For Queene and Country: The Middle-Road Adventures of the Temperate Knight

The Myth: Gloriana, the Faerie Queene! Mythic England! Magic queens! Knights! Ladies! Witches! Sorcerers! Giants! Lions! Dragons! More allegory than you could possibly imagine!
The Book: The Faerie Queene
The Author: Edmund Spenser, 1590
This text: Unclear: probably the etext of the 1903 edition, edited by George Armstrong Wauchope, but without any footnotes or editorial matter.
Price: 81 cents (Everyman Library)

Previously: The holy knight.

I confess to struggling with The Faerie Queene. Some of it is the archaic spelling and stilted meter, but mostly it's that the Elizabethan virtues are championed with such thin and transparent allegories and with such a smug manner that you really want to go out and be intemperate out of spite. 

The Legend of Sir Guyon
So anyway, Sir Guyon is Gloriana's Knight of Temperance: level-headed, virtuous and dull. He is accompanied by a Palmer, who is wise, aged and unmounted. Guyon's first adventure sees him come across Archimago and Duessa, fresh from their defeat and humiliation by the Redcrosse Knight in the earlier chapter. Duessa claims to have been outraged at the hands of a nameless knight, and demands Guyon avenge her. This quest lasts as long as it takes Guyon to learn that Redcrosse is the knight in question. Redcrosse is the Knight of Holiness; he couldn't possibly rape anyone. Quest resolved, Elizabethan justice demonstrated, on we go.

The second quest takes a bit more effort. Guyon comes across a woman bleeding dying in the woods, with a baby in her arms. The lady, Amavia, is in the process of killing herself. Her husband, Sir Mortdant, was seduced by the sorceress Acrasia, and taken to her Bower of Bliss. Amavia set off to rescue him, pausing only to give birth with the help of a local nymph. Acrasia let Mortdant go, but lay a curse on him: he would die as soon as he took a drink. That happened pretty quickly, and at that point Amavia decided to kill herself. She was almost finished when Guyon came along, and having croaked out her story, she dies.

Guyon buries the bodies, cleans the baby and vows to avenge their death. He abandons his horse to take the baby to a nearby castle, where he meets his female equivalent, Medina the Mean (in the sense of Golden). He also meets her sisters, Elissa the Austere and Pelissa the Wanton, and fights with their champions, Sir Huddibras the Big and Stupid and Sir Sansloy the Lawless, one of the Saracen brothers from the previous chapter. The fight threatens to destroy the castle, but Medina pleads for calm and, eventually, temperance reigns and everyone calms down. Guyon stays the night, commends the infant to Medina's care and then leaves the castle on his quest.

His quest involves any number of encounters:

• The knave Braggadacio who steals his horse and styles himself a knight, and is engaged by Archimago to attack Guyon.
• The monster Furor and his mother Occasion, who set upon pretty much everyone with extreme violence.
• The giant brothers Pyrochles and Cymochles, descendants of Jove and thralls to Acrasia.
• The demon Mammon, who tempts Guyon with a lot of rather unappealing wealth.
• Prince Arthur, hero of the realm, who is looking for his magic sword that was stolen by Archimago, given to Braggadacio and then to Pyrrochles.
• The Castle of Temperance, where Arthur and Guyon learn the mythic history of their peoples, British and Faerie respectively, and which they defend from the allegorical forces of Things That Are Not Temperate.
• Alma, the mistress of the Castle of Temperance.
• The demon Maleger, leader of the forces of Intemperance.

Guyon wins through all of this by sheer equanimity,  and hits the high seas, which are full of dangerous allegories,. He sees it through and makes it to the island which holds the Bower of Bliss, and it's only a few more allegories before Guyon is able to confront Acrasia in her bed (along with some random nobleman). Acrasia, of course, tries on the old wiles, but it's not very convincing. Guyon goes berserk, smashing the bed, chopping down the trees, burning the houses, and generally letting loose in a way that only the really uptight can manage.

So, with the sorceress' house smashed all to pieces and her household turned out, Guyon and the Palmer ride off into the sunset with the satisfaction of a quest well done.

--

It's harder to imagine a duller hero than Guyon, who is perfectly poised and balanced and thoughtful and careful. The end of his quest involves turfing a woman out of her own bed and smashing her place up, and this is the most passion he's shown in the whole piece.

I'm in two minds about continuing with the Faerie Queene. My completeness urge wants me to press forward, but I've found the whole thing pretty dire so far and I don't hold much hope for improvement. The next chapter concerns Britomarte, Champion of Chastity, and I'm not sure I can stomach that much Elizabethan virtue.

Two Monsters and a Dragon: Beowulf

The Myth: Beowulf! A monster and his mum! Treasure! Magic swords! A dragon! Fabulous treasure from a lost race!
The Book: Beowulf
The Author:  Unknown, sometime in the eighth century. Possibly the ninth. No later than the eleventh. (Thanks, Wiki.)
This text: etext of a 1909 translation by F. B. Gummere in "English imitative meter".
Price: Nothin' (Kindle Free Library)


Beowulf kills a monster. Then he kills another monster. Fifty years later, he kills a dragon, and dies. Also, there are digressions into Geatish history and politics.

