And out of this devilish welter of change--so like the one today--he tried to create a world of order, a world of virtue governed by forces familiar to him. And what material had he to build with? Not the shelves of well-ordered source books, not even the public records of his time, not a single chronological certainty, since such a system did not exist. He did not even have a dictionary in any language. Perhaps he had a few manuscripts, a missal, maybe the Alliterative Poems. Beyond this, he had only his memory and his hopes and his intuitions. If he could not remember a word, he had to use another or make one up.
And what were his memories like? I'll tell you what they were like. He remembered bits and pieces of what he had read. He remembered the deep and terrible forest and the slime of the swamps. He remembered without recalling, or recalled without remembering, stories told by the fire in the manorial hall by trouveres from Brittany; but also in his mind were the tellings in the sheep byre in the night--by a shepherd whose father had been to Wales and had heard Cymric tales of wonder and mysticism. In his mind were perhaps some of the triads and also some of the lines from the poems of hidden meaning which survived in him because the words and figures were compelling and spoke to his unconscious mind, although the exact meaning was lost. The writer had also a sky full of cloud-like history, not arranged in time but with people and events all co-existing simultaneously. Among them were friends, relatives, kings, old gods and heroes, ghosts and angels, and devils of feeling and of traditions lost and rediscovered.
And finally he had himself as literary material--his vices and failures, his hopes and angers and alarms, his insecurities for the future and his puzzlement about the past. Everyone and every event he had ever known was in him. And his illnesses were there too, always the stomach-ache, since the food of his time was inadequate for health, perhaps bad teeth--a universal difficulty--maybe arrested syphilis or the grandchildren of the pox carried in distorted genes. He had the strong uninspected fabric of the church, memory of music heard, unconscious observation of nature, since designed observation is a recent faculty. He had all of the accumulated folklore of his time--magic and soothsaying, forecast and prophecy--witchcraft and its brother medicine. All these are not only in the writer of the Morte--they are the writer.
Let us now consider me--who am the writer who must write the writer as well as the Morte. Why has it been necessary to read so much--most of which will probably not be used? I think it necessary for me to know everything I can about what Malory knew and how he might have felt, but it is also necessary for me to be aware of what he did not know, could not have known, and could not feel. For example--if I did not know something about contemporary conditions and attitudes toward medieval villeins and serfs, I could not understand Malory's complete lack of feeling for them. One of the greatest errors in the reconstruction of another era lies in our tendency to think of them as being like ourselves in feelings and attitudes. Actually, without considerable study on the part of a present-day man--if he were confronted by a fifteenth-century man--there would be no possible communication. I think it is possible through knowledge and discipline for a modern man to understand, and, to a certain extent, live into a fifteenth-century mind, but the reverse would be completely impossible.
I don't think any of the research on this project has been wasted, because while I may not be able to understand all of Malory's mind, at least I know what he could not have thought or felt.
With all of the preceding in mind, it must be clear that the opposite is going to be a definite difficulty. In translating, I cannot communicate all of the Morte because the modern mind, without great knowledge and intra-era empathy, is quite incapable of taking on a great part of it. Where this is so, the only recourse will lie in parallels. Perhaps I will be able to evoke a similar emotion or image although it cannot be an identical one.
The difficulties are now apparent to me in relation to this work. But the credit side must not be discounted. There is a continuing folklore which has never been lost, down from generation to generation. This body of myth has changed very little in its essence, although its clothing may vary from period to period and from place to place. And within the legend there is the safety of identification, almost a set of responses to mental stimuli.
Also the drives and desires of people have not changed. A man's true wish is to be rich and comfortable and noticed and loved. To these ends he devotes all of his wishes and most of his energies. Only when he is frustrated in these does his direction change. Within this pattern the writer of the Morte and I and those who may read my work are able to communicate freely.
TO CHASE--LONDON, MAY 1958
Welcome to fifteenth-century London! We've just come in from two and a half days wandering with Vinaver. We couldn't get reservations in Winchester for tonight because of an agricultural fair, so we are driving there early in the morning so Vinaver can show John the manuscript himself. We will have lunch there with the librarian, see the Mss. and drive back to London. We will call you the instant we get in, probably around 6:30 or so.
We have planned an All-Malory--Welcome to Chase Horton--Memorial Dinner Party for tomorrow night (Wednesday)--the Watsons, the Vinavers, us and you. Hope you aren't too tired; the Vinavers must return to Manchester early Thursday morning and this is their only opportunity to meet you. We'll have a drink here in our rooms, and dine downstairs in the Grill.
Can't wait to see you!
XXX from us both,
Elaine
Wed. morning
Just received cable. Will expect you join us no matter how late.
E.
TO ERO--NEW YORK, JULY 7, 1958
I think this is a kind of a milestone letter, more so than a progress report, although it will be that also. As nearly as I can see, the long and arduous and expensive research toward my new work on the Morte d'Arthur is just about complete. That is, it can never be complete but the time has come to go to work on the actual writing.
