, and
Rusteboeuf’s _Dist de l’Erberie_. Both are monologues, both presuppose
the presence of an audience, in each case the speaker is one who vaunts
his skill in the use of herbs, in each case he has in view the ultimate
gain to himself. Here are the opening lines of the Medieval poem:[1]
“Seignor qui ci estes venu
Petit et grant, jone et chenu,
Il vos est trop bien avenu
Sachiez de voir;
Je ne vos vueil pas deçevoir
Bien le porroz aperçevoir
Ainz que m’en voise.
Asiez vos, ne fetes noise
Si escotez s’il ne vos poise
Je sui uns mires.”
He has been long with the lord of Caire, where he won much gold; in
Puille, Calabre, Luserne.
“Ai herbes prises
Qui de granz vertuz sont enprises
Sus quelque mal qu’el soient mises
Le maus s’enfuit.”
There is no reference in the poem to a cure about to be performed in
the presence of the audience, which does not however exclude the
possibility of such cure being effected.
It would be interesting to know under what circumstances such a poem
was recited, whether it formed part of a popular representation. The
audience in view is of a mixed character, young and old, great and
small, and one has a vision of the Quack Doctor at some village fair,
on the platform before his booth, declaiming the virtues of his
nostrums before an audience representative of all ranks and ages. It is
a far cry from such a Medieval scene to the prehistoric days of the
_Rig-Veda_, but the _mise-en-scène_ is the same; the popular ‘seasonal’
feast, the Doctor with his healing herbs, which he vaunts in skilful
rhyme, the hearers, drawn from all ranks, some credulous, some amused.
There seems very little doubt that both poems are specimens, and very
good specimens, of a _genre_ the popularity and vitality of which are
commensurate with the antiquity of its origin.[2]
CHAPTER IX The Fisher KingCHAPTER IX
The Fisher King
The gradual process of our investigation has led us to the conclusion
that the elements forming the existing Grail legend—the setting of the
story, the nature of the task which awaits the hero, the symbols and
their significance—one and all, while finding their counterpart in
prehistoric record, present remarkable parallels to the extant practice
and belief of countries so widely separate as the British Isles,
Russia, and Central Africa.
The explanation of so curious a fact, for it is a fact, and not a mere
hypothesis, may, it was suggested, most probably be found in the theory
that in this fascinating literature we have the, sometimes partially
understood, sometimes wholly misinterpreted, record of a ritual,
originally presumed to exercise a life-giving potency, which, at one
time of universal observance, has, even in its decay, shown itself
possessed of elements of the most persistent vitality.
That if the ritual, which according to our theory lies at the root of
the Grail story, be indeed the ritual of a Life Cult, it should, _in_
and _per se_, possess precisely these characteristics, will, I think,
be admitted by any fair-minded critic; the point of course is, can we
definitely _prove_ our theory, _i.e._, not merely point to striking
parallels, but select, from the figures and incidents composing our
story, some one element, which, by showing itself capable of
explanation on this theory, and on this theory alone, may be held to
afford decisive proof of the soundness of our hypothesis?
It seems to me that there is one such element in the bewildering
complex, by which the theory can be thus definitely tested, that is the
personality of the central figure and the title by which he is known.
If we can prove that the Fisher King, _qua_ Fisher King, is an integral
part of the ritual, and can be satisfactorily explained alike by its
intention, and inherent symbolism, we shall, I think, have taken the
final step which will establish our theory upon a sure basis. On the
other hand, if the Fisher King, _qua_ Fisher King, does not fit into
our framework we shall be forced to conclude that, while the
_provenance_ of certain elements of the Grail literature is practically
assured, the _ensemble_ has been complicated by the introduction of a
terminology, which, whether the outcome of serious intention, or of
mere literary caprice, was foreign to the original source, and so far,
defies explanation. In this latter case our theory would not
necessarily be _manqué_, but would certainly be seriously incomplete.
We have already seen that the personality of the King, the nature of
the disability under which he is suffering, and the reflex effect
exercised upon his folk and his land, correspond, in a most striking
manner, to the intimate relation at one time held to exist between the
ruler and his land; a relation mainly dependent upon the identification
of the King with the Divine principle of Life and Fertility.
This relation, as we have seen above, exists to-day among certain
African tribes.
If we examine more closely into the existing variants of our romances,
we shall find that those very variants are not only thoroughly _dans le
cadre_ of our proposed solution, but also afford a valuable, and
hitherto unsuspected, indication of the relative priority of the
versions.
In Chapter I, I discussed the task of the hero in general, here I
propose to focus attention upon his host, and while in a measure
traversing the same ground, to do so with a view to determining the
true character of this enigmatic personage.
In the _Bleheris_ version,[1] the lord of the castle is suffering under
no disability whatever; he is described as “tall, and strong of limb,
of no great age, but somewhat bald.” Besides the King there is a Dead
Knight upon a bier, over whose body Vespers for the Dead are solemnly
sung. The wasting of the land, partially restored by Gawain’s question
concerning the Lance, has been caused by the ‘Dolorous Stroke,’ _i.e._,
the stroke which brought about the death of the Knight, whose identity
is here never revealed. Certain versions which interpolate the account
of Joseph of Arimathea and the Grail, allude to ‘Le riche Pescheur’ and
his heirs as Joseph’s descendants, and, presumably, for it is not
directly stated, guardians of the Grail,[2] but the King himself is
here never called by that title. From his connection with the Waste
Land it seems more probable that it was the Dead Knight who filled that
_rôle_.
In the second version of which Gawain is the hero, that of _Diû
Crône_,[3] the Host is an old and infirm man. After Gawain has asked
the question we learn that he is really dead, and only compelled to
retain the semblance of life till the task of the Quester be achieved.
Here, again, he is not called the Fisher King.
In the _Perceval_ versions, on the contrary, we find the name
invariably associated with him, but he is not always directly connected
with the misfortunes which have fallen upon his land. Thus, while the
Wauchier texts are incomplete, breaking off at the critical moment of
asking the question, Manessier who continues, and ostensibly completes,
Wauchier, introduces the Dead Knight, here Goondesert, or Gondefer
(which I suspect is the more correct form), brother of the King, whose
death by treachery has plunged the land in misery, and been the direct
cause of the self-wounding of the King.[4] The healing of the King and
the restoration of the land depend upon Perceval’s slaying the murderer
Partinal. These two versions show a combination of Perceval and Gawain
themes, such as their respective dates might lead us to expect.
Robert de Borron is the only writer who gives a clear, and tolerably
reasonable, account of why the guardian of the Grail bears the title of
Fisher King; in other cases, such as the poems of Chrétien and Wolfram,
the name is connected with his partiality for fishing, an obviously
_post hoc_ addition.
The story in question is found in Borron’s _Joseph of Arimathea_.[5]
Here we are told how, during the wanderings of that holy man and his
companions in the wilderness, certain of the company fell into sin. By
the command of God, Brons, Joseph’s brother-in-law, caught a Fish,
which, with the Grail, provided a mystic meal of which the unworthy
cannot partake; thus the sinners were separated from the righteous.
Henceforward Brons was known as ‘The Rich Fisher.’ It is noteworthy,
however, that in the Perceval romance, ascribed to Borron, the title is
as a rule, _Roi_ Pescheur, not _Riche_ Pescheur.[6]
In this romance the King is not suffering from any special malady, but
is the victim of extreme old age; not surprising, as he is Brons
himself, who has survived from the dawn of Christianity to the days of
King Arthur. We are told that the effect of asking the question will be
to restore him to youth;[7] as a matter of fact it appears to bring
about his death, as he only lives three days after his restoration.[8]
When we come to Chrétien’s poem we find ourselves confronted with a
striking alteration in the presentment. There are, not one, but two,
disabled kings; one suffering from the effects of a wound, the other in
extreme old age. Chrétien’s poem being incomplete we do not know what
he intended to be the result of the achieved Quest, but we may I think
reasonably conclude that the wounded King at least was healed.[9]
The _Parzival_ of von Eschenbach follows the same tradition, but is
happily complete. Here we find the wounded King was healed, but what
becomes of the aged man (here the grandfather, not as in Chrétien the
father, of the Fisher King) we are not told.[10]
The _Perlesvaus_ is, as I have noted above,[13] very unsatisfactory.
The illness of the King is badly motivated, and he dies before the
achievement of the Quest. This romance, while retaining certain
interesting, and undoubtedly primitive features, is, as a whole, too
late, and _remaniée_ a redaction to be of much use in determining the
question of origins.
The same may be said of the _Grand Saint Graal_ and _Queste_ versions,
both of which are too closely connected with the prose _Lancelot_, and
too obviously intended to develope and complete the _données_ of that
romance to be relied upon as evidence for the original form of the
Grail legend.[12] The version of the _Queste_ is very confused: there
are two kings at the Grail castle, Pelles, and his father; sometimes
the one, sometimes the other, bears the title of Roi Pescheur.[13]
There is besides, an extremely old, and desperately wounded, king,
Mordrains, a contemporary of Joseph, who practically belongs, not to
the Grail tradition, but to a Conversion legend embodied in the _Grand
Saint Graal_.[14] Finally, in the latest cyclic texts, we have three
Kings, all of whom are wounded.[15]
The above will show that the presentment of this central figure is much
confused; generally termed Le Roi Pescheur, he is sometimes described
as in middle life, and in full possession of his bodily powers.
Sometimes while still comparatively young he is incapacitated by the
effects of a wound, and is known also by the title of Roi Mehaigné, or
Maimed King. Sometimes he is in extreme old age, and in certain closely
connected versions the two ideas are combined, and we have a wounded
Fisher King, and an aged father, or grandfather. But I would draw
attention to the significant fact that in no case is the Fisher King a
youthful character; that distinction is reserved for his Healer, and
successor.
Now is it possible to arrive at any conclusion as to the relative value
and probable order of these conflicting variants? I think that if we
admit that they do, in all probability, represent a more or less
coherent survival of the Nature ritual previously discussed, we may, by
help of what we know as to the varying forms of that ritual, be enabled
to bring some order out of this confusion.
If we turn back to Chapters 4, 5, and 7, and consult the evidence there
given as to the Adonis cults, the Spring Festivals of European Folk,
the Mumming Plays of the British Isles, the main fact that emerges is
that in the great majority of these cases the representative of the
Spirit of Vegetation is considered as dead, and the object of these
ceremonies is to restore him to life. This I hold to be the primary
form.
This section had already been written when I came across the important
article by Dr Jevons, referred to in a previous chapter.[16] Certain of
his remarks are here so much to the point that I cannot refrain from
quoting them. Speaking of the Mumming Plays, the writer says: “The one
point in which there is no variation is that—the character is killed
and brought to life again. The play is a ceremonial performance, or
rather it is the development in dramatic form of what was originally a
religious or magical rite, representing or realizing the revivification
of the character slain. This revivification is the one essential and
invariable feature of all the Mummer’s plays in England.”[17]
In certain cases, _e.g._, the famous Roman Spring festival of Mamurius
Veturius and the Swabian ceremony referred to above,[18] the central
figure is an old man. In no case do I find that the representative of
Vegetation is merely wounded, although the nature of the ritual would
obviously admit of such a variant.
Thus, taking the extant and recognized forms of the ritual into
consideration, we might expect to find that in the earliest, and least
contaminated, version of the Grail story the central figure would be
dead, and the task of the Quester that of restoring him to life. Viewed
from this standpoint the _Gawain_ versions (the priority of which is
maintainable upon strictly literary grounds, Gawain being the original
Arthurian romantic hero) are of extraordinary interest. In the one form
we find a Dead Knight, whose fate is distinctly stated to have involved
his land in desolation, in the other, an aged man who, while preserving
the semblance of life, is in reality dead.
This last version appears to me, in view of our present knowledge, to
be of extreme critical value. There can, I think, be little doubt that
in the primary form underlying our extant versions the King was dead,
and restored to life; at first, I strongly suspect, by the agency of
some mysterious herb, or herbs, a feature retained in certain forms of
the Mumming play.
In the next stage, that represented by Borron, he is suffering from
extreme old age, and the task of the Quester is to restore him to
youth. This version is again supported by extant parallels. In each of
these cases it seems most probable that the original ritual (I should
wish it to be clearly understood that I hold the Grail story to have
been primarily dramatic, and actually performed) involved an act of
substitution. The Dead King in the first case being probably
represented by a mere effigy, in the second being an old man, his place
was, at a given moment of the ritual, taken by the youth who played the
_rôle_ of the Quester. It is noteworthy that, while both Perceval and
Galahad are represented as mere lads, Gawain, whatever his age at the
moment of the Grail quest, was, as we learn from _Diû Crône_, dowered
by his fairy Mistress with the gift of eternal youth.[19]
The versions of Chrétien and Wolfram, which present us with a wounded
Fisher King, and a father, or grandfather,[20] in extreme old age, are
due in my opinion to a literary device, intended to combine two
existing variants. That the subject matter was well understood by the
original redactor of the common source is proved by the nature of the
injury,[21] but I hold that in these versions we have passed from the
domain of ritual to that of literature. Still, we have a curious
indication that the Wounding variant may have had its place in the
former. The suggestion made above as to the probable existence in the
primitive ritual of a substitution ceremony, seems to me to provide a
possible explanation of the feature found alike in Wolfram, and in the
closely allied Grail section of _Sone de Nansai; i.e._, that the wound
of the King was a punishment for sin, he had conceived a passion for a
Pagan princess.[22] Now there would be no incongruity in representing
the Dead King as reborn in youthful form, the aged King as _revenu dans
sa juvence_, but when the central figure was a man in the prime of life
some reason had to be found, his strength and vitality being restored,
for his supersession by the appointed Healer. This supersession was
adequately motivated by the supposed transgression of a fundamental
Christian law, entailing as consequence the forfeiture of his crown.
I would thus separate the _doubling_ theme, as found in Chrétien and
Wolfram, from the _wounded_ theme, equally common to these poets. This
latter might possibly be accounted for on the ground of a ritual
variant; the first is purely literary, explicable neither on the
exoteric, nor the esoteric, aspect of the ceremony. From the exoteric
point of view there are not, and there cannot be, two Kings suffering
from parallel disability; the ritual knows one Principle of Life, and
one alone. Equally from the esoteric standpoint Fisher King, and Maimed
King, representing two different aspects of the same personality, may,
and probably were, represented as two individuals, but one alone is
disabled. Further, as the two are, in very truth, one, they should be
equals in age, not of different generations. Thus the _Bleheris_
version which gives us a Dead Knight, presumably, from his having been
slain in battle, still in vigorous manhood, and a hale King is,
ritually, the more correct. The original of Manessier’s version must
have been similar, but the fact that by the time it was compiled the
Fisher King was generally accepted as being also the Maimed King led to
the introduction of the very awkward, and poorly motivated,
self-wounding incident. It will be noted that in this case the King is
not healed either at the moment of the slaying of his brother’s
murderer (which would be the logical result of the _données_ of the
tale), nor at the moment of contact with the successful Quester, but at
the mere announcement of his approach.[23]
Thus, if we consider the King, apart from his title, we find that alike
from his position in the story, his close connection with the fortunes
of his land and people, and the varying forms of the disability of
which he is the victim, he corresponds with remarkable exactitude to
the central figure of a well-recognized Nature ritual, and may
therefore justly be claimed to belong _ab origine_ to such a
hypothetical source.
But what about his title, why should he be called the _Fisher_ King?
Here we strike what I hold to be the main _crux_ of the problem, a
feature upon which scholars have expended much thought and ingenuity, a
feature which the authors of the romances themselves either did not
always understand, or were at pains to obscure by the introduction of
the obviously _post hoc_ “motif” above referred to, _i.e._, that he was
called the Fisher King because of his devotion to the pastime of
fishing: _à-propos_ of which Heinzel sensibly remarks, that the story
of the Fisher King “presupposes a legend of this personage only vaguely
known and remembered by Chrétien.”[24]
Practically the interpretations already attempted fall into two main
groups, which we may designate as the Christian-Legendary, and the
Celtic-Folk-lore interpretations. For those who hold that the Grail
story is essentially, and fundamentally, Christian, finding its root in
Eucharistic symbolism, the title is naturally connected with the use of
the Fish symbol in early Christianity: the _Icthys_ anagram, as applied
to Christ, the title ‘Fishers of Men,’ bestowed upon the Apostles, the
Papal ring of the Fisherman—though it must be noted that no
manipulation of the Christian symbolism avails satisfactorily to
account for the lamentable condition into which the bearer of the title
has fallen.[25]
The advocates of the Folk-lore theory, on the other hand, practically
evade this main difficulty, by basing their interpretation upon
Borron’s story of the catching of the Fish by Brons, equating this
character with the Bran of Welsh tradition, and pointing to the
existence, in Irish and Welsh legend, of a Salmon of Wisdom, the
tasting of whose flesh confers all knowledge. Hertz acutely remarks
that the incident, as related by Borron, is not of such importance as
to justify the stress laid upon the name, Rich Fisher, by later
writers.[26] We may also note in this connection that the Grail
romances never employ the form ‘_Wise_ Fisher,’ which, if the origin of
the name were that proposed above, we might reasonably expect to find.
It is obvious that a satisfactory solution of the problem must be
sought elsewhere.
In my opinion the key to the puzzle is to be found in the rightful
understanding of the _Fish-Fisher_ symbolism. Students of the Grail
literature have been too prone to treat the question on the Christian
basis alone, oblivious of the fact that Christianity did no more than
take over, and adapt to its own use, a symbolism already endowed with a
deeply rooted prestige and importance.
So far the subject cannot be said to have received adequate treatment;
certain of its aspects have been more or less fully discussed in
monographs and isolated articles, but we still await a comprehensive
study on this most important question.[27]
So far as the present state of our knowledge goes we can affirm with
certainty that the Fish is a Life symbol of immemorial antiquity, and
that the title of Fisher has, from the earliest ages, been associated
with Deities who were held to be specially connected with the origin
and preservation of Life.
In Indian cosmogony Manu finds a little fish in the water in which he
would wash his hands; it asks, and receives, his protection, asserting
that when grown to full size it will save Manu from the universal
deluge. This is Jhasa, the greatest of all fish.[28]
The first Avatar of Vishnu the Creator is a Fish. At the great feast in
honour of this god, held on the twelfth day of the first month of the
Indian year, Vishnu is represented under the form of a golden Fish, and
addressed in the following terms: “Wie Du, O Gott, in Gestalt eines
Fisches die in der Unterwelt befindlichen Veden gerettet hast, so rette
auch mich.”[29] The Fish Avatar was afterwards transferred to Buddha.
In Buddhist religion the symbols of the Fish and Fisher are freely
employed. Thus in Buddhist monasteries we find drums and gongs in the
shape of a fish, but the true meaning of the symbol, while still
regarded as sacred, has been lost, and the explanations, like the
explanations of the Grail romances, are often fantastic afterthoughts.
In the Māhāyana scriptures Buddha is referred to as the Fisherman who
draws fish from the ocean of Samsara to the light of Salvation. There
are figures and pictures which represent Buddha in the act of fishing,
an attitude which, unless interpreted in a symbolic sense, would be
utterly at variance with the tenets of the Buddhist religion.[30]
This also holds good for Chinese Buddhism. The goddess Kwanyin
(=Avalokitesvara), the female Deity of Mercy and Salvation, is depicted
either on, or holding, a Fish. In the Han palace of Kun-Ming-Ch’ih
there was a Fish carved in jade to which in time of drought sacrifices
were offered, the prayers being always answered.
Both in India and China the Fish is employed in funeral rites. In India
a crystal bowl with Fish handles was found in a reputed tomb of Buddha.
In China the symbol is found on stone slabs enclosing the coffin, on
bronze urns, vases, etc. Even as the Babylonians had the Fish, or
Fisher, god, Oannes who revealed to them the arts of Writing,
Agriculture, etc., and was, as Eisler puts it, ‘teacher and lord of all
wisdom,’ so the Chinese Fu-Hi, who is pictured with the mystic tablets
containing the mysteries of Heaven and Earth, is, with his consort and
retinue, represented as having a fish’s tail.[31]
The writer of the article in _The Open Court_ asserts that “the Fish
was sacred to those deities who were supposed to lead men back from the
shadows of death to life.”[32] If this be really the case we can
understand the connection of the symbol first with Orpheus, later with
Christ, as Eisler remarks: “Orpheus is connected with nearly all the
mystery, and a great many of the ordinary chthonic, cults in Greece and
Italy. Christianity took its first tentative steps into the reluctant
world of Graeco-Roman Paganism under the benevolent patronage of
Orpheus.”[33]
There is thus little reason to doubt that, if we regard the Fish as a
Divine Life symbol, of immemorial antiquity, we shall not go very far
astray.
We may note here that there was a fish known to the Semites by the name
of Adonis, although as the title signifies ‘Lord,’ and is generic
rather than specific, too much stress cannot be laid upon it. It is
more interesting to know that in Babylonian cosmology Adapa the Wise,
the son of Ea, is represented as a Fisher.[34] In the ancient Sumerian
laments for Tammuz, previously referred to, that god is frequently
addressed as _Divine Lamgar, Lord of the Net_, the nearest equivalent I
have so far found to our ‘Fisher King.’[35] Whether the phrase is here
used in an actual or a symbolic sense the connection of idea is
sufficiently striking.
In the opinion of the most recent writers on the subject the Christian
Fish symbolism derives directly from the Jewish, the Jews, on their
side having borrowed freely from Syrian belief and practice.[36]
What may be regarded as the central point of Jewish Fish symbolism is
the tradition that, at the end of the world, Messias will catch the
great Fish Leviathan, and divide its flesh as food among the faithful.
