The Three Days' Tournament

In the latter part of the Prose Lancelot, the section represented by the Dutch translation, we find Arthur holding a tournament, which has been suggested by Guinevere with the view of recalling Lancelot, who has long been absent, to court, and heightening his fame. Lancelot returns secretly, unknown to all but the queen, who sends him a message to come and discomfit the knights who are jealous of him. Lancelot appears in red armour and overthrows them all. The queen demands another tournament in three days’ time, when Lancelot appears as a white knight, with the same result. After this he reveals himself to Arthur.15

But the best parallel is that contained in the Lanzelet of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven. Here Lanzelet makes his first appearance at court at a three days’ tournament; the first day dressed in green, the second in white, the third in red; overthrows all opposed to him, including Kay,16 and takes his departure, without revealing himself.

With these repeated parallels before us, it seems impossible to doubt that when Hue de Rotelande referred to Walter Map, in connection with the tournament episode of Ipomedon, he had in his mind a version of the Lancelot, which also contained such a story, and which was attributed to the latter writer.

But what could this version have been? Certainly not the Prose Lancelot in its present form. As we remarked before, this romance is the result of slow growth and successive redactions, and the two parallels contained in it bear marks of modification and dislocation. In my recent studies on the Lancelot legend17 I have pointed out that in the process of evolution it certainly passed through a stage in which it was closely connected with, and affected by, the Perceval story. Gradually the popularity of the hero of the younger tale obscured that of the elder; and in the Lancelot, as we now have it, the traces of Perceval influence have almost disappeared from the majority of the printed versions, though interesting survivals are still to be found in certain manuscripts and in the Dutch translation. Now one of the best known adventures attributed to Perceval is that in which the sight of blood-drops on new-fallen snow—caused by a bird having been wounded, or slain, by a hawk—recalls to his mind the lady of his love, and plunges him into a trance; in which he is rudely attacked by Kay, who would bring him by force to court. He retaliates by unhorsing the seneschal with such force that he breaks, in one version both arms, in others, an arm and a leg.18 It should also be noted that in the Peredur a raven has alighted on the slain bird, and we have the three colours, black, red, and white, recalling the lady’s raven hair, white skin, and crimson lips and cheeks.19

Taking into consideration the proved connection existing between the Perceval and the earlier forms of the Lancelot, it would seem most probable that a version of the tournament which included a similar discomfiture of the seneschal would belong to an earlier stage of evolution than one in which Kay did not appear. As I have pointed out above,20 the Lanzelet version not only includes Kay’s overthrow, but recounts it in words that forcibly recall the Perceval episode.

It also seems probable that it was such a form which was known to the author of the Ipomedon, as he makes the discomfiture of the seneschal Cananeus, whose resemblance to Kay has already been pointed out, follow immediately upon the tournament episode.

So far, then, as the priority of existing versions is concerned, we must, I think, give a verdict in favour of the Lanzelet, though with the reservation that even here there has been, as we shall presently see, a certain modification of the story as known to Hue.

What now do we know of the source of the Lanzelet? From the statement of the author,21 we learn that the original of this poem was a French book, ‘daz welsche buoch von Lanzelete,’ brought to Germany by Hugo de Morville, one of the hostages who, in 1194, replaced Richard Cœur de Lion in the prison of Leopold of Austria. Thus we know that the French book must have been prior to that date, but so far no one has detected any reference that would enable us to fix the period of composition more accurately. But the character of the romance as we possess it—a collection of episodes, many of them of marked folk-lore character, loosely strung together, and harmonising but ill with each other—makes it highly probable that the constituent parts of the romance had possessed an independent existence prior to being strung together on the slender thread of the hero’s personality. It is therefore perfectly possible that the French source of the Lanzelet was in existence before Hue de Rotelande wrote the Ipomedon; it is more than possible, indeed, as we shall see, a fact of almost certain demonstration—that the adventure of the Three Days’ Tournament had been ascribed to Lancelot, certainly by 1160, and most probably before that date.

