The Death of Arthur
Siân Echard, University of British Columbia |
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Siân Echard’s home page | |
Accounts of the death of King Arthur vary from text to text, but there is a general development from the matter-of-fact ending described in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britannie, to the more mysterious possibilities suggested by Arthur’s epithet, rex quondam rexque futurus. This page offers you a few versions of Arthur’s death as it is recounted in medieval, Victorian, and contemporary texts. You can also visit our Arthur in History page to see some other accounts. | |
Hearing that the king was asking him to go so tenderly, Girflet replied: “My Lord, I shall do what you command, as sadly as can be; but please tell me if you think I shall ever see you again.” “No, said the king, “you can be sure of that.” “Where do you expect to go, my dear Lord?” “I cannot tell you,” said the king. When Girflet saw that he would learn no more, he mounted and left the king, and as soon as he had left him, very heavy rain began to fall, and continued until he reached a hill a good half-league away from the king. When he had reached the hill, he waited under a tree for the rain to stop. He looked back to where he had left the king, and saw a ship entirely occupied by women coming across the sea. When the ship had come to the shore opposite where Arthur was, they came to the side, and their lady, who was holding King Arthur’s sister Morgan by the hand, called to Arthur to come aboard. As soon as Arthur saw his sister Morgan, he arose from the ground where he was sitting, and went aboard ship, taking his horse and his arms with him. When Girflet had seen all this from the hill he turned back as fast as his horse would carry him until he reached the shore. When he arrived he saw King Arthur among the ladies, and recognized Morgan the Fay, because he had seen her many times. In a short time the ship had traveled from the shore more than eight times the distance one can shoot from a crossbow; and when Girflet saw that he had thus lost the king, he dismounted on to the shore and suffered the greatest grief in the world. He remained there all day and all night without eating or drinking anything; neither had he eaten or drunk the day before. [Girflet comes to the Black Chapel] On the very splendid and rich tomb there was written ‘HERE LIES KING ARTHUR WHO THROUGH HIS VALOUR CONQUERED TWELVE KINGDOMS.’ Seeing this, he swooned on the tomb, and after he had regained consciousness he kissed it very tenderly, in great grief. He remained there until the evening, until the arrival of the hermit who served the altar. When the hermit had come, Girflet asked him straight away: “My Lord, is it true that King Arthur lies here?” “Yes, my friend, he truly lies there; he was brought here by some ladies whom I did not know.” Girflet immediately thought that they were the ladies who had taken him aboard ship. He said that as his lord had left this world, he would not stay in it any longer. So he begged the hermit to receive him as a companion. So Girflet became a hermit and served in the Black Chapel, but it was not for long because after King Arthur’s death he lived only eighteen days. (La Mort le Roi Artu, c. 1230-1235; translation from James Cable, The Death of King Arthur, 1971) |
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Sir Bedivere saw that boot was best, To the king again went he there The ladies, that were fair and free, The knight cast a rewful roun, When the ship from the land was brought, |
To the chapel he took the way, Unto the ermite went he there “Besauntes offred they here bright, “Ermite,” he said, “without leesing, (The Stanzaic Morte Arthure, late 14th century) |
Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: |
So said he, and the barge with oar and sail The stillness of the dead world’s winter dawn Amazed him, and he groaned, “The King is gone.” And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme, “From the great deep to the great deep he goes." Whereat he slowly turned and slowly clomb The last hard footstep of that iron crag; Thence marked the black hull moving yet, and cried, “He passes to be King among the dead, And after healing of his grievous wound He comes again; but—if he come no more— O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat, Who shrieked and wailed, the three whereat we gazed On that high day, when, clothed with living light, They stood before his throne in silence, friends Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?” Then from the dawn it seemed there came, but faint Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Passing of Arthur (Idylls of the King, 1859-1885) |
The old King felt refreshed, clear-headed, almost ready to begin again.
There would be a day—there must be a day—when he would come back to Gramarye with a new Round Table which had no corners, just as the world had none—a table without boundaries between the nations who would sit to feast there. The hope of making it would lie in culture. If people could be persuaded to read and write, not just to eat and make love, there was still a chance that they might come to reason.
But it was too late for another effort then. For that time it was his destiny to die, or, as some say, to be carried off to Avilion, where he could wait for better days. For that time it was Lancelot’s fate and Guenever’s to take the tonsure and the veil, while Mordred must be slain. The fate of this man or that man was less than a drop, although it was a sparkling one, in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea.
The cannons of his adversary were thundering in the tattered morning when the Majesty of England drew himself up to meet the future with a peaceful heart.
EXPLICIT LIBER REGIS QUONDAM REGISQUE FUTURI THE BEGINNING (T.H. White, The Once and Future King, 1958) |
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So there was joy, after all. The Warrior turned again to look upon his Queen, the light and sorrow of his days, and for the first time in so very long they saw him smile. And she too smiled, for the first time in so very long, and said, asking only now, now that it was vouchsafed them, “Will you take me with you where you go? Is there a place for me among the summer stars?” Through her tears Kim saw Arthur Pendragon walk forward, then, and she saw him take the hand of Guinevere in his own, and she watched the two of them go aboard that craft, floating on the waters that had risen over Andarien. It was almost too much for her, too rich. She could scarcely breathe. She felt as if her soul were an arrow loosed to fly, silver in the moonlight, never falling back. Then there was even more: the very last gift, the one that sealed and shaped the whole. Beneath the shining of Dana’s moon she saw Arthur and Guinevere turn back to look at Lancelot. And she heard Paul say again, with so deep a power woven into his voice, “It is allowed if you will it so. All of the price has been paid.” With a cry of joy wrung from his great heart, Arthur instantly stretched forth his hand. “Oh, Lance, come!” he cried. “Oh come!” For a moment Lancelot did not move. Then something long held back, so long denied, blazed in his eyes brighter than any star. He stepped forward. He took Arthur’s hand and then Guinevere’s, and they drew him aboard. And so the three of them stood there together, the grief of the long tale healed and made whole at last. (Guy Gavriel Kay, The Darkest Road, 1987) |
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