As a foreshadowing of this Messianic Feast the Jews were in the habit
of eating fish upon the Sabbath. During the Captivity, under the
influence of the worship of the goddess Atargatis, they transferred the
ceremony to the Friday, the eve of the Sabbath, a position which it has
retained to the present day. Eisler remarks that “in Galicia one can
see Israelite families in spite of their being reduced to the extremest
misery, procuring on Fridays a single gudgeon, to eat, divided into
fragments, at night-fall. In the 16th century Rabbi Solomon Luria
protested strongly against this practice. Fish, he declared, should be
eaten on the Sabbath itself, not on the Eve.”[37]
This Jewish custom appears to have been adopted by the primitive
Church, and early Christians, on their side, celebrated a Sacramental
Fish-meal. The Catacombs supply us with numerous illustrations, fully
described by the two writers referred to. The elements of this mystic
meal were Fish, Bread, and Wine, the last being represented in the
Messianic tradition: “At the end of the meal God will give to the most
worthy, _i.e._, to King David, the Cup of Blessing—one of fabulous
dimensions.”[38]
Fish play an important part in Mystery Cults, as being the ‘holy’ food.
Upon a tablet dedicated to the Phrygian _Mater Magna_ we find Fish and
Cup; and Dölger, speaking of a votive tablet discovered in the Balkans,
says, “Hier ist der Fisch immer und immer wieder allzu deutlich als die
heilige Speise eines Mysterien-Kultes hervorgehoben.”[39]
Now I would submit that here, and not in Celtic Folk-lore, is to be
found the source of Borron’s Fish-meal. Let us consider the
circumstances. Joseph and his followers, in the course of their
wanderings, find themselves in danger of famine. The position is
somewhat curious, as apparently the leaders have no idea of the
condition of their followers till the latter appeal to Brons.[40]
Brons informs Joseph, who prays for aid and counsel from the Grail. A
Voice from Heaven bids him send his brother-in-law, Brons, to catch a
fish. Meanwhile he, Joseph, is to prepare a table, set the Grail,
covered with a cloth, in the centre opposite his own seat, and the fish
which Brons shall catch, on the other side. He does this, and the seats
are filled—“Si s’i asieent une grant partie et plus i ot de cels qui
n’i sistrent mie, que de cels qui sistrent.” Those who are seated at
the table are conscious of a great “douceur,” and “l’accomplissement de
lor cuers,” the rest feel nothing.
Now compare this with the Irish story of the Salmon of Wisdom.[41]
Finn Mac Cumhail enters the service of his namesake, Finn Eger, who for
seven years had remained by the Boyne watching the Salmon of Lynn Feic,
which it had been foretold Finn should catch. The younger lad, who
conceals his name, catches the fish. He is set to watch it while it
roasts but is warned not to eat it. Touching it with his thumb he is
burned, and puts his thumb in his mouth to cool it. Immediately he
becomes possessed of all knowledge, and thereafter has only to chew his
thumb to obtain wisdom. Mr Nutt remarks: “The incident in Borron’s poem
has been recast in the mould of mediaeval Christian Symbolism, but I
think the older myth can still be clearly discerned, and is wholly
responsible for the incident as found in the _Conte du Graal_.”
But when these words were written we were in ignorance of the
Sacramental Fish-meal, common alike to Jewish, Christian, and Mystery
Cults, a meal which offers a far closer parallel to Borron’s romance
than does the Finn story, in which, beyond the catching of a fish,
there is absolutely no point of contact with our romance, neither
Joseph nor Brons derives wisdom from the eating thereof; it is not they
who detect the sinners, the severance between the good and the evil is
brought about automatically. The Finn story has no common meal, and no
idea of spiritual blessings such as are connected therewith.
In the case of the Messianic Fish-meal, on the other hand, the parallel
is striking; in both cases it is a communal meal, in both cases the
privilege of sharing it is the reward of the faithful, in both cases it
is a foretaste of the bliss of Paradise.
Furthermore, as remarked above, the practice was at one time of very
widespread prevalence.
Now whence did Borron derive his knowledge, from Jewish, Christian or
Mystery sources?
This is a question not very easy to decide. In view of the pronounced
Christian tone of Borron’s romance I should feel inclined to exclude
the first, also the Jewish Fish-meal seems to have been of a more open,
general and less symbolic character than the Christian; it was frankly
an anticipation of a promised future bliss, obtainable by all.
Orthodox Christianity, on the other hand, knows nothing of the Sacred
Fish-meal, so far as I am aware it forms no part of any Apocalyptic
expectation, and where this special symbolism does occur it is often
under conditions which place its interpretation outside the recognized
category of Christian belief.
A noted instance in point is the famous epitaph of Bishop Aberkios,
over the correct interpretation of which scholars have spent much time
and ingenuity.[42] In this curious text Aberkios, after mentioning his
journeys, says:
“Paul I had as my guide,
Faith however always went ahead and set before me as food a _Fish_ from
a _Fountain_, a huge one, a clean one,
Which a _Holy Virgin_ has _caught_.
This she gave to the friends ever to eat as food,
Having good _Wine_, and offering it watered together with _Bread_.
Aberkios had this engraved when 72 years of age in truth.
_Whoever can understand this_ let him pray for Aberkios.”
Eisler (I am here quoting from the Quest article) remarks, “As the last
line of our quotation gives us quite plainly to understand, a number of
words which we have italicized are obviously used in an unusual,
metaphorical, sense, that is to say as terms of the Christian Mystery
language.” While Harnack, admitting that the Christian character of the
text is indisputable, adds significantly: “_aber das Christentum der
Grosskirche ist es nicht_.”
Thus it is possible that, to the various points of doubtful orthodoxy
which scholars have noted as characteristic of the Grail romances,
Borron’s Fish-meal should also be added.
Should it be objected that the dependence of a medieval romance upon a
Jewish tradition of such antiquity is scarcely probable, I would draw
attention to the _Voyage of Saint Brandan_, where the monks, during
their prolonged wanderings, annually ‘kept their Resurrection,’ _i.e._,
celebrate their Easter Mass, on the back of a great Fish.[43] On their
first meeting with this monster Saint Brandan tells them it is the
greatest of all fishes, and is named Jastoni, a name which bears a
curious resemblance to the Jhasa of the Indian tradition cited
above.[44] In this last instance the connection of the Fish with life,
renewed and sustained, is undeniable.
The original source of such a symbol is most probably to be found in
the belief, referred to in a previous chapter,[45] that all life comes
from the water, but that a more sensual and less abstract idea was also
operative appears from the close connection of the Fish with the
goddess Astarte or Atargatis, a connection here shared by the Dove.
Cumont, in his _Les Religions Orientales dans le Paganisme Romain_,
says: “Two animals were held in general reverence, namely, Dove and
Fish. Countless flocks of Doves greeted the traveller when he stepped
on shore at Askalon, and in the outer courts of all the temples of
Astarte one might see the flutter of their white wings. The Fish were
preserved in ponds near to the Temple, and superstitious dread forbade
their capture, for the goddess punished such sacrilege, smiting the
offender with ulcers and tumours.”[46]
But at certain mystic banquets priests and initiates partook of this
otherwise forbidden food, in the belief that they thus partook of the
flesh of the goddess. Eisler and other scholars are of the opinion that
it was the familiarity with this ritual gained by the Jews during the
Captivity that led to the adoption of the Friday Fish-meal, already
referred to, Friday being the day dedicated to the goddess and, later,
to her equivalent, Venus. From the Jews the custom spread to the
Christian Church, where it still flourishes, its true origin, it is
needless to say, being wholly unsuspected.[47]
Dove and Fish also appear together in ancient iconography. In Comte
Goblet d’Alviella’s work _The Migration of Symbols_ there is an
illustration of a coin of Cyzicus, on which is represented an Omphalus,
flanked by two Doves, with a Fish beneath;[48] and a whole section is
devoted to the discussion of the representations of two Doves on either
side of a Temple entrance, or of an Omphalus. In the author’s opinion
the origin of the symbol may be found in the sacred dove-cotes of
Phoenicia, referred to by Cumont.
Scheftelowitz instances the combination of Fish-meal and Dove, found on
a Jewish tomb of the first century at Syracuse, and remarks that the
two are frequently found in combination on Christian tombstones.[49]
Students of the Grail romances will not need to be reminded that the
Dove makes its appearance in certain of our texts. In the _Parzival_ it
plays a somewhat important _rôle;_ every Good Friday a Dove brings from
Heaven a Host, which it lays upon the Grail; and the Dove is the badge
of the Grail Knights.[50] In the prose _Lancelot_ the coming of the
Grail procession is heralded by the entrance through the window of a
Dove, bearing a censer in its beak.[51] Is it not possible that it was
the already existing connection in Nature ritual of these two, Dove and
Fish, which led to the introduction of the former into our romances,
where its _rôle_ is never really adequately motivated? It is further to
be noted that besides Dove and Fish the Syrians reverenced Stones, more
especially meteoric Stones, which they held to be endowed with life
potency, another point of contact with our romances.[52]
That the Fish was considered a potent factor in ensuring fruitfulness
is proved by certain prehistoric tablets described by Scheftelowitz,
where Fish, Horse, and Swastika, or in another instance Fish and
Reindeer, are found in a combination which unmistakeably denotes that
the object of the votive tablet was to ensure the fruitfulness of
flocks and herds.[53]
With this intention its influence was also invoked in marriage
ceremonies. The same writer points out that the Jews in Poland were
accustomed to hold a Fish feast immediately on the conclusion of the
marriage ceremony and that a similar practice can be prove for the
ancient Greeks.[54] At the present day the Jews of Tunis exhibit a
Fish’s tail on a cushion at their weddings.[55] In some parts of India
the newly-wedded pair waded knee-deep into the water, and caught fish
in a new garment. During the ceremony a Brahmin student, from the
shore, asked solemnly, “What seest thou?” to which the answer was
returned, “Sons and Cattle.”[56] In all these cases there can be no
doubt that it was the prolific nature of the Fish, a feature which it
shares in common with the Dove, which inspired practice and intention.
Surely the effect of this cumulative body of evidence is to justify us
in the belief that Fish and Fisher, being, as they undoubtedly are,
Life symbols of immemorial antiquity, are, by virtue of their origin,
entirely in their place in a sequence of incidents which there is solid
ground for believing derive ultimately from a Cult of this nature. That
Borron’s Fish-meal, that the title of Fisher King, are not accidents of
literary invention but genuine and integral parts of the common body of
tradition which has furnished the incidents and _mise-en-scène_ of the
Grail drama. Can it be denied that, while from the standpoint of a
Christian interpretation the character of the Fisher King is simply
incomprehensible, from the standpoint of Folk-tale inadequately
explained, from that of a Ritual survival it assumes a profound meaning
and significance? He is not merely a deeply symbolic figure, but the
essential centre of the whole cult, a being semi-divine, semi-human,
standing between his people and land, and the unseen forces which
control their destiny. If the Grail story be based upon a Life ritual
the character of the Fisher King is of the very essence of the tale,
and his title, so far from being meaningless, expresses, for those who
are at pains to seek, the intention and object of the perplexing whole.
The Fisher King is, as I suggested above, the very heart and centre of
the whole mystery, and I contend that with an adequate interpretation
of this enigmatic character the soundness of the theory providing such
an interpretation may be held to be definitely proved.
CHAPTER X The Secret of the Grail (1) The MysteriesCHAPTER X
The Secret of the Grail (1)
The Mysteries
Students of the Grail literature cannot fail to have been impressed by
a certain atmosphere of awe and mystery which surrounds that enigmatic
Vessel. There is a secret connected with it, the revelation of which
will entail dire misfortune on the betrayer. If spoken of at all it
must be with scrupulous accuracy. It is so secret a thing that no
woman, be she wife or maid, may venture to speak of it. A priest, or a
man of holy life might indeed tell the marvel of the Grail, but none
can hearken to the recital without shuddering, trembling, and changing
colour for very fear.
“C’est del Graal dont nus ne doit
Le secret dire ne conter;
Car tel chose poroit monter
Li contes ains qu’il fust tos dis
Que teus hom en seroit maris
Qui ne l’aroit mie fourfait.
..............................
Car, se Maistre Blihis ne ment
Nus ne doit dire le secré.”[1]
“Mais la mervelle qu’il trova
Dont maintes fois s’espoenta
Ne doit nus hom conter ne dire
Cil ki le dist en a grant ire
Car c’est li signes del Graal (other texts secrés)
S’en puet avoir et paine et mal (Li fet grant pechié et grant mal)
Cil qui s’entremet del conter
Fors ensi com it doit aler.”[2]
The above refers to Gawain’s adventure at the Black Chapel, _en route_
for the Grail Castle.
The following is the answer given to Perceval by the maiden of the
White Mule, after he has been overtaken by a storm in the forest. She
tells him the mysterious light he beheld proceeded from the Grail, but
on his enquiry as to what the Grail may be, refuses to give him any
information.
“Li dist ‘Sire, ce ne puet estre
Que je plus vos en doie dire
Si vous .c. fois esties me sire
N’en oseroie plus conter,
Ne de mon labor plus parler (other texts, ma bouche)
Car ce est chose trop secrée
Si ne doit estre racontée
Par dame ne par damoisele,
Par mescine ne par puciele,
Ne par nul home qui soit nés
Si prouvoires n’est ordenés,
U home qui maine sainte vie,
............................
Cil poroit deI Graal parler,
Et la mervelle raconter,
Que nus hom nel poroit oïr
Que il ne l’estuece fremir
Trambler et remuer color,
Et empalir de la paour.’”[3]
From this evidence there is no doubt that to the romance writers the
Grail was something secret, mysterious and awful, the exact knowledge
of which was reserved to a select few, and which was only to be spoken
of with bated breath, and a careful regard to strict accuracy.
But how does this agree with the evidence set forth in our preceding
chapters? There we have been led rather to emphasize the close
parallels existing between the characters and incidents of the Grail
story, and a certain well-marked group of popular beliefs and
observances, now very generally recognized as fragments of a once
widespread Nature Cult. These beliefs and observances, while dating
from remotest antiquity, have, in their modern survivals, of recent
years, attracted the attention of scholars by their persistent and
pervasive character, and their enduring vitality.
Yet, so far as we have hitherto dealt with them, these practices were,
and are, popular in character, openly performed, and devoid of the
special element of mystery which is so characteristic a feature of the
Grail.
Nor, in these public Folk-ceremonies, these Spring festivals, Dances,
and Plays, is there anything which, on the face of it, appears to bring
them into touch with the central mystery of the Christian Faith. Yet
the men who wrote these romances saw no incongruity in identifying the
mysterious Food-providing Vessel of the _Bleheris-Gawain_ version with
the Chalice of the Eucharist, and in ascribing the power of bestowing
Spiritual Life to that which certain modern scholars have identified as
a _Wunsch-Ding_, a Folk-tale Vessel of Plenty.
If there be a mystery of the Grail surely the mystery lies here, in the
possibility of identifying two objects which, apparently, lie at the
very opposite poles of intellectual conception. What brought them
together? Where shall we seek a connecting link? By what road did the
romancers reach so strangely unexpected a goal?
It is, of course, very generally recognized that in the case of most of
the pre-Christian religions, upon the nature and character of whose
rites we possess reliable information, such rites possessed a two-fold
character—_exoteric;_ in celebrations openly and publicly performed, in
which all adherents of that particular cult could join freely, the
object of such public rites being to obtain some external and material
benefit, whether for the individual worshipper, or for the community as
a whole—_esoteric;_ rites open only to a favoured few, the initiates,
the object of which appears, as a rule, to have been individual rather
than social, and _non_-material. In some cases, certainly, the object
aimed at was the attainment of a conscious, ecstatic, union with the
god, and the definite assurance of a future life. In other words there
was the public worship, and there were the Mysteries.
Of late years there has been a growing tendency among scholars to seek
in the Mysteries the clue which shall enable us to read aright the
baffling riddle of the Grail, and there can be little doubt that, in so
doing, we are on the right path. At the same time I am convinced that
to seek that clue in those Mysteries which are at once the most famous,
and the most familiar to the classical scholar, _i.e._, the Eleusinian,
is a fatal mistake. There are, as we shall see, certain essential, and
radical, differences between the Greek and the Christian religious
conceptions which, affecting as they do the root conceptions of the two
groups, render it quite impossible that any form of the Eleusinian
Mystery cult could have given such results as we find in the Grail
legend.[4]
Cumont in his _Les Religions Orientales dans le Paganisme Romain_,
speaking of the influence of the Mysteries upon Christianity, remarks
acutely, “Or, lorsqu’on parle de mystères on doit songer à I’Asie
hellénisée, bien plus qu’à la Grèce propre, malgré tout le prestige qui
entourait Eleusis, car d’abord les premières communautés Chrétiennes se
font fondées, formées, développées, au milieu de populations
Orientales, Sémites, Phrygiens, Egyptiens.”[5]
This is perfectly true, but it was not only the influence of _milieu_,
not only the fact that the ‘hellenized’ faiths were, as Cumont points
out, more advanced, richer in ideas and sentiments, more pregnant, more
poignant, than the more strictly ‘classic’ faiths, but they possessed,
in common with Christianity, certain distinctive features lacking in
these latter.
If we were asked to define the special characteristic of the central
Christian rite, should we not state it as being a Sacred meal of
Communion in which the worshipper, not merely symbolically, but
actually, partakes of, and becomes one with, his God, receiving thereby
the assurance of eternal life? (_The Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ
preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life_.)
But it is precisely this conception which is lacking in the Greek
Mysteries, and that inevitably, as Rohde points out: “The Eleusinian
Mysteries in common with all Greek religion, differentiated clearly
between gods and men, _eins ist der Menschen, ein andres der
Götter-Geschlecht_—ἕν ἀνδρῶν ἕν θεῶν γένος.” The attainment of union
with the god, by way of ecstasy, as in other Mystery cults, is foreign
to the Eleusinian idea. As Cumont puts it “The Greco-Roman deities
rejoice in the perpetual calm and youth of Olympus, the Eastern deities
die to live again.”[6] In other words Greek religion lacks the
Sacramental idea.
Thus even if we set aside the absence of a parallel between the ritual
of the Greek Mysteries and the _mise-en-scène_ of the Grail stories,
Eleusis would be unable to offer us those essential elements which
would have rendered possible a translation of the incidents of those
stories into terms of high Christian symbolism. Yet we cannot refrain
from the conclusion that there was something in the legend that not
merely rendered possible, but actually invited, such a translation.
If we thus dismiss, as fruitless for our investigation, the most famous
representative of the Hellenic Mysteries proper, how does the question
stand with regard to those faiths to which Cumont is referring, the
hellenized cults of Asia Minor?
Here the evidence, not merely of the existence of Mysteries, but of
their widespread popularity, and permeating influence, is overwhelming;
the difficulty is not so much to prove our case, as to select and
co-ordinate the evidence germane to our enquiry.
Regarding the question as a whole it is undoubtedly true that, as
Anrich remarks, “the extent of the literature devoted to the Mysteries
stands in no relation whatever (_gar keinem Verhältniss_) to the
importance in reality attached to them.”[7] Later in the same
connection, after quoting Clement of Alexandria’s dictum “Geheime Dinge
wie die Gottheit, werden der Rede anvertraut, nicht der Schrift,” he
adds, “_Schriftliche Fixierung ist schon beinahe Entweihung_.”[8] A
just remark which it would be well if certain critics who make a virtue
of refusing to accept as evidence anything short of a direct and
positive literary statement would bear in mind. There are certain lines
of research in which, as Bishop Butler long since emphasized,
probability must be our guide.
Fortunately, however, so far as our present research is concerned, we
have more than probability to rely upon; not only did these Nature
Cults with which we are dealing express themselves in Mystery terms,
but as regards these special Mysteries we possess clear and definite
information, and we know, moreover, that in the Western world they
were, of all the Mystery faiths, the most widely spread, and the most
influential.
As Sir J. G. Frazer has before now pointed out, there are parallel and
over-lapping forms of this cult, the name of the god, and certain
details of the ritual, may differ in different countries, but whether
he hails from Babylon, Phrygia, or Phoenicia, whether he be called
Tammuz, Attis, or Adonis, the main lines of the story are fixed, and
invariable. Always he is young and beautiful, always the beloved of a
great goddess; always he is the victim of a tragic and untimely death,
a death which entails bitter loss and misfortune upon a mourning world,
and which, for the salvation of that world, is followed by a
resurrection. Death and Resurrection, mourning and rejoicing, present
themselves in sharp antithesis in each and all of the forms.
We know the god best as Adonis, for it was under that name that, though
not originally Greek, he became known to the Greek world, was adopted
by them with ardour, carried by them to Alexandria, where his feast
assumed the character of a State solemnity; under that name his story
has been enshrined in Art, and as Adonis he is loved and lamented to
this day. The Adonis ritual may be held to be the classic form of the
cult.
But in Rome, the centre of Western civilization, it was otherwise:
there it was the Phrygian god who was in possession; the dominating
position held by the cult of Attis and the _Magna Mater_, and the
profound influence exercised by that cult over better known, but
subsequently introduced, forms of worship, have not, so far, been
sufficiently realized.
The first of the Oriental cults to gain a footing in the Imperial city,
the worship of the _Magna Mater_ of Pessinonte was, for a time, rigidly
confined within the limits of her sanctuary. The orgiastic ritual of
the priests of Kybele made at first little appeal to the more
disciplined temperament of the Roman population. By degrees, however,
it won its way, and by the reign of Claudius had become so popular that
the emperor instituted public feasts in honour of Kybele and Attis,
feasts which were celebrated at the Spring solstice, March
15th-27th.[9]
As the public feast increased in popularity, so did the Mystery feast,
of which the initiated alone were privileged to partake, acquire a
symbolic significance: the foods partaken of became “un aliment de vie
spirituelle, et doivent soutenir dans les épreuves de la vie l’initié.”
