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defined the chivalry of the Middle Ages as ‘a kind of compromise between the ascetic
theology of the medieval church and the unsanctified life of the world which the
church rejected as wholly bad’.23 This was at no time truer than it was in the Victorian
period. The violent acquisitiveness that formed the economic base of the feudal
aristocracy now underpinned the economic exploitation o f the British working classes
as well as the indigenous populaces of the Empire’s numerous colonies. In neither
historical period could the tenets of Christianity be fully reconciled to the martial and
exploitative nature of feudal or capitalist prosperity.
The Victorian reinvention of Chivalry was just another means o f justifying
these aberrations in a ‘Christian’ society. The behavioural code of Victorian chivalry
- like bourgeois liberalism and the gentlemanly ethos - was an intermediary between
the moral ethics Christianity demanded and the apparatuses of a secular, capitalist and
imperial society. In its emphasis on purity (but not on chastity), on endeavour (but not
on achievement), on self-discipline (but not on asceticism), chivalry was a far less
stringent moral system than Christianity, yet it still preserved a semblance of virtuous
living underpinned by a ‘tradition’ (wholly invented in the nineteenth century) which
purported to stretch back to the Middle Ages. Watts’s ethically-Christian, religiously-
void Sir Galahad epitomised this notion of chivalry which influenced moralists up
until the First World War.
The cult of Galahad, begun with Tennyson’s poem in 1842 and codified by
Watts in 1862, changed little in the remainder of the nineteenth century. At the
beginning of the twentieth, however, Galahad was assuming a more martial character.
He featured, for instance, in several memorials dedicated to the fallen soldiers of the
Anglo-Boer War.24 In fact, the trend for Galahad memorials began, as did so much
Victorian Arthuriana, with Tennyson. Although the Poet Laureate had died in 1892 it
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was not until 1899 that the Bishop of Ripon unveiled the stained glass window
designed by Bume-Jones at St Bartholomew’s Church, Haslemere (1899; fig. 10),
which Tennyson had attended for many years. It was possibly the success of Bume-
Jones’s stained glass which influenced the decision to adopt Galahad as a figure fit to
commemorate the war dead. 25 It was a trend that continued until the after the First
World War, when Galahad would once again be used to memorialise the fallen (see
page 97).
The most notable literary example of this martialisation is Erskine Childers’s
early espionage thriller, The Riddle o f the Sands (1903). The narrator, Carruthers,
begins the novel as a bored, foppish junior member of the Foreign Office, who idles
his hours away dreaming of the country house parties that he misses while suffering
the martyrdom that is Edwardian London in August. Yet by the novel’s conclusion he
has emerged as a doughty defender of Britain’s national defences, uncovering, with
help from his sailing companion Davies, a Prussian plot to invade the English coasts.
Both Carruthers and Davies reveal a native English heroism that belies their unlikely
appearance - whether London fop, or amateur sailor.
Carruthers, with the customary assurance of the gentry, only once doubts his
abilities to thwart the German’s naval plans. In order to fortify his courage Carruthers
recalls the chivalric heroes of old, whom he had learnt of, no doubt, as part of his
public school education:
I should have been a spiritless dog if I had not risen to [Davies’s] mood. But in
truth his cutting o f the knot was at this juncture exactly what appealed to me
[...] it imparted into our adventure a strain of crazy chivalry more suited to
knights-errant o f the Middle Ages than to sober modem youths - well, thank
Heaven, I was not too sober, and still young enough to snatch at that fancy
with an ardour o f imagination, if not of character; perhaps, too, of character,
for Galahads are not so common but that ordinary folk must needs draw
courage from their example and put something of a blind trust in their tenfold
strength.26
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As Galahad inspired Guy Morville in Yonge’s The Heir o f Redclyffe, so does the
maiden knight restore the courage of Carruthers on his latter-day quest. But the
difference between Morville and Carruthers is marked. Whereas the imitation of
Galahad in Yonge’s novel brought about moral improvement in Morville, Carruthers
is inspired only by Galahad’s courageousness as a legendary brother-in-arms: this
latter-day Galahad operates as a symbol of the intrepid adventurer’s victory against
the odds. By the Edwardian period, with the threat of a large-scale European war
becoming increasingly apparent, Galahad was not being used by writers merely as a
moral exemplar: he was already being prepared for war.
‘The necessary supply of heroes must be maintained at all cost’: Galahad and the
Great War27
Three million men died in the service of Britain and Germany alone in the First World
War. Millions of others fought, with millions more working hundreds of miles from
the trenches, providing the industrial, mechanical and other militarist components
which maintained the war-effort. Writers, along with politicians, schoolmasters,
churchmen, industrialists and other spokesmen of establishment powers, glorified and
encouraged these enormous strains on their countries’ populaces. Through various
propagandist strategies - invoking patriotism, communality, outrage, guilt - these
advocates attempted to regulate collective and individual responses to the war.
Medieval iconography - which in Britain was chiefly in the form of Victorian
chivalry - was one such strategy. Considering this was the first mass-industrialised
international war the world had seen, the image of the medieval knight may seem
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