Unfortunately, in order to rule, Arthur must reconcile himself to the unruly. Gawain provides our most obvious example. His underhanded, thuggish tactics in dealing with Pellinor’s family as well as his endorsement of his own mother’s murder are outrages to Arthur’s government. All too frequently, Arthur is portrayed as helpless in relation to his own knights, trying fruitlessly to hold onto what he calls, “the fayryst and the trewyst of knyghthode that ever was sene togydir in ony realme of the worlde,” (Malory, 522). The threat of losing a knight of Gawain’s caliber is a greater source of concern for Arthur than the inevitable inroads of evil.
While Arthur is portrayed as a political leader, the importance of good and evil is effectively pushed aside. These qualities may remain distinctive elements of the tales, but as we saw with Malory’s treatment of Lancelot, they seem to be glossed over. Malory never openly condemns the knight, but always mitigates his damaging deeds with adjectives like “worthy” and “noble”. Lancelot betrays his brother knights for the lust of a woman. He effectively degrades his Order because of his lack of sexual restraint. Arthur is very much aware of what is right but he is all too willing to condone the outrageous acts of his knights, in order to maintain power. Malory’s depiction of Camelot is no fairy tale, but a political reality. This accounts for the complexity of Arthur’s image. He must be both a messianic and a Machiavellian figure at once. Purveying order and ideals to a blighted political landscape may be Arthur’s function, but political survival is an ever present anxiety.
If Arthur’s concerns lie with the stability of his throne, then why does his rule fall into irrecoverable instability? This is where Malory, firmly fixated on the human element, reveals the limitations of the worldly condition. In a vein approaching cynical, the author reveals the world as governed by an inscrutable hand of Fate. What can Arthur do to avoid his destiny? He seems to be given ample opportunity to escape, yet he plummets with unerring accuracy into the lap of Fate. In a dream, Arthur learns that he may yet win over Mordred if only the decisive battle could be delayed until Lancelot’s arrival. Wisely heeding the warning, Arthur instructs his forces to effect a parlay. Who placed the serpent in the envoys’ midst? A devious Fate? Arthur’s garden has never been without snakes. Plots and intrigues had planted their poison long ago. In this imperfect world, we must expect the snakes and allow for capricious Fortune’s whims. Balyn’s experiences with an unpredictable Fate provide early testament to the seemingly random experience that is life. What is predictable, however, is the human response to Fortune. Lancelot considered the murder of Gareth an unhappy mischance or an act of Fortune, but Arthur predicts Gawain’s response with uncanny accuracy. He states, “I am sure that whan sir Gawayne knowyth hereoff that sir Gareth ys slayne, I shall never have reste of hym tyll I have destroyed sir Lancelottys kynne and hymselff bothe, othir ellis he to destroy me,” (Malory, 685). This is a crucial confession on Arthur’s part. Not only does it reflect the king’s own tenuous hold on power, but it reveals the predictability of human nature. Gawain does strong-arm Arthur into mobilizing an army to carry out a personal vendetta. He vehemently opposes Lancelot’s conciliatory overtures and thoroughly thwarts any chance for a peaceful end. In this manner, “unhappy mischances” are strewn along the Arthurian legend and humans react to them accordingly. A knight bitten by a snake will always draw his sword, just as a man who has been wronged will instinctively seek redress. While the designs of Fate remains unfathomable, human reaction to it is always predictable. Therefore, we should not wonder at Arthur’s final failure to heed Fortune. Mordred, the traitorous son, must invariably arouse a father’s rage. The passion and the impulse are always available. Such is the human response.