"So he came in the night?"
"Yeah, he wanted to give us a hand."
"And you...?"
"He found my hospitality disarming."
"By which you mean..."
"This is a fine hall, Hrothgar, I've got to hand it to you."
"Right. I get it."
"I ripped his arm off, is what I'm saying."
"I gathered. From the monster arm you're waving around."
"'cos I'm a champion of unarmed combat."
"Are you finished?"
"Yeah, I'm done."

Ok, yes, there's more to it than that. The poem is pretty awesome, all alliterative and bloody. The setting is detailed, the characterisation solid, the fighting visceral. The digressions are occasionally a bit weird, coming across as a sort of poetic product placement: "Have you considered such other fine poems as 'The Tragic Lay of Heremod' or 'The Epic of Freawuru'?" They may have meant more to an 8th-11th century audience.

But at the base of it, a hero fights monsters and wins. Then dies.
 
This is foundation stuff for the English language and well worth a read. And it's not that long. It took Redcrosse far more verbiage to kill his dragon, for example.

For Queene and Country: The Adventures of the Redcrosse Knight

The Myth: Gloriana, the Faerie Queene! Mythic England! Magic queens! Knights! Ladies! Witches! Sorcerers! Giants! Lions! Dragons! More allegory than you could possibly imagine!
The Book: The Faerie Queene (Book I)
The Author: Edmund Spenser, 1590
This text: etext of a 1903 edition, edited by George Armstrong Wauchope
Price: Nothin' (Kindle Free Library)



In the first book - actually, in the preamble, a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh - a young country boy presents himself at the court of the Faerie Queene herself, Gloriana, saying that he wants to be a knight. At the same time, a young woman, Una, presents herself at the court, asking that the Queene aid her land, which is beset by a dragon. The Queene, in an admirable display of efficiency, knights the boy and sends him off with Una, as per their respective requests.

"Somehow I thought this would be harder. Like, there might be a test or something." "You're still here? Dragons don't slay themselves, kid."

Then the poem actually starts, and the lad is now the Redcrosse Knight, on account of the red cross on his surcoat. He sets out with the lady and her dwarf. It's not an easy trip. The three are constantly tricked, captured, threatened, tilted at and generally harassed. They're hassled by the shifty wizard Archimago, the faithless, seductive witch Duessa, the Saracen brother-knights Sansloy, Sansjoy and Sansfoy, and a full cast of giants and monsters. Luckily, despite having been given the job without even addressing the selection criteria, the boy turns out to be pretty good at knighting and kind of okay at resisting seduction. Una, despite being less martial, has a useful knack for being protected by a lion at key points in the narrative. Also, King Arthur arrives to save the day and banish Duessa to hell.

According to the annotations, this is all highly allegorical and probably terribly witty to the Elizabethan crowd. Redcrosse represents Holiness (and England, and Protestantism), Una represents Truth, the dwarf is Common Sense, the lion is Reason (and the Reformation, and Henry VIII) and they fight against dishonesty, falsehood, treachery, misery, hypocrisy and so on (and also France, the Pope, Catholics, Spain, Jesuits and other nasties). You probably need to be an Elizabethan courtier to get all the references, and if you're an Elizabethan courtier you're probably actually in it.

Anyway, eventually, they make it to Una's home country, which is Eden, and Redcrosse squares off against the dragon (Satan, and also maybe Spain). This is a drag-out, knock-down, three-day battle, where Redcrosse and the dragon each give as good as they get. At the end of the first day, Redcrosse is killed but falls into Eden's life-giving well. At the end of the second, Redcross is burned and poisoned but healed by a balm from the tree of life. Finally, Redcrosse wins. He and Una are betrothed, and everyone lives happily ever after. Except, say, Duessa, or Archimago.

--

The Faerie Queene is supposed to represent some of the most beautiful writing in the English language.

I don't really see it.

Certainly, I'm not transported the way I was with the (English translation of) the Kalevala, or with Beowulf, or even the latter parts of the Mort. Part of this, I suppose, is that the enthusiastic Elizabethan spelling adds a layer of complication, so that to the modern eye (well, mine), the rhymes and rhythms are a bit wonky. And part of it is the allegory, which can be hilariously unsubtle or weirdly oblique. Overall, it becomes a bit of a struggle.

That said, the dragon bit is awesome.

And the baby daughter rather likes it.

Next: The Temperate Knight.