I know you are aware of the hundreds of books bought, rented and consulted, of the microfilms of manuscripts unavailable for study, of the endless correspondence with scholars in the field, and finally the two trips to England and one to Italy to turn up new sources of information and to become familiar with the actual scenes which must have influenced Malory. Some of the places are unchanged since he knew them in the fifteenth century and of the others it was necessary to know the soil and the atmosphere, the quality of the grass and the kind of light both day and night. A writer is deeply influenced by his surroundings and I did not feel that I could know the man Malory until and unless I knew the places he had seen and the scenes which must have influenced his life and his writing.
From scholars in the field all over the world I have received welcome and encouragement, particularly from Dr. Buhler of the Morgan Library and from Professor Vinaver of the University of Manchester. All of the people who have given me of their learning and made their books and manuscripts available to me will be thanked in a special preface, of course, but I want to make mention now of the enormous job that Chase Horton has done toward this project. He has not only found and bought and inspected hundreds of books and manuscripts but his genius for research has pointed directions and sources which I doubt very much I should have found without him. On the trip to England just concluded, his work and planning and insight have been invaluable. Let me repeat, I do not think I could have done the work or achieved the understanding of the subject which I hope I have without his help.
Now that I come to doing the actual writing I must admit to an uneasiness approaching fright. It is one thing to gather information and quite another to set it down finally. But the time has come for that. I plan to start now, and barring accidents and the normal interruptions due to health and family duties, to carry it through as rapidly as my knowledge and ability can contrive.
I have given a great deal of thought to method and have come finally to the conclusion that the following will be my best method. There is only one c
omplete Morte d'Arthur in existence and that is the Caxton first edition which is in the Morgan Library in New York. There is of course the earlier manuscript at Winchester College in England, which differs in certain things with the Caxton, and but for the misfortune of lacking eight sheets at the end, might be the one unimpeachable source. As it is, all work on Malory must come from a combination of these two copies. I have not only seen and examined both of these originals but I have also microfilm of both, and these two sources must be my basis for translation. I have the Caxton microfilm by courtesy of the Morgan Library and the Winchester mss from the Library of Congress. This then is my basic material for translation.
I intend to translate into a modern English, keeping, or rather trying to re-create, a rhythm and tone which to the modern ear will have the same effect as the Middle English did on the fifteenth-century ear. I shall do a specified number of pages of this translation every working day, that is, five days a week, and six to eight pages of translation a day. In addition, I shall every day set down in the form of a working diary, the interpretations, observations and background material drawn from our great body of reading. By doing these two things simultaneously I hope to keep the interpretive notes an integral part of the stories being translated. When the translation is finished I should then have a great body of interpretation which is an integral part of the spirit of the stories and their meanings. The introduction, which should be a very important part of the work, I shall leave for the last since it must be an overall picture of the complete work, both translation and interpretation.
I think that is all for now. I am aching to get to work after the years of preparation. And I'm scared also, but I think that is healthy. I have spent a great deal of money and even more time on this project. It is perfectly natural that I should have a freezing humility considering the size of the job to do and the fact that I have to do it all alone. There is no one to help me from now on. This is the writing job, the loneliest work in the world. If I fail there is only one person in the world to blame, but I could do with a small prayer from you and from any others who feel that this should be the best work of my life and the most satisfying. Prayer is about the only help I can hope for now. Yours. And I am now going into the darkness of my own mind.
TO ERO--NEW YORK, JULY 9, 1958
Yesterday I started the translating, starting from scratch, and continued today. By the end of the week I may not like what I've done but so far I do. It is absolutely fascinating--the process I mean. And I've thrown out so many ideas which I found at the time.
You remember when I started talking about it, I wanted to keep the rhythms and tones of Malory. But since then I have learned a lot and thought a lot. And perhaps my thought parallels Malory's. When he started, he tried to keep intact the Frensshe books--largely Chretien de Troyes. But as he went along he changed. He began to write for the fifteenth-century ear and the English mind and feeling. And only then did it become great. His prose was understandable and acceptable to the people of his time. The stories and the relationships are immortal. But tone, and method, change. The twentieth-century ear cannot take in the fifteenth-century form whether in tone, sentence structure or phraseology. A shorter and more concise statement is the natural vehicle now. And oddly enough, this is just what Malory had to do to his source material. As he became confident, he shortened and tightened for his period. And he also clarified some obscure matters. Well, that is what I am trying to do--to make the material not a period-piece in form, to keep the content and the details but to cast them into a form for our time.
