sense of emptiness evident in
The Waste Land, he was not (at least in this novel)
employing the Arthurian myth to contrast the present sterility with past fecundity. A
Handful o f Dust portrays the present as no more spiritually impoverished than the past
- or at least the nineteenth century. Although Guy Crouchback would reverentially
call upon the crusader knight, Sir Roger of Waybroke, in Waugh’s later Sword o f
Honour (1965), to pray for him and ‘our endangered kingdom’ before venturing into
the Second World War, the moral seriousness of medieval Catholicism (which was
invoked by other Catholic and Anglo-Catholic writers including David Jones,
Saunders Lewis and the older Eliot) was not available to Waugh at this time.*9 The
Arthurian myth as Waugh knew it - that of Tennyson’s Idylls - was but another
symbol of the moral vacuousness and cultural fraudulence of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries.
The Grail had not been reoriented in this way. Divorced from the Idylls and
imbued with powerful anthropological and ideological signification, through the
scholarship of Weston, Nutt and others, the Grail became a counterpoint to the
spiritual or social ‘drought’ which writers perceived everywhere in the 1920s and 30s
and which Waugh saw as especially evident in the Tennysonian Arthurian story. As
with the Grail myth, the Arthurian story would later be dynamised by a series of
creative scholars, many of whom would present it as a Celtic cultural construct.
Indeed the British writers who would treat the story with reverence in the 30s and 40s
would be producing Arthurian literature from a decidedly Anglo-Celtic perspective.
But before considering this hybrid production, it is worth examining the literature
which was being produced in Ireland, Scotland, Cornwall and Wales during the first
half of the twentieth century - texts which have been ignored in most accounts of the
* Indeed, Guy Crouchback’s quest for twentieth-century chivalry proves to be as elusive and as
ultimately futile as Tony Last’s attempt to discover the South American Camelot.
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Arthurian legend in the twentieth-century. Indeed, even at the time of its production,
the eminent English scholar E.K. Chambers wrote, concerning Celtic peoples’
relationship to the mythic king: ‘the flames which once burnt around the memory of
Arthur have long ago sunk into grey ashes. He wakes no national passions now.’10
How wrong he was.
An ambivalent hero: the Arthurian legend in Ireland and Scotland
Unlike England, the Celtic nations had never possessed a paradigmatic structure of
Arthurian literary production. Welsh interest in the legend was too spasmodic, too
dependent on the nation’s cultural and political self-confidence to produce a
sustained, authoritative tradition; while Comish Arthuriana had always been too
regionally-specific to require a dogmatic literary form. Interest in Arthur in Scotland
and Ireland, meanwhile, has always been ephemeral and peripheral - a trend which
continued into the modem period. For, while both countries produced a number of
accomplished and experimental Arthurian texts, their quantity is not large. This
historical ambivalence towards Arthur is partly a result of the Arthurian story being
used in the medieval period as a means of historically legitimatising English colonial
ambition towards the Gaelic countries - particularly Scotland.
The quantity of Irish retellings of the legend is especially small. What does
exist is paradoxically characterised by the absence of Arthur himself, in what is best
described as an anti-colonial-Oedipal trope. Yeats’s ‘Time and the Witch Vivien’
(1889) is the earliest example. This brief poem tells of Vivien’s numerous wily
schemes (‘war plots, peace plots, love plots’) and of how she defeated Merlin (‘for
young girls wits are better / Than old men’s any day’), before describing how she was
eventually defeated by Time himself.11 Although Yeats presumably drew Vivien from
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the Idylls, apart from the mention of Merlin, there is nothing here to locate her within
the wider (English) Arthurian story. All Yeats did was to extract a character, a few
brief themes and then recast them in a wholly different manner. Such would be the
pattern in all Irish retellings.
George Moore’s Peronnik the Fool (1921), discussed in the last chapter, was
more daring in its use of the Grail than was Yeats’s treatment of Vivien. Rather than
employing the usual assortment of knights, Moore’s hero is a cowherd, whose peasant
sympathy with the land allows him to achieve his quest. Moore also employed the
Ritualist theories of Weston, along with a Breton folk-tale, rather than the traditional
Tennysonian or Malorian sources. Once again, Arthur is absent from this tale.
Another novel which took as its central concern an Arthurian theme, but which
avoided mention of the king himself, was Padraic Colum’s children’s tale The Boy
Apprenticed to an Enchanter (1920). An Irish nationalist of militant persuasions,
Colum was never likely to write a typically English-derivative Arthurian story. Set in
Ireland, chiefly on the West Coast, Colum’s novel concerns Eean, the apprentice of
the title, who is sold by his poverty-stricken family to Zablun, a wicked Enchanter
whose feats include the destruction of the tower of Babylon. Zablun is a cruel master
to Eean, who escapes and begs Merlin (who has previously abandoned sorcery for the
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love of Vivien) to assist him. Merlin, in a brief return to the magical world, helps
Eean in defeating his former master. Preoccupied as it is with Eean’s rebellion against
* Merlin’s relationship with Vivien shows strong affinity with Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites: ‘He
was two score years of age, and she was five years less than a score. Nevertheless he thought it better to
watch her dancing with bright green leaves in her red hair than to know all that would bring him from
being a lesser to being a great Enchanter. Of the maidens and great ladies he had seen,’ some, he told
her, were like light, and some were like flowers, and some were like a flame of fire. But she, he said,
was like the wind. And he thought no more upon the King of the Isle of Britain, nor on the great work
he was to do for him, and he spent his days in watching Vivien, and in listening to Vivien, and in
making magic things for Vivien’s delight’ (90). Vivien, as in the traditional version of the story, does
imprison Merlin, but only out of a jealous anxiety that he will forsake her for his duties to the ‘King of
the Isle of Britain’. When Merlin assures her that he will not abandon her, Vivien releases him and
together they live contented. This version of the story Colum claimed to have derived from the
fishermen of Western Ireland.