In the Didot Perceval, a romance which probably formed part of a very early cyclic redaction of the Arthurian legend, and one in which Lancelot plays a very subordinate rôle, we find an allusion to ‘le fìz à la fille à la femme de Malehot,’22 which seems to suggest that even at that comparatively early stage the incident had undergone the modification familiar to us in the Prose Lancelot. In the result, I think we shall find that it formed one of the first steps in the development of the Lancelot story.23

So far as the evidence of the Ipomedon goes it suggests, if it does not absolutely prove, that at the period when that poem was written there was current a story which ascribed to Lancelot the adventures of the Three Days’ Tournament, in a form which, as might be expected in any early Lancelot version, showed traces of the influence of the Perceval, and which was popularly attributed to Walter Map. Of the versions which we now possess, that of Lanzelet best corresponds to these conditions.

CLIGÉS

But there is another claimant in the field, and one whose right to be considered the original hero of the adventure it would, according to Professor Foerster’s opinion, be sheer impiety to doubt!—the Cligés of Chrétien de Troyes. In the poem of that name the hero makes his first appearance at Arthur’s court at a tournament lasting for four successive days: he wears successively black, green, red, and white armour; and overthrows, on the three first days, Segramor, Lancelot, and Perceval; fighting on the fourth day an undecided combat with Gawain.24 Professor Foerster, commenting on the Lanzelet,25 remarks of the tournament episode ‘das Wechseln der Rüstung stammt aus Cligés; and further on26 affirms that Chrétien ‘sich—im Cligés sicher als ganz selbständig gezeigt hat,’ a statement he repeats on p. cxxviii, and in another place27 with even more emphasis, ‘Dieser selbe Kristian ist in einem Roman wie Niemand ableugnen kann GANZ SELBSTÄNDIG vorgegangen, im Cligés.’ That is, Professor Foerster asserts, and as emphatically as print will allow him, that Chrétien was entirely independent in Cligés; that the episode of the change of armour is the same in the two poems, and was borrowed by the author of the Lanzelet from Chrétien, and therefore, if words mean anything, that Chrétien invented the story, and that Cligés is the real and original hero of the tale.

Well, if assertion were argument, and a liberal display of large type could settle intricate questions of literary criticism, we might hold the dependence of Lanzelet upon Cligés to be—not proven, no—but determined. But there are some few heretics who suspect that Professor Foerster’s ipse dixit, though imposed with all the weight of a Papal imprimatur, is not really more competent to decide a problem of sources than is that notoriously fallacious engine for the suppression of free investigation, and therefore, more heretico, we will be presumptuous enough to examine the question for ourselves.

So far as the dates of the existing versions are concerned, be it said at once that the Cligés is the older; i.e. it is older than the Ipomedon, the Lanzelet, or the Prose Lancelot; but how it stands with regard to the lost French source of the Lanzelet is not so easily determined. The exact date of the Cligés is not known. It was written after Erec, the translations from Ovid, and the lost Tristan; but before the Charrette and the Yvain, which fall between the years 1164-73. Professor Foerster, in his Introduction to the Charrette,28 has expressed himself in favour of as late a date as possible for that poem—towards 1170; and since the Perceval, Chrétien’s last work, was written about 1182, we can scarcely place the beginning of his literary career earlier than 1150. If we place the Cligés before 1160, we shall, I think, be ascribing too great an activity to the decade 1150-60, in comparison with 1160-70. It seems more suitable to place the Cligés about 1160; but, as we shall see, the argument is not affected by a few years one way or the other.

The most important factor in the problem, the French source of the Lanzelet, no longer exists,29 yet it appears certain that the whole question hinges upon the possibility of this, or an analogous French Lancelot story, having been in existence previous to the work of Chrétien de Troyes. It therefore becomes necessary, not only to carefully compare the two versions, that of the Cligés and that of the Lanzelet, but also to inquire as to the source from which the story was originally derived. As we shall see, these two parts of our investigation mutually supplement each other, and in the sum-total present us with a compact and striking body of evidence.