Philosophers boldly utilized the framework of the Attis cult as the
vehicle for imparting their own doctrines, “Lorsque le Nèoplatonisme
triomphera la fable Phrygienne deviendra le moule traditionnel dans
lequel des exégètes subtils verseront hardiment leurs spéculations
philosophiques sur les forces créatrices fécondantes, principes de
toutes les formes matérielles, et sur la délivrance de l’âme divine
plongée dans la corruption de ce monde terrestre.”[10]
Certain of the Gnostic sects, both pre- and post-Christian, appear to
have been enthusiastic participants in the Attis mysteries;[11]
Hepding, in his _Attis_ study, goes so far as to refer to Bishop
Aberkios, to whose enigmatic epitaph our attention was directed in the
last chapter, as “_der Attis-Priester_.”[12]
Another element aided in the diffusion of the ritual. Of all the
Oriental cults which journeyed Westward under the aegis of Rome none
was so deeply rooted or so widely spread as the originally Persian cult
of Mithra—the popular religion of the Roman legionary. But between the
cults of Mithra and of Attis there was a close and intimate alliance.
In parts of Asia Minor the Persian god had early taken over features of
the Phrygian deity. “Aussitôt que nous pouvons constater la présence du
culte Persique en Italie nous le trouvons étroitement uni à celui de la
Grande Mére de Pessinonte.”[13] The union between Mithra and the
goddess Anâhita was held to be the equivalent of that subsisting
between the two great Phrygian deities Attis-Kybele. The most ancient
Mithreum known, that at Ostia, was attached to the Metroon, the temple
of Kybele. At Saalburg the ruins of the two temples are but a few steps
apart. “L’on a tout lieu de croire que le culte du dieu Iranien et
celui de la déesse Phrygienne vécurent en communion intime sur toute
l’étendue de l’Empire.”[14]
A proof of the close union of the two cults is afforded by the mystic
rite of the Taurobolium, which was practised by both, and which, in the
West, at least, seems to have passed from the temples of the Mithra to
those of the _Magna Mater_. At the same time Cumont remarks that the
actual rite seems to have been practised in Asia from a great
antiquity, before Mithraism had attributed to it a spiritual
significance. It is thus possible that the rite had earlier formed a
part of the Attis initiation, and had been temporarily disused.[15]
We shall see that the union of the Mithra-Attis cults becomes of
distinct importance when we examine, (_a_) the spiritual significance
of these rituals, and their elements of affinity with Christianity,
(_b_) their possible diffusion in the British Isles.
But now what do we know of the actual details of the Attis mysteries?
The first and most important point was a Mystic Meal, at which the food
partaken of was served in the sacred vessels, the tympanum, and the
cymbals. The formula of an Attis initiate was “_I have eaten from the
tympanum, I have drunk from the cymbals_.” As I have remarked above,
the food thus partaken of was a Food of Life—“_Die Attis-Diener in der
Tat eine magische Speise des Lebens aus ihren Kult-Geräten zu essen
meinten_.”[16]
Dieterich in his interesting study entitled _Eine Mithrasliturgie_
refers to this meal as the centre of the whole religious action.
Further, in some mysterious manner, the fate of the initiate was
connected with, and dependent upon, the death and resurrection of the
god. The Christian writer Firmicius Maternus, at one time himself an
initiate, has left an account of the ceremony, without, however,
specifying whether the deity in question was Attis or Adonis—as
Dieterich remarks “Was er erzählt kann sich auf Attis-gemeinden, und
auf Adonis-gemeinden beziehen.”
This is what he says: “_Nocte quadam simulacrum in lectica supinum
ponitur, et per numeros digestis fletibus plangitur: deinde cum se
ficta lamentatione satiaverint lumen infertur: tunc a sacerdote omnium
qui flebant fauces unguentur, quibus perunctis sacerdos hoc lento
murmure susurrit:_
‘Have courage, O initiates of the saviour-god,
For there will be salvation for us from our toils—’
on which Dieterich remarks: “Das Heil der Mysten hängt an der Rettung
des Gottes.”[17] [*** Note: The above has an English translation of
Weston’s Greek ***]
Hepding holds that in some cases there was an actual burial, and
awakening with the god to a new life.[18] In any case it is clear that
the successful issue of the test of initiation was dependent upon the
resurrection and revival of the god.
Now is it not clear that we have here a close parallel with the Grail
romances? In each case we have a common, and mystic, meal, in which the
food partaken of stands in close connection with the holy vessels. In
the Attis feast the initiates actually ate and drank from these
vessels; in the romances the Grail community never actually eat from
the Grail itself, but the food is, in some mysterious and unexplained
manner, supplied by it. In both cases it is a _Lebens-Speise_, a Food
of Life. This point is especially insisted upon in the _Parzival_,
where the Grail community never become any older than they were on the
day they first beheld the Talisman.[19] In the Attis initiation the
proof that the candidate has successfully passed the test is afforded
by the revival of the god—in the Grail romances the proof lies in the
healing of the Fisher King.
Thus, while deferring for a moment any insistence on the obvious points
of parallelism with the Sacrament of the Eucharist, and the
possibilities of Spiritual teaching inherent in the ceremonies,
necessary links in our chain of argument, we are, I think, entitled to
hold that, even when we pass beyond the outward _mise-en-scène_ of the
story—the march of incident, the character of the King, his title, his
disability, and relation to his land and folk—to the inner and deeper
significance of the tale, the Nature Cults still remain reliable
guides; it is their inner, their esoteric, ritual which will enable us
to bridge the gulf between what appears at first sight the wholly
irreconcilable elements of Folk-tale and high Spiritual mystery.
CHAPTER XI The Secret of the Grail (2) The Naassene DocumentCHAPTER XI
The Secret of the Grail (2)
The Naassene Document
We have now seen that the Ritual which, as we have postulated, lies, in
a fragmentary and distorted condition, at the root of our existing
Grail romances, possessed elements capable of assimilation with a
religious system which the great bulk of its modern adherents would
unhesitatingly declare to be its very antithesis. That Christianity
might have borrowed from previously existing cults certain outward
signs and symbols, might have accommodated itself to already existing
Fasts and Feasts, may be, perforce has had to be, more or less
grudgingly admitted; that such a _rapprochement_ should have gone
further, that it should even have been inherent in the very nature of
the Faith, that, to some of the deepest thinkers of old, Christianity
should have been held for no new thing but a fulfilment of the promise
enshrined in the Mysteries from the beginning of the world, will to
many be a strange and startling thought. Yet so it was, and I firmly
believe that it is only in the recognition of this one-time claim of
essential kinship between Christianity and the Pagan Mysteries that we
shall find the key to the Secret of the Grail.
And here at the outset I would ask those readers who are inclined to
turn with feelings of contemptuous impatience from what they deem an
unprofitable discussion of idle speculations which have little or
nothing to do with a problem they hold to be one of purely literary
interest, to be solved by literary comparison and criticism, and by no
other method, to withhold their verdict till they have carefully
examined the evidence I am about to bring forward, evidence which has
never so far been examined in this connection, but which if I am not
greatly mistaken provides us with clear and unmistakable proof of the
actual existence of a ritual in all points analogous to that indicated
by the Grail romances.
In the previous chapter we have seen that there is evidence, and
abundant evidence, not merely of the existence of Mysteries connected
with the worship of Adonis-Attis, but of the high importance assigned
to such Mysteries; at the time of the birth of Christianity they were
undoubtedly the most popular and the most influential of the foreign
cults adopted by Imperial Rome. In support of this statement I quoted
certain passages from Cumont’s _Religions Orientales_, in which he
touches on the subject: here are two other quotations which may well
serve as introduction to the evidence we are about to examine.
“Researches on the doctrines and practices common to Christianity and
the Oriental Mysteries almost invariably go back, beyond the limits of
the Roman Empire, to the Hellenized East. It is there we must seek the
key of enigmas still unsolved—The essential fact to remember is that
the Eastern religions had diffused, first anterior to, then parallel
with, Christianity, doctrines which acquired with this latter a
universal authority in the decline of the ancient world. The preaching
of Asiatic priests prepared in their own despite the triumph of the
Church.”[1]
But the triumph of the new Faith once assured the organizing,
dominating, influence of Imperial Rome speedily came into play.
Christianity, originally an Eastern, became a Western, religion, the
‘Mystery’ elements were frowned upon, kinship with pre-Christian faiths
ignored, or denied; where the resemblances between the cults proved too
striking for either of these methods such resemblances were boldly
attributed to the invention of the Father of Lies himself, a cunning
snare whereby to deceive unwary souls. Christianity was carefully
trimmed, shaped, and forced into an Orthodox mould, and anything that
refused to adapt itself to this drastic process became by that very
refusal anathema to the righteous.
Small wonder that, under such conditions, the early ages of the Church
were marked by a fruitful crop of Heresies, and heresy-hunting became
an intellectual pastime in high favour among the strictly orthodox.
Among the writers of this period whose works have been preserved
Hippolytus, Bishop of Portus in the early years of the third century,
was one of the most industrious. He compiled a voluminous treatise,
entitled _Philosophumena_, or _The Refutation of all Heresies_, of
which only one MS. and that of the fourteenth century, has descended to
us. The work was already partially known by quotations, the first Book
had been attributed to Origen, and published in the _editio princeps_
of his works. The text originally consisted of ten Books, but of these
the first three, and part of the fourth, are missing from the MS. The
Origen text supplies part of the lacuna, but two entire Books, and part
of a third are missing.
Now these special Books, we learn from the Introduction, dealt with the
doctrines and Mysteries of the Egyptians and Chaldaeans, whose most
sacred secrets Hippolytus boasts that he has divulged. Curiously
enough, not only are these Books lacking but in the Epitome at the
beginning of Book X. the summary of their contents is also missing, a
significant detail, which, as has been suggested by critics, looks like
a deliberate attempt on the part of some copyist to suppress the
information contained in the Books in question. Incidentally this would
seem to suggest that the worthy bishop was not making an empty boast
when he claimed to be a revealer of secrets.
But what is of special interest to us is the treatment meted out to the
Christian Mystics, whom Hippolytus stigmatizes as heretics, and whose
teaching he deliberately asserts to be simply that of the Pagan
Mysteries. He had come into possession of a secret document belonging
to one of these sects, whom he calls the Naassenes; this document he
gives in full, and it certainly throws a most extraordinary light upon
the relation which this early Christian sect held to exist between the
New, and the Old, Faith. Mr G. R. S. Mead, in his translation of the
Hermetic writings entitled _Thrice-Greatest Hermes_, has given a
careful translation and detailed analysis of this most important text,
and it is from his work that I shall quote.
So far as the structure of the document is concerned Mr Mead
distinguishes three stages.
(_a_) An original Pagan source, possibly dating from the last half of
the first century B.C., but containing material of earlier date.
(_b_) The working over of this source by a Jewish Mystic whom the
critic holds to have been a contemporary of Philo.
(_c_) A subsequent working over, with additions, by a Christian Gnostic
(Naassene), in the middle of the second century A. D. Finally the text
was edited by Hippolytus, in the _Refutation_, about 222 A. D. Thus the
ground covered is roughly from 50 B. C. to 220 A. D.[2]
In the translation given by Mr Mead these successive layers are
distinguished by initial letters and difference of type, but these
distinctions are not of importance for us; what we desire to know is
what was really held and taught by these mystics of the Early Church.
Mr Mead, in his introductory remarks, summarizes the evidence as
follows: “The claim of these Gnostics was practically that
Christianity, or rather the Good News of The Christ, was precisely the
consummation of the inner doctrine of the Mystery-institutions of all
the nations: the end of them all was the revelation of the Mystery of
Man.”[3] In other words the teaching of these Naassenes was practically
a synthesis of all the Mystery-religions, and although Hippolytus
regards them as nothing more than devotees of the cult of the _Magna
Mater_, we shall see that, while their doctrine and teaching were
undoubtedly based mainly upon the doctrine and practices of the
Phrygian Mysteries, they practically identified the deity therein
worshipped, _i.e._, Attis, with the presiding deity of all the other
Mysteries.
Mr Mead draws attention to the fact that Hippolytus places these
Naassenes in the fore-front of his _Refutation;_ they are the first
group of Heretics with whom he deals, and we may therefore conclude
that he considered them, if not the most important, at least the
oldest, of such sectaries.[4]
With these prefatory remarks it will be well to let the document speak
for itself. It is of considerable length, and, as we have seen, of
intricate construction. I shall therefore quote only those sections
which bear directly upon the subject of our investigation; any reader
desirous of fuller information can refer to Mr Mead’s work, or to the
original text published by Reitzenstein.[5]
At the outset it will be well to understand that the central doctrine
of all these Mysteries is what Reitzenstein sums up as “the doctrine of
the Man, the Heavenly Man, the Son of God, who descends and becomes a
slave of the Fate Sphere: the Man who, though originally endowed with
all power, descends into weakness and bondage, and has to win his own
freedom, and regain his original state. This doctrine is not Egyptian,
but seems to have been in its origin part and parcel of the Chaldean
Mystery-tradition and was widely spread in Hellenistic circles.”[6]
Thus, in the introductory remarks prefixed by Hippolytus to the
document he is quoting he asserts that the Naassenes honour as the
Logos of all universals Man, and Son of Man—“and they divide him into
three, for they say he has a mental, psychic, and choïc aspect; and
they think that the Gnosis of this Man is the beginning of the
possibility of knowing God, saying, ‘The beginning of Perfection is the
Gnosis of Man, but the Gnosis of God is perfected Perfection.’ All
these, mental, psychic, and earthy, descended together into one Man,
Jesus, the Son of Mary.”[7]
Thus the _Myth of Man_, the Mystery of Generation, is the subject
matter of the document in question, and this myth is set forth with
reference to all the Mysteries, beginning with the Assyrian.
Paragraph 5 runs: “Now the Assyrians call this Mystery Adonis, and
whenever it is called Adonis it is Aphrodite who is in love with and
desires Soul so-called, and Aphrodite is Genesis according to them.”[8]
But in the next section the writer jumps from the Assyrian to the
Phrygian Mysteries, saying, “But if the Mother of the Gods emasculates
Attis, she too regarding him as the object of her love, it is the
Blessed Nature above of the super-Cosmic, and Aeonian spaces which
calls back the masculine power of Soul to herself.”[9]
In a note to this Mr Mead quotes from _The Life of Isidorus:_ “I fell
asleep and in a vision Attis seemed to appear to me, and on behalf of
the Mother of gods to initiate me into the feast called Hilario, a
mystery which discloses the way of our salvation from Hades.”
Throughout the document reference is continually made to the Phrygians
and their doctrine of Man. The Eleusinian Mysteries are then treated of
as subsequent to the Phrygian, “after the Phrygians, the Athenians,”
but the teaching is represented as being essentially identical.
We have then a passage of great interest for our investigation, in
which the Mysteries are sharply divided into two classes, and their
separate content clearly defined. There are—“the little Mysteries,
those of the Fleshly Generation, and after men have been initiated into
them they should cease for a while and become initiated in the Great,
Heavenly, Mysteries—for this is the Gate of Heaven, and this is the
House of God, where the Good God dwells alone, into which House no
impure man shall come.”[10] Hippolytus remarks that “these Naassenes
say that the performers in theatres, they too, neither say nor do
anything without design—for example, when the people assemble in the
theatre, and a man comes on the stage clad in a robe different from all
others, with lute in hand on which he plays, and thus chants the Great
Mysteries, not knowing what he says:
‘Whether blest Child of Kronos, or of Zeus, or of Great Rhea,
Hail Attis, thou mournful song of Rhea!
Assyrians call thee thrice-longed-for Adonis;v All Egypt calls thee
Osiris;
The Wisdom of Hellas names thee Men’s Heavenly Horn;
The Samothracians call thee august Adama;v The Haemonians, Korybas;
The Phrygians name thee Papa sometimes;
At times again Dead, or God, or Unfruitful, or Aipolos;
Or Green Reaped Wheat-ear;
Or the Fruitful that Amygdalas brought forth,
Man, Piper—Attis!’
This is the Attis of many forms, of whom they sing as follows:
‘Of Attis will I sing, of Rhea’s Beloved,
Not with the booming of bells,
Nor with the deep-toned pipe of Idaean Kuretes;
But I will blend my song with Phoebus’ music of the lyre;
Evoi, Evan,—for thou art Pan, thou Bacchus art, and Shepherd of bright
stars!’”[11]
On this Hippolytus comments: “For these and suchlike reasons these
Naassenes frequent what are called the Mysteries of the Great Mother,
believing that they obtain the clearest view of the universal Mystery
from the things done in them.”
And after all this evidence of elaborate syncretism, this practical
identification of all the Mystery-gods with the Vegetation deity
Adonis-Attis, we are confronted in the concluding paragraph, after
stating that “the True Gate is Jesus the Blessed,” with this astounding
claim, from the pen of the latest redactor, “And of all men we alone
are Christians, accomplishing the Mystery at the Third Gate.”[12]
Now what conclusions are to be drawn from this document which, in its
entirety, Mr Mead regards as “the most important source we have for the
higher side (regeneration) of the Hellenistic Mysteries”?
First of all, does it not provide a complete and overwhelming
justification of those scholars who have insisted upon the importance
of these Vegetation cults—a justification of which, from the very
nature of their studies, they could not have been aware?
Sir James Frazer, and those who followed him, have dealt with the
public side of the cult, with its importance as a recognized vehicle
for obtaining material advantages; it was the social, rather than the
individual, aspect which appealed to them. Now we find that in the
immediate _pre_- and _post_-Christian era these cults were considered
not only most potent factors for assuring the material prosperity of
land and folk, but were also held to be the most appropriate vehicle
for imparting the highest religious teaching. The Vegetation deities,
Adonis-Attis, and more especially the Phrygian god, were the chosen
guides to the knowledge of, and union with, the supreme Spiritual
Source of Life, of which they were the communicating medium.
We must remember that though the document before us is, in its actual
form, the expression of faith of a discredited ‘Christian-Gnostic’
sect, the essential groundwork upon which it is elaborated belongs to a
period anterior to Christianity, and that the Ode in honour of Attis
quoted above not only forms part of the original source, but is, in the
opinion of competent critics, earlier than the source itself.
I would also recall to the memory of the reader the passage previously
quoted from Cumont, in which he refers to the use made by the
Neo-Platonist philosophers of the Attis legend, as the mould into which
they poured their special theories of the universe, and of
generation.[13] Can the importance of a cult capable of such
far-reaching developments be easily exaggerated? Secondly, and of more
immediate importance for our investigation, is it not evident that we
have here all the elements necessary for a mystical development of the
Grail tradition? The Exoteric side of the cult gives us the Human, the
Folk-lore, elements—the Suffering King; the Waste Land; the effect upon
the Folk; the task that lies before the hero; the group of Grail
symbols. The Esoteric side provides us with the Mystic Meal, the Food
of Life, connected in some mysterious way with a Vessel which is the
centre of the cult; the combination of that vessel with a Weapon, a
combination bearing a well-known ‘generative’ significance; a double
initiation into the source of the lower and higher spheres of Life; the
ultimate proof of the successful issue of the final test in the
restoration of the King. I would ask any honest-minded critic whether
any of the numerous theories previously advanced has shown itself
capable of furnishing so comprehensive a solution of the _ensemble_
problem?
At the same time it should be pointed out that the acceptance of this
theory of the origin of the story in no way excludes the possibility of
the introduction of other elements during the period of romantic
evolution. As I have previously insisted,[14] not all of those who
handled the theme knew the real character of the material with which
they were dealing, while even among those who did know there were some
who allowed themselves considerable latitude in their methods of
composition; who did not scruple to introduce elements foreign to the
original _Stoff_, but which would make an appeal to the public of the
day. Thus while Bleheris who, I believe, really held a tradition of the
original cult, contented himself with a practically simple recital of
the initiations, later redactors, under the influence of the Crusades,
and the Longinus legend—possibly also actuated by a desire to
substitute a more edifying explanation than that originally
offered—added a directly Christian interpretation of the Lance. As it
is concerning the Lance alone that Gawain asks, the first modification
must have been at this point; the bringing into line of the twin
symbol, the Vase, would come later.
The fellowship, it may even be, the rivalry, between the two great
Benedictine houses of Fescamp and Glastonbury, led to the redaction, in
the interests of the latter, of a _Saint-Sang_ legend, parallel to that
which was the genuine possession of the French house.[15] For we must
emphasize the fact that the original Joseph-Glastonbury story is a
_Saint-Sang_, and not a _Grail_ legend. A phial containing the Blood of
Our Lord was said to have been buried in the tomb of Joseph—surely a
curious fate for so precious a relic—and the Abbey never laid claim to
the possession of the Vessel of the Last Supper.[16] Had it done so it
would certainly have become a noted centre of pilgrimage—as Dr Brugger
acutely remarks such relics are _besucht_, not _gesucht_.
But there is reason to believe that the kindred Abbey of Fescamp had
developed its genuine _Saint-Sang_ legend into a Grail romance, and
there is critical evidence to lead us to suppose that the text we know
as _Perlesvaus_ was, in its original form, now it is to be feared
practically impossible to reconstruct, connected with that Abbey. As we
have it, this alone, of all the Grail romances, connects the hero alike
with Nicodemus, and with Joseph of Arimathea, the respective
protagonists of the _Saint-Sang_ legends; while its assertion that the
original Latin text was found in a holy house situated in marshes, the
burial place of Arthur and Guenevere, unmistakably points to
Glastonbury.