The Mort

The Myth:  King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Camelot! Jousting! Allegory! Romance! Adventure!
The Book: Le Morte d'Arthur
The Author: Sir Thomas Malory
This text: etext of a 1903 edition, edited by A. W. Pollard from Caxton (1485) by way of Wynkyn de Worde.
Price: nothin' (Kindle Free Library)

I started reading Le Morte d'Arthur (or, the Mort, as I took to calling it) shortly after my daughter was born, thinking that it would be nice and comfortable and familiar. It's King Arthur, right? It's like our second-most well-known culture hero. Besides, I'd read it as a kid.

It turned out that I'd not read far as a kid; I hadn't read much past King Pellinore and the Questing Beast, which is half way through book one of eight. There were dozens of knights I'd never even heard of, starting with Sir Balin of the Two Swords. Sir Balin, who we first meet in Camelot's dungeon, is named the best knight of Arthur's court, just before he steals a sword and decapitates the Lady of the Lake.  Of course, the person doing the naming is the Sword Damosel, whose motives and nature are highly suspect, since she's in Camelot with a magical kinslaying sword trying to find someone to murder her brother. If there's one thing that's true in the Mort, it's that damosels is trouble.

"Only a just and true knight can pull this sword from my scabbard, if you know what I mean."
"Lo, I, Sir Balin, have drawn the sword."
"Nice going, champ. Now give it back before you hurt someone."
"What? Perfectly good sword like this? Pff."
"That was a prophecy, you dick. Give it back or you'll regret it."
"Who's going to make me?"
"I should have gone to France."

So, yeah, there's a lot of the Arthurian mythos that was new to me, like the bit where Arthur goes off and conquers Rome before returning to Camelot which is, after all, where the action is.

And I didn't really know much about Sir Tristram, the second greatest knight in Christendom, whose adventures make up a good chunk of the narrative. Sir Tristram, I have to say, brings his troubles on himself.

"Farewell, La Beale Isoud, love you forever! Why, Sir Segwarides' wife, hello!"

Sir Tristram is a Cornish knight, the nephew of King Mark. King Mark's life sucks. His nephew's in love with his wife, and is also the second greatest knight in Christendom, and hence completely insufferable. Most of his knights are crap, and the ones that aren't are more loyal to Tristram than to himself. And every time he goes about incognito, he comes across a knight from Camelot who'll say something like:

 "You sound Cornish! Man, I wouldn't be Cornish for anything. You guys have the crappest king! Everyone knows how crap King Mark is. And your knights are pretty crap too. Except Tristram. He's awesome! Say, why are you stomping and snarling? Man, Cornish knights are  weird."

There's other differences, stuff that doesn't make the modern iterations of the Arthurian cycle.  You don't, for example, hear a lot of Sir Lamorak, son of King Pellinore, lover of Morgawse of Orkney. Come to that, you don't hear a lot of Sir Gareth, the white sheep of Morgawse's Orkney brood. Or how shifty Gawaine (also of Orkney) is in the Mort compared to, say, the Green Knight story.

And these days, Launcelot is often portrayed as a loner and outsider and a foreigner, when in the Mort he's related to half the Round Table. And he is very much the hero-and-champion of Camelot, in humility and courtesy as well as at arms.

So it sucks to be Launcelot on the grail quest. By the time the grail quest comes round, Launcelot has been set up as everyone's favourite knight, a real hero. But on the grail quest, suddenly he's being judged by a completely different set of standards - standards he knows he can't meet, because of his secret sin. And he's constantly reminded of it, getting absolutely pasted several times by allegorical knights, where he's used to wiping the floor with real ones.

"Questing was more fun when it was more jousting and less allegory."

Still, Launcelot does better than Gawaine.

"Monk! Advise me on my quest!"
"Mate, you just totally murdered three allegorical knights. You will not get the grail today."

Launcelot doesn't achieve the grail, but he makes it to the end of the quest and returns home chastened, in divinely-inspired humility. Which lasts about a day and a half once he gets back to court, and Guenever. Of all the knightly qualities displayed in abundance by Sir Launcelot, the most thunderously impressive is his chutzpah.

"I am innocent of all wrongdoing and so is the Queen! And I shall fight anyone who says otherwise!"
"Dude, you are right now naked in the Queen's chambers!"
"You can't prove a thing!"

Jokes aside, the Fall of Camelot sequence in the Mort is really very powerful. There's a pervasive sense of misery and heartbreak as everything just falls apart. Arthur's regret and Launcelot's sorrow and Guenever's heartbreak are palpable, and Gawaine's grief and rage at the death of his brothers just resonates off the page.

Gawaine's deathbed repentance brought a tear to my eye.

So, yeah, that's the Mort. There's violence, there's romance, there's adventure, there's allegory, there's death. It's a lot of fun. There's a surprising depth of human emotion, especially with Launcelot on the grail quest, and with everyone who's still around during the Fall sequence.

Tristram remains a bit of jerk throughout, though.

"Sir Kehydius, how could you try to seduce La Beale Isoud, my beloved? After all I've done for you! I saved your father's kingdom, I saved your life, I married your sister..."
"Dude."
"...who I swear is technically still a virgin..."