As a first step in the inquiry we will take the Cligés, the Lanzelet, and the Ipomedon (as being anterior to the Lanzelet in its present form), and see if we can discover any traces of a knowledge of Chrétien’s work on the part of the two later writers. The answer will be unhesitatingly in the negative. In neither work is there any reminiscence (with the exception of the episode in question) either in name or incident of the Cligés. As a matter of fact, allusions to this poem are exceptionally rare. Professor Foerster states that there were two German translations, one by Ulrich von Türheim and another by Konrad Fleck, but of these only fragments remain. The Parzival once mentions a Clîas, a knight of the Round Table, and in another place refers to the story of Alexander and Soredamors, but in each case it is doubtful whether the allusion is to Chrétien’s poem.30 The English ‘Sir Cleges’31 has no connection whatever with the earlier hero, and Malory’s allusions to a Sir Clegis do not go beyond the mere name, and cannot be identified with either. In my Lancelot studies I have commented upon the indifference with which Cligés appears to have been received as being somewhat curious considering the undoubted literary value of the poem.32

On the other hand, the Cligés knows Lancelot as one of Arthur’s most valiant knights, the third in order of merit, a position he certainly could not have held before his story had reached a fairly advanced stage of development. Indeed, Chrétien’s references to this hero deserve particular attention.33 He is first mentioned in Erec as a knight of the Round Table, third in rank, the two first being Gawain and Erec, but is only a name, taking no part in the action of the poem. In Cligés he occupies the same position, but here Perceval, and not Erec, ranks second. Lancelot appears upon the scene once, and once only, when he is overthrown by Cligés at the tournament in question. In the Charrette he is the hero of the poem, the first of Arthur’s knights, the lover of the queen, and her rescuer from the prison of Meleagant. In the Chevalier au Lion which followed, his name is mentioned but once, and that in connection with an allusion to the Charrette. In the Perceval his name never appears at all. It seems extraordinary that the significance of these allusions, taken as a group, should so long have escaped detection. As a matter of fact I failed to grasp their importance myself when commenting upon them in my Lancelot studies. Thus, the tournament episode in Cligés is so close a parallel to that of the Lanzelet that, as we have seen, Professor Foerster declares the one to be the source of the other. The rescue of Guinevere from Meleagant, the theme of the Charrette, parallels her rescue from Falerîn, also in the Lanzelet. In both the queen is abducted against her will; in both the prison is of an otherworld character: in the one Lancelot is of the party of rescuers, but takes no prominent share in the enterprise; in the other he is the sole agent of her deliverance. In commenting upon the poem in my Lancelot studies,34 I pointed out that the story was, in its essence, of so primitive a character, that it must certainly be, in its origin, of an earlier date than any extant literary version; and that, of the two before us, the Lanzelet, by its unlocalised character, the details it gives of Falerîn’s stronghold, and the comparatively unimportant position assigned to Lancelot, must be considered the older.

Further, in the roll of knights named in Erec, following such well-known names as Gawain, Erec, Lancelot, Gornemanz, le Biaus Coarz (Bel Couart), Le lez Hardis (le Laid Hardi), and Melianz de Liz, we have Mauduiz li Sages, who, as I have elsewhere pointed out (Lancelot, p. 80), can hardly be other than the enchanter of the Lanzelet, Malduz der Wîse. Taking all these facts into consideration, the position Chrétien assigns to Lancelot, and the two adventures (they are really only two, the incidents of the Charrette are all subsidiary to the freeing of Guinevere) he records, is it not perfectly clear that Chrétien knew, and followed, an early version of the Lancelot story, akin to, if not identical with, the lost French source of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven? Is it not far more probable that in the Cligés he borrowed from the Lancelot than that an adventure so persistently, and so early, attributed to that well-known hero should have been borrowed from the obscure Cligés?