In any case, when Robert de Borron proposed to himself the task of
composing a trilogy on the subject the Joseph legend was already in a
developed form, and a fresh element, the combination of the Grail
legend with the story of a highly popular Folk-tale hero, known in this
connection as Perceval (though he has had many names), was established.
Borron was certainly aware of the real character of his material; he
knew the Grail cult as Christianized Mystery, and, while following the
romance development, handled the theme on distinctively religious
lines, preserving the Mystery element in its three-fold development,
and equating the Vessel of the Mystic Feast with the Christian
Eucharist. From what we now know of the material it seems certain that
the equation was already established, and that Borron was simply
stating in terms of romance what was already known to him in terms of
Mystery. In face of the evidence above set forth there can no longer be
any doubt that the Mystic Feast of the Nature cults really had, and
that at a very early date, been brought into touch with the Sacrament
of the Eucharist.
But to Chrétien de Troyes the story was romance, pure and simple. There
was still a certain element of awe connected with Grail, and Grail
Feast, but of the real meaning and origin of the incidents he had, I am
convinced, no idea whatever. Probably many modifications were already
in his source, but the result so far as his poem is concerned is that
he duplicated the character of the Fisher King; he separated both,
Father and Son, from the Wasted Land, transferring the responsibility
for the woes of Land and Folk to the Quester, who, although his failure
might be responsible for their continuance, never had anything to do
with their origin. He bestowed the wound of the Grail King, deeply
significant in its original conception and connection, upon Perceval’s
father, a shadowy character, entirely apart from the Grail tradition.
There is no trace of the Initiation elements in his poem, no Perilous
Chapel, no welding of the Sword. We have here passed completely and
entirely into the land of romance, the doors of the Temple are closed
behind us. It is the story of Perceval li Gallois, not the Ritual of
the Grail, which fills the stage, and with the story of Perceval there
comes upon the scene a crowd of Folk-tale themes, absolutely foreign to
the Grail itself.
Thus we have not only the central theme of the lad reared in woodland
solitude, making his entrance into a world of whose ordinary relations
he is absolutely and ludicrously ignorant, and the traditional
illustrations of the results of that ignorance, such as the story of
the Lady of the Tent and the stolen ring; but we have also the sinister
figure of the Red Knight with his Witch Mother; the three drops of
blood upon the snow, and the ensuing love trance; pure Folk-tale
themes, mingled with the more chivalric elements of the rescue of a
distressed maiden, and the vanquishing in single combat of doughty
antagonists, Giant, or Saracen. One and all of them elements offering
widespread popular parallels, and inviting the unwary critic into paths
which lead him far astray from the goal of his quest, the Grail Castle.
I dispute in no way the possible presence of Celtic elements in this
complex. The Lance may well have borrowed at one time features from
early Irish tradition, at another details obviously closely related to
the Longinus legend. It is even possible that, as Burdach insists,
features of the Byzantine Liturgy may have coloured the representation
of the Grail procession, although, for my own part, I consider such a
theory highly improbable in view of the facts that (_a_) Chrétien’s
poem otherwise shows no traces of Oriental influence; (_b_) the ‘Spear’
in the Eastern rite is simply a small spear-shaped knife; (_c_) the
presence of the lights is accounted for by the author of _Sone de
Nansai_ on the ground of a Nativity legend, the authenticity of which
was pointed out by the late M. Gaston Paris; (_d_) it is only in the
later prose form that we find any suggestion of a Grail Chapel, whereas
were the source of the story really to be found in the Mass, such a
feature would certainly have had its place in the earliest versions.
But in each and all these cases the solution proposed has no relation
to other features of the story; it is consequently of value _in_, and
_per se_, only, and cannot be regarded as valid evidence for the source
of the legend as a whole. In the process of transmutation from Ritual
to Romance, the kernel, the Grail legend proper, may be said to have
formed for itself a shell composed of accretions of widely differing
_provenance_. It is the legitimate task of criticism to analyse such
accretions, and to resolve them into their original elements, but they
are accretions, and should be treated as such, not confounded with the
original and essential material. After upwards of thirty years spent in
careful study of the Grail legend and romances I am firmly and entirely
convinced that the root origin of the whole bewildering complex is to
be found in the Vegetation Ritual, treated from the esoteric point of
view as a Life-Cult, _and in that alone_. Christian Legend, and
traditional Folk-tale, have undoubtedly contributed to the perfected
romantic _corpus_, but they are in truth subsidiary and secondary
features; a criticism that would treat them as original and primary can
but defeat its own object; magnified out of proportion they become
stumbling-blocks upon the path, instead of sign-posts towards the goal.
CHAPTER XII Mithra and AttisCHAPTER XII
Mithra and Attis
The fact that there was, at a very early date, among a certain sect of
Christian Gnostics, a well-developed body of doctrine, based upon the
essential harmony existing between the Old Faith and the New, which
claimed by means of a two-fold Initiation to impact to the inner circle
of its adherents the secret of life, physical and spiritual, being, in
face of the evidence given in the previous chapter, placed beyond any
possible doubt, we must now ask, is there any evidence that such
teaching survived for any length of time, or could have penetrated to
the British Isles, where, in view of the priority of the
_Bleheris-Gawain_ form, the Grail legend, as we know it, seems to have
originated? I think there is at least presumptive evidence of such
preservation, and transmission. I have already alluded to the close
connection existing between the Attis cult, and the worship of the
popular Persian deity, Mithra, and have given quotations from Cumont
illustrating this connection; it will be worth while to study the
question somewhat more closely, and discover, if possible, the reason
for this intimate alliance.
On the face of it there seems to be absolutely no reason for the
connection of these cults; the two deities in no way resemble each
other; the stories connected with them have no possible analogy; the
root conception is widely divergent.
With the character of the deity we know as Adonis, or Attis, we are now
thoroughly familiar. In the first instance it seems to be the human
element in the myth which is most insisted upon. He is a mortal youth
beloved by a great goddess; only after his tragic death does he appear
to assume divine attributes, and, alike in death and resurrection,
become the accepted personification of natural energies.
Baudissin, _Adonis und Esmun_, remarks that Adonis belongs to “einer
Klasse von Wesen sehr unbestimmter Art der wohl über den Menschen aber
unter den grossen Göttern stehen, und weniger Individualität besitzen
als diese.”[1] Such a criticism applies of course equally to Attis.
Mithra, on the other hand, occupies an entirely different position.
Cumont, in his _Mystères de Mithra_, thus describes him; he is “le
génie de la lumière céleste. Il n’est ni le soleil, ni la lune, ni les
étoiles, mais à l’aide de ces mille oreilles, et de ces deux milles
yeux, il surveille le monde.”[2]
His beneficent activities might seem to afford a meeting ground with
the Vegetation goods—“Il donne l’accroissement, il donne l’abondance,
il donne les troupeaux, il donne la progéniture et la vie.”[3]
This summary may aptly be compared with the lament for Tammuz, quoted
in Chapter 3.
But the worship of Mithra in the form in which it spread throughout the
Roman Empire, Mithra as the god of the Imperial armies, the deity
beloved of the Roman legionary, was in no sense of this concrete and
material type.
This is how Cumont sums up the main features. Mithra is the Mediator,
who stands between “le Dieu inaccessible, et inconnaissable, qui règne
dans les sphères éthérées, et le genre humain qui s’agite ici-bas.”—“Il
est le Logos émané de Dieu, et participant à sa toute puissance, qui
après avoir formé le monde comme démiurge continue à veiller sur lui.”
The initiates must practice a strict chastity—“La résistance à la
sensualité était un des aspects du combat contre le principe du mal—le
dualisme Mithraique servait de fondement à une morale très pure et très
efficace.”[4]
Finally, Mithraism taught the resurrection of the body—Mithra will
descend upon earth, and will revive all men. All will issue from their
graves, resume their former appearance and recognize each other. All
will be united in one great assembly, and the good will be separated
from the evil. Then in one supreme sacrifice Mithra will immolate the
divine bull, and mixing its fat with the consecrated wine will offer to
the righteous the cup of Eternal Life.[5]
The final parallel with the Messianic Feast described in Chapter 9 is
too striking to be overlooked.
The celestial nature of the deity is also well brought out in the
curious text edited by Dieterich from the great Magic Papyrus of the
Bibliothèque Nationale, and referred to in a previous chapter. This
text purports to be a formula of initiation, and we find the aspirant
ascending through the Seven Heavenly Spheres, to be finally met by
Mithra who brings him to the presence of God. So in the Mithraic
temples we find seven ladders, the ascent of which by the Initiate
typified his passage to the seventh and supreme Heaven.[6]
Bousset points out that the original idea was that of three Heavens
above which was Paradise; the conception of Seven Heavens, ruled by the
seven Planets, which we find in Mithraism, is due to the influence of
Babylonian sidereal cults.[7]
There is thus a marked difference between the two initiations; the
Attis initiate dies, is possibly buried, and revives with his god; the
Mithra initiate rises direct to the celestial sphere, where he is met
and welcomed by his god. There is here no evidence of the death and
resurrection of the deity.
What then is the point of contact between the cults that brought them
into such close and intimate relationship?
I think it must be sought in the higher teaching, which, under widely
differing external mediums, included elements common to both. In both
cults the final aim was the attainment of spiritual and eternal life.
Moreover, both possessed essential features which admitted, if they did
not encourage, an assimilation with Christianity. Both of them, if
forced to yield ground to their powerful rival, could, with a fair show
of reason, claim that they had been not vanquished, but fulfilled, that
their teaching had, in Christianity, attained its normal term.
The extracts given above will show the striking analogy between the
higher doctrine of Mithraism, and the fundamental teaching of its great
rival, a resemblance that was fully admitted, and which became the
subject of heated polemic. Greek philosophers did not hesitate to
establish a parallel entirely favourable to Mithraism, while Christian
apologists insisted that such resemblances were the work of the Devil,
a line of argument which, as we have seen above, they had already
adopted with regard to the older Mysteries. It is a matter of
historical fact that at one moment the religious fate of the West hung
in the balance, and it was an open question whether Mithraism or
Christianity would be the dominant Creed.[8]
On the other hand we have also seen that certainly one early Christian
sect, the Naassenes, while equally regarding the Logos as the centre of
their belief, held the equivalent deity to be Attis, and frequented the
Phrygian Mysteries as the most direct source of spiritual
enlightenment, while the teaching as to the Death and Resurrection of
the god, and the celebration of a Mystic Feast, in which the
worshippers partook of the Food and Drink of Eternal Life, offered
parallels to Christian doctrine and practice to the full as striking as
any to be found in the Persian faith.
I would therefore submit that it was rather through the medium of their
inner, Esoteric, teaching, that the two faiths, so different in their
external practice, preserved so close and intimate a connection and
that, by the medium of that same Esoteric teaching, both alike came
into contact with Christianity, and, in the case of the Phrygian cult,
could, and actually did, claim identity with it.
Baudissin in his work above referred to suggests that the Adonis cult
owed its popularity to its higher, rather than to its lower, elements,
to its suggestion of ever-renewing life, rather than to the
satisfaction of physical desire to be found in it.[9] Later evidence
seems to prove that he judged correctly.
We may also note that the Attis Mysteries were utilized by the priests
of Mithra for the initiation of women who were originally excluded from
the cult of the Persian god. Cumont remarks that this, an absolute rule
in the Western communities, seems to have had exceptions in the
Eastern.[10] Is it possible that the passage quoted in the previous
chapter, in which Perceval is informed that no woman may speak of the
Grail, is due to contamination with the Mithra worship? It does not
appear to be in harmony with the prominent position assigned to women
in the Grail ritual, the introduction of a female Grail messenger, or
the fact that (with the exception of Merlin in the Borron text) it is
invariably a maiden who directs the hero on his road to the Grail
castle, or reproaches him for his failure there.
But there is little doubt that, separately, or in conjunction, both
cults travelled to the furthest borders of the Roman Empire. The medium
of transmission is very fully discussed by Cumont in both of the works
referred to. The channel appears to have been three-fold. First,
commercial, through the medium of Syrian merchants. As ardently
religious as practically business-like, the Syrians introduced their
native deities wherever they penetrated, “founding their chapels at the
same time as their counting-houses.”[11]
Secondly, there was social penetration—by means of the Asiatic slaves,
who formed a part of most Roman households, and the State _employés_,
such as officers of customs, army paymasters, etc., largely recruited
from Oriental sources.
Thirdly, and most important, were the soldiers, the foreign legions,
who, drawn mostly from the Eastern parts of the Empire, brought their
native deities with them. Cumont signalizes as the most active agents
of the dispersion of the cult of Mithra, Soldiers, Slaves, and
Merchants.[12]
As far North as Hadrian’s Dyke there has been found an inscription in
verse in honour of the goddess of Hierapolis, the author a prefect,
probably, Cumont remarks, the officer of a cohort of Hamii, stationed
in this distant spot. Dedications to Melkart and Astarte have been
found at Corbridge near Newcastle. The Mithraic remains are practically
confined to garrison centres, London, York, Chester, Caerleon-on-Usk,
and along Hadrian’s Dyke.[13] From the highly interesting map attached
to the Study, giving the sites of ascertained Mithraic remains, there
seems to have been such a centre in Pembrokeshire.
Now in view of all this evidence is it not at least possible that the
higher form of the Attis cult, that in which it was known and practised
by early Gnostic Christians, may have been known in Great Britain?
Scholars have been struck by the curiously unorthodox tone of the Grail
romances, their apparent insistence on a succession quite other than
the accredited Apostolic tradition, and yet, according to the writers,
directly received from Christ Himself. The late M. Paulin Paris
believed that the source of this peculiar feature was to be found in
the struggle for independence of the early British Church; but, after
all, the differences of that Church with Rome affected only minor
points of discipline: the date of Easter, the fashion of tonsure of the
clergy, nothing which touched vital doctrines of the Faith. Certainly
the British Church never claimed the possession of a revelation _à
part_. But if the theory based upon the evidence of the Naassene
document be accepted such a presentation can be well accounted for.
According to Hippolytus the doctrines of the sect were derived from
James, the brother of Our Lord, and Clement of Alexandria asserts that
“The Lord imparted the Gnosis to James the Just, to John and to Peter,
after His Resurrection; these delivered it to the rest of the Apostles,
and they to the Seventy.”[14] Thus the theory proposed in these pages
will account not only for the undeniable parallels existing between the
Vegetation cults and the Grail romances, but also for the Heterodox
colouring of the latter, two elements which at first sight would appear
to be wholly unconnected, and quite incapable of relation to a common
source.
Nor in view of the persistent vitality and survival, even to our own
day, of the Exoteric practices can there be anything improbable in the
hypothesis of a late survival of the Esoteric side of the ritual.
Cumont points out that the worship of Mithra was practised in the fifth
century in certain remote cantons of the Alps and the Vosges—_i.e._, at
the date historically assigned to King Arthur. Thus it would not be in
any way surprising if a tradition of the survival of these
semi-Christian rites at this period also existed.[15] In my opinion it
is the tradition of such a survival which lies at the root, and
explains the confused imagery, of the text we know as the
_Elucidation_. I have already, in my short study of the subject, set
forth my views; as I have since found further reasons for maintaining
the correctness of the solution proposed, I will repeat it here.[16]
The text in question is found in three of our existing Grail versions:
in the MS. of Mons; in the printed edition of 1530; and in the German
translation of Wisse-Colin. It is now prefixed to the poem of Chrétien
de Troyes, but obviously, from the content, had originally nothing to
do with that version.
It opens with the passage quoted above (p. 130) in which Master Blihis
utters his solemn warning against revealing the secret of the Grail. It
goes on to tell how aforetime there were maidens dwelling in the
hills[17] who brought forth to the passing traveller food and drink.
But King Amangons outraged one of these maidens, and took away from her
her golden Cup:
“Des puceles une esforcha
Et la coupe d’or li toli—[4].”
His knights, when they saw their lord act thus, followed his evil
example, forced the fairest of the maidens, and robbed them of their
cups of gold. As a result the springs dried up, the land became waste,
and the court of the Rich Fisher, which had filled the land with
plenty, could no longer be found.
For 1000 years the land lies waste, till, in the days of King Arthur,
his knights find maidens wandering in the woods, each with her
attendant knight. They joust, and one, Blihos-Bliheris, vanquished by
Gawain, comes to court and tells how these maidens are the descendants
of those ravished by King Amangons and his men, and how, could the
court of the Fisher King, and the Grail, once more be found, the land
would again become fertile. Blihos-Bliheris is, we are told, so
entrancing a story-teller that none at court could ever weary of
listening to his words.
The natural result, which here does not immediately concern us, was
that Arthur’s knights undertook the quest, and Gawain achieved it. Now
at first sight this account appears to be nothing but a fantastic
fairy-tale (as such Professor Brown obviously regarded it), and
although the late Dr Sebastian Evans attempted in all seriousness to
find a historical basis for the story in the events which provoked the
pronouncement of the Papal Interdict upon the realm of King John, and
the consequent deprivation of the Sacraments, I am not aware that
anyone took the solution seriously. Yet, on the basis of the theory now
set forth, is it not possible that there may be a real foundation of
historical fact at the root of this wildly picturesque tale? May it not
be simply a poetical version of the disappearance from the land of
Britain of the open performance of an ancient Nature ritual? A ritual
that lingered on in the hills and mountains of Wales as the Mithra
worship did in the Alps and Vosges, celebrated as that cult habitually
was, in natural caverns, and mountain hollows? That it records the
outrage offered by some, probably local, chieftain to a priestess of
the cult, an evil example followed by his men, and the subsequent
cessation of the public celebration of the rites, a cessation which in
the folk-belief would certainly be held sufficient to account for any
subsequent drought that might affect the land? But the ritual, in its
higher, esoteric, form was still secretly observed, and the tradition,
alike of its disappearance as a public cult, and of its persistence in
some carefully hidden strong-hold, was handed on in the families of
those who had been, perhaps still were, officiants of these rites.
That among the handers on of the torch would be the descendants of the
outraged maidens, is most probable.
The sense of mystery, of a real danger to be faced, of an overwhelming
Spiritual gain to be won, were of the essential nature of the tale. It
was the very mystery of Life which lay beneath the picturesque
wrappings; small wonder that the Quest of the Grail became the synonym
for the highest achievement that could be set before men, and that when
the romantic evolution of the Arthurian tradition reached its term,
this supreme adventure was swept within the magic circle. The knowledge
of the Grail was the utmost man could achieve, Arthur’s knights were
the very flower of manhood, it was fitting that to them the supreme
test be offered. That the man who first told the story, and boldly, as
befitted a born teller of tales, wedded it the Arthurian legend, was
himself connected by descent with the ancient Faith, himself actually
held the Secret of the Grail, and told, in purposely romantic form,
that of which he knew, I am firmly convinced, nor do I think that the
time is far distant when the missing links will be in our hand, and we
shall be able to weld once more the golden chain which connects Ancient
Ritual with Medieval Romance.
CHAPTER XIII The Perilous ChapelCHAPTER XIII
The Perilous Chapel
Students of the Grail romances will remember that in many of the
versions the hero—sometimes it is a heroine—meets with a strange and
terrifying adventure in a mysterious Chapel, an adventure which, we are
given to understand, is fraught with extreme peril to life. The details
vary: sometimes there is a Dead Body laid on the altar; sometimes a
Black Hand extinguishes the tapers; there are strange and threatening
voices, and the general impression is that this is an adventure in
which supernatural, and evil, forces are engaged.
Such an adventure befalls Gawain on his way to the Grail Castle.[1] He
is overtaken by a terrible storm, and coming to a Chapel, standing at a
crossways in the middle of a forest, enters for shelter. The altar is
bare, with no cloth, or covering, nothing is thereon but a great golden
candlestick with a tall taper burning within it. Behind the altar is a
window, and as Gawain looks a Hand, black and hideous, comes through
the window, and extinguishes the taper, while a voice makes lamentation
loud and dire, beneath which the very building rocks. Gawain’s horse
shies for terror, and the knight, making the sign of the Cross, rides
out of the Chapel, to find the storm abated, and the great wind fallen.
Thereafter the night was calm and clear.
In the _Perceval_ section of Wauchier and Manessier we find the same
adventure in a dislocated form.[2]
Perceval, seeking the Grail Castle, rides all day through a heavy
storm, which passes off at night-fall, leaving the weather calm and
clear. He rides by moonlight through the forest, till he sees before
him a great oak, on the branches of which are lighted candles, ten,
fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five. The knight rides quickly towards it,
but as he comes near the lights vanish, and he only sees before him a
fair little Chapel, with a candle shining through the open door. He
enters, and finds on the altar the body of a dead knight, covered with
a rich samite, a candle burning at his feet.
Perceval remains some time, but nothing happens. At midnight he
departs; scarcely has he left the Chapel when, to his great surprise,
the light is extinguished.
The next day he reaches the castle of the Fisher King, who asks him
where he passed the preceding night. Perceval tells him of the Chapel;
the King sighs deeply, but makes no comment.
Wauchier’s section breaks off abruptly in the middle of this episode;
when Manessier takes up the story he gives explanations of the Grail,
etc., at great length, explanations which do not at all agree with the
indications of his predecessor. When Perceval asks of the Chapel he is
told it was built by Queen Brangemore of Cornwall, who was later
murdered by her son Espinogres, and buried beneath the altar. Many
knights have since been slain there, none know by whom, save it be by
the Black Hand which appeared and put out the light. (As we saw above
it had not appeared.) The enchantment can only be put an end to if a
valiant knight will fight the Black Hand, and, taking a veil kept in
the Chapel, will dip it in holy water, and sprinkle the walls, after
which the enchantment will cease.