Ultimately, it is the human response, or as Tucker writes, “the glory of the action” that draws Malory’s interest (Tucker, 65). Knighthood, despite its moral murkiness, is something to be exalted. The author’s admiration of Lancelot, for instance, can barely be concealed. It transcends notions of good and evil and Lancelot echoes this with a promise to be Guinevere’s knight “in ryght othir in wronge,” (Malory, 620). Bravery, loyalty and prowess are the true trappings of knighthood. Malory embellishes numerous scenes of battle with meticulous attention to detail. Nobility and prowess are the hallmarks of knightly combat. Knights such as Aggravayne and even Gawain, are often censured for their conduct because it is unbecoming of a knight. Murdering or “enforcing” one’s strength upon women is a cause for rebuke and Gawain, for all his prowess, is frequently painted in the light of villainy.
Combat must be fair, direct and decisive. Several knights such as Mordred and Mellyagaunte are frequently chastised for breaking the rules of knightly engagement. A “traytour knyght” may expect no mercy in any of the tales. Even Guinevere is sensitive to the duties of knighthood. She is horrified by Mellyagaunte’s transgressions. When he launches overwhelming forces against a paltry number of unarmed knights, Guinevere cries foul. “Thou shamest all knyghthode,” she declares (Malory, 651). Mellyagaunte’s perfidy is sharply contrasted by Malory’s long account of the ensuing battle. The unarmed and outnumbered knights fight like lions, caring not for “lyff nor deth,” (Malory, 652). Their duty to the Queen is an all consuming priority. Again, bravery, loyalty and prowess distinguish the flowers of knighthood and Malory celebrates these qualities in the sweeping spectacle that is chivalry.
The world described by Malory is pervaded by violence. Knights litigate at the point of a lance, but can we truly call it meaningless brutality? Violence for the sake of violence is chaotic, self destructive and terrible. Is Malory’s conception of knighthood, with its governing principles not rabidly opposed to this breed of violence? In fact, Malory denies “bold baudrie and open manslaughter.” He champions, instead, the structured violence of knighthood, as advocated and directed, with difficulty, by King Arthur. Force is admirable when organized and terrifying when at large. As Arthur’s great enterprise spirals downward, we share Malory’s sense of horror. Friends become foes. Sons rise against fathers. All forms of social bonds unravel completely. Finally, the peasant horde arises, no longer restrained, acting out its animalistic passions in a frenzy of murder and greed.
Violence is the inevitable symptom of a fallen world, but the effort to direct and draw moral strength from it is a truly elevated principle. Arthur arrives, according to Heaven’s mandate, to herald a new kind of order, but this is not the seamless otherworld that Galahad hints at. It is a world inhabited by humans and governed by their imperfect nature as it responds to Fortune. However, it would be as inappropriate to label human nature a villain as it would be to blame Fortune or Fate. The world is naturally turbulent, and Malory’s interest lies in how order may be imposed upon such a place. His flair for violence and spectacle is instrumental in emphasizing the volatility of Arthur’s realm. The King’s efforts to keep everything together are nothing short of epic. Random violence may only be countered with organized violence. Malory’s world is a vibrant and dynamic one, inhabited by men of fierce passions and unimpeachable integrity. Even when Malory inserts the grisly detail of how Lucan lay “fomyng at the mowth and parte of his guttes lay at hys fyete,” we can not justly attribute it to the author’s taste for sensationalism (Malory, 716). Instead, we are struck with an image of loyalty that is magnificently memorable. This is not an ugly moment, but a sublime testament to a glorious king and the values that he heralded. Lucan, without regard for his own condition and literally falling apart at the seams, will serve Arthur until his very last breath. From his original sources, Malory does indeed wring a fresh aspect from an old fabric. In his view, violence works on every worldly level. From the struggle to govern oneself to the difficulty of governing a kingdom, setting one’s house in order is a violent business.
Bibliography:
Malory, Sir Thomas Complete Works. 2nd ed. Eugene Vinaver, Ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971.
Reiss, Edmund Sir Thomas Malory. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1966.
Tucker, P.E. “Chivalry in the Morte.” Essays on Malory. J.A.W. Bennett, Ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963. 64-103.
Whitehead, F. “Lancelot’s Penance.” Essays on Malory. J.A.W. Bennett, Ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963. 104-113.
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