An amazing thing happens once you drop the restrictions of the fifteenth-century language. Immediately the stories open up and come out of their entombment. The small scholars are not going to approve of this method but I think Vinaver and Buhler will love it for it is Malory, not as he wrote, but as he would have written now. I can give you many examples in the way of word use. Let us take the word worship in the Malorian sense. It is an old English word worth-ship and it meant eminence gained by one's personal qualities of courage or honor. You could not inherit worshipfulness. It was solely due to your own nature and actions. Beginning in the thirteenth century, the word moved into a religious connotation which it did not have originally. And now it has lost its original meaning and has become solely a religious word. Perhaps the word honor has taken its place or even better, renown. Once renown meant to be renamed because of one's own personal qualities, and now it means to be celebrated but still for personal matters. You can't inherit renown. I'm just trying to give you an idea of my experiment. And so far it seems good. I am so familiar with the work now that I am no longer frightened of it. The work must also be a little expounded. For example--Malory says,"--Uther sent for this duke charging him to bring his wife with him for she was called a fair lady and passing wise and her name was called Igraine." Now your fifteenth-century listener to the story knew immediately that Uther was on the make for Igraine even before he saw her--and if the listener didn't know it, the teller of the story could inform his audience with a raised eyebrow or a wink or a tone of voice. But our readers, having only the printed page, must be informed by the word. And I am no longer afraid to use the word. Many of the seeming gaps were doubtless filled in with pantomime by the raconteur but I must fill those gaps. And where once I would have been reluctant to add anything, I no longer am. You, Chase and Vinaver have removed that fear from me.
Anyway, I am started and I feel pretty fine and free. I am working in the garage until my new workroom is completed and it is good. Thank God for the big Oxford dictionary. A glossary is a very unsatisfactory thing but that big Oxford is the greatest book in the world. I find myself running to it constantly. And where Malory uses often two adjectives meaning the same thing I am using one. For on the one hand I must increase the writing--on the other I must draw it in for our present-day eye and ear. It may be charming to read--"to bring his wyf with him for she was called a fayre lady and passing wyse and her name was called Igraine." But in our time it is more communicating to say--"to bring his wife, Igraine, with him for she was reputed to be not only beautiful but clever."
I do hope this doesn't sound like vandalism to you. I think the content is just as good and true and applicable now as it ever was but I believe now that it can only be released from the fifteenth-century tomb by this method. If it or rather they (the stories) had been invented in the fifteenth century, it would be another matter--but they weren't. If Malory could rewrite Chretien for his time, I can rewrite Malory for mine. Tennyson rewrote him for his soft Victorian audience and pulled the toughness out. But our readers can take the toughness. Malory removed some of the repetition from the Frensshe books. I find it necessary to remove most of the repetition from Malory.
It is my intention to write to you regularly in this vein. It is better than a day book because it is addressed to someone. Will you keep the letters? They will be the basis for my introduction.
TO ERO AND CHASE--NEW YORK, JULY 11, 1958
You know in the new little house I can have my dictionaries instead of having to run into the house to look up a word. But it's not really bad. I just feel mean. I'll go to work and drain some of the meanness out.
And I did pretty well considering and a most difficult part too. When Malory tries to throw everything into one basket--action and genealogy, past and future, personality and customs, I have to kind of sort it out in so far as I am able. I am going very slowly and trying not to make too many mistakes which will have to be untwisted later. This going back and forth in time may have to be worked on. It was all very well when people knew that the first Elaine, sister of Igraine, was Gawain's mother, to put that fact in even before Gawain was born, but it might be a little confusing to a modern reader--to whom genealogy is not terribly interesting unless it is their own.
Elaine just came in with letters from both of you and I can't tell you how pleased I am that you approve of the method. It was like holding one's nose and jumping feet first in
to cold water. And it is contrary to all standard, scholarly Arthurian methods but, by golly, I'll bet Vinaver will approve of it.
Now as to character and personality. It is my belief that they are there and were understood in their time. It is for me to understand the shorthand and bring them out. Consider this little lost bit. Igraine has been laid by someone she thought was her husband and later discovers that at the time her husband was dead. Now in the first mention of her, Malory says she was a fair lady and passing wise. When she hears that her husband is dead and in some way she cannot understand she was tricked--Malory says, "Thenne she marvelled who that knight that lay with her in the likeness of her lord. So she mourned pryvely and held her pees."
My God! There's all the character you need if you only point it with a repetition. I have translated as follows: "When news came to Igraine that the duke her husband was slain the night before, she was troubled and she wondered who it was that lay with her in the image of her husband. But she was a wise woman and she mourned privately and did not speak of it."
It's all there, you see. A whole character--a woman alone in a hostile and mysterious world. She did the only safe thing. "She held her pees." The book is loaded with such things. They only need bringing into our focus. Malory's listeners knew exactly the situation she was in but a modern reader has no conception of a woman's life in the fifteenth century. She had to be very wise to survive at all.
Now the jokes are there too--sometimes they take the form of little ironies and other times of satire. Merlin loves to play jokes with a childlike joy in his magic. It only requires a word to show that Merlin loved what he was doing. It is a child's joy in being able to astonish people. Then of course there is the end of Merlin--a cruel and horrifying situation and funny as hell. An old man enamored of a young woman who worms his magic out of him and then uses it on him. It's the story of my life and a lot of other people's lives--a broad and heartless joke--the powerful and learned man who gets his comeuppance from a stupid, clever little girl. Oh, there is plenty here. And I am becoming less shy with it all the time. I don't think I dare be shy or respectful as I will lose what he has. And he has plenty. But I do want to work very slowly and carefully at first and to be very careful that I do not miss the things he is saying. It will probably go faster as I go along.