At a much later point Manessier tells how Perceval, riding through the
forest, is overtaken by a terrible storm. He takes refuge in a Chapel
which he recognizes as that of the Black Hand. The Hand appears,
Perceval fights against and wounds it; then appears a Head; finally the
Devil in full form who seizes Perceval as he is about to seek the veil
of which he has been told. Perceval makes the sign of the Cross, on
which the Devil vanishes, and the knight falls insensible before the
altar. On reviving he takes the veil, dips it in holy water, and
sprinkles the walls within and without. He sleeps there that night, and
the next morning, on waking, sees a belfry. He rings the bell, upon
which an old man, followed by two others, appears. He tells Perceval he
is a priest, and has buried 3000 knights slain by the Black Hand; every
day a knight has been slain, and every day a marble tomb stands ready
with the name of the victim upon it. Queen Brangemore founded the
cemetery, and was the first to be buried within it. (But according to
the version given earlier she was buried beneath the altar.) We have
here evidently a combination of two themes, Perilous Chapel and
Perilous Cemetery, originally independent of each other. In other MSS.
the Wauchier adventure agrees much more closely with the Manessier
sequel, the Hand appearing, and extinguishing the light. Sometimes the
Hand holds a bridle, a feature probably due to contamination with a
Celtic Folk-tale, in which a mysterious Hand (here that of a giant)
steals on their birth-night a Child, and a foal.[3] These _Perceval_
versions are manifestly confused and dislocated, and are probably drawn
from more than one source.
In the _Queste_ Gawain and Hector de Maris come to an old and ruined
Chapel where they pass the night. Each has a marvellous dream. The next
morning, as they are telling each other their respective visions, they
see, “a Hand, showing unto the elbow, and was covered with red samite,
and upon that hung a bridle, not rich, and held within the fist a great
candle that burnt right clear, and so passed afore them, and entered
into the Chapel, and then vanished away, and they wist not where.”[4]
This seems to be an unintelligent borrowing from the _Perceval_
version.
We have, also, a group of visits to the Perilous Chapel, or Perilous
Cemetery, which appear to be closely connected with each other. In each
case the object of the visit is to obtain a portion of the cloth which
covers the altar, or a dead body lying upon the altar. The romances in
question are the _Perlesvaus_, the prose _Lancelot_, and the _Chevalier
à deux Espées_.[5] The respective protagonists being Perceval’s sister,
Sir Lancelot, and the young Queen of Garadigan, whose city has been
taken by King Ris and who dares the venture to win her freedom.
In the first case the peril appears to lie in the Cemetery, which is
surrounded by the ghosts of knights slain in the forest, and buried in
unconsecrated ground. The _Lancelot_ version is similar, but here the
title is definitely _Perilous Chapel_. In the last version there is no
hint of a Cemetery.
In the _Lancelot_ version there is a dead knight on the altar, whose
sword Lancelot takes in addition to the piece of cloth. In the poem a
knight is brought in, and buried before the altar; the young queen,
after cutting off a piece of the altar cloth, uncovers the body, and
buckles on the sword. There is no mention of a Hand in any of the three
versions, which appear to be late and emasculated forms of the theme.
The earliest mention of a Perilous Cemetery, as distinct from a Chapel,
appears to be in the Chastel Orguellous section of the _Perceval_, a
section probably derived from a very early stratum of Arthurian
romantic tradition. Here Arthur and his knights, on their way to the
siege of Chastel Orguellous, come to the _Vergier des Sepoltures_,
where they eat with the Hermits, of whom there are a hundred and more.
“ne me l’oïst or pas chi dire
Les merveilles del chimetire
car si sont diverses et grans
qu’il n’est hom terriens vivans
qui poist pas quidier ne croire
que ce fust onques chose voire.”[6]
But there is no hint of a Perilous Chapel here.
The adventures of Gawain in the _Atre Perilleus_,[7] and of Gawain and
Hector in the _Lancelot_ of the final cyclic prose version, are of the
most _banal_ description; the theme, originally vivid and picturesque,
has become watered down into a meaningless adventure of the most
conventional type.
But originally a high importance seems to have been attached to it. If
we turn back to the first version given, that of which Gawain is the
hero, we shall find that special stress is laid on this adventure, as
being part of ‘the Secret of the Grail,’ of which no man may speak
without grave danger.[8] We are told that, but for Gawain’s loyalty and
courtesy, he would not have survived the perils of that night. In the
same way Perceval, before reaching the Fisher King’s castle, meets a
maiden, of whom he asks the meaning of the lighted tree, Chapel, etc.
She tells him it is all part of the _saint secret_ of the Grail.[9] Now
what does this mean? Unless I am much mistaken the key is to be found
in a very curious story related in the _Perlesvaus_, which is twice
referred to in texts of a professedly historical character. The tale
runs thus. King Arthur has fallen into slothful and _fainéant_ ways,
much to the grief of Guenevere, who sees her lord’s fame and prestige
waning day by day. In this crisis she urges him to visit the Chapel of
Saint Austin, a perilous adventure, but one that may well restore his
reputation. Arthur agrees; he will take with him only one squire; the
place is too dangerous. He calls a youth named Chaus, the son of Yvain
the Bastard, and bids him be ready to ride with him at dawn. The lad,
fearful of over-sleeping, does not undress, but lies down as he is in
the hall. He falls asleep—and it seems to him that the King has wakened
and gone without him. He rises in haste, mounts and rides after Arthur,
following, as he thinks, the track of his steed. Thus he comes to a
forest glade, where he sees a Chapel, set in the midst of a grave-yard.
He enters, but the King is not there; there is no living thing, only
the body of a knight on a bier, with tapers burning in golden
candlesticks at head and foot. Chaus takes out one of the tapers, and
thrusting the golden candlestick betwixt hose and thigh, remounts and
rides back in search of the King. Before he has gone far he meets a
man, black, and foul-favoured, armed with a large two-edged knife. He
asks, has he met King Arthur? The man answers, No, but he has met him,
Chaus; he is a thief and a traitor; he has stolen the golden
candlestick; unless he gives it up he shall pay for it dearly. Chaus
refuses, and the man smites him in the side with the knife. With a loud
cry the lad awakes, he is lying in the hall at Cardoil, wounded to
death, the knife in his side and the golden candlestick still in his
hose.
He lives long enough to tell the story, confess, and be shriven, and
then dies. Arthur, with the consent of his father, gives the
candlestick to the church of Saint Paul, then newly founded, “for he
would that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be known, and
that prayer should be made for the soul of the squire.”[10]
The pious wish of the King seems to have been fulfilled, as the story
was certainly well known, and appears to have been accepted as a
genuine tradition. Thus the author of the _Histoire de Fulk Fitz-Warin_
gives a _résumé_ of the adventure, and asserts that the Chapel of Saint
Austin referred to was situated in Fulk’s patrimony, _i.e._, in the
tract known as the Blaunche Launde, situated in Shropshire, on the
border of North Wales. As source for the tale he refers to _Le Graal,
le lyvre de le Seint Vassal_, and goes on to state that here King
Arthur recovered _sa bounté et sa valur_ when he had lost his
knighthood and fame. This obviously refers to the _Perlesvaus_ romance,
though whether in its present, or in an earlier form, it is impossible
to say. In any case the author of the _Histoire_ evidently thought that
the Chapel in question really existed, and was to be located in
Shropshire.[11] But John of Glastonbury also refers to the story, and
he connects it with Glastonbury.[12]
Now how can we account for so wild, and at first sight so improbable, a
tale assuming what we may term a semi-historical character, and
becoming connected with a definite and precise locality?—a feature
which is, as a rule, absent from the Grail stories.
At the risk of startling my readers I must express my opinion that it
was because the incidents recorded were a reminiscence of something
which had actually happened, and which, owing to the youth, and
possible social position, of the victim, had made a profound impression
upon the popular imagination.
_For this is the story of an initiation_ (or perhaps it would be more
correct to say the test of fitness for an initiation) _carried out on
the astral plane, and reacting with fatal results upon the physical._
We have already seen in the Naassene document that the Mystery ritual
comprised a double initiation, the Lower, into the mysteries of
generation, _i.e._, of physical Life; the higher, into the Spiritual
Divine Life, where man is made one with God.[13]
Some years ago I offered the suggestion that the test for the primary
initiation, that into the sources of physical life, would probably
consist in a contact with the horrors of physical death, and that the
tradition of the Perilous Chapel, which survives in the Grail romances
in confused and contaminated form, was a reminiscence of the test for
this lower initiation.[14] This would fully account for the importance
ascribed to it in the _Bleheris-Gawain_ form, and for the asserted
connection with the Grail. It was not till I came to study the version
of the _Perlesvaus_, with a view to determining its original
_provenance_, that I recognized its extreme importance for critical
purposes. The more one studies this wonderful legend the more one
discovers significance in what seem at first to be entirely independent
and unrelated details. If the reader will refer to my Notes on the
_Perlesvaus_, above referred to, he will find that the result of an
investigation into the evidence for _locale_ pointed to the conclusion
that the author of the _Histoire de Fulk Fitz-Warin_ and most probably
also the author of the _Perlesvaus_ before him, were mistaken in their
identification, that there was no tradition of any such Chapel in
Shropshire, and consequently no tale of its foundation, such as the
author of the _Histoire_ relates. But I was also able to show that
further north, in Northumberland, there was also a Blanchland,
connected with the memory of King Arthur, numerous dedications to Saint
Austin, and a tradition of that Saint driving out the local demons
closely analogous to the tale told of the presumed Shropshire site. I
therefore suggested that inasmuch as the _Perlesvaus_ represented
Arthur as holding his court at Cardoil (Carlisle), the Northern
Blanchland, which possessed a Chapel of Saint Austin, and lay within
easy reach, was probably the original site rather than the Shropshire
Blaunche Launde, which had no Chapel, and was much further away.
Now in view of the evidence set forth in the last chapter, is it not
clear that this was a locality in which these semi-Pagan,
semi-Christian, rites, might, _prima facie_, be expected to linger on?
It is up here, along the Northern border, that the Roman legionaries
were stationed; it is here that we find monuments and memorials of
their heathen cults; obviously this was a locality where the
demon-hunting activities of the Saint might find full scope for action.
I would submit that there is at least presumptive evidence that we may
here be dealing with the survival of a genuine tradition.
And should any of my readers find it difficult to believe that, even
did initiations take place, and even were they of a character that
involved a stern test of mental and physical endurance—and I imagine
most scholars would admit that there was, possibly, more in the
original institutions, than, let us say, in a modern admission to
Free-Masonry—yet it is ‘a far cry’ from pre-Christian initiations to
Medieval Romance, and a connection between the two is a rash postulate,
I would draw their attention to the fact that, quite apart from our
Grail texts, we possess a romance which is, plainly, and blatantly,
nothing more or less than such a record. I refer, of course, to _Owain
Miles_, or _The Purgatory of Saint Patrick_, where we have an account
of the hero, after purification by fasting and prayer, descending into
the Nether World, passing through the abodes of the Lost, finally
reaching Paradise, and returning to earth after Three Days, a reformed
and regenerated character.[15]
“Then with his monks the Prior anon,
With Crosses and with Gonfanon
Went to that hole forthright,
Thro’ which Knight Owain went below,
There, as of burning fire the glow,
They saw a gleam of light;
And right amidst that beam of light
He came up, Owain, God’s own knight,
By this knew every man
That he in Paradise had been,
And Purgatory’s pains had seen,
And was a holy man.”
Now if we turn to Bousset’s article _Himmelfahrt der Seele_, to which I
have previously referred (p. —-), we shall find abundant evidence that
such a journey to the Worlds beyond was held to be a high spiritual
adventure of actual possibility—a venture to be undertaken by those
who, greatly daring, felt that the attainment of actual knowledge of
the Future Life was worth all the risks, and they were great and
terrible, which such an enterprise involved.
Bousset comments fully on Saint Paul’s claim to have been ‘caught up
into the Third Heaven’ and points out that such an experience was the
property of the Rabbinical school to which Saul of Tarsus had belonged,
and was brought over by him from his Jewish past; such experiences were
rare in Orthodox Christianity.[16] According to Jewish classical
tradition but one Rabbi had successfully passed the test, other
aspirants either failing at a preliminary stage, or, if they
persevered, losing their senses permanently. The practice of this
ecstatic ascent ceased among Jews in the second century A.D.
Bousset also gives instances of the soul leaving the body for three
days, and wandering through other worlds, both good and evil, and also
discusses the origin of the bridge which must be crossed to reach
Paradise, both features characteristic of the _Owain_ poem.[17] In fact
the whole study is of immense importance for a critical analysis of the
sources of the romance in question.
And here I would venture to beg the adherents of the ‘Celtic’ school to
use a little more judgment in their attribution of sources. Visits to
the Otherworld are not _always_ derivations from Celtic Fairy-lore.
Unless I am mistaken the root of this theme is far more deeply imbedded
than in the shifting sands of Folk and Fairy tale. I believe it to be
essentially a Mystery tradition; the Otherworld is not a myth, but a
reality, and in all ages there have been souls who have been willing to
brave the great adventure, and to risk all for the chance of bringing
back with them some assurance of the future life. Naturally these
ventures passed into tradition with the men who risked them. The early
races of men became semi-mythic, their beliefs, their experiences,
receded into a land of mist, where their figures assumed fantastic
outlines, and the record of their deeds departed more and more widely
from historic accuracy.
The poets and dreamers wove their magic webs, and a world apart from
the world of actual experience came to life. But it was not all myth,
nor all fantasy; there was a basis of truth and reality at the
foundation of the mystic growth, and a true criticism will not rest
content with wandering in these enchanted lands, and holding all it
meets with for the outcome of human imagination.
The truth may lie very deep down, but it is there, and it is worth
seeking, and Celtic fairy-tales, charming as they are, can never afford
a satisfactory, or abiding, resting place. I, for one, utterly refuse
to accept such as an adequate goal for a life’s research. A path that
leads but into a Celtic Twilight can only be a by-path, and not the
King’s Highway!
The Grail romances repose eventually, not upon a poet’s imagination,
but upon the ruins of an august and ancient ritual, a ritual which once
claimed to be the accredited guardian of the deepest secrets of Life.
Driven from its high estate by the relentless force of religious
evolution—for after all Adonis, Attis, and their congeners, were but
the ‘half-gods’ who must needs yield place when ‘the Gods’ themselves
arrive—it yet lingered on; openly, in Folk practice, in Fast and Feast,
whereby the well-being of the land might be assured; secretly, in cave
or mountain-fastness, or island isolation, where those who craved for a
more sensible (not necessarily sensuous) contact with the unseen
Spiritual forces of Life than the orthodox development of Christianity
afforded, might, and did, find satisfaction.
Were the Templars such? Had they, when in the East, come into touch
with a survival of the Naassene, or some kindred sect? It seems
exceedingly probable. If it were so we could understand at once the
puzzling connection of the Order with the Knights of the Grail, and the
doom which fell upon them. That they were held to be Heretics is very
generally admitted, but in what their Heresy consisted no one really
knows; little credence can be attached to the stories of idol worship
often repeated. If their Heresy, however, were such as indicated above,
a Creed which struck at the very root and vitals of Christianity, we
can understand at once the reason for punishment, and the necessity for
secrecy. In the same way we can now understand why the Church knows
nothing of the Grail; why that Vessel, surrounded as it is with an
atmosphere of reverence and awe, equated with the central Sacrament of
the Christian Faith, yet appears in no Legendary, is figured in no
picture, comes on the scene in no Passion Play. The Church of the
eleventh and twelfth centuries knew well what the Grail was, and we,
when we realize its genesis and true lineage, need no longer wonder why
a theme, for some short space so famous and so fruitful a source of
literary inspiration, vanished utterly and completely from the world of
literature.
Were Grail romances forbidden? Or were they merely discouraged?
Probably we shall never know, but of this one thing we may be sure, the
Grail is a living force, it will never die; it may indeed sink out of
sight, and, for centuries even, disappear from the field of literature,
but it will rise to the surface again, and become once more a theme of
vital inspiration even as, after slumbering from the days of Malory, it
woke to new life in the nineteenth century, making its fresh appeal
through the genius of Tennyson and Wagner.
CHAPTER XIV The AuthorCHAPTER XIV
The Author
Having now completed our survey of the various elements which have
entered into the composite fabric of the Grail Legend, the question
naturally arises where, and when, did that legend assume romantic form,
and to whom should we ascribe its literary origin?
On these crucial points the evidence at our disposal is far from
complete, and we can do little more than offer suggestions towards the
solution of the problem.
With regard to the first point, that of locality, the evidence is
unmistakably in favour of a Celtic, specifically a Welsh, source. As a
literary theme the Grail is closely connected with the Arthurian
tradition. The protagonist is one of Arthur’s knights, and the hero of
the earlier version, Gawain, is more closely connected with Arthur than
are his successors, Perceval and Galahad. The Celtic origin of both
Gawain and Perceval is beyond doubt; and the latter is not merely a
Celt, but is definitely Welsh; he is always ‘li Gallois.’ Galahad I
hold to be a literary, and not a traditional, hero; he is the product
of deliberate literary invention, and has no existence outside the
frame of the later cyclic redactions. It is not possible at the present
moment to say whether the _Queste_ was composed in the British Isles,
or on the continent, but we may safely lay it down as a basic principle
that the original Grail heroes are of insular origin, and that the
Grail legend, in its romantic, and literary, form is closely connected
with British pseudo-historical tradition.
The beliefs and practices of which, if the theory maintained in these
pages be correct, the Grail stories offer a more or less coherent
survival can be shown, on the evidence of historic monuments, and
surviving Folk-customs, to have been popular throughout the area of the
British Isles; while, with regard to the higher teaching of which I
hold these practices to have been the vehicle, Pliny comments upon the
similarity existing between the ancient Magian Gnosis and the Druidical
Gnosis of Gaul and Britain, an indication which, in the dearth of
accurate information concerning the teaching of the Druids, is of
considerable value.[1]
As we noted in the previous chapter, an interesting parallel exists
between Wales, and localities, such as the Alps, and the Vosges, where
we have definite proof that these Mystery cults lingered on after they
had disappeared from public celebration. The Chart appended to Cumont’s
_Monuments de Mithra_ shows Mithraic remains in precisely the locality
where we have reason to believe certain of the _Gawain_ and _Perceval_
stories to have originated.
As to the date of origin, that, of course, is closely connected with
the problem of authorship; if we can, with any possibility, identify
the author we can approximately fix the date. So far as the literary
evidence is concerned, we have no trace of the story before the twelfth
century, but when we do meet with it, it is already in complete, and
crystallized, form. More, there is already evidence of competing
versions; we have no existing Grail romance which we can claim to be
free from contamination, and representing in all respects the original
form.
There is no need here to go over old, and well-trodden, ground; in my
studies of the _Perceval_ Legend, and in the later popular _résumé_ of
the evidence,[2] _The Quest of the Holy Grail_, I have analysed the
texts, and shown that, while the poem of Chrétien de Troyes is our
earliest surviving literary version, there is the strongest possible
evidence that Chrétien, as he himself admits, was not inventing, but
re-telling, an already popular tale.[3] The Grail Quest was a theme
which had been treated not once nor twice, but of which numerous, and
conflicting, versions were already current, and, when Wauchier de
Denain undertook to complete Chrétien’s unfinished work, he drew
largely upon these already existing forms, regardless of the fact that
they not only contradicted the version they were ostensibly completing,
but were impossible to harmonize with each other.
It is of importance for our investigation, however, to note that where
Wauchier does refer to a definite source, it is to an evidently
important and already famous collection of tales, _Le Grant Conte_,
comprising several ‘Branches,’ the hero of the collection being not
Chrétien’s hero, Perceval, but Gawain, who, both in pseudo-historic and
romantic tradition, is far more closely connected with the Arthurian
legend, occupying, as he does, the traditional position of nephew,
Sister’s Son, to the monarch who is the centre of the cycle; even as
Cuchullinn is sister’s son to Conchobar, Diarmid to Finn, Tristan to
Mark, and Roland to Charlemagne. In fact this relationship was so
obviously required by tradition that we find Perceval figuring now as
sister’s son to Arthur, now to the Grail King, according as the
Arthurian, or the Grail, tradition dominates the story.[4]
The actual existence of such a group of tales as those referred to by
Wauchier derives confirmation from our surviving _Gawain_ poems, as
well as from the references in the _Elucidation_, and on the evidence
at our disposal I have ventured to suggest the hypothesis of a group of
poems, dealing with the adventures of Gawain, his son, and brother, the
_ensemble_ being originally known as _The Geste of Syr Gawayne_, a
title which, in the inappropriate form _The Jest of Sir Gawain_, is
preserved in the English version of that hero’s adventure with the
sister of Brandelis.[5] So keen a critic as Dr Brugger has not
hesitated to accept the theory of the existence of this _Geste_, and is
of opinion that the German poem _Diû Crône_ may, in part at least, be
derived from this source.
The central adventure ascribed to Gawain in this group of tales is
precisely the visit to the Grail Castle to which we have already
referred, and we have pointed out that the manner in which it is
related, its directness, simplicity, and conformity with what we know
of the Mystery teaching presumably involved, taken in connection with
the personality of the hero, and his position in Arthurian romantic
tradition, appear to warrant us in assigning to it the position of
priority among the conflicting versions we possess.