If it be objected, as of course those who hold Professor Foerster’s views will object, that Chrétien’s position in the literary world of the day was such that it is infinitely more likely that he should be the lender rather than the borrower, I would ask, but how if the story from which he borrowed was held, rightly or wrongly, to be the work of Walter Map? Map was a much more important personage than Chrétien. Chrétien was a poet, and a good poet, but at the best to the world in general he would be no more than the favoured servant and dependant of a minor French princess. Map was a man of political importance, the trusted companion and emissary of the most prominent monarch of the day. What was the position held by Map in the eyes of that same public to whom Chrétien appealed may be gathered by the anxiety which the romance-writers showed to shelter themselves under his name. We have one or two Arthurian poems, such as e.g., Diu Krône, which purport to be by Chrétien; we have a whole mass of prose romance, practically the main body of Arthurian legend in its later form, which professes to be the work of Walter Map. Could testimony as to the relative status of the two men in the eyes of their contemporaries be more eloquent? Is it likely that Chrétien, even if he had held as exalted an idea of his own work as his latter-day admirers would credit him with—and he did not—would have thought it derogatory to his dignity to borrow from Map? I think not; and if we had not a jot or a tittle of further evidence on the subject, I should contend that, on the evidence of the poems alone, we have strong grounds for maintaining the priority over Cligés of a lost Lancelot version.

But as it happens, our case does not rest upon this evidence alone. We have at hand an important witness; a witness to whose evidence Professor Foerster and his followers shut their eyes and stop their ears, but who nevertheless is slowly, but surely, winning recognition as an important factor in the determination of such problems as those we are discussing. Let us turn to folk-lore, and find if from the lips of popular tradition we can gather evidence that may help to decide the question. We shall find an answer startling in its point and clearness.

THE FOLK-TALE

The Contes Lorrains of M. Cosquin35 contains a story, Le Petit Berger, in which we shall find our tournament adventure in what we may term full fairy-tale form. A princess expresses a desire to own a flock of sheep; her father consents, and hires a lad to guard them, of whom the princess becomes secretly enamoured. On three successive days the shepherd penetrates into a forbidden wood, and on each occasion slays a terrible giant, clad in steel, silver, or golden armour. By the death of these giants the hero becomes master of three castles, of steel, silver, and gold, in each of which he finds a suit of armour and a steed to correspond. He keeps the feat a profound secret, and when later on the king proclaims a three days’ tournament, the prize of which is the hand of the princess, he appears each day in different armour, and mounted on the corresponding steed—steel, silver or golden—wins the tournament, and weds the lady.

Now this is merely the shortest and simplest form of a story, which is found practically all the world over. Let us look at some of the variants.

In the notes to Le Petit Berger M. Cosquin cites a Tyrolean variant, where instead of three giants the hero slays three dragons, thereby winning three castles. The armour corresponds to that of the previous tale; but the horses are black, red, and white, herein agreeing with the Ipomedon and the Prose Lancelot; the compiler refers to other versions from the same country given by Zingerle,36 but cites no details. In an Italian variant the horses are of crystal, silver, and gold.

Now let us turn to another of M. Cosquin’s tales, Jean de l’Ours,37 where the main theme of the story is the release of a princess from an Otherworld prison. Here we shall find a Greek tale given, the details of which are, as we shall see, specially important for our investigation. A prince delivers his sister and three stranger princesses from the prison of a drakos (translated by M. Cosquin as sorte d’ogre) on the summit of a high mountain. When about to descend himself, his brother cuts the cord and leaves him a prisoner on the mountain. In the ogre’s castle he sees three marvellous objects: a greyhound of velvet pursuing a hare also of velvet; a golden ewer which pours water of itself into a golden basin; a golden hen with her chickens. He also finds three winged horses, respectively white, red, and green, and sets them at liberty. In gratitude they transport him to the plain, and each gives him a hair from their tail, bidding him burn it when he needs their aid. The prince takes service with a goldsmith in his father’s city. The eldest brother desires to marry the eldest of the rescued princesses; she demands a velvet greyhound pursuing a velvet hare, such as she has seen in the ogre’s castle. The king offers a reward to any who can make such an object. The pretended goldsmith’s apprentice undertakes to do so, and sends the green horse to fetch the original. At the tournament in honour of the wedding he appears on the horse in a dress to correspond, carries off the honours of the day, and escapes unrecognised. His second brother marries the second princess. She demands the golden ewer—the red horse comes to his aid, and he wins the tournament in his red dress. When the third and youngest princess is to be wedded to the king’s brother he appears in white, on the white steed, slays the would-be bridegroom with a cast of his javelin, reveals his identity, and wins the bride. Here we have the three colours of the Lanzelet.