At two points in the re-telling of these _Gawain_ tales Wauchier
definitely refers to the author by name, Bleheris. On the second
occasion he states categorically that this Bleheris was of Welsh birth
and origin, _né et engenuïs en Galles_, and that he told the tale in
connection with which the statement is made to a certain Comte de
Poitiers, whose favourite story it was, he loved it above all others,
which would imply that it was not the only tale Bleheris had told
him.[6]
As we have seen in a previous chapter, the _Elucidation_ prefaces its
account of the Grail Quest by a solemn statement of the gravity of the
subject to be treated, and a warning of the penalties which would
follow on a careless revelation of the secret. These warnings are put
into the mouth of a certain Master Blihis, concerning whom we hear no
more. A little further on in the poem we meet with a knight,
Blihos-Bliheris, who, made prisoner by Gawain, reveals to Arthur and
his court the identity of the maidens wandering in the woods, of the
Fisher King, and the Grail, and is so good a story-teller that none can
weary of listening to his tales.[7]
Again, in the fragmentary remains of Thomas’s _Tristan_ we have a
passage in which the poet refers, as source, to a certain Bréri, who
knew “all the feats, and all the tales, of all the kings, and all the
counts who had lived in Britain.”[8]
Finally, Giraldus Cambrensis refers to _famosus ille fabulator_,
Bledhericus, who had lived “shortly before our time” and whose renown
he evidently takes for granted was familiar to his readers.
Now are we to hold that the Bleheris who, according to Wauchier, had
told tales concerning Gawain, and Arthur’s court, one of whic tales was
certainly the Grail adventure; the Master Blihis, who knew the Grail
mystery, and gave solemn warning against its revelation; the
Blihos-Bliheris, who knew the Grail, and many other tales; the Bréri,
who knew all the legendary tales concerning the princes of Britain; and
the famous story-teller Bledhericus, of whom Giraldus speaks, are
distinct and separate personages, or mere inventions of the separate
writers, or do all these passages refer to one and the same individual,
who, in that case, may well have deserved the title _famosus ille
fabulator?_
With regard to the attitude taken up by certain critics, that no
evidential value can be attached to these references, I would point out
that when Medieval writers quote an authority for their statements
they, as a rule, refer to a writer whose name carries weight, and will
impress their readers; they are offering a guarantee for the
authenticity of their statements. The special attribution may be purely
fictitious but the individual referred to enjoys an established
reputation. Thus, the later cyclic redactions of the Arthurian romances
are largely attributed to Walter Map, who, in view of his public
position, and political activities, could certainly never have had the
leisure to compose one half of the literature with which he is
credited! In the same way Robert de Borron, Chrétien de Troyes, Wolfram
von Eschenbach, are all referred to as sources without any
justification in fact. Nor is it probable that Wauchier, who wrote on
the continent, and who, if he be really Wauchier de Denain, was under
the patronage of the Count of Flanders, would have gone out of his way
to invent a Welsh source.
Judging from analogy, the actual existence of a personage named
Bleheris, who enjoyed a remarkable reputation as a story-teller, is,
_prima facie_, extremely probable.[9]
But are these references independent, was there more than one Bleheris?
I think not. The name is a proper, and not a family, name. In the
latter case it might be possible to argue that we were dealing with
separate members of a family, or group, of bardic poets, whose office
it was to preserve, and relate, the national legends. But we are
dealing with variants of a proper name, and that of distinctly insular,
and Welsh origin.[10]
The original form, Bledri, was by no means uncommon in Wales: from that
point of view there might well have been four or five, or even more, of
that name, but that each and all of these should have possessed the
same qualifications, should have been equally well versed in popular
traditions, equally dowered with the gift of story-telling, on equally
friendly terms with the Norman invaders, and equally possessed of such
a knowledge of the French language as should permit them to tell their
stories in that tongue, is, I submit, highly improbable. This latter
point, _i.e._, the knowledge of French, seems to me to be of crucial
importance. Given the relations between conqueror and conquered, and
the _intransigeant_ character of Welsh patriotism, the men who were on
sufficiently friendly terms with the invaders to be willing to relate
the national legends, with an assurance of finding a sympathetic
hearing, must have been few and far between. I do not think the
importance of this point has been sufficiently grasped by critics.
The problem then is to find a Welshman who, living at the end of the
eleventh and commencement of the twelfth centuries, was well versed in
the legendary lore of Britain; was of sufficiently good social status
to be well received at court; possessed a good knowledge of the French
tongue; and can be shown to have been on friendly terms with the Norman
nobles.
Mr Edward Owen, of the Cymmrodorion Society, has suggested that a
certain Welsh noble, Bledri ap Cadivor, fulfils, in a large measure,
the conditions required. Some years ago I published in the _Revue
Celtique_ a letter in which Mr Owen summarized the evidence at his
disposal. As the review in question may not be easily accessible to
some of my readers I will recapitulate the principal points.[11]
The father of Bledri, Cadivor, was a great personage in West Wales, and
is looked upon as the ancestor of the most important families in the
ancient Dyfed, a division now represented by Pembrokeshire, and the
Western portion of Carmarthen. (We may note here that the traditional
tomb of Gawain is at Ross in Pembrokeshire, and that there is reason to
believe that the _Perceval_ story, in its earliest form, was connected
with that locality.)
Cadivor had three sons, of whom Bledri was the eldest; thus, at his
father’s death, he would be head of this ancient and distinguished
family. At the division of the paternal estates Bledri inherited, as
his share, lands ranging along the right bank of the lower Towey, and
the coast of South Pembrokeshire, extending as far as Manorbeer, the
birthplace of Giraldus Cambrensis. (This is again a geographical
indication which should be borne in mind.) Cadivor himself appears to
have been on friendly terms with the Normans; he is said to have
entertained William the Conqueror on his visit to St David’s in 1080,
while every reference we have to Bledri shows him in close connection
with the invaders.
Thus, in 1113 the _Brut-y-Tywysogion_ mentions his name as ally of the
Norman knights in their struggle to maintain their ground in, and
around, Carmarthen. In 1125 we find his name as donor of lands to the
Augustinian Church of St John the Evangelist, and St Theuloc of
Carmarthen, newly founded by Henry I. Here his name appears with the
significant title _Latinarius_ (The Interpreter), a qualification
repeated in subsequent charters of the same collection. In one of these
we find Griffith, the son of Bledri, confirming his father’s gift.
Professor Lloyd, in an article in _Archaeologia Cambrensis_, July 1907,
has examined these charters, and considers the grant to have been made
between 1129 and 1134, the charter itself being of the reign of Henry
I, 1101-1135.[12]
In the Pipe Roll of Henry I, 1131, Bledri’s name is entered as debtor
for a fine incurred by the killing of a Fleming by his men; while a
highly significant entry records the fine of 7 marks imposed upon a
certain Bleddyn of Mabedrud and his brothers for outraging Bledri’s
daughter. When we take into consideration the rank of Bledri, this
insult to his family by a fellow Welshman would seem to indicate that
his relations with his compatriots were not of a specially friendly
character.
Mr Owen also points out that portion of the _Brut-y-Tywysogion_ which
covers the years 1101-20 (especially the events of the year 1113, where
we find Bledri, and other friendly Welsh nobles, holding the castle of
Carmarthen for the Normans against the Welsh), is related at an
altogether disproportionate length, and displays a strong bias in
favour of the invaders. The year just referred to, for instance,
occupies more than twice the space assigned to any other year. Mr Owen
suggests that here Bledri himself may well have been the chronicler; a
hypothesis which, if he really be the author we are seeking, is quite
admissible.
So far as indications of date are concerned, Bledri probably lived
between the years 1070-1150. His father Cadivor died in 1089, and his
lands were divided between his sons of whom Bledri, as we have seen,
was the eldest. Thus they cannot have been children at that date;
Bledri, at least, would have been born before 1080. From the evidence
of the Pipe Roll we know that he was living in 1131. The charter signed
by his son, confirmatory of his grant, must have been subsequent to
1148, as it was executed during the Episcopate of David, Bishop of St
David’s 1148-1176. Thus the period of 80 years suggested above
(1070-1150) may be taken as covering the extreme limit to be assigned
to his life, and activity.
The passage in which Giraldus Cambrensis refers to _Bledhericus,
famosus ille fabulator who tempora nostra paulo praevenit_, was written
about 1194; thus it might well refer to a man who had died some 40 or
50 years previously. As we have noted above, Giraldus was born upon
ground forming a part of Bledri’s ancestral heritage, and thus might
well be familiar with his fame.
The evidence is of course incomplete, but it does provide us with a
personality fulfilling the main conditions of a complex problem. Thus,
we have a man of the required name, and nationality; living at an
appropriate date; of the requisite social position; on excellent terms
with the French nobles, and so well acquainted with their language as
to sign himself officially ‘The Interpreter.’ We have no direct
evidence of his literary skill, or knowledge of the traditional history
of his country, but a man of his birth could scarcely have failed to
possess the latter, while certain peculiarities in that section of the
national Chronicle which deals with the aid given by him to the Norman
invaders would seem to indicate that Bledri himself may well have been
responsible for the record. Again, we know him to have been closely
connected with the locality from which came the writer who refers to
the famous story-teller of the same name. I would submit that we have
here quite sufficient evidence to warrant us in accepting Bledri ap
Cadivor as, at least, the possible author of the romantic Grail
tradition. In any case, so far, there is no other candidate in the
field.[13]
Shortly after the publication of the second volume of my _Perceval_
studies, I received a letter from Professor Singer, in which, after
expressing his general acceptance of the theories there advanced, in
especial of the suggested date and relation of the different versions,
which he characterized as “_sehr gelungen, und zu meiner Alffassung der
Entwickelung der Altfranzösischen Literatur sehr zu stimmen_,” he
proceeded to comment upon the probable character of the literary
activity of Bleheris. His remarks are so interesting and suggestive
that I venture to submit them for the consideration of my readers.
Professor Singer points out that in Eilhart von Oberge’s _Tristan_ we
find the name in the form of _Pleherin_ attached to a knight of
_Mark’s_ court. The same name in a slightly varied form, _Pfelerin_,
occurs in the _Tristan_ of Heinrich von Freiberg; both poems, Professor
Singer considers, are derived from a French original. Under a compound
form, _Blihos_, (or _Blio_)-_Bliheris_, he appears, in the
_Gawain-Grail_ compilation, as a knight at _Arthur’s_ court. Now
_Bréri-Blihis-Bleheris_ is referred to as authority alike in the
_Tristan_, _Grail_ and _Gawain_ tradition, and Professor Singer makes
the interesting suggestion that these references are originally due to
Bleheris himself, who not only told the stories in the third person (a
common device at that period, _v_. Chrétien’s _Erec_, and Gerbert’s
continuation of the _Perceval_), but also introduced himself as
eye-witness of, and actor, in a subordinate _rôle_, in, the incidents
he recorded. Thus in the Tristan he is a knight of Mark’s, in the
_Elucidation_ and the _Gawain_ stories a knight of Arthur’s, court.
Professor Singer instances the case of Dares in the _De exidio Trojae_,
and Bishop Pilgrim of Passau in the lost _Nibelungias_ of his secretary
Konrad, as illustrations of the theory.
If this be the case such a statement as that which we find in Wauchier,
regarding Bleheris’s birth and origin, would have emanated from
Bleheris himself, and simply been taken over by the later writer from
his source; he incorporated the whole tale of the shield as it stood, a
quite natural and normal proceeding.[14] Again, this suggestion would
do away with the necessity for postulating a certain lapse of time
before the story-teller Bleheris could be converted into an Arthurian
knight—the two _rôles_, _Gewährsmann und Mithandelnden_, as Professor
Singer expresses it, are coincident in date. I would also suggest that
the double form, _Blihos-Bliheris_, would have been adopted by the
author himself, to indicate the identity of the two, Blihis, and
Bleheris. It is worthy of note that, when dealing directly with the
Grail, he assumes the title of _Master_, which would seem to indicate
that here he claimed to speak with special authority.
I sent the letter in question to the late Mr Alfred Nutt, who was
forcibly struck with the possibilities involved in the suggestion, the
full application of which he thought the writer had not grasped. I
quote the following passages from the long letter I received from him
in return.
“Briefly put we presuppose the existence of a set of semi-dramatic,
semi-narrative, poems, in which a Bledri figures as an active, and at
the same time a recording, personage. Now that such a body of
literature _may_ have existed we are entitled to assume from the fact
that two such have survived, one from Wales, in the Llywarch Hen cycle,
the other from Ireland, in the Finn Saga. In both cases, the fact that
the descriptive poems are put in the mouth, in Wales of Llywarch, in
Ireland largely of Oisin, led to the ascription at an early date of the
whole literature to Llywarch and Oisin. It is therefore conceivable
that a Welsh ‘littérateur,’ familiar as he must have been with the
Llywarch, and as he quite possibly was with the Oisin, instance, should
cast his version of the Arthurian stories in a similar form, and that
the facts noted by you and Singer may be thus explained.”
Now that both Professor Singer (who has an exceptionally wide knowledge
of Medieval literature), and the late Mr Alfred Nutt, knew what they
were talking about, does not need to be emphasized, and the fact that
two such competent authorities should agree upon a possible solution of
a puzzling literary problem, makes that solution worthy of careful
consideration; it would certainly have the merit of simplifying the
question and deserves to be placed upon record.
But while it would of course be far more satisfactory could one
definitely place, and label, the man to whom we owe the original
conception which gave birth and impetus to this immortal body of
literature, yet the precise identity of the author of the earliest
Grail romance is of the accident, rather than the essence, of our
problem. Whether Bleheris the Welshman be, or be not, identical with
Bledri ap Cadivor, Interpreter, and friend of the Norman nobles, the
general hypothesis remains unaffected and may be thus summarized—
The Grail story is not _du fond en comble_ the product of imagination,
literary or popular. At its root lies the record, more or less
distorted, of an ancient Ritual, having for its ultimate object the
initiation into the secret of the sources of Life, physical and
spiritual. This ritual, in its lower, exoteric, form, as affecting the
processes of Nature, and physical life, survives to-day, and can be
traced all over the world, in Folk ceremonies, which, however widely
separated the countries in which they are found, show a surprising
identity of detail and intention. In its esoteric ‘Mystery’ form it was
freely utilized for the imparting of high spiritual teaching concerning
the relation of Man to the Divine Source of his being, and the
possibility of a sensible union between Man, and God. The recognition
of the cosmic activities of the Logos appears to have been a
characteristic feature of this teaching, and when Christianity came
upon the scene it did not hesitate to utilize the already existing
medium of instruction, but boldly identified the Deity of Vegetation,
regarded as Life Principle, with the God of the Christian Faith. Thus,
to certain of the early Christians, Attis was but an earlier
manifestation of the Logos, Whom they held identical with Christ. The
evidence of the Naassene document places this beyond any shadow of
doubt, and is of inestimable value as establishing a link between
pre-Christian, and Christian, Mystery tradition.
This curious synthetic belief, united as it was with the highly popular
cult of Mithra, travelled with the foreign legionaries, adherents of
that cult, to the furthest bounds of the Roman Empire, and when the
struggle between Mithraism and Christianity ended in the definite
triumph of the latter, by virtue of that dual synthetic nature, the
higher ritual still survived, and was celebrated in sites removed from
the centres of population—in caves, and mountain fastnesses; in
islands, and on desolate sea-coasts.
The earliest version of the Grail story, represented by our Bleheris
form, relates the visit of a wandering knight to one of these hidden
temples; his successful passing of the test into the lower grade of
Life initiation, his failure to attain to the highest degree. It
matters little whether it were the record of an actual, or of a
possible, experience; the casting into romantic form of an event which
the story-teller knew to have happened, had, perchance, actually
witnessed; or the objective recital of what he knew _might_ have
occurred; the essential fact is that the _mise-en-scène_ of the story,
the nomenclature, the march of incident, the character of the tests,
correspond to what we know from independent sources of the details of
this Nature Ritual. The Grail Quest was actually possible then, it is
actually possible to-day, for the indication of two of our romances as
to the final location of the Grail is not imagination, but the record
of actual fact.
As first told the story preserved its primal character of a composite
between Christianity and the Nature Ritual, as witnessed by the
ceremony over the bier of the Dead Knight, the procession with Cross
and incense, and the solemn Vespers for the Dead. This, I suspect,
correctly represents the final stage of the process by which
Attis-Adonis was identified with Christ. Thus, in its first form the
story was the product of conscious intention.
But when the tale was once fairly launched as a romantic tale, and came
into the hands of those unfamiliar with its Ritual origin (though the
fact that it had such an origin was probably well understood), the
influence of the period came into play. The Crusades, and the
consequent traffic in relics, especially in relics of the Passion,
caused the identification of the sex Symbols, Lance and Cup, with the
Weapon of the Crucifixion, and the Cup of the Last Supper; but the
Christianization was merely external, the tale, as a whole, retaining
its pre-Christian character.
The conversion into a definitely Christian romance seems to have been
due to two causes. First, the rivalry between the two great monastic
houses of Glastonbury and Fescamp, the latter of which was already in
possession of a genuine _Saint-Sang_ relic, and fully developed
tradition. There is reason to suppose that the initial combination of
the Grail and _Saint-Sang_ traditions took place at Fescamp, and was
the work of some member of the minstrel Guild attached to that Abbey.
But the Grail tradition was originally British; Glastonbury was from
time immemorial a British sanctuary; it was the reputed burial place of
Arthur, of whose court the Grail Quest was the crowning adventure; the
story must be identified with British soil. Consequently a version was
composed, now represented by our _Perlesvaus_ text, in which the union
of Nicodemus of Fescamp, and Joseph of Glastonbury, fame, as ancestors
of the Grail hero, offers a significant hint of the _provenance_ of the
version.
Secondly, a no less important element in the process was due to the
conscious action of Robert de Borron, who well understood the character
of his material, and radically remodelled the whole on the basis of the
triple Mystery tradition translated into terms of high Christian
Mysticism. A notable feature of Borron’s version is his utilization of
the tradition of the final Messianic Feast, in combination with his
Eucharistic symbolism, a combination thoroughly familiar to early
Christian Mystics.
Once started on a definitely romantic career, the Grail story rapidly
became a complex of originally divergent themes, the most important
stage in its development being the incorporation of the popular tale of
the Widow’s Son, brought up in the wilderness, and launched into the
world in a condition of absolute ignorance of men, and manners. The
_Perceval_ story is a charming story, but it has originally nothing
whatever to do with the Grail. The original tale, now best represented
by our English _Syr Percyvelle of Galles_, has no trace of Mystery
element; it is Folk-lore, pure and simple. I believe the connection
with the Grail legend to be purely fortuitous, and due to the fact that
the hero of the Folk-tale was known as ‘The Widow’s Son,’ which he
actually was, while this title represented in Mystery terminology a
certain grade of Initiation, and as such is preserved to-day in Masonic
ritual.[15]
Finally the rising tide of dogmatic Medievalism, with its crassly
materialistic view of the Eucharist; its insistence on the saving grace
of asceticism and celibacy; and its scarcely veiled contempt for women,
overwhelmed the original conception. Certain of the features of the
ancient ritual indeed survive, but they are factors of confusion,
rather than clues to enlightenment. Thus, while the Grail still retains
its character of a Feeding Vessel, comes and goes without visible
agency, and supplies each knight with ‘such food and drink as he best
loved in the world,’ it is none the less the Chalice of the Sacred
Blood, and critics are sorely put to it to harmonize these conflicting
aspects. In the same way Galahad’s grandfather still bears the title of
the Rich Fisher, and there are confused references to a Land laid Waste
as the result of a Dolorous Stroke.
But while the terminology lingers on to our perplexity the characters
involved lie outside the march of the story; practically no trace of
the old Nature Ritual survives in the final _Queste_ form. The
remodelling is so radical that it seems most reasonable to conclude
that it was purposeful, that the original author of the _Queste_ had a
very clear idea of the real nature of the Grail, and was bent upon a
complete restatement in terms of current orthodoxy. I advisedly use
this term, as I see no trace in the _Queste_ of a genuine Mystic
conception, such as that of Borron. So far as criticism of the
literature is concerned I adhere to my previously expressed opinion
that the _Queste_ should be treated rather as a _Lancelot_ than as a
_Grail_ romance. It is of real importance in the evolution of the
Arthurian romantic cycle; as a factor in determining the true character
and origins of the Grail legend it is worse than useless; what remains
of the original features is so fragmentary, and so distorted, that any
attempt to use the version as basis for argument, or comparison, can
only introduce a further element of confusion into an already more than
sufficiently involved problem.
I am also still of opinion that the table of descent given on p. 283 of
Volume II. of my _Perceval_ studies, represents the most probable
evolution of the literature; at the same time, in the light of further
research, I should feel inclined to add the Grail section of _Sone de
Nansai_ as deriving from the same source which gave us Kiot’s poem, and
the _Perlesvaus_.[16] As evidence for a French original combining
important features of these two versions, and at the same time
retaining unmistakably archaic elements which have disappeared from
both, I hold this section of the poem to be of extreme value for the
criticism of the cycle.
While there are still missing links in the chain of descent, versions
to be reconstructed, writers to be identified, I believe that in its
_ensemble_ the theory set forth in these pages will be found to be the
only one which will satisfactorily meet all the conditions of the
problem; which will cover the whole ground of investigation, omitting
no element, evading no difficulty; which will harmonize apparently
hopeless contradictions, explain apparently meaningless terminology,
and thus provide a secure foundation for the criticism of a body of
literature as important as it is fascinating.
The study and the criticism of the Grail literature will possess an
even deeper interest, a more absorbing fascination, when it is
definitely recognized that we possess in that literature a unique
example of the restatement of an ancient and august Ritual in terms of
imperishable Romance.
NOTES
CHAPTER IICHAPTER II
[1] MS. Bibl. Nat., f. Franç. 12576 fo. 90.