Again, in the variants of Le Prince et son Cheval, another tale of the same collection,38 we find the Three Days’ Tournament allied to the rescue and escape from the Otherworld motif. In this latter story we have the well-known incident of escape from a giant, or a magician, by means of magical objects which, thrown behind the escaping pair, erect mysterious barriers between pursuer and pursued.

In his notes to Le Petit Berger, M. Cosquin quotes a remark of M. Mullenhoff, to the effect that in one variant of the story collected by him it is combined with ‘le conte bien connu où le héros gravit à cheval une montagne de verre, pour conquérir la main d’une belle princesse.’39 Now the glass mountain is a well-recognised form of the Otherworld prison. Probably, too, we ought to connect with this some variants of the tale where the feat is to attain the summit of a high tower; a version of this is known among the Avares of the Caucasus; here the horses are blue, red, and black.

Thus we may note two well-marked classes of the tales, in one of which (a) the hero simply wins the hand of the princess at a tourney; in the second of which (b) he also rescues her from the Otherworld.

But there is a third variant of our story, in which the feat differs somewhat from b. The hero is again a rescuer, but this time he rescues the princess from death at the jaws of a monster, generally a dragon. This we may call class c. In the notes to Leopold,40 M. Cosquin refers to a German variant where the combat lasts for three days, and horses and armour are black, red, and white. In this connection, as member of class c, Mr. Hartland has studied the story in his well-known Legend of Perseus,41 and some of the variants he gives we shall find of interest to us.

In an Irish version, The Thirteenth Son of the King of Erin,42 the hero, who has previously slain three giants, and taken possession of their castles and wealth, comprising three steeds, black, brown, and red, rescues the king’s daughter from a great monster, a serpent of the sea, ‘which must get a king’s daughter to devour every seven years.’ The combat lasts three days; but though the hero appears each day in a different dress, only on the first does it correspond with the colour of his horse. Here the tournament incident is lacking.

A very good example, this time hailing from the Odenwald, contains the conquest of the giants (eight), the three days’ fight with the dragon, and the Three Days’ Tournament. Here the hero is a king’s son, who, seeing the portrait of the princess, falls in love with her and dares the adventure from which his father shrinks.43 This tale, as Mr. Hartland points out, apparently bears traces of literary influence, and it certainly recalls the données of the Ipomedon where the hero, also a king’s son, is attracted by the fame of La Fière’s beauty, before he sees her.

In a gipsy variant from Transylvania, also given by Mr. Hartland, the princess has been carried off by a dragon to the glass mountain (thus apparently combining b and c); and the horse—there is but one—has the mysterious property of appearing red in the morning, white at noon, and black at night.

It must be borne in mind that the legend which Mr. Hartland was engaged in studying was, before all else, a rescue legend—the rescue of Andromeda—consequently the variants of our tale, collected by him, are practically confined to what we have designated as class c, where the feat performed by the hero is the rescue of the princess from a monster. This particular feature he carries back, in insular tradition, to the old Irish story of Cuchullin’s rescue of Deborghill from the Fomori; sea-robbers, whose real character and origin are doubtful. The hero hears sounds of wailing, and finds the maiden, the daughter of the King of the Isles, exposed upon the seashore. He confronts the Fomori, three in number, and slays them one after the other. Thus the triple combat is preserved, but it appears evident that, even at this early date, the story had been modified in the interests of romantic saga.44 With this (class c) form of the story we frequently find combined what is known as The False Claimant ‘motif.’ The hero disappears after the rescue, having either left behind him some proof of his identity, such as, e.g., the binding of the heads of the monster on a withy in such a manner that none but himself can unloose them; or having in his possession such a proof as, e.g. the tongues of the severed heads, or the handkerchief, ring, or ear-ring of the princess. By means of this proof he confutes the cowardly rival who claims to have achieved the feat. This particular form of the story is perhaps, on the whole, the one in which it is best known. There is one group which, as we shall see, is of extraordinary interest and importance for the special study in which we are engaged.