[2] _Ibid_. fo. 90_vo_, 91.
[3] _Diû Crône_ (ed. Stoll, Stuttgart, 1852). Cf. _Sir Gawain of the
Grail Castle_ for both versions.
[4] Cf. MS. B.N. 12576, fo. 154.
[5] _Perceval_, ed. Hucher, p. 466; Modena, p. 61.
[6] Cf. Hucher, p. 482; Modena, p. 82.
[7] _Perceval li Gallois_, ed. Potvin, ll. 6048-52.
[8] _Ib_. ll. 6056-60.
[9] Potvin, Vol. I. p. 15.
[10] _Ib_. p. 26.
[11] _Ib_. p. 86.
[12] _Ib_. pp. 176, 178.
[13] MS. B.N. 12576, ff. 221-222vo.
[14] _Mabinogion_, ed. Nutt, p. 282.
[15] Cf. _Peredur_ (ed. Nutt), pp. 282, 291-92.
[16] _Parzival_, Book v. ll. 947-50.
[17] _Ib_. Book VI. ll. 1078-80.
[18] _Parzival_, Book XVI, ll 275-86.
[19] Cf. _Morte Arthure_, Malory, Book XVII. Chap. 18. Note the remark
of Mordrains that his flesh which has waxen old shall become young
again.
[20] _Parzival_, Bk. IX. ll. 1388-92.
[21] _Sone de Nansai_ (ed. Goldschmidt, Stuttgart, 1899), ll 4775-76.
[22] _Sone de Nansai_, ll. 4841-56.
[23] It is evidently such a version as that of _Sone de Nansai_, and
_Parzival_, which underlies the curious statement of the _Merlin_ MS.
B.N. f. Fr. 337, where the wife of the Fisher King is known as ‘la Veve
Dame,’ while her husband is yet in life, though sorely wounded.
CHAPTER IIICHAPTER III
[1] Cf. _Rig-Veda Sanhita_, trans. H. H. Wilson, 6 vols. 1854-1888.
Vol. I. p. 88, v. 12. 172, v. 8 206, v. 10 Vol. III. p. 157, vv. 2, 5,
7, 8.
[2] _Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Geschichte_, Vols.
XXXVII. and XXXIX.
[3] Cf. _Le Théatre Indien_, Paris, 1890.
[4] Cf. _Wiener Zeitsch, für die Kunde des Morgenlandes_, Vol. XVIII.
1904.
[5] Leipzig, 1908.
[6] _Op. cit_. p. 105.
[7] _Ib_. p. 230.
[8] _Ib_. p. 292, for sources, and variants of tale.
[9] On this point cf. Cornford, _Origin of Attic Comedy_, pp. 8, 78,
for importance of this feature.
[10] _Op. cit_. pp. 161-170, for general discussion of question, and
summary of authorities. Also pp. 297 _et seq_.
[11] Cf. _Legend of Sir Peceval_, Vol. I. Chapter 3.
[12] MS. Bibl. Nat., f. Fr. 12576, fo. 173. Cf. also _Legend of Sir
Perceval_, I. Chap. 4.
[13] Malory, _Le Morte Arthure_, Book XIV. Chaps. 8 and 9. Potvin, ll.
40420 _et seq_.
CHAPTER IVCHAPTER IV
[1] Cf. Frazer, _Adonis, Attis, Osiris_, p. 5.
[2] In this connection not only the epoch-making works of Mannhardt and
Frazer, which are more specifically devoted to an examination of
Folk-belief and practice should be studied, but also works such as _The
Mediaeval Stage_, E. K. Chambers; _Themis_, J. E. Harrison; _The Origin
of Attic Comedy_, F. Cornford; and Sir Gilbert Murray’s essay on the
evolution of the Greek Drama, published in Miss Harrison’s _Themis_.
The cumulative evidence is most striking.
[3] A full study of this evolutionary process will be found in Miss
Harrison’s _Themis, A Study of Greek Social Origins_, referred to
above.
[4] Baudissin, in his exhaustive study of these cults, _Adonis und
Esmun_, comes to the conclusion that Tammuz and Adonis are different
gods, owing their origin to a common parent deity. Where the original
conception arose is doubtful; whether in Babylon, in Canaan, or in a
land where the common ancestors of Phoenicians and Babylonian Semites
formed an original unit.
[5] Cf. _Tammuz and Ishtar_, S. Langdon, p. 5.
[6] It may be well to note here the the ‘Life’ deity has no proper
name; he is only known by an appellative; _Damu-zi, Damu_, ‘faithful
son,’ or ‘son and consort,’ is only a general epithet, which designates
the dying god in a theological aspect, just as the name _Adōni_, ‘my
lord,’ certainly replaced a more specific name for the god of Byblos.
_Esmun_ of Sidon, another type of Adonis, is a title only, and means
simply, ‘the name.’ Cf. Langdon, _op. cit_. p. 7. Cf. this with
previous passages on the evolution of the Greek idea from a nameless
entity to a definite god. Mr Langdon’s remarks on the evolution of the
Tammuz cult should be carefully studied in view of the theory
maintained by Sir W. Ridgeway—that the Vegetation deities were all of
them originally men.
[7] From a liturgy employed at Nippur in the period of the Isin
dynasty. Langdon, _op. cit_. p. 11. Also, _Sumerian and Babylonian
Psalms_, p. 338.
[8] Cf. Langdon, _Tammuz and Ishtar_, p. 23.
[9] What we have been able to ascertain of the Sumerian-Babylonian
religion points to it rather as a religion of mourning and
supplication, than of joy and thanksgiving. The people seem to have
been in perpetual dread of their gods, who require to be appeased by
continual acts of humiliation. Thus the 9th, 15th, 19th, 28th, and 29th
of the month were all days of sack-cloth and ashes, days of wailing;
the 19th especially was ‘the day of the wrath of Gulu.’
[10] Cf. Langdon, _op. cit_. p. 24.
[11] Cf. Langdon, _op. cit_. p. 26.
[12] The most complete enquiry into the nature of the god is to be
found in Baudissin, _Adonis und Esmun_. For the details of the cult cf.
Farnell, _Cults of the Greek States_, Vol. II.; Vellay, _Adonis_
(_Annales du Musée Guimet_). For the Folk-lore evidence cf. Mannhardt,
_Wald un Feld-Kulte;_ Frazer, _The Golden Bough_, and _Adonis, Attis
and Osiris_. These remarks apply also to the kindred cult of Attis,
which as we shall see later forms an important link in our chain of
evidence. The two cults are practically identical and scholars are
frequently at a loss to which group surviving fragments of the ritual
should be assigned.
[13] In this connection note the extremely instructive remarks of Miss
Harrison in the chapter on Herakles in the work referred to above. She
points out that the _Eniautos Daimon_ never becomes entirely and
Olympian, but always retains traces of his ‘Earth’ origin. This
principle is particularly well illustrated by Adonis, who, though,
admitted to Olympus as the lover of Aphrodite, is yet by this very
nature forced to return to the earth, and descend to the realm of
Persephone. This agrees well with the conclusion reached by Baudissin
(_Adonis und Esmun_, p. 71) that Adonis belongs to “einer Klasse von
Wesen sehr unbestimmter Art, die wohl über den Menschen aber unter den
grossen Göttern stehen.”
[14] Cf. Vellay, _op. cit_. p. 93. Dulaure, _Des Divinités
Génératrices_. If Baudissin is correct, and the introduction of the
Boar a later addition to the story, it would seem to indicate the
intrusion of a phallic element into ritual which at first, like that of
Tammuz, dealt merely with the death of the god. The Attis form, on the
contrary, appears to have been phallic from the first. Cf. Baudissin,
_Adonis und Esmun_, p. 160.
[15] _Op. cit_. p. 83.
[16] Cf. L. von Schroeder, _Vollendung den Arischen Mysterium_, p. 14.
[17] It may be well to explain the exact meaning attached to these
terms by the author. In Professor von Schroeder’s view _Mysterium_ may
be held to connote a drama in which the gods themselves are actors;
_Mimus_ on the contrary, is the term applied to a drama which treats of
the doings of mortals.
[18] _Op. cit_. Vol. II. p. 647.
[19] _Op. cit_. p. 115. Much of the uncertainty as to date is doubtless
due to the reflective influence of other forms of the cult; the Tammuz
celebrations were held from June 20th, to July 20th, when the Dog-star
Sirius was in the ascendant, and vegetation failed beneath the heat of
the summer sun. In other, and more temperate, climates the date would
fall later. Where, however, the cult was an off-shoot of a Tammuz
original (as might be the case through emigration) the tendency would
be to retain the original date.
[20] Cf. Vellay, _op. cit_. p. 55; Mannhardt, Vol. II. pp. 277-78, for
a description of the feast. With regard to the order and sequence of
the celebration cf. Miss Harrison’s remark, _Themis_, p. 415: “In the
cyclic monotony of the _Eniautos Daimon_ it matters little whether
Death follows Resurrection, or Resurrection, Death.”
[21] Cf. Mannhardt, _supra_, p. —-.
[22] Cf. Vellay, _op. cit_. p. 103. This seems also to have been the
case with Tammuz, cf. Ezekiel, Chap. viii. v. 14.
[23] Cf. Frazer, _The Golden Bough_, under heading _Adonis_.
[24] Vellay, p. 130, Mannahrdt, Vol. II. p. 287; note the writer’s
suggestion that the women here represent the goddess, the stranger, the
risen Adonis.
[25] Cf. Vellay, p. 93.
[26] _Vide supra_, pp. —-. —-.
[27] _Supra_, p. 21.
[28] Cf. Potvin, appendix to Vol. III.; _Sir Gawain and the Grail
Castle_, pp. 41, 44, and note.
[29] My use of this parallel has been objected to on the ground that
the prose _Lancelot_ is a late text, and therefore cannot be appealed
to as evidence for original incidents. But the _Lancelot_ in its
original form was held by so competent an authority as the late M.
Gaston Paris to have been one of the earliest, if not the very
earliest, of French prose texts. (Cf. M. Paris’s review of Suchier and
Birch-Hirschfield’s _Geschichte der Franz. Litt_.) The adventure in
question is a ‘Gawain’ adventure; we do not know whence it was derived,
and it may well have been included in an early version of the romance.
Apart from the purely literary question, from the strictly critical
point of view the adventure is here obviously out of place, and
entirely devoid of _raison d’être_. If the origins of the Grail legend
is really to be found in these cults, which are not a dead but a living
tradition (how truly living, the exclusively literary critic has little
idea), we are surely entitled to draw attention to the obvious
parallels, no matter in which text they appear. I am not engaged in
reconstructing the original _form_ of the Grail story, but in
endeavoring to ascertain the ultimate _source_, and it is surely
justifiable to point out that, in effect, no matter what version we
take, we find in that version points of contact with one special group
of popular belief and practice. If I be wrong in my conclusions my
critics have only to suggest another origin for this particular feature
of the romance—as a matter of fact, they have failed to do so.
[30] Cf. _Perlesvaus_, Branch II. Chap. I.
[31] Throwing into, or drenching with, water is a well known part of
the ‘Fertility’ ritual; it is a case of sympathetic magic, acting as a
rain charm.
CHAPTER VCHAPTER V
[1] _Ancient Greek Religion, and Modern Greek Folk-Lore_, J. C. Lawson,
gives some most interesting evidence as to modern survivals of
mythological beliefs.
[2] _Wald und Feld-Kulte_, 2nd edition, 2 vols., Berlin, 1904. Cf. Vol.
II. p. 286. _The Golden Bough_, 3rd edition, 5 vols.
[3] I cite from Mannhardt, as the two works overlap in the particular
line of research we are following: the same instances are given in
both, buyt the honour of priority belongs to the German scholar.
[4] _Op. cit_. Vol. I. p. 411.
[5] See G. Calderon, ‘Slavonic Elements in Greek religion,’ _Classical
Review_, 1918, p. 79.
[6] _Op. cit_. p. 416.
[7] _Op. cit_. pp. 155 and 312.
[8] _Op. cit_. p. 353.
[9] _Op. cit_. p. 358.
[10] _Op. cit_. p. 358.
[11] _Op. cit_. p. 359. Cf. the Lausitz custom given _supra_, which
Mannhardt seems to have overlooked.
[12] In the poem, besides the ordinary figures of the Vegetation Deity,
his female counterpart, and the Doctor, common to all such processions,
Laubfrosch, combining the two first, and Horse. Cf. Mannhardt, _Mythol.
Forsch_. pp. 142-43; _Mysterium und Mimus_, pp. 408 _et seq_.; also,
pp. 443-44. Sir W. Ridgeway (_op. cit_. p. 156) refers slightingly to
this interpretation of a ‘harmless little hymn’—doubless the poem is
harmless; until Prof. von Schroeder pointed out its close affinity with
the Fertility processions it was also meaningless.
[13] _Op. cit_. Chap. 17, p. 253.
[14] Cf. _Folk-Lore_, Vol. XV. p. 374.
[15] _Op. cit_. Vol. V. _The Dying God_, pp. 17 _et seq_.
[16] See Dr Seligmann’s study, _The Cult of Nyakang and the Divine
Kings of the Shilluk_ in the Fourth Report of the Wellcome Research
Laboratories, Kkartum, 1911, Vol. B.
[17] Cf. Address on reception into the Academy when M. Paris succeeded
to Pasteur’s _fauteuil_.
CHAPTER VICHAPTER VI
[1] _Op. cit_. Vol. I. p. 94.
[2] _The Legend of Longinus_, R. J. Peebles (Bryn Mawr College
monographs, Vol. IX.).
[3] I discussed this point with Miss Lucy Broadwood, Secretary of the
Folk-Song Society, who has made sketches of these Crosses, and she
entirely agrees with me. In my _Quest of the Holy Grail_, pp. 54 _et
seq_., I have pointed out the absolute dearth of ecclesiastical
tradition with regard to the story of Joseph and the Grail.
[4] Cf. _Littaturzeitung_, XXIV. (1903), p. 2821.
[5] Cf. _The Bleeding Lance_, A. C. L. Brown.
[6] Cf. Brown, _op. cit_. p. 35; also A. Nutt, _Studies in the Legend
of the Holy Grail_, p. 184.
[7] Cf. Brown, _Notes on Celtic Cauldrons of Plenty_, p. 237.
[8] Cf. _Queste_, Malory, Book XIII. Chap. 7, where the effect is the
same.
[9] Cf. _Germanische Elben und Götter beim Estenvolker_, L. von
Schroeder (Wien, 1906).
[10] I suggested this point in corrspondence with Dr Brugger, who
agreed with me that it was worth working out.
[11] Before leaving the discussion of Professor Brown’s theory, I would
draw attention to a serious error made by the author of _The Legend of
Longinus_. On p. 191, she blames Professor Brown for postulating the
destructive qualities of the Lance, on the strength of ‘an unsupported
passage’ in the ‘Mons’ MS., whereas the Montpellier text says that the
Lance shall bring peace. Unfortunately, it is this latter version which
is unsupported, all the MSS., without even excepting B.N. 1429, which
as a rule agrees with Montpellier, give the ‘destructive’ version.
[12] Cf. Dulaure, _Des Divinités Génératrices_, p. 77. Also additional
chapter to last edition by Van Gennep, p. 333; L. von Schroeder,
_Mysterium und Mimus_, pp. 279-80, for symbolic use of the Spear.
McCulloch, _Religion of the Celts_, p. 302, suggests that it is not
impossible that the cauldron=Hindu _yoni_, which of course would bring
it into line with the above suggested meaning of the Grail. I think
however that the real significance of the cauldron is that previously
indicated.
[13] It is interesting to note that this relative position of Lance and
Grail lingers on in late and fully Christianized versions; cf. Sommer,
_The Quest of the Holy Grail, Romania_, XXXVI. p. 575.
[14] My informant on this point was a scholar, resident in Japan, who
gave me the facts within his personal knowledge. I referred the
question to Prof. Basil Hall Chamberlain, who wrote in answer that he
had not himself met with the practice but that the Samurai ceremonies
differed in different provinces, and my informant might well be
correct.
[15] This explanation has at least the merit of simplicity as compared
with that proposed by the author of _The Legend of Longinus_, pp. 209
et seq., which would connect the feature with an obscure heretical
practice of the early Irish church. It would also meet Professor
Brown’s very reasonable objections, _The Bleeding Lance_, p. 8; cf.
also remarks by Baist quoted in the foot-note above.
[16] Cf. my _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. pp. 314-315, note.
[17] Mr A. E. Waite, who has published a book on the subject, informs
me that the 17 cards preserved in the Bibliothèque du Roi (Bibl.
Nationale?) as specimens of the work of the painter Charles
Gringonneur, are really Tarots.
[18] Falconnier, in a brochure on _Les XXII Lames Hermetiques du
Tarot_, gives reproductions of these Egyptian paintings.
[19] _Journal of the Gipsy-Lore Society_, Vol. II. New Series, pp.
14-37.
[20] From a private letter. The ultimate object of Magic in all ages
was, and is, to obtain control of the sources of Life. Hence, whatever
was the use of these objects (of which I know nothing), their
appearance in this connection is significant.
CHAPTER VIICHAPTER VII
[1] _Mysterium und Mimus_, p. 50. This work contains a most valuable
and interesting study of the Maruts, and the kindred groups of Sword
Dancers.
[2] _Op. cit_. pp. 47 _et seq_.
[3] _Rig-Veda_, Vol. III. p. 337.
[4] _Mysterium und Mimus_, p. 48.
[5] _Op. cit., Indra, die Maruts, und Agastya_, pp. 91 _et seq_.
[6] _Rig-Veda_, Vol. III. pp. 331, 334, 335, 337.
[7] _Mysterium un Mimus_, p. 121.
[8] _Vollendung des Arische Mysterium_, p. 13. The introductory section
of this book, containing a study of early Aryan belief, and numerous
references to modern survivals, is both interesting and valuable. The
latter part, a panegyric on the Wagnerian drama, is of little
importance.
[9] _Mysterium und Mimus_, p. 131.
[10] Cf. Röscher’s _Lexikon_, under heading _Kureten_.
[11] _Op. cit_.
[12] Cf. Preller, _Graechishe Mythologie_, p. 134.
[13] Quoted by Preller, p. 654.
[14] _Themis_, A Study in Greek Social Origins (Cambridge, 1912), pp. 6
_et seq_.
[15] _Mysterium un Mimus_, p. 23.
[16] _Themis_, p. 24.
[17] Cf. _Mysterium und Mimus_, section _Indra, die Maruts, und
Agastya_ specially pp. 151 _et seq_.
[18] Cf. von Schroeder, _op. cit_. pp. 141 _et seq_. for a very full
account of the ceremonies; also, _Themis_, p. 194; Mannhardt, _Wald und
Feld-Kulte_, and Röscher’s _Lexikon_, under heading _Mars_, for various
reasons.
[19] _Folk-Lore_, Vols. VII., X., and XVI. contain interesting and
fully illustrated accounts of some of these dances and plays.
[20] _The Mediaeval Stage_, Vol. III. p. 202. It would be interesting
to know the precise form of this ring; was it the Pentangle?
[21] Cf. also _Mysterium und Mimus_, pp. 110, 111, for a general
description of the dance, _minus_ the text of the speeches.
[22] Pp. 186-194.
[23] Cf. _Folk-Lore_, Vol. XVI. pp. 212 _et seq_.
[24] I would draw attention to the curious name of the adversary,
Golisham; it is noteworthy that in one Arthurian romance Gawain has for
adversary Golagros, in another Percival fights against Golerotheram.
Are these all reminiscences of the giant Goliath, who became the
synonym for a dangerous, preferably heathen, adversary, even as Mahomet
became the synonym for an idol?
[25] Cf. Mannhardt, _Wald und Feld-Kulte_, Vol. II. pp. 191 _et seq_.
for a very full account of the Julbock (Yule Buck).
[26] Cf. _Folk-Lore_, Vol. VIII. ‘Some Oxfordshire Seasonal Festivals,’
where full illustrations of the Bampton Morris Dancers and their
equipment will be found.
[27] Cf. _The Padstow Hobby-Horse_, F.-L. Vol. XVI. p. 56; _The
Staffordshire Horn-Dance_, Ib. Vol. VII. p. 382, and VIII. p. 70.
[28] Cf. _supra_, pp. 53, 80, 85.
[29] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. p. 264.
[30] See _English Folk-Song and Dance_ by Frank Kidson and Mary Neal,
Cambridge, 1915, plate facing p. 104. A curious point in connection
with the illustration is that the Chalice is surmounted by a Heart, and
in the Tarot suits _Cups_ are the equivalent of our _Hearts_. The
combination has now become identified with the cult of the Sacred
Heart, but is undoubtedly much older.
CHAPTER VIIICHAPTER VIII
[1] Cf. _supra_, Chap. 5, pp. 52, 54; Chap. 7, pp. 90, 91.
[2] _Mysterium und Mimus_, p. 369, _Der Mimus des Medizinmannes_.
[3] Cf. Chap. 5, pp. 53, 54.
[4] _Op. cit_. p. 371
[5] _Op. cit_. pp. 78 _et seq_.
[6] I would draw attention to the fact that while scholars are now
coming to the conclusion that Classic Drama, whether Tragedy or Comedy,
reposes for its origin upon this ancient ritual, others have pointed
out that Modern Drama derives from the ritual Play of the Church, the
first recorded medieval drama being the Easter _Quem Quaeritis?_ the
dramatic celebration of Our Lord’s Resurrection. Cf. Chambers, _The
Mediaeval Stage_, where this thesis is elaborately developed and
illustrated. It is a curious fact that certain texts of this, the
‘Classical’ Passion Play, contain a scene between the Maries and the
‘Unguentarius’ from whom they purchase spices for the embalmment of Our
Lord. Can this be a survival of the Medicine Man? (Cf. _op. cit_. Vol.
ii. p. 33.)
[7] Bibl. Nat., fonds Français, 12577, fo. 40
[8] Bibl. Nat., f. F. 1453, fo. 49. _Parzival_, Bk. x. ll, 413-22.
[9] _Lanceloet_, Jonckbloet, Vol.II. ll. 22271-23126.
[10] _Op. cit_. ll. 22825-26.
[11] _Op. cit_. Vol. 1. ll. 42540-47262.
[12] _Op. cit_. ll. 46671-74.
[13] _Op. cit_. ll. 46678-80.
[14] Cf. Loth, _Les Mabinogion_, Vol. ii. p. 230, and note. The other
two are Riwallawn Walth Banhadlen, and Llacheu son of Arthur.
[15] The only instance in which I have found medicine directly
connected with the knightly order is in the case of the warrior clan of
the Samurai, in Japan, where members, physically unfitted for the task
of a warrior, were trained as _Royal_ Doctors, the _Folk_ Doctors being
recruited from a class below the Samurai. Cf. _Medizin der
Natur-Völker_, Bartels, p. 65.
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIIIAPPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIII
[1] Cf. _Œuvres de Rutebœuf_, Kressner, p. 115.
[2] My attention was drawn to the poem by references to it in _The
Mediaeval Stage_, Chambers.
CHAPTER IXCHAPTER IX
[1] Cf. my _Sir Gawain and the Grail Castle_, pp. 3-30. The best text
is that of MS. B.N., fonds Franç. 12576, ff. 87vo-91. The above remarks
apply also to the _Elucidation_, which is using a version of the
_Bleheris_ form.
[2] B.N. 12577, fo. 136_vo_.
[3] Cf. _Sir Gawain at the Grail Castle_, pp. 33-46.
[4] Cf. B.N. 12576, ff. 220-222_vo_ and fo. 258.
[5] Hucher, _Le Saint Graal_, Vo. I. pp. 251 _et seq_., 315 _et seq_.
[6] Cf. Modena MS. pp. 11, 12, 21, etc.; Dr Nitze, _The Fisher-King in
the Grail Romances_, p. 373, says Borron uses the term _Rice_ Pescheur,
as opposed to the _Roi_ Pescheur of Chrétien. This remark is only
correct as applied to the _Joseph_.
[7] Modena MS p. 61 and note.
[8] _Ibid_. p. 63.
[9] The evidence of the _Parzival_ and the parallel Grail sections of
_Sone de Nansai_, which appear to repose ultimately on a source common
to all three authors, makes this practically certain.
[10] This is surely a curious omission, if the second King were as
essential a part of the scheme as Dr Nitze supposes.
[11] Cf. Chapter 2, p. —-.
[12] I cannot agree with Dr Nitze’s remark (_op. cit_. p. 374) that “in
most versions the Fisher King has a mysterious double.” I hold that
feature to be a peculiarity of the Chrétien-Wolfram group. It is not
found in the Gawain versions, in Wauchier, nor in Manessier. Gerbert is
using the _Queste_ in the passage relative to Mordrains, and for the
reason stated above I hold that heither _Queste_ nor _Grand Saint
Graal_ should be cited when we are dealing, as Dr Nitze is here
dealing, with questions of ultimate origin.
[13] Cf. my _Legend of Sir Lancelot_, pp. 167 and 168.
[14] Cf. Heinzel, _Ueber die Alt-Franz. Gral-Romanen_, pp. 136 and 137.
[15] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. p. 343, note. These three
kings are found in the curious Merlin MS. B.N., f. Franç. 337, fo. 249
_et seq_.
[16] _Vide supra_, pp. 91. 92.
[17] _Op. cit_. p. 184.
[18] Cf. Chapter 5, p. 52, Chap. 7, p. 88.
[19] _Diû Crone_, ll. 17329 _et seq_.
[20] In the _Parzival_ Titurel is grandfather to Anfortas, Frimutel
intervening; critics of the poem are apt to overlook this difference
between the German and French versions.
[21] Cf. Chapter 2, p. 20.
[22] Cf. here my notes on _Sone de Nansai_ (_Romania_, Vol. XLIII. p.
412).
[23] In connection with my previous remarks on the subject (p. 112) I
would point out that the _Queste_ and _Grand Sainte Graal_ versions
repeat the Maimed King _motif_ in the most unintelligent manner. The
element of old age, inherent in the Evalach-Mordrains incident, is
complicated and practically obscured, by an absurdly exaggerated
wounding element, here devoid of its original significance.
[24] Heinzel, _op. cit_. p. 13.
[25] For an instance of the extravagances to which a strictly Christian
interpretation can lead, cf. Dr Sebastian Evans’s theories set forth in
his translation of the _Perlesvaus_ (_The High History of the Holy
Grail_) and in his _The Quest of the Holy Grail_. The author places the
origin of the cycle in the first quarter of the thirteenth century, and
treats it as an allegory of the position in England during the
Interdict pronounced against King John, and the consequent withholding
of the Sacraments. His identification of the character with historical
originals is most ingenious, an extraordinary example of misapplied
learning.
[26] For a general discussion of the conflicting views cf. Dr Nitze’s
study, referred to above. The writer devotes special attention to the
works of the late Prof. Heinzel and Mr Alfred Nutt as leading
representatives of their respective schools.
[27] R. Pischel’s _Ueber die Ursprung des Christlichen Fisch-Symbols_
is specifically devoted to the possible derivation from Indian sources.
Scheftelowitz, _Das Fischsymbolik in Judentem und Christentum_ (_Archiv
für Religionswissenschaft_, Vol. XIV.), contains a great deal of
valuable material. R. Eisler, _Orpheus the Fisher_ (_The Quest_, Vols.
I and II.), _John, Jonas, Oannes_ (_ibid_. Vol. III.), _The Messianic
Fish-meal of the Primitive Church_ (_ibid_. Vol. IV.), are isolated
studies, forming part of a comprehensive work on the subject, the
publication of which has unfortunately been prevented by the War.
[28] _Mahâbhârata_, Bk. III.
[29] Cf. Scheftekowitz, _op. cit_. p. 51.
[30] Cf. _The Open Court_, June and July, 1911, where reproductions of
these figures will be found.
[31] _Op. cit_. p. 403. Cf. here an illustration in Miss Harrison’s
_Themis_ (p. 262), which shows Cecrops, who played the same _rôle_ with
regard to the Greeks, with a serpent’s tail.
[32] _Ibid_. p. 168. In this connection note the prayer to Vishnu,
quoted above.
[33] Cf. Eisler, _Orpheus the Fisher_ (_The Quest_, Vol. I. p. 126).
[34] Cf. W. Staerk, _Ueber den Ursprung der Gral-Legende_, pp. 55, 56.
[35] Df. S. Langdon, _Sumerian and Babylonian Psalms_, pp. 301, 305,
307, 313.
[36] Cf. Eisler, _The Messianic Fish-meal of the Primitive Church_
(_The Quest_, Vol. IV.), where the various frescoes are described; also
the article by Scheftelowitz, already referred to. While mainly devoted
to Jewish beliefs and practices, this study contains much material
derived from other sources. So far it is the fullest and most
thoroughly _documenté_ treatment of the subject I have met with.
[37] Cf. Eisler, _op. cit_. and Scheftelowitz, pp. 19. 20.
[38] Cf. Eisler, _op. cit_. p. 508.
[39] Cf. Scheftelowitz, _op. cit_. pp. 337, 338, and note 4.
[40] Hucher, _Le Saint Graal_, Vol. I. pp. 251 et seq., 315 _et seq_.
[41] Cf. A. Nutt, _Studies in the Legend of the Holy Grail_, p. 209.
[42] Cf. Eisler, _The Mystic Epitaph of Bishop Aberkios_ (_The Quest_,
Vol. V. pp. 302-312); Scheftelowitz, _op. cit_. p. 8.
[43] Cf. _The Voyage of Saint Brandan_, ll. 372, _et seq_., 660 _et
seq_.
[44] _Op. cit_. ll. 170 _et seq_., and _supra_, p. 119.
[45] _Vide supra_, p. 70.
[46] _Op. cit_. p. 168.
[47] Cf. _The Messianic Fish-meal_.
[48] _Op. cit_. p. 92, fig. 42 _a_.
[49] _Op. cit_. p. 23, and note, p. 29.
[50] _Parzival_, Bk. IX. ll., 1109 _et seq_., Bk. XVI. ll. 175 _et
seq_.
[51] Cf. _Sir Gawain at the Grail Castle_, p. 55. Certain of the
_Lancelot_ MSS., _e.g._, B.N., f. Fr. 123, give two doves.
[52] Cf. Scheftelowitz, p. 338. Haven, _Der Gral_, has argued that
Wolfram’s stone is such a meteoric stone, a Boetylus. I am not prepared
to take up any position as to the exact nature of the stone itself,
whether precious stone or meteor; the real point of importance being
its Life-giving potency.
[53] _Op. cit_. p. 381.
[54] _Ibid_. p. 376 _et seq_.
[55] _Ibid_. p. 20.
[56] _Ibid_. p. 377.
CHAPTER XCHAPTER X
[1] _Elucidation_, ll. 4-9 and 12, 13.
[2] Potvin, ll. 19933-40. I quote from Potvin’s edition as more
accessible than the MSS., but the version of mons is, on the whole, an
inferior one.
[3] Potvin, ll. 28108-28.
[4] This is to my mind the error vitiating much of Dr Nitze’s later
work, _e.g._, the studies entitled _The Fisher-King in the Grail
Romances_ and _The Sister’s Son, and the Conte del Graal_.
[5] _Op. cit_. Introduction, p. X.
[6] Rohde, _Psyche_, p. 293, and Cumont, _op. cit_. p. 44.
[7] Anrich, _Das alte Mysterien-Wesen in seinem Verhältniss zum
Christentum_, p. 46.
[8] _Op. cit_. p. 136.
[9] Cumont, _op. cit_. p. 84.
[10] _Op. cit_. pp. 104, 105.
[11] Cf. Anrich, _op. cit_. p. 81.
[12] Hepding, _Attis_, p. 189.
[13] Cumont, _Mystères de Mithra_, pp. 19 and 78.
[14] _Ibid_. p. 188.
[15] _Ibid_. pp. 190 _et seq_.
[16] _Vide_ Hepding, _Attis_, Chap. 4, for details.
[17] Dieterich, _Eine Mithrasliturgie_, p. 174.
[18] Hepding, _op. cit_. p. 196.
[19] Cf. my _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. p. 313. Hepding mentions
(_op. cit_. p. 174) among the _sacra_ of the goddess _Phrygium ferrum_,
which he suggests was the knife from which the Archigallus wounded
himself on the ‘Blood’ day. Thus it is possible that the primitive
ritual may have contained a knife.
CHAPTER XICHAPTER XI
[1] Cumont, _op. cit_. Introd. pp. XX and XXI.
[2] _Thrice-Greatest Hermes_, Vol. I, p. 195.
[3] _Op. cit_. p. 141.
[4] _Op. cit_. p. 142.
[5] _Op. cit_. pp. 146 _et seq_. Reitzenstein, _Die Hellenistischen
Mysterien Religionen_, Leipzig, 1910, gives the document in the
original. There is also a translation of Hippolytus in the _Ante-Nicene
Library_.
[6] Quoted by Mead, _op. cit_. p. 138.
[7] _Op. cit_. pp. 146, 147.
[8] _Op. cit_. p. 151.
[9] _Op. cit_. p. 152. Mr Mead concludes that there is here a lacuna of
the original.
[10] _Op. cit_. p. 181. In a note Mr Mead says of the Greater
Mysteries, “presumaby the candidate went through some symbolic rite of
death and resurrection.”
[11] _Op. cit_. pp. 185, 186. I would draw especial attention to this
passage in view of the present controversey as to the Origin of Drama.
It looks as if the original writer of the document (and this section is
in the Pagan Source) would have inclined to the views of Sir Gilbert
Murray, Miss Harrison, and Mr Cornford rather than to those championed
by their sarcastic critic, Sir W. Ridgeway.
[12] _Op. cit_. p. 190.
[13] _Vide supra_, p. 137.
[14] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. Chapters 10 and 11.
[15] Cf. my _Quest of the Holy Grail_, Bell, 1913, Chap. 4, for summary
of evidence on this point.
[16] Cf. Heinzel, _Alt-Franz. Gral-Romanen_, p. 72.
CHAPTER XIICHAPTER XII
[1] _Op. cit_. p. 71.
[2] _Op. cit_. p. 3.
[3] _Op. cit_. p. 4.
[4] Cumont, _op. cit_. pp. 129-141 _et seq_.
[5] _Op. cit_. p. 148.
[6] Dieterich, _Eine Mithrasliturgie_, the text is given with
translation and is followed by an elaborate commentary. The whole study
is most interesting and suggestive.
[7] Cf. Bousset, _Der Himmelfahrt der Seele, Archiv für
Religionswissenschaft_, Vol. IV.
[8] Cumont, _op. cit_. pp. 199 _et seq_.
[9] _Adonis und Esmun_, p. 521.
[10] Cf. Mead, _op. cit_. p. 179, note; Cumont, _Mystères de Mithra_,
p. 183.
[11] Cumont, _Les Religions Orientales_, pp. 160 _et seq_.
[12] _Mystères de Mithra_, p. 77.
[13] _Les Religions Orientales_, pp. 166, 167, _Mystères de Mithra_, p.
57.
[14] Mead, _op. cit_. pp. 147, 148, and note.
[15] Without entering into indiscreet details I may say that students
of the Mysteries are well aware of the continued survival of this
ritual under circumstances which correspond exactly with the
indications of two of our Grail romances.
[16] _The Quest of the Holy Grail_, pp. 110 _et seq_.
[17] _puys._ Professor A. C. L. Brown, _Notes on Celtic Cauldrons of
Plenty_, n. p. 249, translates this ‘wells,’ an error into which the
late Mr Alfred Nutt had already fallen. Wisse Colin translates this
correctly, _berg, gebirge_.
[18] I suspect that the robbery of the Golden Cup was originally a
symbolic expression for the outrage being offered.
CHAPTER XIIICHAPTER XIII
[1] MS B.N. 12576, ff. 87_vo et seq_. A translation will be found in my
_Sir Gawain at the Grail Castle_, pp. 13-15.
[2] MS B.N. 12576, ff. 150_vo_, 222, 238_vo_.
[3] Cf. here Prof. Kittredge’s monograph _Arthur and Gorlagon_.
[4] Cf. Malory, Book XVI. Chap. 2.
[5] Cf. _Perlesvaus_, Branch XV. sections XII.-XX.; Malory, Book VI.
Chap. 15; _Chevalier à deux Espées_, ll. 531 _et seq_.
[6] B.N. 12576, fo. 74_vo_.
[7] Cf. B.N. MS 1433, ff. 10, 11, and the analysis and remarks in my
_Legend of Sir Lancelot_, p. 219 and note.
[8] Cf. passage in question quoted on p. 137.
[9] B.N. 12576, fo. 150_vo_.
[10] _Perlesvaus_, Branch I. sections III., IV.
[11] Cf. my notes on the subject, _Romania_, Vol. XLIII. pp. 420-426.
[12] Cf. Nitze, _Glastonbury and the Holy Grail_, where the reference
is given.
[13] _Vide supra_, p. 147.
[14] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. p. 261. I suggested then
that the actual initiation would probably consist in enlightenment into
the meaning of Lance and Cup, in their sexual juxtaposition. I would
now go a step further, and suggest that the identification of the Lance
with the weapon of Longinus may quite well have rpelaced the original
explanation as given by Bleheris. In _The Quest_, Oct. 1916, I have
given, under the title “The Ruined Temple,” a hypothetical
reconstruction of the Grail Initiation.
[15] _Owain Miles_, edited from the unique MS. by Turnbull and Laing,
Edinburgh, 1837. _The Purgatory of Saint Patrick_ will be found in
Horstmann’s Southern Legendary. I have given a modern English rendering
of part of _Owain Miles_ in my _Chief Middle-English Poets_, published
by Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston, U.S.A.
[16] Cf. _op. cit_. pp. 148 _et seq_.
[17] _Op. cit_. pp. 155 and 254.
CHAPTER XIVCHAPTER XIV
The Author
[1] Cf. Mead, _Thrice Greatest Hermes_, Vol. III. p. 295. On this point
the still untranslated _corpus_ of Bardic poetry may possibly throw
light.
[2] _The Quest of The Holy Grail_ (_Quest_ series, Bell, 1913).
[3] On the point that Chrétien was treating an already popular theme,
cf. Brugger, _Enserrement Merlin_, I. (_Zeitschrift für Franz.
Sprache_, XXIX.).
[4] That is, the relationship is due to romantic tradition, not to
Mystery survival, as Dr Nitze maintains.
[5] Cf. _Romania_, Vol. XXXIII. pp. 333 _et seq_.
[6] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. I. Chap. 12, for the passages
referred to, also article in _Romania_, XXXIII.
[7] Cf. my _Quest of the Holy Grail_, pp. 110 _et seq_.
[8] Cf. _Tristan_ (Bédier’s ed.), Vol. I. l. 2120.
[9] A critic of my _Quest_ volume remarks that “we have as little faith
in Wauchier’s appeal to a Welshman Bleheris as source for his
continuation of Chrétien’s ‘_Perceval_’ as we have in Layamon’s similar
appeal to Bede and St Austin at the beginning of the ‘_Brut_.’” The
remark seems to me singularly inept, there is no parallel between the
cases. In the first place Layamon does not refer to Bede and St Austin
as _source_, but as _models_, a very different thing. Then the
statement is discredited by the fact that we possess the writings of
these men, and know them to be of another character than Metrical
Chronicles. In the case of Wauchier his reference does not stand alone;
it is one of a group, and that group marked by an extraordinary
unanimity of statement; whoever Bleheris may have been he was certainly
possessed of two definite qualifications—he knew a vast number of
tales, and he possessed a remarkable gift of narration, _i.e._, he was
a story-teller, _par excellence_. Thus he was, _a priori_, a probable
source for that section of Wauchier’s work which is attributed to him,
a section consisting of short, picturesque, and mutually independent
tales, which formed part of a popular collection. It is misleading to
speak as if Wauchier refers to him as general source for his _Perceval_
continuation; the references are clearly marked and refer to _Gawain_
tales. Apart from the fact that Wauchier’s reference does not stand
alone we have independent evidence of the actual existence of such a
group of tales, in our surviving _Gawain_ poems, certain of which, such
as _Kay and the Spit_, and _Golagros and Gawayne_ are versions of the
stories given by Wauchier, while the author of the _Elucidation_ was
also familiar with the same collection. If evidence for the identity of
Bleheris is incomplete, that for his existence appears to be
incontrovertible. Would it not be more honest if such a would-be critic
as the writer referred to said, ‘I do not choose to believe in the
existence of Bleheris, because it runs counter to my pre-conceived
theory of the evolution of the literature’? We should then know where
we are. Such a parallel as that cited above has no value for those
familiar with the literature but may easily mislead the general reader.
I would also draw attention to the fact noted in the text—the extreme
improbability of Wauchier, a continental writer, inventing an insular
and Welsh source. This is a point critics carefully evade.
[10] Cf. _Bledhericus de Cornouailles_, note contributed by M. Ferd.
Lot, to Romania, Vol. XXVIII. p. 336. M. Lot remarks that he has not
met with the name in Armorica; it thus appears to be insular.
[11] Cf. _Revue Celtique_, 1911, _A note on the identification of
Bleheris_.
[12] Ed. Rhys-Evans, Vol. II. p. 297; cf. also _Revue Celtique_.
[13] In the course of 1915-16 I received letters from Mr Rogers Rees,
resident at Stepaside, Pembrokeshire, who informed me that he held
definite proof of the connection of Bledri with both _Grail_ and
_Perceval_ legends. The locality had been part of Bledri’s estate, and
the house in which he lived was built on the site of what had been
Bledri’s castle. Mr Rogers Rees maintained the existence of a living
tradition connecting Bledri with the legends in question. At his
request I sent him the list of the names of the brothers of Alain li
Gros, as given in the 1516 edition of the _Perlesvaus_, a copy of which
is in the Bibliothèque Nationale, and received in return a letter
stating that the list must have been compiled by one familiar with the
district. Unfortunately, for a year, from the autumn of 1916, I was
debarred from work, and when, on resuming my studies, I wrote to my
correspondent asking for the promised evidence I obtained no answer to
my repeated appeal. On communicating with Mr Owen I found he had had
precisely the same experience, and, for his part, was extremely
sceptical as to there being any genuine foundation for our
correspondent’s assertions. While it is thus impossible to use the
statements in question as elements in my argument, I think it right in
the interests of scholarship to place them on record; they may afford a
clue which some Welsh scholar may be able to follow up to a more
satisfactory conclusion.
[14] Had Wauchier really desired to _invent_ an authority, in view of
his date, and connection with the house of Flanders, he had a famous
name at hand—that of Chrétien de Troyes.
[15] Cf. _Legend of Sir Perceval_, Vol. II. p. 307 and note. I have
recently received Dr Brugger’s review of Mr R. H. Griffith’s study of
the English poem, and am glad to see that the critic accepts the
independence of this version. If scholars can see their way to accept
as faits acquis the mutual independence of the _Grail_, and _Perceval_
themes, we shall, at last, have a solid basis for future criticism.
[16] Cf. my Notes, _Romania_, Vol. XLIII. pp. 403 _et seq_.
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